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Parashat Ahareh-Mot begins with a description of the עבודת יום הכיפורים – the special service performed by the kohen gadol in the Bet Ha'mikdash every Yom Kippur. Whereas in our time, without a Bet Ha'mikdash , the Yom Kippur experience is centered in the shul, in the past it was focused on the Bet Ha''mikdash , where the kohen gadol would offer a special series of sacrifices that would bring atonement for the nation. Surprisingly, though, this series of korbanot (sacrifices) began with a sacrifice that the kohen gadol would offer on behalf of himself and his family, an animal which he was required to purchase with his own money. On this day when the entire nation depended on the kohen gadol , when he represented all Am Yisrael before G-d, and acted on their behalf, he needed to first do something private, to bring a korban for himself and his family. To understand why, let us talk for a moment about celebrities. Many celebrities, despite having more money than they know what to do with, have utterly dysfunctional lives. They get a lot of attention from millions of fans, but they do not have a happy family life. The reason is, very simply, that they are entirely focused on their public lives, without giving much time or thought to their private lives. The fame they enjoy is so intoxicating, and so consuming, that they don't put in the effort needed to build a happy, stable private life. On Yom Kippur, the kohen gadol was the nation's leading public figure. Nobody was more important than him. He was taking center stage. All eyes were on him. Therefore, the Torah commanded him to begin the special service of this day as a private individual, offering a personal korban for himself and his family. He was reminded that his public persona must not overshadow his private identity, that his personal life was no less important than his public life. Indeed, the Torah concludes this section by stating, ויעש כאשר ציווה ה' את משה – that Aharon, the first kohen gadol , faithfully complied with these laws regarding the Yom Kippur service (16:34). Rashi explains: להגיד שבחו של אהרן שלא היה לובשן לגדולתו אלא כמקיים גזירת המלך . To express the praise of Aharon—that he would not wear them for his own grandeur, but rather as one fulfilling the decree of the King. The Torah emphasized that Aharon performed this service with humility, for the sake of serving Hashem and discharging his duties, and not to draw attention to himself and feel distinguished. He kept the public nature of his role in check, and ensured it didn't go to his head and lead him to see himself as more important than everyone else. A famous Mishnah in Pirkeh Avot (4:21) warns of three things that "remove a person from the world" ( מוציאין את האדם מן העולם ), meaning, that can ruin his life. These include קנאה – jealousy – and כבוד – the pursuit of fame and prestige. When a person is too preoccupied with his public image, with the way other people perceive him, with his reputation, this can lead him to neglect his private life, his family, his friends, his self-fulfillment, and his relationship with Hashem. Too many people subject themselves to unnecessary financial stress because they feel the need to "keep up," to do what other people do, to avoid the "embarrassment" of lower material standards. Luxuries turn into necessities for one reason and one reason only – because the neighbors have them. People end up doing things they know are wrong, that they know are harmful, or that they know makes their lives worse, because they are so concerned about their public image, about how they are seen by other people. We need to remember that reputation means very little if we are not living the lives that we are happy with, that we feel comfortable with, that we know is right for us. Even the kohen gadol , at his most public moment, was warned not to neglect his private life – to teach him, and to teach all of us, that what matters most is not what the public thinks about us, but what we think about ourselves, what those closest to us think about us, and, of course, what Hashem thinks about us.

I cannot tell you how many people – youngsters and adults – have told me that they have stopped praying, or have even stopped being observant, because they prayed for something and did not get what they wanted. This is a challenge that everyone faces at some point – and often many times over the course of life – and it has, unfortunately, led many people to give up on tefillah or on mitzvot generally. But this challenge is based on a fundamentally mistaken approach to prayer. People believe that prayer is about getting what we want. When we have some kind of problem, or when there is something that we're lacking, we pray to Hashem so He will solve the problem or give us what we need. But this is not what tefillah is about. The Gemara tells us this explicitly. In a passage that I wish was more famous, the Gemara in Masechet Berachot (55a) teaches: כל המאריך בתפלתו ומעיין בה סוף בא לידי כאב לב – if a person prolongs his tefillah and he "looks into it," then he will suffer heartache. Rashi explains this to mean that if a person prays for a long time with the expectation that his lengthy prayers assure that his wishes will be granted, he is setting himself up for terrible disappointment, because there is never any guarantee that one's tefillot will be answered. The Gemara then makes an even more dramatic statement, listing עיון תפילה – praying with the expectation that one's requests will be granted – among the things that cause Hashem to be especially mindful of a person's sins, making it less likely that his wishes will be granted. Prayer is not about getting what we want, for a very simple reason – we don't really know what we want. We can easily imagine Queen Ester praying fervently day after day in Ahashverosh's palace that she should be sent back home to Mordechai. If Hashem had granted her request, the Jews would not have been saved. A person may pray fervently for a certain job, for a certain shidduch , for some outcome – but in reality that thing he prays for is not the best thing for him. Only Hashem knows what is best for us, and so we have no reason to expect Him to grant us everything we ask for. Prayer, then, is not about changing Hashem's mind – because we don't want Him to change His mind! After all, He knows what we need far better than we ever will. Rather, prayer is about changing us. The experience of prayer, of standing before Hashem with a feeling of humble submission and complete dependency, recognizing our unworthiness and how much we need Him, profoundly impacts us. And this process of growth which tefillah inspires is the reason why we pray. This might be the meaning of the Mishnah in the second chapter of Pirkeh Avot that we learn this week. Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel teaches: הוי זהיר בקריאת שמע ובתפילה, וכשאתה מתפלל, אל תעש תפילתך קבע אלא רחמים ותחנונים לפני המקום ברוך הוא. Be meticulous in the recitation of Shema and prayer; and when you pray, do not make your prayer a fixed, routine obligation, but rather [let it be] mercy and supplication before the Almighty. Rabbi Shimon here perhaps addresses the problem we described – of people losing interest in prayer because their requests have not been granted. He urges us to continue praying every day, regardless of our past disappointments – and to pray not mechanically, by rote, just to discharge our obligation, but with feeling and emotion, because this is precisely the function of tefillah , to arouse our feelings of humility, of submission, of dependency, of faith, and of connection to Hashem. The Mishnah concludes, ואל תהי רשע בפני עצמך – one should not see himself as evil. At first glance, this instruction has nothing to do with the rest of the Mishnah. The explanation might be that if a person prays and does not see the results he wished for, he should not conclude that he is sinful, that Hashem does not care about him, or that Hashem think he's evil and undeserving. This is not true at all. Hashem has very valid reasons for doing what He does, for deciding to grant our wishes or to not grant our wishes. It is not that we are unworthy of His kindness – it's that His kindness is not always manifest the way we expect it to, or the way we think we want it to. Prayer is referred to as עבודה – "work," because it's exactly that – work. It's about working on ourselves, working on our relationship with Hashem. Prayer is not a vending machine, where we say words and then get what we want. It's about investing effort to grow, to draw closer to Hashem, and to reinforce our belief that He – and only He – knows what is best for us.

The second Mishna in Pirkeh Avot contains one of the most famous teachings in Pirkeh Avot : על שלשה דברים העולם עומד, על התורה ועל העבודה ועל גמילות חסדים . The world stands on three things – on Torah, on service [of Hashem], and on acts of kindness. This Mishnah establishes that the three "pillars," so-to-speak, of the world are Torah learning, serving Hashem through sacrifices and prayer, and kindness toward other people. However, a later Mishnah in this chapter (18) seems to contradict this statement: על שלשה דברים העולם קיים, על הדין ועל האמת ועל השלום . The world exists through three things – judgment, truth, and peace. This later Mishna lists three other things as the "pillars" that uphold the world. Apparently, there is a difference between the three things upon which the world "stands" ( עומד ) and the three things through which the world "exists" ( קיים ). Rabbeinu Yonah explains that the first Mishna is teaching us the purpose of the world, why we are here. The three pursuits that define our purpose as Jews is תורה , עבודה and גמילות חסדים – serious engagement in Torah study, focused service of Hashem, and looking out for other people with kindness, generosity and sensitivity. The later Mishna, on the other hand, is telling us the three things that the world needs to continue existing, that without which, society would become chaotic and life would be impossible. If there is no justice system, and if people are dishonest and are unable to live with each other peacefully, then the world cannot achieve its purpose. But these three do not define the purpose – they are rather the features that the world needs for the purpose to be realized. Rabbenu Yonah here is teaching us of the crucial need to differentiate between the essence of Jewish life, and the secondary features of Jewish life – a lesson which, I feel, is exceedingly relevant in our time. We need to be very careful not to confuse the "frills" with the core-essence; to distinguish between the "steak" and the "sizzle." There are many beautiful practices which have become common features of religious life today, but which must not be mistaken for the essence of religious life. Many people frequently travel to Israel to receive blessings from great Rabbis, and to pray at graves of tzadikim . Many people belong to Tehillim chat groups. Many people receive and watch two-minute inspiration videos. Many people give money to the Rabbi Meir Ba'al Ha'ness charity and recite a special prayer when they can't find something. I am not at all opposed to any of these; to the contrary, I fully support them and I think they are wonderful. But we need to avoid the mistake of thinking that this is what Torah life is about. Torah life is about תורה , עבודה and גמילות חסדים . תורה – spending significant amounts of time immersed in Torah study, challenging ourselves to understand difficult and intricate texts and to enhance our knowledge and understanding of Torah. עבודה – ensuring to recite all the prayers at the right time and in the right way, with concentration and emotion. גמילות חסדים – working on ourselves to be more sensitive, more generous, more compassionate, more forgiving, more respectful and more patient. Often, when people face some kind of problem – such as a health issue, or a challenge with parnasah (livelihood) – their immediate reaction is to receive a blessing for a Rabbi, say some Tehillim, and give some money to charity. And these are all wonderful things to do. However, this should not be the primary response. The primary response is to do something that is both important and difficult , something that is challenging and which makes a significant difference. Spending time engrossed in high-level Torah study. Making a real effort to recite the entire shemonah esreh with concentration three times every day. Being kind and gracious to people whom we do not feel naturally inclined to be kind and gracious to. Deciding to avoid lashon ha'ra and to instead speak positively about other people. Not getting angry even when somebody does or says something that upsets us. Joining Tehillim groups, watching two-minute inspiration videos, and visiting graves are all wonderful – but these are the "sizzle," not the "steak." The "sizzle" is important – we need the excitement and "hype" that these bring to religious life – but they must not be mistaken for religious life itself. Religious life is about working hard to learn Torah, working hard to sincerely serve Hashem, and working hard to be kind to other people. Let's try to stay focused on what really matters, and make a real effort to excel in the areas that Hashem wants us to excel in.

As we begin telling the story of Yetziat Mitzrayim at the seder , we say: מתחילה עובדי עבודה זרה היו אבותינו, ועתה קרבנו המקום לעבודתו – "Originally, our forefathers were idol-worshippers, but now, the Almighty has drawn us close to His service." In this passage, we reflect upon our nation's humble beginnings, the fact that we descend from people who worshipped idols, and we express our deep gratitude that we now have the great privilege of serving the one, true G-d. However, one of the commentators offered a deeper insight into this passage in the Haggadah . The Haggadah is teaching us that if a person lives his life in a manner of מתחילה , always looking back, then this is a form of עבודה זרה , of foreign worship. So many people fail to grow religiously because they are beset by guilt and shame over things that happened in the past. They can't get over the feeling that their mistakes five, ten, twenty or even thirty years ago define them forever. They can't let go of their regret and embarrassment. Conversely, there are people who feel so proud over great things they did long ago, so they fall into complacency. They decide that their work is done, that they are now exempt, that they no longer need to put in effort, to work hard, to achieve, or to grow in Torah, because they accomplished so much many years ago. These two attitudes are a form of עבודה זרה . This mindset, defining ourselves based on the past, is very foreign to Torah. The Torah teaches us that וע כשיו – an attitude of "now," focusing on the present, and the opportunities that are given to us right now, קרבנו המקום לעבודתו – is what brings us close to Hashem. The way we draw close to Hashem is by staying focused on the present, on the potential we have to achieve right now. We should never feel stuck in the past. What happened ten years ago, or even yesterday, does not mean that I cannot be great today, or that I don't have to be great today. This is one of the reasons why we make a point of recalling our less-than-impressive origins at the seder – to impress upon us this mindset of ועכשיו , that what matters most is not what we did in the past, but how we are choosing to live in the present. Just as Hashem brought our ancestors out of slavery to Pharaoh so they could be His servants, He is likewise prepared to take us out of our "slavery," whatever we feel is holding us back, and help us serve Him better. We aren't stuck and we aren't trapped. We just have to make the decision to be a "today" person, to focus our attention on who we can be today, irrespective of the past.

The Gemara in Masechet Megillah (6b) discusses the situation of a Jewish leap year, when there are two months of Adar. According to the accepted opinion, in such a year, the holiday of Purim is celebrated during the second Adar. The Gemara explains: מסמך גאולה לגאולה עדיף – we want to juxtapose the "redemption" of Purim with the "redemption" of Pesach. Apparently, there is some connection between the celebration of Purim and the celebration of Pesach. Perhaps we can explain this connection based on a story told elsewhere in the Gemara (Gittin 56) about one of the worst enemies of the Jewish People – the wicked Roman general Titus, who destroyed the second Bet Ha'mikdash . The Gemara relates that sometime after he destroyed the Bet Ha'mikdash , Titus arrived at a certain place and a tiny gnat flew into his nostril, and lodged itself in his brain. It started pecking inside Titus' head, causing him unbearable pain. He was able to temporarily relieve himself of this pain by having a blacksmith bang with his anvil, as the noise disrupted the gnat, making it stop pecking. Soon thereafter, however, the gnat grew accustomed to this noise, and resumed its pecking. For seven years, Titus suffered from the incessant pecking, until he finally died. The Gemara concludes that Titus' head was opened after his passing, and it was discovered that the gnat was the size of a very large bird. This story might seem strange and esoteric – but when we probe a bit deeper, we find that it describes something that each and every one of us suffers from. A little "gnat" enters our brain, and it grows – making us so uncomfortable that we can't function. That "gnat" can be a family member who doesn't treat us the way we think he should. A competitor who is taking away customers. Something our spouse does or doesn't do that drives us crazy. At any time, we have at least one "little bug" in our brain, someone or something that we allow to live there rent-free. Even worse, we allow this "bug" to grow, and to grow, and to grow some more. We turn this annoyance into a far more serious problem than it really is. And, like the overgrown gnat inside Titus' head, it "pecks" and knocks at our brains, preventing us from thinking straight, not to mention from experiencing happiness and contentment. We turn this small problem into a huge problem, one which allows us no rest. There is perhaps no clearer example of this phenomenon than Haman. Haman had all the fame and wealth that anybody could ever dream of. And yet, he turned to his family and said, וכל זה איננו שווה לי – none of his fame and wealth was worth it. None of it made him happy. Why? Because of Mordechai. Because of that one Jewish guy who refused to bow. Mordechai's refusal to bow was a tiny, insignificant "gnat," an annoyance that, rationally, should pale in comparison with all the prestige that Haman enjoyed. But he invited Mordechai to live rent-free in his brain, and he allowed this "bug" to grow and grow. So much so, that Haman could not enjoy anything in his life. He was consumed by resentment toward this one guy. Maybe this explains the connection between Purim and Pesach. Pesach is the holiday of freedom, when we are to focus on the process of extricating ourselves from that which enslaves us. In our time, the most common form of "slavery" is the slavery of obsession, the "bugs" that we allow to take over our brains and control our lives. We enjoy countless blessings that people just a century ago longed for. And yet, so many people today cannot experience happiness, they lack the freedom to feel content and fulfilled, because of the "tyrant" inside their brains, because they are subjugated to some person or some annoyance. As we prepare for Pesach, let us all strive to free ourselves from the "bugs" in our brain. Let us stop allowing the insignificant annoyances to control us. Let us give ourselves the gift of freedom by refusing to turn small problems into big problems, by appreciating and enjoying all the wonderful blessings in our lives without letting them get ruined by the little things that come up along the way.

Parashat Vayakhel begins with Moshe assembling Beneh Yisrael and conveying to them Hashem's commands regarding the construction of the Mishkan . Rashi makes a comment that might, at first glance, seem trivial – but, when we think about, is nothing short of astounding. He writes that this gathering took place the day after Yom Kippur. Rashi here isn't just giving us the timing of this assembly. He is showing us something remarkable about Moshe Rabbenu. To understand the message, we need to understand the events leading up to this day. On the 6 th of Sivan – Shavuot – Moshe went up Mount Sinai to receive the Torah. When he came down forty days later, he saw the people worshipping the golden calf. He spent the next forty days pleading with Hashem to forgive them. He then went up the mountain again on the first day of Elul to receive the second set of luhot (tablets). He spent yet another forty days on top of the mountain, coming back down for the last time on Yom Kippur. This means Moshe had spent 120 nearly consecutive days – four months! – on top of Mount Sinai with Hashem. Now he has returned, having completed that mission. And the very next day, he gets to work. He doesn't go on vacation. He doesn't take a break. He doesn't relax. He doesn't allow himself any "down time." He gets right to work, instructing the people to donate materials and to build the Mishkan . Moshe's energy and zeal had a significant impact on the people. The Torah says that after he told them Hashem's commands, ויצאו כל עדת בני ישראל מלפני משה – the people "left from Moshe's presence" (35:20). The commentaries explain this to mean that they left inspired by Moshe. They were moved by his example of commitment and hard work, of proactive and devoted effort. And they, like him, got straight to work. They right away brought all that was needed for the Mishkan – to the point where, just a couple of days later, Moshe had to tell them to stop donating. But there's also something else remarkable about this story. The people in charge of building the Mishkan worked so diligently that the project was completed on Hannukah. However, it was only months later – the beginning of the month of Nissan – when Hashem told them to start using it and offer sacrifices there. Everything was ready – but Hashem decided when it would be used. This is how we are to approach life: we need to get to work, diligently, without delay, without wasting our time – but with the understanding that the outcome depends solely on Hashem. Our job is to do the work, to put in the effort, to try our hardest. But Hashem decides what the final result will look like, how, when and where things fall into place. Life is so often overwhelming, at times even scary. We have a lot on our plate. We don't know where to start. Sometimes, we're not even sure what to do. In these situations, we need to just get to work and leave the rest to Hashem. We need to avoid escaping to our screens, procrastinating, pushing things off, overthinking, worrying, fretting, and hoping. Instead, we need to act, to get going, to do the best we can – and trust that Hashem will take care of all the rest.

How could they do such a thing??? This is the question that jumps out at us as we read the story of חטא העגל , the sin of the golden calf, in this week's parashah . Just weeks after beholding Hashem's revelation, declaring נעשה ונשמע ("We will do and we will listen!") and receiving the Torah, how could Beneh Yisrael bow to an idol? The Gemara in Masechet Shabbat (89) answers this question for us. It tells that Beneh Yisrael knew that Moshe was supposed to spend forty days atop Mount Sinai receiving the Torah from Hashem, but they miscalculated. They thought the thirty-ninth day was the fortieth day. When afternoon came and he had yet to return, they got nervous. Then the Satan stepped in and עירבב את העולם – "confounded the world," making the world dark and seem chaotic. The Satan also showed the people an image of Moshe lying dead in a coffin. Benei Yisrael thus lost their bearings and their composure. And once people get flustered and frantic, they're prone to act irrationally and to do things they know are very wrong. If we are honest with ourselves, we will notice how true this is in our lives. So many of the mistakes we make are made when we get flustered. When we're tired, when we're not feeling well, when we're disappointed, when we're anxious, when we're aggravated – it is often in these situations when we make bad decisions, and when we say things that we know we shouldn't say. This usually happens when we become "confounded," when the world becomes dark, when life seems "chaotic," when things happen that make us tense and flustered. One of the clearest examples of this phenomenon is Kayin. He took the initiative to offer a sacrifice, but it was rejected, whereas the sacrifice offered by his brother, Hevel, was accepted. Kayin was jealous and disappointed. The Midrash says that Kayin decided that "there is no judgment and no judge," that the world is just chaotic, that everything is bad, and in his rage, he killed his brother. This is something we need to know about ourselves. When we're tired, when we're hungry, when we're under pressure – we are far more likely to get angry, to lash out, to make irresponsible decisions, to do things that we will later regret. To avoid this, we need, first and foremost, to take good care of ourselves. We need to eat properly and get enough sleep. We need to be careful not to take on on more than we can handle. And we need to try to build into our schedules activities that keep us relaxed, happy, and in good spirits so we don't end up upset, tense or aggravated. But additionally, we need to make the firm decision to try not to lose our composure, to always stay calm, cool and collected. The Megillah says, ומרדכי לא יכרע ולא ישתחווה – Mordechai neither kneeled nor bowed to Haman. He didn't budge. He was so confident, so firm in his stance, that Haman's presence had no impact on him whatsoever. Mordechai remained steadfast and resolute. This is how we should aspire to live – with faith, with confidence, with resolve, and with composure. We should be the kind of people who never "kneel," who never get rattled when things get chaotic, who have the strength and self-assurance to keep calm and level-headed under all circumstances. The Satan has many tricks up its sleeve, lots of different ways to make our world seem dark and dreary so that we lose our composure. We can't let the Satan win. We need to resolve to remain strong and confident so we always act rationally, even when things get hectic and tense.

The Gemara poses the question of where in the Torah we find an allusion to Haman. It then proceeds to give a surprising answer – citing a pasuk from the story of Adam and Havah's sin in Gan Eden . Hashem said to Adam after the sin, המן העץ אשר ציויתיך לבלתי אכל ממנו אכלת – "Did you eat from the tree which I commanded you not to eat from?" (Bereshit 3:11). The word המן (" Ha'min ") is spelled the same as "Haman," and thus it is here where the Torah makes a subtle reference to the villain of the Purim story. This seems very peculiar. What connection is there between the story of Adam in Gan Eden and the story of Purim? I once saw a very powerful answer. The snake succeeded in luring Adam and Havah to sin by drawing their attention toward the one tree that was off-limits. They had a perfect life in Gan Eden – except that there was this one tree which they could not enjoy. Adam and Havah focused on this one thing that was missing, that wasn't exactly right, and this is how they were led to sin. The same happened to the Jews during Haman's time. The Gemara says that one of the reasons why Hashem brought Haman's decree is that the Jews participated in Ahashverosh's party. The Jews of Persia lived very comfortably. They had plenty of food and plenty of wine. But they couldn't stay away from Ahashverosh's feast. Instead of focusing on all that they had, and all that was good in their lives, they were lured by what was off-limits, by what they should not have been getting involved with. This is a mistake so many of us make. We complain about what's wrong in our lives, rather than seeing just how wonderful our lives are. People complain about their spouse – forgetting that marriage is a wonderful blessing. People complain about their children – forgetting that having children is a wonderful blessing. People complain about their job – forgetting that having work is a wonderful blessing. People complain about having so many weddings and other events to attend – forgetting that having lots of friends who are making semahot is a wonderful blessing. According to one view, the forbidden tree in Gan Eden was a grape vine, and the "fruit" of which Adam and Havah partook was actually wine. Wine clouds a person's judgment, and so it skewed their perspective. Every Shabbat, we correct the sin of Adam and Havah through the mitzvah of kiddush – by using wine for the exact opposite purpose. On Shabbat, we drink wine to feel content, to feel happy, to feel gratified about our lives. We rectify Adam and Havah's mistake by focusing on all that is good in our lives, on everything we have, and feeling grateful for it. The Megillah tells that it was on the seventh day of Ahashverosh's feast when he ordered Vashti to come, and she disobeyed. The pasuk says, ביום השביעי כטוב לב המלך ביין – "On the seventh day, when the king's heart was happy with wine." The Gemara interprets this pasuk to mean that this was Shabbat – the seventh day of the week – and the "king" refers to Hashem, the King of the world. On Shabbat, Hashem saw the Jews making kiddush , and in this merit, He put into place the sequence of events that would lead to Ester's rise to the throne and the foiling of Haman's plot. The mitzvah of kiddush , which is all about feeling content and happy with what one has, marked the rectification of the Jews' participation in Ahashverosh's feast. We need to stop listening to the "snake" that tries to draw our attention to the "forbidden tree," to what we're missing, to what's not right, to the "problems" in our lives. We need to instead remember that our lives are beautiful. Our lives are wonderful. No, our lives aren't perfect, but they're not meant to be. When we focus on our blessings, on all that is right about our lives, we will be so much happier, we will complain so much less, and life will be so much more enjoyable and fulfilling.

Parashat Terumah begins with Hashem commanding that donations should be collected for the construction of the Mishkan . He tells Moshe, מאת כל איש אשר ידבנו לבו תקחו את תרומתי – the donations should be taken "from every person whose heart stirs him." Hashem wanted the donations to be received only from specific kinds of people – from those אשר ידבנו לבו , who were driven to donate by sincere motivations. Many centuries later, when the Bet Ha'mikdash was to be built, we find a similar emphasis on pristine sincerity. The pasuk (Divrei Hayamim I 22:8) says that Hashem did not allow David Ha'melech to build the Bet Ha'mikdash because he fought many wars, during which he killed many people. The Mikdash was built by his son, Shlomo, during whose reign there was peace, and who thus never fought any wars. The Malbim offers a fascinating explanation for why David's fighting wars disqualified him from building the Bet Ha'mikdash . He writes that David knew that the Bet Ha'mikdash could be built only in a time of peace, when no more wars would be fought. Therefore, if he would have built the Bet Ha'mikdash , he might have been motivated to do so by a desire to once and for all end the wars. He might have thought that the presence of the Bet Ha'mikdash would itself bring an end to the wars – and this would be part of the reason why he would want to build it. When Shlomo built the Bet Ha'mikdash , he had no agenda. His intentions were purely לשם שמיים , for Hashem's sake. If David would have built it, his motives would not have been entirely agenda-free. There would have been a tinge of self-interest involved. Whenever we embark on any significant project, the most important thing we need to help us succeed, to help us overcome the challenges that will invariably stand in our way, is לשם שמיים – sincerity, pure motivations, a genuine drive to do something valuable and meaningful for Hashem. So many people underperform and underachieve. All the accumulated baggage of the past – all their disappointments, failures and painful experiences – discourage them and hold them back. This baggage is deflating, so people don't proceed with the energy, determination, passion and conviction that they need to succeed. The key to solving this problem – which plagues so many people, and which prevents so many people from building and achieving – is לשם שמיים . A person starting a business should think about all the good he could do with a successful business – how he can help people, provide jobs, make a קידוש ה' through his interaction with different kinds of people, support his family, give tzedakah , and donate to religious institutions. A person who is looking for a marriage partner should be driven by a genuine desire to build a beautiful Torah home, a home of hesed , a home where children will be raised according to our Torah values. This is true of any ambitious project that a person wishes to start. The emotional fuel he needs to succeed is לשם שמיים – a passionate desire to do what Hashem brought him into the world to do, to accomplish what Hashem brought him into the world to accomplish, to contribute what Hashem brought him into the world to contribute. If we bring this feeling with us, then we become unstoppable, and no amount of baggage can hold us back from succeeding.

Parashat Mishpatim begins with the law of the עבד עברי . This refers to someone who, due to financial straits, resorted to theft, and was caught, but could not repay his victim. In order to obtain the money he needed, he would sell himself as a servant. After six years, his master was required to release him. If, however, the servant preferred staying with his master, he was allowed to do so, but only after the master pierced his ear as a sign of his servitude. Rashi explains that the servant's ear would be pierced as a punishment. His ear heard Hashem proclaim at Mount Sinai, עבדי הם – that the Jewish People are Hashem's servants, and not the servants of their fellow human beings. This servant was now betraying this pronouncement, and so his ear would be pierced. Many Rabbis addressed the question of why the servant's ear would be pierced only at that point, when he chose to remain with his master, and not right when he was caught stealing. After all, at Mount Sinai we heard the command of לא תגנוב , that it is forbidden to steal, and he violated this command. Why, then, was the ear pierced for transgressing עבדי הם but not for transgressing לא תגנוב ? The answer is that ear doesn't represent simply obedience and compliance. It symbolizes something deeper – the "listening" to understand and internalize what was being said. The עבד עברי understood that it is forbidden to steal. He stole out of desperation, not because he thought it was moral. But when he chose to remain in his master's service, he showed a lack of understanding of what עבדי הם means. The servant decided to remain with his master because he looked to his master as the one responsible for his rehabilitation, for his recovery, for his getting back on his feet – thus losing sight of Hashem. Of course, he owed a debt of gratitude to his master who took him in, treated him well, and helped him regain his footing. But he made the mistake of feeling dependent entirely on the master, feeling that he needed to continue this arrangement and couldn't live without it. He forgot that עבדי הם , that even the master was just a human, a servant of Hashem, that Hashem controls everything, that we are dependent on Him and on nobody else. This is a mistake that we must ensure to avoid. We must not become fully dependent on any human being, to the point where we feel we cannot manage without that person. Not on an employer, not on a client, not on a customer, not on a friend, and not even on a Rabbi. Perhaps most of all, we must not feel fully dependent on any political figure. Every human being is just a human being, and thus is, by definition, limited and flawed. Only Hashem is perfect, and only Hashem has complete power and control. And just as we cannot place our trust in any other human being, neither can we feel fully confident in ourselves and our own abilities. Toward the end of our parashah , we read of our ancestors' famous proclamation at Mount Sinai, נעשה ונשמע – "We will do and we will hear." This might mean that they committed to hearing the "sound" that goes forth from Mount Sinai to this very day. The Torah (Devarim 5:18) says about the sound of Matan Torah , קול גדול ולא יסף – it was a great sound that never ended. Rashi explains that since the day the Torah was given, Hashem is calling to us from Mount Sinai, as it were, continuing to command us to observe the Torah. נעשה ונשמע might be understood to mean that even when נעשה , when we are acting and doing, as we go about our affairs, נשמע – we will continue to hear the sound of Sinai, we will be aware of the message of Matan Torah , that everything depends on Hashem and not on our own efforts. The עבד עברי failed to hear this sound, and so he pinned all his hopes for his future and his success on his master. We must ensure never to make this mistake, to always hear this sound, and never place too must trust in any human being, including ourselves.

Parashat Yitro begins by telling us that Yitro, Moshe's father-in-law, came to join Beneh Yisrael at Mount Sinai. Yitro converted and became a full-fledged Jew. Rashi makes a famous comment explaining what drove Yitro to make this decision to join Beneh Yisrael . He writes that Yitro heard about two events – keri'at Yam Suf (the splitting of the sea) and the war against Amalek. What is it about these particular events that inspired Yitro? After the miracle of the sea, the people sang the שירת הים , the song of praise to Hashem that we include in our morning prayers each day. This song includes a description of how the entire world heard about the miracle and was overcome by fear of Beneh Yisrael . שמעו עמים ירגזון – all the nations heard and were frightened. Yitro was struck by the fact that just several weeks later, Amalek came along and launched an attack on Beneh Yisrael , the nation that they were terrified of. Amalek's attack showed Yitro how quickly people can change, how people can be so inspired and motivated to do the right thing, and then just a few weeks later do just the opposite. This led Yitro to decide to join Beneh Yisrael so he would be together with good people whose influence would keep him on the right path. The Gemara in Masechet Zevahim brings a second opinion as to what led Yitro to join Beneh Yisrael . This opinion says that Yitro came to Mount Sinai after Matan Torah , as it was this event – Hashem giving Beneh Yisrael the Torah – that inspired him. According to this opinion, Yitro was struck by the opposite phenomenon – by how people can grow so quickly. When Beneh Yisrael were slaves in Egypt, they had fallen to the lowest spiritual depths. And then, just seven weeks later, they were at the level where they could behold Hashem's revelation and receive the Torah. Yitro wanted to be part of a people that could undergo this kind of process of spiritual growth. Both opinions are rooted in reality – people have the capacity to change quickly and drastically, in both directions. Never has this been as true as in today's day and age. Technology exposes people to the worst and the best that humanity has to offer. A person can be pulled down to the lowest depths by what he sees, reads and watches online. But he can also grow. I have heard many stories of people who became religiously observant after being inspired by Torah material accessed online. This reality accounts for the diversity that we see in our community, even within families. So many families today have members on drastically different levels of observance. This is because today, more than ever, it is so easy to change in every which direction. In one of the most famous passages in Rashi's commentary to the Humash, he observes that the Torah in our parashah speaks of Beneh Yisrael encamping at Mount Sinai in the singular form – ויחן שם ישראל (19:2). Instead of saying, "They encamped" ( ויחנו ), the Torah says, ויחן , as though speaking of one person. Rashi explains that the people came to Mount Sinai כאיש בלב אחד – "as one person, with one heart." In order to receive the Torah, they needed to be unified and together. The diversity in our community challenges us to find unity despite our differences. Nobody should feel the need to change who he is or how he lives for the sake of family members or other people in the community who are very different from him. At the same time, however, we must find a way to make it work, a way to be together כאיש אחד בלב אחד , to care for, love and respect others even though they are drastically different than us. Each of us is on a journey, and no two people's journeys are identical. When we realize this, we will find it easier to relate to and connect with people who are different – because we will see that we really aren't that different, as we're all on a journey of discovering who we want to be and determining how we want to live. Let us each commit firmly to adhere to our beliefs, values and principles, without compromising at all, while committing also to love and respect those who are different, so we become a strong, unified nation that is worthy of the Torah and of Hashem's ongoing presence.

Two of the fundamental tenets of Judaism are known by the terms emunah (faith, or belief) and bitahon (trust). Much has been written about the precise meanings of these two words, and the difference between them. For our purposes, it suffices to say that the story we read in the Torah over the last two weeks – the story of the ten plagues and Yetziat Mitzrayim – establishes the tenet of emunah , and the story told in this week's parashah – the splitting of the sea – establishes the tenet of bitahon . The miraculous plagues in Egypt showed Hashem's exclusive and unlimited control over the universe. It demonstrated that He governs the world without any constraints, without any other force being able to stop Him, and that He is constantly involved. This is emunah – the core belief in Hashem as the Creator who exerts unlimited control over the earth. At the sea, Beneh Yisrael were taught about bitahon – living with the trust that Hashem can solve problems that appear to have no solution. Emunah is the theoretical belief in Hashem's power, and bitahon is the practical application of that belief, remaining calm and composed during difficult situations, trusting that Hashem is handling it for us. Let us take a closer look at what happened at the shores of the Yam Suf to learn what living with bitahon means. When Beneh Yisrael saw the Egyptians chasing after them, and they realized that they were trapped against the sea, ויצעקו בני ישראל אל ה' – they cried out to Hashem (14:10). Rashi comments that this was the proper response, that Benei Yisrael were following the example of the avot (patriarchs), who likewise cried to Hashem during times of crisis. But then Moshe Rabbenu turned to them and said, ה' ילחם לכם ואתם תחרישון – that they should remain silent while Hashem handles this for them (14:14). After that, Hashem told Moshe to tell the people ויסעו – to move forward into the sea (14:15). This is the prescription for us during times of hardship. First, ויצעקו – we should cry out. It is ok to feel upset, to feel anxious, to feel frustrated, to feel pained. We are supposed to feel these emotions, and not to try to suppress them. And it's ok to cry – certainly to Hashem, but also to those whom we feel comfortable sharing our feelings with, or with a therapist if need be. At a certain point, however, תחרישון – we have to stop crying out, recognizing that ה' ילחם לכם – Hashem is handling this crisis for us, that we are in His hands. We need to stay calm and place our trust in Hashem. And then, most importantly, ויסעו – we need to move forward. No matter what we're dealing with, we can't just give up, wallowing in our bitterness and resentment. We need to go forward and do the best we can under the circumstances Hashem put us in. Three days after Beneh Yisrael crossed the sea, they arrived in a place where they found a water source, but they could not drink the water כי מרים הם – "because they were bitter," and so they called the place מרה – "bitter" (15:23). The Rebbe of Kotzk suggested a fascinating reading of this pasuk . He explained that it wasn't the waters that were bitter, but rather the people. When people are "bitter," when they are angry and resentful, they can never quench their thirst, they can never find satisfaction, because everything they "taste" is bitter. We are all going to experience things that make us upset and get us down. But bitterness never helped anyone. The only way we help ourselves when things happen is ויסעו – by moving forward with the faith that Hashem is handling the problem. We have to move on, doing the best we can, and trust that Hashem will do the rest.

We read in Parashat Bo of how Hashem told Moshe and Aharon the detailed laws of the korban pesach (Pesach sacrifice) which they were to teach Beneh Yisrael in preparation for Yetziat Mitzrayim . The people were to prepare a sheep for the sacrifice already several days before, and then sacrifice it on the 14th of Nissan, the afternoon before Hashem brought the plague of the firstborn which led to the people's departure from Egypt. The Torah concludes this section by saying: וילכו ויעשו בני ישראל כאשר ציווה ה' את משה ואהרון כן עשו – " Beneh Yisrael went ahead and did as G-d commanded Moshe and Aharon; so they did" (12:28). Rashi points out that the last two words of this pasuk – כן עשו ("so they did") – seem unnecessary. After telling us that the people did as they instructed, why did the Torah then repeat, "so they did"? Rashi writes that this refers to Moshe and Aharon. They, too, fulfilled Hashem's commands and prepared the sheep for the korban pesach . We must wonder, does this really answer the question? Would any of us have thought that Moshe and Aharon, who received these instructions from Hashem and conveyed them to the people, would not have obeyed them? Did this need to be said? The Brisker Rav explained that often, people who are involved in things excuse themselves from other things. When a person runs an organization or project, he thinks that this is enough to discharge his duties, and he does not have to do the "little things" that everyone else has to do. People involved in fundraising for a yeshiva, for example, might feel exempt from learning Torah, since they are doing very important work helping other people learn Torah. People who donate money to a synagogue, or who volunteer on one of the shul's committees, might feel that they don't have to actually show up to the tefillot on a regular basis, since they are making sure that other people can come to pray. This is why the Torah needed to emphasize כן עשו – that Moshe and Aharon prepared their own sheep for the korban pesach . They didn't exempt themselves, figuring that since they were responsible for getting the people to perform the mitzvah they did not need to perform it themselves. They understood that just like everyone else needed to prepare a sacrifice, so did they. Many adults find it difficult to feel inspired, to feel religiously motivated. When they were young, especially if they learned in yeshiva or seminary, it was relatively easy to get fired up, to be excited about Torah and to want to connect to Hashem. But when people get older and have families that they need to take care of and support, this becomes much more difficult. But we can't make excuses. We need to do the best we can at all stages of life. Even when we're doing very important things, such as raising a family and getting involved in all kinds of programs and projects, we can't forget about our own religious growth. Even when we're busy with other people, we have to be busy also with ourselves. Moshe and Aharon weren't too important to prepare their own korban pesach . None of us are too important to worry about our own mitzvah obligations and our relationship with Hashem.

Three times every weekday, we recite in the Amidah prayer the berachah of ראה נא בענינו . We begin by asking Hashem to "see our torment," and to "wage our battles" ( וריבה ריבנו ). We then conclude, מהר לגאלנו גאולה שלמה – to quickly bring us our final redemption. At first glance, it seems that this berachah is a prayer for our final redemption. This is also the implication of the Gemara (Megilah 17b), which explains that this is the seventh berachah of the Amidah prayer because the redemption will arrive with the onset of the seventh millennium after creation. Interestingly, however, Rashi understood this berachah differently. Commenting to this Gemara, Rashi writes that this berachah is actually a prayer to Hashem to "redeem" us from our day-to-day problems, from the hardships and challenges that we face in our lives. Rashi proves this approach by noting that there are other blessings in the Amidah in which we pray for the final redemption, and so this berachah cannot be a prayer for the final redemption. The question becomes how to reconcile Rashi's comments with the simple reading of the Gemara, which indicates that this berachah prays for the final redemption. And, the text of this berachah states explicitly מהר לגאלנו גאולה שלמה – praying for the ultimate redemption, and not just for the resolution of our day-to-day problems. To answer this question, let's go back to a well-known piece of trivia about New York City. The island of Manhattan, as we were all taught, was purchased from the Indians in 1626 for $24. Today, Manhattan is worth countless trillions of dollars. How did that happen? How did this land go in 400 years from being worth $24 to being worth many trillions? The answer is, very simply, one brick at a time. One piece of pavement at a time. One sidewalk at a time. One window at a time. One subway car at a time. Every small act of construction contributed to the city's growth. Day by day, hour by hour, one little bit of effort after another – this is how a $24 piece of land becomes worth trillions upon trillions of dollars. The same is true of redemption. We pray and yearn for the final redemption, but each small "redemption" that we experience brings us closer to that day. There is no contradiction at all between the Gemara's indication that ראה נא בענינו speaks of our final redemption, and Rashi's understanding that it refers to the solving of our everyday problems. These are one and the same. Redemption happens on a small scale every single day, with every problem we solve, every obstacle we overcome, every bit of success we achieve. Eventually, all these will combine to form the ultimate redemption for which we pray and yearn. Which brings us to our parashah , which tells about the unfolding of Yetziat Mitzrayim , the Exodus from Egypt. The Zohar teaches that the redemption from Egypt was not a one-time event. It was the beginning of a process of redemption – a process that is still continuing, even today. The process will be completed only at the time of our final redemption. We might say that Yetziat Mitzrayim was the $24 purchase, and ever since then, we've been building, one "brick" at a time, working towards our final redemption, when the world will reach its state of perfection. This is a very empowering message. It reminds us that every small accomplishment is significant, and contributes toward the world's ultimate redemption. We can either sit around and complain about all the problems in the world, or we can go ahead and make things better. And the way we make things better is by doing good things – one act at a time. Every tefillah . Every mitzvah . Every kind word. Every compliment and word of encouragement. Every favor we do for someone. Everything we do for one of our children or grandchildren. Everyone we positively influence is some way. A guy who laid a few bricks for a building in Manhattan 200 years ago might not have realized he was doing something significant – but he was part of the process of transforming a $24 piece of land into a multi-trillion-dollar piece of land. This is how we need to look at our mitzvot . Every small act is vitally important and extremely valuable. Let's stay focused and stay determined to use our time and our capabilities to build our redemption – one good deed at a time.

In Parashat Shemot, Hashem speaks to Moshe for the very first time. As we know, Moshe's initial prophecy takes place at a unique site – in a burning bush in the desert. Moshe saw that a bush was on fire, but it wasn't being consumed. And it was from there that Hashem spoke to him. His first words to Moshe were, "Take off your shoes." Hashem informed Moshe that the place where he was standing was אדמת קודש , sacred ground, and so he needed to remove his shoes. He then proceeded to command Moshe to return to Egypt and lead Beneh Yisrael out of bondage. What is this all about? What is the meaning of the burning bush? And why was it important for Moshe to remove his shoes to show deference to this "sacred ground"? For years, Moshe Rabbenu did not believe that there was any chance of Beneh Yisrael leaving Egypt. For two reasons. The more obvious reason is that they were enslaved and oppressed by the powerful Egyptian empire. They had no power at all. There seemed to be no hope at all of leaving. But secondly, Moshe did not think the people could ever be worthy of redemption. As we quote each year at the seder , the prophet Yehezkel (16:7) described how Beneh Yisrael in Egypt were ערום ועריה – "bare," bereft of merit. They were not performing mitzvot . They fought with one another. They were in spiritual decline. Moshe did not see how they could ever reach the point where they deserved to be brought out of Egypt. Hashem's initial prophecy to Moshe addressed both these mistaken assumptions. First, he showed Moshe that a bush on fire could survive. Even though Beneh Yisrael were "ablaze," subjected to oppression and persecution, they would still remain intact. They would never be "consumed," no matter how many times their enemies try to destroy them. Secondly, Hashem drew Moshe's attention to the אדמת קודש , the "sacred ground" on which Beneh Yisrael tread. They were the descendants of Avraham Yitzhak and Yaakov. They were bound to Hashem by an eternal covenant. Their capacity for kedushah cannot ever be lost. Moshe didn't see this potential for spiritual greatness, but Hashem did. And so Hashem assured Moshe that Beneh Yisrael were still sacred, even though they seemed "bare" without any merits and without any kedushah . Each morning, as soon as we open our eyes, we recite the famous prayer of מודה אני , thanking Hashem for restoring our souls. Every night when we go to bed, we entrust our soul to Hashem, and each morning, He returns it to us. He returns it to us despite the fact that, very often, we give it back to Him "damaged," tainted by our sins. If a fellow borrows his friend's car and returns it to him with a scratch – and then he borrows it again and returns it the next day with a huge dent – the friend is not likely to continue lending him the car. Yet, Hashem continues "lending" us soul every morning, without fail, no matter how many times we "dented" it, no matter how many mistakes we've made. We make many mistakes – but Hashem keeps giving us another day, then another, and another, and another. The reason is that, as the מודה אני prayer concludes, רבה אמונתך – Hashem has great faith. He has faith in us. He believes in us. He sees our potential for greatness, even if we don't. He restores our soul every morning because He knows how great we can be, how much we can achieve, how much we can contribute, how much we can give to the world. Sometimes we forget that we are standing on אדמת קודש , on sacred ground, at every moment of our lives. If we are alive, this means that Hashem believes in our potential for kedushah , for spiritual greatness. Having this awareness should change the way we live. It should change the way we see ourselves, and it should change the way we look at our day. No matter what is happening, and no matter what happened yesterday or the day before, we are standing on "sacred ground," we have the potential to do something great. If we didn't, then Hashem would not have restored our souls this morning. Hashem sees what we don't. He sees our potential. He sees our abilities. He sees the holiness inside us. He sees how much we can give. We should never doubt ourselves – because Hashem never doubts us, not for a moment, ever.