Advertise on podcast: Inspirational Thoughts on the Parsha

The Torah in Leviticus teaches, “Before a blind person you shall not place a stumbling block,” which Rashi explains is not physical harm. Rather, it refers to someone who is “blind” in a situation—lacking clarity—and depends on others for guidance. Giving advice that is not truly in his best interest, even if it has some advantages, is considered placing a stumbling block, because you are causing him to make a misstep based on misplaced trust. Rashi adds that the prohibition goes even further: even if the advice could benefit him somewhat, if you have any personal interest involved—such as wanting to acquire what he is selling—you may not advise him. Since he assumes you are acting solely for his benefit, any hidden motive turns your guidance into deception. The Torah’s message is clear: when giving advice, it must be completely pure, with no self-interest—only a sincere concern for the other person’s good. לקו״ש כז-א

The Torah teaches that a Kohen must physically see a nega in order to declare a person impure. If he is blind in one eye or visually impaired, he cannot make that declaration. The discussion revolves around whether this is because proper sight is required to fully assess the affliction—just as a hidden nega does not create impurity—or because such a Kohen is considered a baal mum and therefore unfit for this role. Either way, the halachah remains: without proper vision, he cannot render someone impure. On a deeper level, tzaraas—despite being a severe and isolating condition—affects only the external layer of a person. Internally, the individual remains whole and pure, still called an Adam, a term representing a high and elevated state. A blind person, described as a sagi nahor—“full of light”—reflects a deeper kind of vision, one that sees beyond surface flaws to the inner essence. The message is clear: true vision means looking past imperfections and recognizing the core goodness and potential within every person. לקו״ש לב-ב

Shabbos Hagadol is called “great” because of a unique miracle that happened before Yetziyas Mitzrayim, when the Egyptian firstborn fought against their own people. Unlike other Yomim Tovim, which celebrate open miracles and are set by the lunar month, this miracle appeared natural on the surface and is therefore marked on Shabbos, representing nature. Its true greatness is that Hashem did not just break nature — He transformed it, causing the enemies themselves to carry out His will. The lesson is to recognize both open miracles and the hidden miracles within nature, and to be thankful for Hashem’s constant involvement in our lives. לקו״ש לב

The Torah describes the korban brought for an unintentional sin by a כהן גדול and by the community. Although the korban process is essentially the same, the Torah presents them differently. By the כהן גדול the Torah uses the word “kodesh,” however, by the community it does not, as well it also omits some of the details. Rashi explains this with a mashal: when an entire city rebels, it shakes the whole kingdom, and therefore the word kodesh is omitted. However, being that when a king’s close confidant sins, the king tries to minimize the wrongdoing, and therefore by case of the community the Torah omits some of the details. This idea reflects a deeper truth about how Jews relate to one another. Rabbi Yishmael once said he would want to be the one to bring another Jew’s kaparah simply out of love for him. He did not see another Jew as separate from himself, but as one with him. The same is true with Hashem, who looks at the Jewish people like a beloved child. From here we learn that loving another Jew means not only feeling connected to them, but recognizing that we are one: when another Jew needs help or is stuck in galus, it affects us as well, and by helping another Jew we ultimately help ourselves. לקו״ש כז-ג

The Torah describes how the chachmei lev, the wise and skilled craftsmen, made not only the beautiful tapestries and curtains of the Mishkan but even the copper pegs and strings that held them down. Rashi explains that these pegs were necessary so the curtains would not be blown by the wind. This teaches a powerful lesson in teaching Torah: it is not enough to give over information; Torah must become anchored within a person so that it permeates their entire being. When Yiddishkeit truly takes root, like by Avraham Avinu whose very “heel” listened to Hashem, it cannot be blown away by life’s winds. Just as a mitzvah is only counted when completed, our generation—standing at the heels of Mashiach—has the special power of finishing the work and bringing it to fulfillment. לקו״ש לא-א

When Hashem praised Moshe Rabbeinu for breaking the Luchos, it revealed a profound lesson about Torah. A mitzvah is about submission—doing Hashem’s will whether we understand it or not. Torah, however, requires understanding. To truly fulfill the mitzvah of learning Torah, a person must engage fully, using the mind deeply and becoming united with the Torah, like the letters engraved into the Luchos which were one with the stone. Yet Torah is Divine wisdom, infinite and beyond human limits. Therefore, to connect to its essence we must also break our ego and develop humility. That is why we say in davening, “V’nafshi k’afar la’kol tihyeh,” only then asking Hashem to open our hearts to His Torah. This is symbolized by the Aron, which contained both the whole and the broken Luchos. A Jew must be fully engaged and intellectually present in Torah, yet at the same time humble and broken. Just as the Aron both took up space and yet measured as if it did not, the essence of the neshamah allows us to hold these opposites together—being whole and broken at the same time—and through that connect to Torah on its deepest level. לקו״ש כו-ג

Remembering Amalek is central to our Yiddishkeit because Amalek represents a war against anything Jewish or holy without rhyme or reason. Unlike other enemies, Amalek attacks out of pure hatred, even in the face of open miracles, as when they struck after Yetzias Mitzrayim. Rashi compares Amalek to one who jumps into a scalding bath to cool it for others — reckless, brazen, and destructive. This battle exists not only in history but within each of us: the inner voice that cools inspiration and plants doubt. We overcome it only with Hashem’s help and through the Moshe Rabbeinu of every generation, bringing us closer to Geulah. לקו״ש כו-זכור

The Tachash, whose multicolored hide crowned the Mishkan, was unique because its beauty was intrinsic, not imposed. The Targum calls it Sasgona, and Rashi explains it was sas v’ga’eh — joyful and proud in its colors — meaning its coloring expressed its very character. Unlike the ram skins that were dyed red, where the color was external, the Tachash’s outer appearance was fully rooted in its inner being. As the uppermost covering of the Mishkan, it reflected the truth of Chai HaOlamim — that every detail of existence, even what appears secondary or external, flows from Hashem, the Ultimate Source. Just as its outer layer was essential, so too in avodas Hashem even minhagim, which may seem external to the mitzvah itself, are deeply bound to holiness and must be performed with full chayus and seriousness. לקו״ש לא-א

Becoming a Jew began at Har Sinai, where every Jew received a Nefesh Elokis—an eternal bond with Hashem—and the mission to transform oneself through Torah and mitzvos. In the time of the Beis HaMikdash, this inner transformation was expressed through Korbanos, drawing closer to Hashem through revealed G-dliness. Today, even without open revelation, Jewish identity is formed through Milah and Tevilah, devotion to Torah and mitzvos, and entering the bris with Hashem. Each day a Jew receives a new neshama, renews that bond, and in a sense becomes a ger again, reaffirming that no matter what, the inner pintele Yid and connection to Hashem never disappear. לקו״ש כו-ג

Women possess a unique spiritual advantage in Divine service, with a more revealed Emunah and Yiras Shamayim rooted deep within their souls. This inner faith explains the distinction in Jewish lineage, where the essence of Jewish identity comes through the mother, while the detailed divisions of Kohen, Levi, and Yisrael come through the father. Accordingly, when the Torah was given, women received the General Principles of Torah — Emunah and Yiras Shamayim — while men received the detailed laws and mitzvos. This is why women are exempt from time-bound mitzvos, as they are connected primarily to the timeless spiritual foundations that rise above detailed limitations. As taught by the Arizal, man and woman together form one soul, and the performance of time-bound mitzvos by the man includes the woman as well. Just as redemption from Egypt came in the merit of righteous women, so too the future redemption will come through their merit. לקו״ש לא-א

Hashem trained Bnei Yisrael in the Midbar through the manna not to be anxious about tomorrow’s parnassah, teaching them that although in Eretz Yisrael they would go through the natural process of working the land and earning a living, all sustenance truly comes from heaven. By collecting only what was needed each day for forty years, they learned that even when engaging in human effort and natural systems, it is Hashem alone who provides. Our role is to make a kli by working, because it is a mitzvah, but we must always recognize that the outcome is entirely from Hashem. This same lesson is reflected in Shabbos, where we are told to rely on Hashem for our needs while still going through the practical process, understanding that repayment and success come only from Him. לקו״ש טז-ג

Kiddush HaChodesh is not only the first mitzvah in the Torah — it is a foundational mitzvah that captures what all mitzvos are meant to accomplish: bringing holiness into this physical world and transforming it into a vessel for Hashem. While many mitzvos elevate physical objects, Kiddush HaChodesh elevates something even more basic — time itself, the very foundation of creation. Through sanctifying time, we gain the ability to sanctify everything within space as well. This connects to the Torah’s opening word “Bereishis,” which Rashi explains teaches that the world was created for two “reishis” — the Jewish people and the Torah — and everything in existence fulfills its purpose when it serves that mission. Kiddush HaChodesh reveals this in a unique way, because Beis Din doesn’t only sanctify certain days; they must study, calculate, and track the moon’s movement throughout the entire month, thereby elevating all of time and utilizing it fully for Torah and the Jewish people. The takeaway is that we are not merely controlled by time and space — we have the power to elevate them, transform them into kedushah, and actualize the true purpose of creation. לקו״ש כו-א

Matzah and wine represent two stages of Geulah and two stages in a Jew’s spiritual growth. Matzah, called lechem oni, symbolizes the rushed redemption of Yetzias Mitzrayim when the Jewish people were spiritually low, deeply influenced by Egyptian culture, and needed to be taken out immediately before falling completely—there was no “taste,” refinement, or enjoyment, only survival and escape. Wine represents the next stage, when a Jew works on himself mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, becoming more sensitive to Kedusha and beginning to experience true flavor and enjoyment in Yiddishkeit. The goal of Geulah was not only leaving Mitzrayim but reaching Har Sinai—“You will serve Me on this mountain”—and in the weeks leading to Matan Torah the Jewish people purified themselves and became worthy of receiving the Torah. Even if one fulfills matzah without tasting it, because that moment lacked sweetness, Hashem planted the potential for spiritual flavor, and through pushing forward even during struggle, the “matzah Jew” can ultimately become a “wine Jew,” tasting Torah and experiencing real joy in a relationship with Hashem. לקו׳ש כו-א

A person’s true greatness is only revealed over time, once their life’s deeds and spiritual impact can be seen. While most souls enter the world concealed and slowly reveal their light through Torah and mitzvos, Moshe Rabbeinu was different—his light shone from the moment of his birth, because he is inseparable from Torah itself, which is eternal. Through the Torah of every generation, Moshe continues to live and actively shape the world. The same is true of Yaakov Avinu, who embodies Emes Hashem—Divine truth—and remains alive as long as his children walk in his path. This is the secret of Jewish eternity: our life is not merely physical, but a life of Torah and truth, which no force can extinguish. As long as we carry Moshe and Yaakov within us, the Jewish people endure forever. לקו״ש כו-א

Yaakov, on his deathbed, asks Yosef—the ruler of Egypt—to swear that he will take him out of Egypt and bury him in Eretz Yisrael. This was not a lack of trust, but a recognition that a commitment depends on circumstances, while an oath means that failure is not an option. Yaakov understood Yosef’s belief that a true leader must remain with his people in exile to strengthen them through suffering, and he feared that this noble vision might keep him buried in Egypt. But Yaakov’s deeper concern was the danger of exile becoming normal. When people remain too long in darkness, they adapt, accept it as reality, and forget that another life is possible. By insisting on being taken out of Egypt, Yaakov implanted an eternal message into the Jewish soul: exile is not our identity, comfort is not our truth, and even when galus feels stable or meaningful, we must remember that we are a free people whose true home is in geulah, in Eretz Yisrael. לקו״ש כה-א