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The Torah in Parashat Lech-Lecha tells of the birth of Abraham Abinu's first son, Yishmael. When Sara saw that she could not conceive, she had Abraham marry her maidservant, Hagar, as his second wife, and Hagar conceived and gave birth to Yishmael. The Torah informs us that Abraham was 86 years when Yishmael was born (16:16). Rashi explains that the Torah did not provide this information merely as a matter of historical intrigue. Rather, it was speaking in praise of Yishmael. Later in the Parasha, we read that Abraham was 99 years old when he and the males in his household underwent Berit Mila. The Torah tells us that Abraham was 86 when Yishmael was born so we would know that Yishmael was 13 years old when he was circumcised. Rashi writes that Yishmael did not resist, and underwent the painful procedure – without anesthesia – willingly. When I read Rashi's comments, I am brought back to unforgettable experience I had some years ago, when I joined Rav Matisyahu Salomon, the famous Mashgiah of Lakewood (1937-2024), on a mission to Tbilisi, for the purpose of strengthening the Jewish community there. One of the ambitious projects undertaken was performing Berit Mila for the many Jewish boys and men who had not yet received one. We had a Mohel with us in a group, and it was inspiring to see boys and men of all ages who lined up with enthusiasm to undergo Berit Mila. Afterward, the Mohel shared with us his reflections on this experience. For many years, he said, the descendants of Yishmael have been able to inflict a great deal of harm upon the Jewish People, and this is due to the great merit of Yishmael, who willfully underwent circumcision at the age of 13. Hashem therefore arranged that in our generation, there would be Jews who did not receive a Berit Mila as infants, and who would come forward to receive one at an older age. The merit of this sacrifice would counteract the merit of Yishmael, and pave the way for our victory over Yishmael's descendants and our final redemption, may it unfold speedily and in our times. The lesson for us is the importance of sacrifice. In order to earn the Zechut (merit) to defeat Yishmael, we must be prepared to sacrifice for the sake of Misvot, and to do so happily, like Yishmael did. If Yishmael joyfully had a Berit Mila as a grown boy, then we must be willing to perform Misvot even when this is uncomfortable or inconvenient. Hashem does not make demands that involve severe physical pain like that which Yishmael endured when receiving a Berit Mila, but He does demand that we exert effort and that we sacrifice comfort and convenience for the sake of His service. If we are going to defeat the wicked descendants of Yishmael who continue to threaten us, we must neutralize the merit of Yishmael through self-sacrifice, by devoting ourselves to Torah and Misvot even when it is difficult.

The Gemara in Masechet Zevahim (116) tells that at the time of Matan Torah, a loud, thunderous noise was heard throughout the world. The kings came to Bilam, the gentile prophet, to ask what was happening. They feared that G-d was bringing a flood to destroy the earth, as He had done during the times of Noach. Bilam assured them by reminding them of the promise Hashem made to Noach after he left the ark, that He would never again destroy the earth. The noise that the people heard, Bilam explained, was the sound of Hashem giving His beloved nation the sacred Torah. How might we understand this story – that the event of Matan Torah was initially mistaken for a repeat of the flood? The answer emerges from a fascinating comment of the Zohar, in Parashat Pinhas, teaching that the Torah was supposed to have been given during the time of Noach. The flood of water that destroyed the earth was initially to have been a "flood" of wisdom and spirituality. But that generation was sinful and undeserving of the Torah, and so G-d flooded the world with water instead of with Torah. This explains an otherwise baffling passage in the Gemara, in Masechet Hulin, where the Gemara asks where the Torah makes an allusion to Moshe Rabbenu. The Gemara answers by citing a verse toward the end of Parashat Bereshit (6:3) in which G-d bemoans the sinfulness of the generation of the flood ("Be'shagam Hu Basar"). The word "Be'shagam" in this verse in Gematria equals 345 – the same Gematria as the name "Moshe," and it is in this verse, the Gemara states, where the Torah makes an allusion to Moshe Rabbenu. The Gemara's discussion seems very peculiar. The vast majority of the Torah is about Moshe. Why must the Gemara search for a subtle allusion to him? The answer might be that the Gemara searched for an allusion to Moshe in the context of the originally intended time of Matan Torah. As he was the one who brought us the Torah, we should expect him to be associated in some way with the story of the flood, the period when the Torah was to have been given to the world. The Gemara found such an allusion in the word "Be'sha'gam" describing the generation of the flood. The Arizal developed this point even further, teaching that Moshe's soul was a "Gilgul" (reincarnation) of Noach's soul. This special soul descended to give the Torah, but the generation of the flood was unworthy, so this soul returned centuries later in the form of Moshe Rabbenu, who brought the Torah to Beneh Yisrael. This is evidenced by the fact that Moshe's mother, Yochebed, placed him in a "Teba" (basket) to hide him from the Egyptians (Shemot 2:3). This marks the only time in the Torah when the word "Teba" is used except during the story of Noach, who of course built a "Teba" (ark). As these two righteous men shared the same soul, they were both saved in a "Teba." What might be the practical lesson to be learned from this? What is the significance of the fact that the Torah was to be given during the time of Noach, but the event of Matan Torah was substituted with the flood? The explanation, perhaps, is that Torah, like the flood, destroys – specifically, it destroys the Yeser Ha'ra, people's sinful inclinations and tendencies. The connection between Torah and the flood teaches us that the Torah is given to us to destroy the negative aspects of our characters. If we properly devote ourselves to Torah learning, and we open our minds and our hearts to imbibe its timeless wisdom and its sanctity, we have an opportunity to be refined and cleansed. Just as the floodwaters in Noach's time had the effect of resetting the earth, so does Torah have the power to "reset" our souls, to change us, to make us better and more spiritual beings. Let us, then, commit to utilizing this sacred gift to "destroy" our Yeser Ha'ra and draw closer to Hashem.

The Midrash (Midrash Tehillim 92) relates that after Adam was forgiven for his sin of eating the forbidden fruit in Gan Eden, he sang a song – a song known to us as "Mizmor Shir La'Yom Ha'Shabbat," the 92 chapter of Tehillim. It was on Shabbat that Adam was told that he was forgiven, and so he sung this special song about Shabbat. Appropriately, we recite this chapter as part of our Kabbalat Shabbat service at the onset of Shabbat on Friday night, and this chapter has been designated as the "Shir Shel Yom" for Shabbat, the Psalm associated with this day of the week. Strikingly, however, when we read this chapter, it does not speak about Shabbat at all. After the introductory verse, which identifies this chapter as the special Psalm for Shabbat, there is no mention of Shabbat whatsoever. Why, then, is this the song especially composed for Shabbat? To answer this question, let us briefly examine what this chapter does talk about. The opening verses emphasize that we are to praise and express gratitude to Hashem under all circumstances. "Le'hagid Ba'boker Hasdecha, Ve'emunatecha Ba'lelot" – "To speak of Your kindness in the morning, and Your faith in the nights" (92:3). We must praise Hashem not only in the "daytime," when we enjoy the "light" of joy and good fortune, but also "in the nights," when we find ourselves engulfed by darkness, beset by troubles and hardships. Later, this chapter addresses the famous, baffling reality that the righteous often suffer while the wicked often prosper. Adam here assures us that the righteous will ultimately receive their due reward, whereas the wicked will receive their due punishment. This chapter is associated with Shabbat because the weekly Shabbat that we observe offers us a glimpse of the eternal Shabbat – the next world, when we will achieve perfect clarity and will see how everything is for the best. The Gemara (Pesahim 50a) teaches about the difference between our world and the next world. Here in this world, we celebrate good fortune by reciting the blessing, "Ha'tob Ve'ha'metib," thanking Hashem for His goodness, but when misfortune strikes, Heaven forbid, we solemnly recite "Dayan Ha'emet," acknowledging G-d as the "true Judge." In the next world, however, we will jubilantly recite "Ha'tob Ve'ha'metib" over all events that transpire. The Tzelah (Rav Yechezkel Landau of Prague, 1713-1793) explains this to mean that in the future, we will look back upon all the misfortunes that took place and realize how they were, in fact, good. We will be shown how everything was for the best – even the tragic, painful events that we experienced. In our world, we rightfully mourn and grieve when misfortune strikes. But we must believe that the time will come when we will be shown how ultimately, everything was, in truth, for the best. On Shabbat, we are lifted ever so slightly up from our world, and brought into a different reality – into a realm called "Me'en Olam Ha'ba," a "miniature" Olam Ha'ba (the next world), where we experience a small degree of the clarity of the next world. If we observe Shabbat properly, we receive a boost of Emuna, a greater level of serenity, more emotional strength to accept the challenging aspects of our lives and enjoy happiness and contentment. The precious gift of Shabbat offers us more than a day off from work, and an opportunity to spend more time with family and friends – as significant as this of course is. The gift of Shabbat is the gift of Emuna, the gift of peace of mind. We are able to experience – to some small degree – the faith and unbridled joy of Olam Ha'ba. This is why the chapter written by Adam is chosen as the special Psalm for Shabbat. This is the day when, more than on any other, we are able to deeply feel that "Tob Le'hodot L'Hashem U'l'zamer Le'shimcha Elyon" – that it is good to thank and praise Hashem, that everything He does is for our benefit, even when we face hardship. This weekly boost of Emuna gives us the strength we need for the coming week, fortifying us with the belief that no matter what challenges we confront, everything that happens is for the best.

Why is Sukkot celebrated for seven days? Pesach is a seven-day holiday because the miracle of the Exodus culminated a week after our ancestors left Egypt, with the splitting of the sea and the drowning of the Egyptian army. But for what reason is Sukkot observed as a seven-day celebration? An answer could perhaps be suggested based on the famous explanation of the Gaon of Vilna (1720-1797) for the Sukkot celebration. According to one view in the Gemara (Sukka 11b), the Sukka that we live in during this holiday commemorates the Ananeh Ha'kabod – the supernatural "clouds of glory" that encircled Beneh Yisrael in the wilderness, protecting them from harm. This is the view accepted by the Shulhan Aruch (Orah Haim 625). The Gaon addressed the question as to why specifically this miracle was worthy of a special Yom Tob, as opposed to the other miracles that G-d performed for Beneh Yisrael in the wilderness, such as the Manna that fell daily from the heavens, and the well that provided water wherever they went. What was special about the Ananei Ha'kabod that warrants a Yom Tob? Another question that arises is why this celebration is held specifically on the 15 of Tishri. How is this date associated with the Ananeh Ha'kabod? The Gaon of Vilna offered a brilliant answer, noting the chronology of the events following the sin of the golden calf at Mount Sinai. The Sages teach that it was on Yom Kippur, the 10 of Tishri – nearly three months after the people worshipped the calf, on the 17 of Tammuz – when G-d announced His forgiveness for this grievous sin. The next day, Moshe assembled the people and conveyed to them the command to build the Mishkan. Over the next three days – the 12, 13, and 14 of Tishri – the people brought materials for this project, and the construction began the next day, the 15 of Tishri. The Gaon thus explains that in response to the worship of the golden calf, G-d withdrew the precious clouds of glory, as the people were no longer worthy of this special gift. Once they began building the Mishkan, however, He restored the clouds – signifying the complete restoration of His bond of love with the people. Sukkot, then, celebrates not the Ananeh Ha'kabod themselves – but rather the return of the Ananeh Ha'kabod, the fact that Hashem not only forgave Beneh Yisrael for the golden calf, but was prepared to resume His unique relationship with them in response to their genuine repentance. In truth, however, G-d did more than merely restore His bond with Beneh Yisrael. Rav Moshe Cordovero (Sefat, 1522-1570), in his work Tomer Deborah, discusses G-d's thirteen attributes of mercy as expressed by the prophet Micha (7:18-20). One of these attributes is articulated through the phrase "Yashub Yerahamenu" (literally, "He shall again have compassion"). The Tomer Deborah explains this to mean that Hashem shows a sinner greater mercy after he performs Teshuba than He did before he committed the wrongful act. Meaning, if one genuinely repents, Hashem does not restore the relationship to what it had been prior to the misdeed – He makes it even stronger. As the Gemara (Berachot 34b) teaches, the pristinely righteous are unable to stand in the place where penitent sinners stand ("Makom She'ba'aleh Teshuba Omedin Sadikim Gemurim Enam Omedin"). Once a person fell into sin, it takes an enormous amount of strength and conviction to change his behavior and repent. Therefore, through genuine Teshuba, one earns even greater closeness to Hashem than He experienced before the sin. On this basis, we might gain further insight into the celebration of Sukkot. "Yashub Yerahamenu" is the seventh of G-d's attributes of mercy listed by the prophet Micha. Perhaps, then, Sukkot is observed for seven days as an allusion to this unique quality – indicating that on the 15 of Tishri, Beneh Yisrael became even closer to Hashem than they had been before the sin of the golden calf. When G-d restored the Ananeh Ha'kabod, He did more than bring the relationship back to where it had been – He made it even stronger. This sheds new light on the description of Sukkot in our prayers as "Zeman Simhatenu" – "the time of our joy." There can be no greater joy than recognizing this remarkable quality of Hashem – His willingness to draw even closer to us after we sin than He was before we sinned. His mercy extends so far that He cherishes our efforts to grow and improve even after we've fallen to the lowest depths. As long as we repent sincerely, truly seeking to return to G-d and faithfully serve Him, He not only welcomes us back – but is prepared to bring us even closer than we had been beforehand.

The Haftarah read on Shabbat Shuba – the Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur – is among the most famous Haftarot read throughout the year. Taken from the Book of Hoshea, it begins with the prophet Hoshea's timeless cry, "Shuba Yisrael Ad Hashem Elokecha" – "Return, O Israel, unto Hashem your G-d" (Hoshea 14:2). The Midrash (Bereshit Rabba 84:19) traces the origins of this prophecy all the way back to the Book of Bereshit, to the story of the sale of Yosef. After the brothers lifted Yosef from the pit and sold him to merchants, the Torah writes, "Va'yashab Reuben El Ha'bor" – the oldest brother, Reuben, "returned to the pit" (Bereshit 37:29). The Midrash raises the question of where Reuben had gone that he is now described as "returning." The answer, the Midrash explains, is that Reuben had left to resume his prayers and repentance for his sin involving his stepmother, Bilha. After Rachel – Yaakob Abinu's primary wife – passed away, Yaakob moved his bed into the tent of Bilha, Rachel's maidservant whom Yaakob had married. Reuben saw this as an affront to his mother, Leah, and so he moved Yaakob's bed out of Bilha's tent into Leah's tent. This meddling in his father's private affairs was considered a grave affront to his father, for which Reuben repented. The Midrash continues that G-d declared to Reuben: "No person had ever sinned before Me and repented, and you were the first to initiate repentance." In reward, G-d proclaimed, Reuben's descendant – the prophet Hoshea – would be the one to call upon the people to repent. Many writers addressed the question of how the Midrash could make such a claim – that nobody sinned and then repented before Reuben. Numerous sources speak of Adam repenting for his sin in Gan Eden, and of Kayin repenting for murdering his brother. In what way was Reuben the first person in world history to repent? One answer given to this question lies in an important distinction between repentance inspired by external influences, and self-motivated repentance, which is driven by one's own desire for growth and for a close connection with Hashem. An illustration of this distinction is the Gemara's discussion of the contrast between Beneh Yisrael's acceptance of the Torah at Mount Sinai, and the Jews' reaffirmation of this acceptance in the time of the Purim story. In Masechet Shabbat (88a), the Gemara relates that when Beneh Yisrael stood at Sinai, G-d uprooted the mountain and suspended it over their heads, threatening to destroy them if they did not accept the Torah. The Gemara adds that whereas the Torah was initially accepted under coercion, many centuries later – after the Jews were saved from Haman's threat – they accepted the Torah willingly, of their own volition. This has been explained to mean that at Sinai, the people beheld an unprecedented revelation of G-d, such that their free will was suspended. They were not actually "coerced"; rather, they beheld G-d so clearly that they could not even countenance the possibility of refusing the Torah. The revelation was so vivid that there was no other reasonable option. In direct contrast, in Persia, there was no revelation or overt miracles. Events transpired in a manner that appeared entirely random, with G-d's hand concealed behind the veil of the world's natural order. And at that time, the Jews reaffirmed their commitment to Torah through their own initiative, without any external influence or inspiration. Both Adam and Kayin repented after G-d confronted them and reprimanded them for their wrongdoing. Their repentance was initiated by G-d, not by themselves. Reuben was the first one who initiated his process of repentance. No one came to him to criticize him for what he did. He recognized on his own that he had acted improperly, and performed Teshuba – thus becoming the first person to repent through his own motivation, without G-d or somebody else urging him to do so. Of course there is great value in receiving inspiration, in accepting criticism, in exposing oneself to people who will open his eyes to what he needs to improve and how can can grow. However, the most enduring Teshuba is self-motivated Teshuba, a person's own initiative to change. Indeed, soon after G-d's revelation at Sinai, the people worshipped the golden calf. When repentance is driven by external factors, the process might not last once those factors are no longer present. The best chance we have for enduring change is to make the decision without inspiration from anybody or anything else, to understand on our own, without being told, that we need to improve. This is Hoshea's call to us – "Shuba Yisrael." He is asking us to make the decision ourselves, not to wait to be told to correct our behavior, not to wait for a speaker to inspire us, or for some dramatic event to shake us up. If we really want to change, we need to jumpstart the process ourselves, without waiting for someone or something to start it for us.

It is clear that "Malchut" – G-d's Kingship over the world – is the dominant theme of Rosh Hashanah. If we quickly review the text of the Rosh Hashanah prayers, this becomes very evident. We repeat numerous times that Hashem is King over the universe. And Rav Saadia Gaon (882-942) writes that one of the reasons we blow the Shofar is because Rosh Hashanah is the day of G-d's coronation, and so we blow the Shofar just as trumpets are sounded at a king's coronation. But what exactly does it mean to crown Hashem as King? What does this require? Does it suffice to hear the Shofar and shout "Hashem Melech…" during the Rosh Hashanah prayer service? A powerful insight into the deeper meaning of Rosh Hashanah, and what this occasion demands of us, was offered by Rav Yitzchak Hutner (1906-1980). He explained that in order for there to be a king, there must be subjects who have some resemblance to the king. Thus, for example, the lion is king of the jungle, but the eagle is the king over the birds. The lion cannot reign over birds, because it does not fly, and the eagle cannot reign over the land animals, which don't fly. A king can attain the title of monarch only if he has subjects with whom there is some connection, and this requires a degree of resemblance. In order for us to crown Hashem as King, then, we need to resemble Him. How? The answer lies in the most fundamental difference between man and animal – the capacity to choose, to chart our course, to make decisions about who we want to be. Animals cannot choose between right or wrong. They live according to the instincts with which they were created. They react to their surroundings and their innate drives without thinking, impulsively. Only we human beings have the power to exercise restraint, to control and subdue our natural instincts. The verse states in Kohelet (3:19), "U'motar Ha'adam Min Ha'behema Ayin." This means that the only difference between man and beast is "Ayin" – the ability to decline, to say "No" to our impulses. The word "Ayin" may also be read as an acrostic representing the words "Adam Yesh Neshama" – "the human being has a soul." We have a soul, a G-d-like characteristic whereby we can choose between right or wrong, and exert control over our behavior. Hashem is all-powerful, entirely dependent and fully in control of everything. We resemble G-d in our ability to control our behavior. The Gemara famously teaches, "Ha'kol Bi'ydeh Shamayim Hutz Mi'yir'at Shamayim" – everything depends on G-d except for our fear of Heaven. Meaning, Hashem controls everything about our lives except our decisions of how to act, our choices between good and bad. And it is in this area of life – our free will to act properly or improperly – that we in a sense resemble our Creator, as this is the area over which we have control and dominion. And this, Rav Hutner explained, is our obligation on Rosh Hashanah. This is the day when G-d first created man, in His "image," with the ability to choose between right and wrong. Each year, on this day, we crown G-d anew – and for this to happen, we must recommit ourselves to resembling Him. In order to be His subjects, we must be creatures with the power of restraint and control. Our job on Rosh Hashanah is to reinforce our power of self-discipline and restraint. We must realize that when we say, "I couldn't help it," this is not true – we can help it. We can restrain ourselves, we can tell ourselves "No," we can stop bad behaviors and kick bad habits. Of course, this is hard, and change will not happen overnight – but it is not impossible. Our behavior is entirely under our power and authority. To crown Hashem as King on this day, we must become His subjects – by reaffirming our G-d-like quality of self-control. We live in a society which presents us with so many lures, pressures and temptations. Every day, we must struggle against ourselves to act the right way and to avoid wrongdoing. On Rosh Hashanah, we declare that we are fully capable of meeting this challenge, that we are not animals, that we determine our spiritual destiny, that we have the power of choice, that we are not controlled by our instincts – that we control them. By making this declaration, we become G-d's loyal servants who are deserving of His special protection and blessings.

The Torah in Parashat Nisavim foresees the time when Beneh Yisrael would be banished into exile on account of their breach of their covenant with G-d, describing, "Va'yashlichem Be'eretz Aheret" – Hashem's casting the nation into a different land (29:27). Those who look carefully at the Torah scroll will notice that the letter Lamed in the word "Va'yashlichem" is written larger than the other letters of the Torah. Enlarged letters in the Torah function like bolded text, or capitalized letters, in modern-day writing, denoting emphasis. What might the Torah have sought to emphasize with the enlarged Lamed in this word? Perhaps we can answer this question by understanding the unique significance of this letter. Several great Rabbis taught that as the word "Lamed" means "learn," this letter is associated with Torah study. The Ben Ish Hai (Rav Yosef Haim of Baghdad, 1833-1909) explains on this basis the unique shape of the letter Lamed, which is drawn with a vertical line on top, followed by a horizontal line, and then another vertical line dropping down. This shape, the Ben Ish Hai writes, represents the process of Torah tradition. The top vertical line represents the transmission of Torah wisdom as it "descends" from the scholar to his disciple. The horizontal line represents the learning that takes place among peers, how the students – who are generally on the same level, like points on a horizontal line – learn and gain from another. The line descending from that horizonal line symbolizes the students' then transmitting their knowledge and wisdom down to their offspring and students. If, indeed, the letter Lamed represents Torah learning, then we can perhaps explain the significance of the enlarged letter Lamed in the word "Va'yachlichem." As mentioned, this word speaks of the Jews leaving into exile, where they would live amidst, and under the authority of, foreign nations. The Torah is alluding to us that when this happens, when we are driven to exile, the Lamed – Torah learning – must be our central point of focus. Living among foreign cultures, we face two potential challenges: persecution, and assimilation. In some exiles, the primary hardship involved the foreign governments' attempts to ban Jewish learning and practice, to pull us away from our faith and our traditions by force. But in other eras, such as in our current exile here in the United States, the challenge is assimilation. We are, thank G-d, free to practice our religion without any restrictions, but with all the freedoms we enjoy come the lures and pressures of our society. Its beliefs are not our beliefs, its values are not our values, and its lifestyle is not our lifestyle. As a small minority, we face the constant pressure to accept the beliefs, values and lifestyle of our surroundings. This is why the Lamed is enlarged. The most effective and most important weapon we have in our arsenal with which to defend ourselves against the unrelenting cultural pressure to which we are subject in exile is Torah learning. When we learn Torah, we submerge ourselves in our faith, in our values, in our traditions, in our laws and customs. Torah learning of course is and always was a vitally important part of Jewish life, for several reasons, but in exile – and especially in our current reality – it serves the function of anchoring us to our spiritual core, and fortifying us against the hostile spiritual influences of general society. Let us, then, redouble our commitment to Torah learning, so we will survive this exile both physically and spiritually, and be worthy of our final redemption, speedily and in our time, Amen.

The Torah promises in Parashat Ki-Tabo (28:10), "All the nations of the earth will see that the Name of G-d is called upon you, and they will be afraid of you." Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel explains that this refers to the Tefillin Shel Rosh, which we proudly wear upon our heads. The Torah promises that when the enemies of the Jewish People see the Tefillin on our heads, they will be gripped by fear and will no longer try to inflict harm on us. How does this work? How will the sight of the Tefillin instill fear within our enemies? The Kol Aryeh answers this question by developing the symbolic meaning of the Tefillin Shel Rosh. The Tefillin Shel Rosh features a knot in the back, from which two straps extend along the front of a person's body – one to the right and one to the left. The right side is always associated with Hesed – G-d's kindness, whereas the left side represents Din – judgment. For this reason, it is customary for the right Tefillin strap to extend longer than the left strap, reflecting our desire for an abundance of Hesed. One who sees the front of a person sees two separate, seemingly disconnected, straps. Outwardly, Hesed and Din are two distinct phenomena. Some events and experiences appear as Hesed, manifestations of G-d's kindness, whereas others seem like pure Din – harsh judgment. However, when the Tefillin Shel Rosh is viewed from the back, it becomes clear that both straps come from the same source, from the knot on the back of the head. The knot of the Tefillin symbolizes the belief that in truth, Hesed and Din are one and the same, that everything Hashem does is for the best, and for our ultimate benefit, even if sometimes it causes us pain. The two "straps" are really one, because everything Hashem does is for the best. When Moshe was atop Mount Sinai, he asked, "Har'eni Na Et Kebodecha" – "Show me, please, Your glory" (Shemot 33:18). The Sages explained that Moshe wanted to understand the secret of G-d's governance, why the righteous occasionally suffer, whereas the evildoers occasionally enjoy good fortune. G-d responded, "Ve'ra'ita Et Ahorai" – that Moshe would be able to see Him "from the back" (33:23), which the Gemara (Berachot 7) explains to mean that Hashem showed Moshe the knot of His Tefillin. The answer to Moshe's question is the knot of the Tefillin Shel Rosh – the belief that there is no distinction between what we perceive as bad and what we perceive as good. Everything Hashem does is a manifestation of the greatest Hesed, even when we cannot understand how. This is why Halacha requires reciting Shema while wearing Tefillin. The opening verse of Shema declares, "Hashem Elokenu, Hashem Ehad." The Name of "Havaya" is associated with the attribute of Hesed, whereas the Name "Elokim" refers to divine judgment. The pronouncement "Hashem Elokenu, Hashem Ehad" means that both "Hashem" and "Elokenu" are "Hashe Ehad" – a single manifestation of G-d, an expression of kindness. Even "Elokim" is "Havaya"; even what appears to us as bad is the ultimate good. We must make this pronouncement while wearing our Tefillin – which expresses this fundamental tenet of Emuna (faith). With this background, we can return to the verse here in Parashat Ki-Tabo. In the future, the enemy nations will be shown how all the pain and sorrow they caused the Jewish Nation was actually to our benefit, a manifestation of Hashem's kindness. They will see that all their efforts to persecute us and defeat us actually helped us, and in fact led to the final redemption. They will see the "Tefillin Shel Rosh" – that both "straps" are really one, that even the misfortune that Am Yisrael experiences is in fact beneficial for us. And they will thus be overcome by fear and horror, recognizing that all their efforts had the precise opposite effect than they intended, that everything they did to hurt us was in fact helping us. The message for us is that we must reinforce our steadfast faith in Hashem's unlimited kindness, and repeatedly remind ourselves that "Hashem Elokenu, Hashem Ehad" – even the struggles and hardships of life are to our ultimate benefit. Although we cannot possibly understand in the present moment how this could be good, we must trust that in the future everything will become clear, and we will see with our eyes the "knot of the Tefillin," how everything Hashem did was for the best.

The Torah in Parashat Ki-Teseh (24:19) introduces the Misva known as "Shicheha," which applies when a farmer forgets some of his produce behind during the harvest. This forgotten produce, the Torah commands, must be left for the poor. If one later realizes that he left some grain behind, he is not permitted to go back to retrieve it. The Torah writes: "It shall be for the foreigner, the orphan and the widow, so that Hashem your G-d shall bless you in all your hands' actions." By leaving this forgotten produce to the poor, one earns special blessing. Rashi, based on the Sifreh, notes that the Torah promises the farmer reward for the benefit he brought to the poor despite knowing nothing about it. Meaning, even if the farmer never realizes that he forgot sheaves of grain, he is nevertheless rewarded for his unintentional charity, for the assistance that the poor received from his forgotten grain. Rashi thus infers from this verse that if a person mistakenly dropped a coin, and a pauper finds it and uses it for his needs, the one who dropped the coin receives reward. Even though he had no intention to give charity, and even if he never notices the missing coin, he is rewarded for the benefit he unknowingly brought to the needy individual. The Saba of Kelm (Rav Simcha Zissel Ziv, 1824–1898) makes a powerful comment about the Misva of "Shicheha." Just as a person receives reward for the material charity that he gives unintentionally, the Saba writes, so does one receive reward for his unintentional spiritual charity. Sometimes money falls from a person's pocket; other times – and likely far more often – "money" falls from a person's soul. We are entirely unaware of the influence we have on other people. When we conduct ourselves properly, the people around us take notice, and are impacted. When a person's neighbors see him leave on time for Shaharit each morning, they are influenced by this example. When a person maintains his calm and composure in the workplace when problems arise, without raising his voice or panicking, his coworkers take notice, and are influenced. When a businessman conducts his affairs with scrupulous honesty, even at the expense of profitable opportunities, his associates take notice, and are influenced. We never know who is looking at us at any point during the day, who is noticing our behavior, and who is being influenced by the way we act and the way we speak. The rewards for our unintentional spiritual charity, the Saba of Kelm adds, are, undoubtedly, far greater than the rewards for unintentional material charity. If a person drops some money which is then discovered by a pauper, the pauper uses that money to sustain himself for a brief period of time. But our spiritual charity goes much further. The influence that people receive from our example lasts a lifetime, affecting their character, their behavior, and their choices forever. And, this influence triggers a chain reaction, as the people we positively influence have a positive influence on others, who then positively influence others, and so on. We cannot even imagine how far the effects of our behavior go – and thus we cannot even imagine the rewards we receive for these effects. People today are exposed to negative influences like never before. And so any positive influence that we can have on people today is so much more precious than at any other time. Therefore, we must live with this awareness of how every action and every word matters. We have no idea how many "coins" fall from our soul at any given moment, how we are influencing people through everything we say and do. Let us, then, try to always behave the right way – because we never know who's watching, and how they are being influenced by us.

Parashat Shofetim begins with the command, "Shofetim Ve'shoterim Titen Lecha Be'chol She'arecha" – "You shall place for yourselves judges and enforcers in all your gates." This establishes the Biblical obligation to appoint in every city ("in all your gates") courts to determine the laws, and officials to enforce them. The verse later adds, "LI'shbatecha" – "for your tribes," which the Sages understood as a requirement to appoint a higher court for each tribe (see Rashi and Ramban). Surprisingly, this command is presented in the singular form – "Lecha," "She'arecha." Although the Torah here addresses itself to the entire nation, commanding the appointment of judges in every city, and over every tribe, this imperative is formulated such that it is directed toward every individual. Rav Haim Vital (1543-1620) explained that the Torah is alluding here to the obligation upon each and every individual to appoint "judges" and "enforcers" for all "She'arecha" – all the "gates" to his being. This means exercising care and discretion when deciding what we allow ourselves to see, to hear and to eat. It meant "judging" and scrutinizing ourselves, and "enforcing" our own compliance with the Torah's laws and the Torah's principles. Rav Haim Vital here is making a crucial point that cannot be overemphasized – that we must judge and govern ourselves before we try to judge and govern others. Many people happily volunteer for the position of "judge" over their city, and over their community, to criticize this person or that person, this institution or that institution, this policy or that policy. They also happily volunteer for the person of "enforcer," to tell people what they're doing wrong. Rav Haim Vital is teaching us to criticize ourselves before we criticize others, to put our own lives in order before we try to fix all the world's problems, or even all the community's problems. In the next verse, the Torah turns to the appointed judge and commands, "Lo Tateh Mishpat" – "Do not distort the judgment." In reference to judges sitting on the court, this means that a judge may not rule with favoritism, applying distorted logic in order to reach a decision in favor of the litigant of his preference. But this is true also of our "judgment" of ourselves. We are naturally inclined to find fault in others but not in ourselves. When it comes to our own behavior, we have a tendency to "distort" our reasoning, to find excuses for ourselves, to come up with justifications for things we should not have done. About this judgment, too, the Torah commands, "Lo Tateh Mishpat" – that we must judge ourselves objectively and honestly, uncomfortable as this can sometimes be. Returning to this Parasha's opening verse, the first letters of the word "Lecha Li'shbatecha Ve'shafetu Et" (Lamed, Lamed, Vav, Alef) are the letters of the word "Elul." And, sure enough, Parashat Shofetim is always read at the beginning of the month of Elul. The message being conveyed is that this month is about judging and scrutinizing ourselves, with brutal honesty. Elul is the time to stop trying to change the world, to point out all the problems other people are making, and to redirect our attention to ourselves, to the things that we need to improve.

The Journey Parashat Re'eh concludes with the Misva known as Aliya Le'regel – appearing before G-d in the Bet Ha'mikdash three times each year, on the holidays of Pesach, Shabuot and Sukkot. The Gemara in Masechet Hagiga (3a) makes a comment that sheds light on the nature of this Misva, and on the vital lesson that it teaches us. King Shelomo exclaims in Shir Hashirim (7:2), "Ma Yafu Fe'amayich Ba'ne'alim, Bat Nadib" – literally, "How beautiful are your steps in shoes, the daughter of the generous one." The Gemara interprets this verse as a reference to the journey that Beneh Yisrael would take to the Jerusalem before the holidays for the Misva of Aliya Le'regel. And the expression "Bat Nadib" ("daughter of the generous one") means that Beneh Yisrael are the descendants of Abraham Abinu, who was called "Nadib," as he was exceptionally generous and giving. The Gemara here seems to draw a comparison between two journeys: Beneh Yisrael's journey to the Bet Ha'mikdash for the holidays, and Abraham Abinu's journey. On one level, this refers to Abraham Abinu's journey from his homeland to Eretz Yisrael, about which the Midrash teaches that Abraham received reward for each and every step. Abraham's journey was not merely a means to an end, a practical necessity to fulfill G-d's command to settle in Eretz Yisrael. Rather, the journey itself was inherently meaningful and valuable, and he thus earned reward for each step. Likewise, Beneh Yisrael's journey to the Bet Ha'mikdash was itself a Misva. Indeed, we call this Misva "Aliya Le'regel" – going to the Bet Ha'mikdash for the holiday, emphasizing the process of "Aliya," of journeying. The Misva was to undertake the journey, to make the effort, to go through the trouble of going to appear before Hashem. On a deeper level, when the Gemara mentions Abraham Abinu in the context of the people's journey to Jerusalem, it refers to his journey through life. The Rambam writes that Abraham was born into a family of idolaters, and he himself worshipped idols. At the age of 3, Abraham began questioning and inquiring, thinking about the world, how it came into being, and who governs it. This theological journey which began at the age of 3 continued for 37 years, as it was only at the age of 40 that Abraham arrived at the belief in a single Creator. The journey of Aliya Le'regel parallels Abraham Abinu's extraordinary spiritual journey, his lengthy, step-by-step process of growth – because Aliya Le'regel, too, is a process of spiritual preparation. A person cannot simply appear before Hashem in the Bet Ha'mikdash without first preparing himself. The "footsteps," the trek to Jerusalem, was an obligatory process of growth, of putting oneself in the proper mindset to appear before Hashem in the Bet Ha'mikdash. The Kabbalists teach that the domain of place parallels the domain of time. The Bet Ha'mikdash, the most sacred place on earth, parallels the Yamim Noraim – the period of the High Holidays, the most sacred days of the year. Yom Kippur, the apex of this period, corresponds to the Kodesh Ha'kodashim, the inner sanctum of the Bet Ha'mikdash, whereas Rosh Hashanah, the onset of this period, is represented by the Azara, the courtyard of the Bet Ha'mikdash where the people would assemble on the three pilgrimage festivals. It emerges, then, that the period of Elul – the month of preparation for Rosh Hashanah – parallels "Aliya Le'regel," the journey to the Bet Ha'mikdash. The month that we begin this coming week is a time of journeying, of growth, of "Aliya" – elevation, lifting ourselves higher, so we come prepared to the "Bet Ha'mikdash," to Rosh Hashanah, when we stand before the Almighty for judgment. It is no coincidence that Parashat Re'eh is always read on the Shabbat preceding Rosh Hodesh Elul. Throughout the Book of Debarim, Moshe Rabbenu is preparing the people for life in the Land of Israel. But in this Parasha, for the first time, he speaks of "the place which G-d shall choose" – referring to the Bet Ha'mikdash. In this Parasha, Moshe prepares the people for the Bet Ha'mikdash, explaining what his special site is and the special laws pertaining to it. This is precisely what the month of Elul is all about – preparing ourselves for the "Bet Ha'mikdash" of time, for Rosh Hashanah, by growing and lifting ourselves, one beautiful "footstep" at a time, bringing us ever closer to Hashem and to spiritual greatness.

In the second paragraph of Shema, which appears in Parashat Ekeb, the Torah warns of the harsh punishments that would befall Beneh Yisrael if they abandon G-d's laws. Specifically, it warns of poverty that would be followed by exile from the Land of Israel and dispersion among the other nations. The Torah then commands, "Ve'samtem Et Debarai Eleh Al Lebabchem Ve'al Nafshechem" – "You shall place these words of mine upon your hearts and upon your souls" (11:18). It then commands placing these words upon our heads and arms – in the form of Tefillin – and upon our doorposts – in the form of Mezuzot. Rashi (citing the Sifri) presents a surprising reading of this verse. He interprets the verse to mean, "Even after you go into exile, you shall be distinguished through Misvot – place Tefillin and make Mezuzot, so they will not be new to you when you return." At first glance, Rashi appears to be making as astonishing statement – that after Beneh Yisrael were exiled from the land, the Misvot of the Torah became, fundamentally, no longer obligatory. We need to observe the Misvot only so they are not forgotten, so they will not be "new" to us when the final redemption arrives and we return to the land. The Torah thus tells us in this verse that after the exile, we should continue performing the Misvot, such as Tefillin and Mezuzot, to preserve their memory. Numerous later writers sought to explain Rashi's comments. The Gemara in Masechet Kiddushin states explicitly that only Misvot which are inherently linked to the Land of Israel – such as the Torah's agricultural laws – are non-binding elsewhere. All other Misvot, however, are binding even outside the land. How, then, can Rashi write that the Misvot are required only as a commemoration, for the sake of ensuring they are remembered? A particularly fascinating – and meaningful – reading of Rashi's comments was offered in the work Shemen Le'mish'ha (by Rav Asher Anshel Weiss, 1882-1944). At various times throughout our history, the gentile governments forced the Jews to wear a special garment or piece of material (such as the infamous "Yellow Star") to publicize their Jewish identity. This was done so that the hostile gentiles will identify the Jews and will thus mistreat them. The Shemen Ha'mish'ha speculates that this decree might have been sent from Above in response to the Jews' efforts to hide their Jewish identity, to blend in with the gentiles, to compromise their values and traditions for the sake of resembling their gentile neighbors. When the Jews choose not to display their Jewishness, the Shemen Le'mish'ha writes, then Hashem arranges that the enemy nations will see to it that the Jews' Jewishness will be put on full display. When we feel ashamed of our identity, and try to hide it, then the gentile nations ensure to publicize it. The Shemen Le'mish'ha suggests explaining Rashi's comments in this vein. Rashi writes that the Torah here commands that in exile, "Heyu Mesuyanim Be'misvot" – we must be "distinguished," and stand out, through our Misva observance. Even when we live among other nations, we must not conceal our beliefs and practices. We must not be afraid to be different, to look different, and to act differently. The Torah therefore specifies the Misvot of Tefillin and Mezuza – practices which publicize our identity, which involve things that we wear and that we place outside our homes to distinguish ourselves. Rashi explains that the Torah urges us not to conceal our Jewishness "Kedeh She'lo Yiheyu Lachem Hadashim" – literally, "so that you will not have new ones." Meaning, if we fail to observe our Misvot that make us stand out, we will be forced to observe other, "new" practices that make us stand out – in the form of harsh decrees issued for the purpose of causing Jews to suffer hatred and hostility. We must not hide our Jewishness. We should wear it with pride and conviction, ever mindful of the precious privilege we have to be G-d's cherished nation, chosen to study and follow His sacred Torah.

A number of books draw an intriguing – though puzzling – parallel between two periods on the Jewish calendar: the period of Ben He'mesarim (the Three Weeks from Shiba Asar Be'Tammuz through Tisha B'Ab) and the period of the holidays in the month of Tishri. The month of Tishri begins with Rosh Hashanah, and the holiday season concludes with the celebration of Shemini Aseret on the 22nd of Tishri. (In the Diaspora, we observe Shemini Aseret as a two-day celebration, referring to the second day as Simhat Torah, but fundamentally, this is just one day, on the 22nd of Tishri, and this is how it is celebrated in Israel.) According to a number of Rabbis, these two 22-day periods parallel one another, and are linked to one another. This parallelism leads us to an astonishing conclusion – that the final days of these two periods, Tisha B'Ab and Simhat Torah, are connected. This conclusion is astonishing because, quite simply, it would have been hard to come up with any two days on the Jewish calendar that are more different from one another. In fact, these days are polar opposites – and not only because one day is spent fasting, sitting on the floor and mourning, while the other is spent dancing, singing and feasting. Simhat Torah marks the day when the first Bet Ha'mikdash was inaugurated. King Shlomo conducted a two-week celebration in honor of the Temple's inauguration, which culminated on the 22nd day of Tishri. And, for this reason, the Zohar teaches that Shlomo is considered the "Ushpizin" for Shemini Aseret, which is, in a sense, the eighth day of Sukkot. It thus emerges that the day when the Bet Ha'mikdash's inauguration was completed is, remarkably, linked to Tisha B'Ab, the day when the Bet Ha'mikdash was destroyed. If Shemini Aseret is associated with Shlomo Ha'melech, then Tisha B'Ab is associated with Yirmiyahu – the prophet who warned of the destruction of the Bet Ha'mikdash. Shlomo Ha'melech enjoyed a life of wealth, prestige, peace, comfort and serenity, and he composed Shir Ha'shirim – a joyful, heartwarming book about the intense love between Hashem and the Jewish People. Yirmiyahu suffered misery throughout his life, being constantly taunted and at one point even imprisoned, and then personally witnessed the destruction of Jerusalem and was driven into exile. The book he wrote – Echa, which we read while sitting on the floor on Tisha B'Ab – laments the rupture of the bond between G-d and His people, and the unspeakable calamities that befell our nation at the time of Jerusalem's destruction – the polar opposite of Shir Ha'shirim. Interestingly enough, the Arizal – based on a number of earlier sources – teaches that King Shlomo's soul returned in Yirmiyahu, further underscoring the connection between Simhat Torah – the day associated with King Shlomo – and Tisha B'Ab – the day associated with Yirmiyahu. These two figures shared the same soul, and thus the days that embody their lives' respective missions are closely linked. These two days are linked because Simhat Torah is the day when we celebrate the precious gift of the Torah – and it is through Torah that we become worthy of redemption. The Or Ha'haim (Rav Haim Ben-Attar, 1696-1743) writes that Mashiah does not wish to redeem a nation of ignoramuses. It is only when we recommit ourselves to Torah learning and put in the time and effort to learn that we earn our long-awaited final redemption. Tisha B'Ab is associated with Simhat Torah because it is through the joy of Torah learning, embodied by the festive celebration of Simhat Torah, that we end the exile which we mourn on Tisha B'Ab. In our community – and in many others, as well – we are witnessing a truly extraordinary phenomenon, one which clearly shows that we are well on our way to making the transition from Tisha B'Ab to Simhat Torah, from mourning the destruction of the Bet Ha'mikdash to celebrating the restoration of the Bet Ha'mikdash. My father recalled to me how in his time, people spent Tisha B'Ab afternoon at the beach. Now, as everyone knows, Tisha B'Ab is likely the greatest day of Torah learning in the entire year. Synagogues are packed with men and women of all ages hearing Torah classes for many hours throughout the day, and some even the entire day. Ironically, in our time, Tisha B'Ab has turned into a "Simhat Torah." Of course, it is still a day of mourning and grieving. But nevertheless, we cannot overlook the drastic change that has occurred, with the entire community – and many other communities – joining together for hours upon hours to learn Torah on this day. This phenomenon is representative of the broader transition that has been taking place in recent years. People are devoted to Torah learning like never before. With all the unique spiritual challenges of our generation which I and many other Rabbis speak about regularly, the amount of Torah being learned on a daily basis in our time is breathtaking. This is a clear sign that we are, gradually, transitioning from Tisha B'Ab to Simhat Torah, from a state of Hurban (destruction) to a state of redemption. May Hashem help us continue this transition, to continue devoting ourselves to Torah learning and inspiring others to do the same, so we may be worthy of Mashiah's arrival and the rebuilding of the Bet Ha'mikdash, when we will experience an everlasting Simhat Torah, amen.

Rabbi Akiba's Tears Parashat Matot begins with a number of laws regarding vows, including the authority given to a husband to annul certain vows taken by his wife. The Torah states that in such a case, when a wife takes a vow and the husband declares its annulment, "V'Hashem Yislah Lah" – G-d will forgive the woman (30:13). The Sages understood this verse as referring to a situation where the wife did not know that her husband annulled the vow, and nevertheless proceeded to violate it. For example, the wife declared herself a Nezira, committing to abstain from wine, and she later decided to drink wine despite her vow. As it turned out, she committed no transgression by drinking wine, because her husband annulled her vow of Nezirut. Nevertheless, she requires G-d's forgiveness since she intended to violate the vow. The Gemara (Kiddushin 81b) tells that Rabbi Akiba would weep each time he read this verse. He was overcome by emotion upon seeing that even a person who did not commit a sin requires atonement if he intended to commit a sin. If even such an act – which was actually permissible – requires atonement, then how much more so is a person held accountable when he commits an act that is truly forbidden. A deep explanation for Rabbi Akiva's tears emerges from the teachings of Rav Shimshon of Ostropoli (1600-1648). Ashkenazic communities have the custom of including in the Kinnot on Tisha B'Ab a lament for the Asara Harugeh Malchut – the ten great sages who were murdered by the Romans. The Roman emperor learned the law in the Torah that kidnapping a person and then selling him as a slave is a capital offense, punishable by death. He thus decreed that ten great sages must be murdered to atone for the sin of Mechirat Yosef – when Yosef's brothers committed this exact crime, selling their brother as a slave. Since this crime was committed by Yosef's ten brothers, ten sages were brutally murdered to atone for this misdeed. In truth, only nine of Yosef's brothers participated in his sale as a slave. Binyamin, the youngest, was home and thus not present at the time of the sale, and Reuben tried to rescue Yosef. Thus, this crime was committed by only nine brothers. Rav Shimshon of Ostropoli cites the Arizal as teaching that the Almighty Himself, as it were, was the tenth participant. He decreed that this should happen, and He thus "completed the Minyan," so-to-speak, joining Yosef's brothers in selling him as a slave to Egypt. Now the Kabbalists have identified the specific correspondence between the Asara Harugeh Malchut and the brothers who sold Yosef – meaning, which of the ten great sages corresponds to which of Yosef's brothers. For example, one of these sages was Rabbi Huspit Ha'meturgeman – a great Rabbi who was blessed with a loud, clear voice, and thus worked as the "broadcaster" who would help the Rabbis deliver their lectures. He corresponds to Naftali, who is described as "Ha'noten Imreh Shafer" (49:21) – the speaker of beautiful words. Rav Shimshon of Ostropoli taught that Rabbi Akiba, who was among the ten sages murdered by the Romans, corresponded to G-d, the tenth "participant" in Mechirat Yosef. This is because Rabbi Akiba taught that the Torah's command to fear Hashem extends also to Torah scholars – meaning, just as one is obligated to fear Hashem, so must one show reverence to the sages. As Rabbi Akiba equated, in a sense, Torah scholars with the Almighty, he was chosen to "represent" G-d as one of the Asara Harugeh Malchut. We can now return to Rabbi Akiba's weeping upon reading the verse in Parashat Matot, "V'Hashem Yislah Lah." Rabbi Akiba knew that he represented G-d as the tenth participant in Mechirat Yosef. However, he felt comforted by Yosef's own words many years later, when he explained to his brothers that he felt no resentment toward them for what they did: "Ve'atam Hashabtem Alai Ra'a, Elokim Hashabah Le'Toba" – "You plotted evil against me, but G-d plotted for the good" (50:20). Although the brothers intended to inflict harm, their actions actually brought great blessing and good fortune, as Yosef ended up saving Egypt and the entire ancient world by predicting the seven years of famine and ordering the storage of grain during the preceding years of surplus. Rabbi Akiba thus figured that he – as a representative of Yosef's brothers – would not be held accountable for the sin of Mechirat Yosef, because it in truth turned out to be a blessing, and not a sin. However, when Rabbi Akiva read the verse "V'Hashem Yislah Lah," he wept. He then realized that even if a person's actions ended up being permissible, nevertheless, he requires atonement if he had intended to act wrongly. Rabbi Akiba thus understood that the time would come when an accounting would be made for the sin of Mechirat Yosef. As we approach the observance of Tisha B'Ab, let us all work together to rectify the sin of Mechirat Yosef by striving to be kinder, more compassionate and more forgiving. If Yosef's brothers brought calamity upon future generations through their efforts to harm Yosef, let us correct this mistake by redoubling our efforts to help and bring joy to all our brothers and sisters, even those with whom we have disagreements, and we will then be worthy of our final redemption, Amen.

We read in Parashat Pinhas of the census taken of Beneh Yisrael at the end of their forty-year sojourn in the wilderness. The Torah lists the families of the various tribes, and in listing the families of Reuben, the Torah explains that two families – those of the brothers Datan and Abiram – were not counted, because they perished after joining Korah's revolt against Moshe Rabbenu. In this context, the Torah mentions that "U'bneh Korah Lo Metu" – Korah's sons did not die together with their father and the other rebels. Rashi, citing the Gemara (Megilla 14a), explains that Korah's sons initially participated in the uprising, but they then had thoughts of Teshuba (repentance), on account of which "Nitbaser Lahem Makom Gabo'ah Be'gehinom Ve'yashebu Sham" – " An elevated place in Gehinam was set apart for them, and they remained there." Rashi's concluding remarks – "and they remained there" – suggest that Korah's sons stayed in that "elevated place in Gehinam" for all time, and this is, indeed, the view taken by several later commentators. This is also the implication of the Midrash cited by Tosafot in Masechet Kiddushin (31b). The conventional understanding, however, is that Korah's sons remained in the underworld for a period of time and were ultimately rescued, whereupon they rejoined Beneh Yisrael. (This is perhaps evidenced by the fact that Korah's sons had descendants who sang in the Bet Ha'mikdash.) Regardless, the Lubavitcher Rebbe (Rav Menachem Mendel Schneersohn, 1902-1994) draws our attention to an important – but often overlooked – word in this passage in Rashi's commentary. Rashi did not say simply that Korah's sons participated in their father's uprising against Moshe. Rather, he writes that Korah's sons were part of this undertaking "Tehila" – right at the outset. They were among the initiators. They didn't just "go along" with the idea – they were the ones who conceived it! The Rebbe further notes Rashi's comment that during the revolt, "Hirharu Teshuba Be'libam" – Korah's sons had thoughts of repentance in their hearts. It seems clear from Rashi's formulation that Korah's sons did not repent entirely – they merely entertained thoughts of Teshuba. And yet, despite the fact that they were the instigators of this evil uprising, even their thoughts of Teshuba sufficed to save them from death. The Rebbe added that this shows us the great power of even incomplete repentance, and of even "Hirhureh Teshuba" – genuine thoughts and feelings of repentance. Even when a Jew does not change his behavior fully the way he should, but he merely thinks and reflects on how he needs to improve – these thoughts are precious and beloved by G-d. The Rebbe explained on this basis why, at one of the holiest moments of the year, as we prepare to sound the Shofar on Rosh Hashanah, we read the 47 th chapter of Tehillim, which was composed by Korah's sons – "La'menase'ah Li'bneh Korah Mizmor." Unlike Yom Kippur, Rosh Hashanah is not a time for confessing and begging G-d for forgiveness. However, during the sounding of the Shofar, we are to think "Hirhureh Teshuba," thoughts of repentance. This is a time to think seriously and somberly about our mistakes and shortcomings during the previous year, and how we wish to improve during the coming year. We therefore recite this chapter composed by Korah's sons – who devised a wicked plot to challenge Moshe Rabbenu, and yet were spared punishment because of their "Hihureh Teshuba." We are reminded of the great power of Teshuba thoughts, of the value of our genuine feelings of regret and desire to improve. Back in Parashat Korah, we read that when the ground opened to devour the leaders of the revolt and their families, the rest of the nation "Nasu Le'kolam" (16:34) – literally, "ran to their voices." This seems to mean that the people ran toward the opening in the ground where the rebels were screaming in horror, which would be very difficult to understand. Rashi avoids this problem by interpreting these words to mean that the people ran "on account of their voices," because of the shrieks that they heard. In light of what we have seen, however, there might be another understanding. After Korah's sons were saved, Beneh Yisrael ran to hear their voices, to hear them sing praise to Hashem, in order to receive inspiration from them. Korah's sons became a powerful source of motivation for all Beneh Yisrael – and for us – by showing the value of even incomplete Teshuba, how every step forward is significant and cherished by the Almighty. Indeed, Rav Moshe Wolfson (1925-2024) noted that the letters that spell the word "Le'kolam" (Lamed, Kof, Lamed, Mem) are the first letters of the words "La'menase'ah Li'bneh Korah Mizmor." Beneh Yisrael rushed to hear the beautiful praises sung by Korah's sons to be inspired and driven to work toward improvement, one small step at a time. The Rebbe cited in this context the Rambam's famous comment that "En Beneh Yisrael Nig'alin Ela Bi'Tshuba" – the redemption depends upon the Jewish People's repentance (Hilchot Teshuba 7:5). Many people wondered how this will happen. When we look at our nation today, how the majority of Jews are so distant from observance, and how even generally observant Jews face so many religious challenges which they frequently fail to withstand, how can we ever be deserving of redemption? Korah's sons provide us with the answer. They show us that even incomplete Teshuba is valuable, as long as it is sincere. Every genuine thought, feeling and action in the direction of Teshuba, every time a Jew reflects on his inadequacies and regrets his deficiencies, he has achieved something precious. Every small step toward repentance will, hopefully, lead to another, such that we can, indeed, become worthy of our final redemption, speedily and in our time, Amen.