The Counsel of My Heart

Parshas Netzavim

 

Posted on September 23, 2019 (5780) By Torah.org | Series: Lifeline | Level: Beginner

 

Our reading this week contains an extraordinary passage, one which is very relevant for the upcoming High Holy Days. Moshe gathers the Nation of Israel together and describes to them a truly unforgivable sin. It is so terrible that “Hashem will not be willing to forgive him, but Hashem’s anger and jealousy will be kindled against him…” [29:19]

 

What is this great crime? What could a person do that is so terrible and degraded that it is certain to arouse Divine anger, rather than forgiveness?

 

The answer describes something so simple that, at first glance, we may not understand why it is so wrong. G-d, through Moshe, makes a covenant with the Jews that they will not follow idols or the immoral practices of idolaters, a covenant that we are sworn to follow. But then the Torah describes an individual, family or tribe that is drawn to idolatry. “And when he hears the words of this curse, he will bless himself in his heart, saying, ‘I will have peace, as I follow the counsel of my own heart,’ adding ‘the watered upon the dry.’” [29:18]

 

What is it that arouses Divine anger? Simply that he lies back, instead of trying to improve. “I will have peace — I can continue misbehaving, and nothing bad will happen.”

 

As I said, we may not understand why that’s so horrible. Isn’t the actual sin what matters? Why is a person’s “lackadaisical attitude” more worthy of Divine wrath than serving idols?

 

To be drawn to idolatry, or any form of misbehavior, is to be overwhelmed by a desire. We are human. We want things that we’re not supposed to have, whether power, tempting foods, someone else’s money or a forbidden relationship. And, sadly, we sometimes give in to those temptations. G-d knows we are human, and can forgive us if we turn back, express sincere regret, and commit to doing better.

 

Not so the person who says, “I will have peace.” I remember my teacher, Rabbi Asher Rubenstein zt”l, speaking about how dangerous and wrong this is. Self-satisfaction with our own shortcomings? That’s what infuriates Hashem.

 

Rashi explains what the verse means by “adding the watered upon the dry.” When a person is indifferent to his own wrongdoing, there is no longer any distinction between inadvertent error and deliberate sin. Once he is willing to callously do the sin deliberately, the fact that today he did it by mistake no longer makes his behavior easier to forgive.

 

This thought applies to every person, no matter his or her spiritual level. We cannot be satisfied with where we are; we must look at our actions, and try to do better.

 

And that, of course, is one of the key messages of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur. We must grab the special opportunity of these Holy Days to turn away from our mistakes and our bad choices and set ourselves upon a better path. Let us show HaShem that we are not indifferent to our wrong actions but sincerely desire greater closeness to the Divine.

 

May we all be Written and Sealed for a Blessed Year!

 

Yaakov Menken

 

 

Man’s Search for Meaning

Parshas Ki Savo

Posted on September 16, 2024 (5784) By Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky | Series: Drasha | Level: Beginner

 

This week’s portion discusses the entry into the land of Israel and the responsibilities that are intrinsically tied with its inheritance. There are countless blessings mentioned that follow a Torah lifestyle and unfortunately myriad curses when those values are abandoned.

 

But after the litany of blessing and curses, Moshe tells the nation, “you have seen everything that Hashem did before your eyes in the land of Egypt to Pharaoh and all his servants and to all the land. Your eyes beheld the great signs and wonders, but Hashem did not give you a heart to comprehend, eyes to see, or ears to hear until this day” (Deuteronomy 29:2-3). Moshe was obviously referring to the day that the Jews received a Torah comprehension of events. But it defies logic. After all, what does one need to understand about wonders? Water turning to blood, supernatural invasions of wild animals, locusts, and fire-filled hail need no rocket scientist to fathom G-d’s power. Surely the splitting of the sea is as amazing an event that will marvel one’s eyes and stir the senses of any people.

 

What then does Moshe mean when he tells the nation that Hashem “did not give you a heart to comprehend, eyes to see, or ears to hear until this day” ?

 

Rav Noach Weinberg, dean of Aish HaTorah Institutions, tells the story of the young man who came to him in search of spiritual meaning.

 

The young man entered the portals of Yeshiva Aish HaTorah for a few days and then decided to leave the yeshiva in his quest for spiritual meaning across the Land of Israel. The student stopped at synagogues in Meah Shearim, visited the holy sites in Tiberias and Tzefat, and after two weeks of spiritual-hunting returned to Jerusalem and headed straight back to the Yeshiva.

 

“Rabbi Weinberg,” he exclaimed. “I spent two weeks in travelling the length and breadth of Israel in search of spirituality, and I want you to know that I found absolutely nothing!”

 

Rabbi Weinberg just nodded. “You say you traveled the entire country and did not find any spirituality?”

 

“Yes sir,” came the resounding reply. “None whatsoever!”

 

“Let me ask you,” continued the Rabbi, “how did you find the Bafoofsticks?”

 

“Bafoofsticks?” countered the student. What’s a Bafoofstick?”

 

“That’s not the point,” responded the rabbi, “I just want to know how you feel about them.”

“About what?

 

“The Bafoofsticks”

 

The young man looked at the rabbi as if he had lost his mind. He tried to be as respectful as he could under the circumstances. “Rabbi!” he exclaimed in frustration, “I’d love to tell you how the Bafoofsticks were. I’d even spend the whole day discussing Bafoofsticks with you, but frankly I have no idea what in the world is a Bafoofstick!” Rabbi Weinberg smiled. He had accomplished his objective. “Tell me,” he said softly. “And you know what spirituality is?”

 

Moshe explains to the nation that it is possible to be mired in miracles and still not comprehend the greatness that surrounds you. One can experience miraculous revelations but unless he focuses his heart and mind he will continue to lead his life uninspired as before.

 

In fact, even blessings need to be realized. In offering blessing the Torah tells us, “the blessings will be upon you and they will reach you” (Deuteronomy 28:2). If blessings are upon us of course they reach you! Why the redundancy? Once again, the Torah teaches us that it is possible to be surrounded by blessing and not realize it. There are people who are surrounded by health, wealth, and great fortune, but their lives are permeated in misery. They have the blessing, but it has not reached them.

 

We need more than physical or even spiritual blessing. We need more than experiencing miraculous events. It is not enough to see miracles or receive the best of fortune. We must bring them into our lives and into our souls. Then we will be truly blessed.

 

Good Shabbos © 1999 Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky

Thank You to Mr. Daniel Retter and family for your words of support and encouragement.

 

Good Shabbos

Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky

 

 The Root Of Unhappiness

Parshas Ki Savo

Posted on August 24, 2026 (5786) By Rabbi Yochanan Zweig | Series: Rabbi Zweig on the Parsha | Level: Intermediate Beginner

 

“Because you did not serve Hashem, your G-d, with happiness and goodness of heart, when you had everything in abundance”(28:47)

 

The Torah attributes all of the horrific curses which will befall Bnei Yisroel to not serving Hashem with happiness. The complaint is not that we will not serve Hashem, rather, although we will serve Him, the stress is upon the fact that it will not be done with happiness.

 

Citing the Zohar, the Ramban teaches that the admonition in this week’s parsha refers to the period of the second Beis Hamikdash through its destruction and the subsequent exile.¹

 

The Talmud states that the second Beis Hamikdash was destroyed because of “sinas chinam” – “baseless hatred”.² This would appear to contradict the reason offered by the Torah, that the destruction was precipitated by Bnei Yisroel’s not serving Hashem with happiness. How do we reconcile this contradiction?

 

The Torah attests to the fact that we were unhappy, even though we had everything. This is mirrored by the contemporary phenomena which finds a high percentage of depressed and disenchanted people to be those who enjoy success and high social standing. Why do people who apparently have everything that life has to offer, still exhibit a lack of happiness?

 

A person can only be truly happy if he appreciates what Hashem has given him. However, if a person is egocentric, considering himself deserved of all that he has, he will not be content by that which is already his; rather, he will be focused on those things which are not yet his, but to which he feels entitled. If a person goes through life with the attitude that everyone owes him, he will constantly be miserable, never satisfied with what he has. Furthermore, since he feels he is entitled to everything that he desires, a person who has something he desires becomes an immediate threat to him. He begins loathing that person for no reason other than the perception he maintains that that person is withholding from him an object which should rightfully be his. It is this type of loathing that the Talmud defines as baseless hatred.

 

Consequently, baseless hatred can be traced back at its inception to our lack of appreciation for what Hashem has done and continues to do for us. Therefore, sinas chinam is not a different reason than the reason offered by the Torah as to what precipitated the destruction of the Temple; it is a manifestation of being unhappy when serving Hashem.

 

1.28:42 2.Yoma 9b

 

Gratitude, Jewish Style

Parshas Ki Savo

Posted on August 30, 2023 (5783) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

 

The gnawing cold of the winter has faded from the farmer’s memory. He watches the warm spring sun awaken the slumbering fields. He watches the young shoots sprout and bloom and the tiny buds ripen into fruit bursting with the juices of life. And his own heart also fills to bursting with the joyous surge of new vitality, the aura of irrepressible hope and promise, the sense of being blessed with gifts from the secret treasure houses of the earth. At this transcendent time of the year, the Torah instructs him to share his innermost feelings with his Creator through the performance of the mitzvah of bikurim. He is to take the first fruits of the land, bring them to the Holy Temple in Jerusalem and declare his joyous gratitude to the Master of the Universe, the Source of all goodness in the world.

 

This joyous declaration of gratitude, however, begins in a very puzzling way. It recalls the litany of tragedy and misfortune that characterizes Jewish history. It recalls the duplicitous Lavan’s attempt to destroy our forefather Jacob and the descent of Jacob and his family to Egypt. It recalls the enslavement of the fledgling Jewish nation by the cruel Egyptians and the suffering inflicted upon them until they cried out in anguish to G-d. It recalls that G-d heard the voices of the oppressed Jewish people, and with a great display of wonders and miracles, He liberated them from their Egyptian bondage and brought them to a land of milk and honey. What is the connection of all these memories to the simple act of thanking G-d for the first fruits of the harvest?

 

The answer to this question reveals one of the central elements in the character of the Jewish people. The Jewish farmer who has been blessed with a new harvest does not see himself as an independent individual living in the enclosed world of his own life experiences. He sees himself in the broader historical context of the Jewish people and their developing relationship with G-d. In his mind, the harvest in a small field in a remote corner of the Galilee is directly connected with cosmic events that took place hundred or even thousands of years earlier. He sees himself as part of that continuum and the blessing he has been granted as an extension of the kindness G-d has shown the Jewish people in taking them from slavery to freedom, from misery to joy. Therefore, his expressions of gratitude must also extend to events that happened in distant times and distant places, because in reality, they all part of one continuous pattern of divine benevolence to the Jewish people.

 

There is also a powerful symbolism in the parallel drawn between Jewish history and the annual harvest. As we celebrate the passing of the cold and dark winter and the rejuvenation of the land, we are bidden to view our history from a similar perspective. We are shown that the cold, dark winters of our people’s past also led to a springtime of rejuvenation and growth, and we must strengthen our faith in G-d and believe that our present suffering is not without purpose and not without end.

Finally, the recollection of the tragedies of our past gives added depth and meaning to our expressions of gratitude.

 

Let us for a moment imagine two young men who purchase cars at the same time. One of these young men is from a poor family. He had to struggle to make a career for himself, and he worked hard for everything he was able to accomplish. Now, after saving and scrimping, he finally has accumulated enough money to buy a brand-new car. The other young man is a pampered child of rich parents. His father handed him his American Express card on the way to lunch and told him to go get himself a car. Which of these young men will derive greater pleasure from his new car? The answer is obvious.

 

Here, too, stands the Jewish farmer. He recalls the hardships and the struggles of his ancestors that brought him to this cherished plot of land in Israel, and therefore, each fruit that he plucks from the ground is immeasurably sweeter because of the memories. In this frame of mind, his expressions of gratitude to G-d go far beyond the fruits in his basket. They encompass all the unending benevolence and providence that are manifest in this incredibly precious little bundle of fruit.

 

Text Copyright © 2007 by Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org.

 

 

Gratitude – A Hereditary Trait?

Parshas Ki Seitzei

Posted on September 9, 2024 (5784) By Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky | Series: Drasha | Level: Beginner

 

Marriage: The tie that binds. It is the building-block of any nation and the foundation for its growth. Yet Jewish law restricts whom the children of Abraham may marry – even among those who share their own faith. The Torah tells us that neither an Ammonite nor Moabite male may marry into the direct descendants of Abraham.

 

True they may marry other converts, but they can never enter a direct union with descendants of Klal Yisrael.

 

The Torah tells us the reason for this restriction. “On the fact that they (Ammon) did not greet you with bread and water as you left Egypt and for employing (Moab) Bilaam the son of Pe’or to curse you” (Deuteronomy 23:4-5)

 

One must truly wonder: according to the Torah, anyone is allowed to become a Jew. It requires acceptance of the mitzvos and the responsibilities that Judaism entails. Yet the Torah it seems, has great reason to disallow males who descend from the nation of Ammon and Moab from marrying direct descendants of Abraham. Surely it is solely not the refusal of bread and water or the employing of a sorcerer to curse the Jews. After all, the Egyptians enslaved the descendants of Jacob, nevertheless, Egyptian converts may marry Jews – albeit after three generations of waiting. Even converted descendants of our enemy Esau may marry the children of his nemesis brother Yaakov. What then is the inherent evil trait of Ammon and Moab that disallows their union with Abraham?

 

A brilliant young student entered the portals of Yeshiva Torah Voda’ath in the 1940s. Hailing from a distinguished rabbinic family which instilled within him a creative mind, he questioned some of the arcane dormitory rules and restrictions that were imposed with boys of less character in mind.

 

But rules, said the dormitory counselor, are rules and he wanted to have the young student temporarily expelled until he would agree to conform. An expulsion of that sort would have left the young man (who lived out of town) no alternative but to leave the Yeshiva.

 

They brought the matter before the Rosh Yeshiva, Rabbi Yaakov Kamenetzky. “True,” he said, “rules are rules, but I owe this young man something.” The dorm counselor looked stunned.

 

“In the 1800s this boy’s great-grandfather helped establish the kollel (fellowship program for married Torah scholars) at which I would study some decades later. I owe his family a debt of gratitude. If the rules disallow his stay in the dormitory, then he will sleep in my home.”

 

An essential trait of the Jewish people is gratitude. The children of Avraham are instilled with it, whether it be gratitude to Hashem or his mortal messengers. However, it seems that Ammon and Moab have no sense of gratitude. Their forebear was Lot, Avraham’s nephew who raised Lot and was saved by him during a vicious war. Avraham taught Lot the spirit of hospitality and helped establish him in life. Yet Lot’s children, Ammon, and Moab, showed no gratitude. In fact, they were eager to destroy Avraham’s children – both physically and spiritually. There can be no fusion of those two traits.

 

We can handle enemies. When an Edomite or Egyptian accepts the faith, he can become a true partner in every aspect that bonds Jews – even marriage. But in the harmony of the Jewish family, in the building the future of our nation, there is no room for ingrates.

 

Moabite women however, are exempt from the ban. It seems that they had no control over the decisions. How interesting it is to note that the Moabite convert, Ruth, the woman who showed tremendous gratitude toward her mother-in-law was the precedent-setting example that lifted the ban on Moabite-women converts.

 

Those actions of gratitude and understanding ultimately led to the birth of King David the forebear of Moshiach.

 

Life Between the Cracks

Parshas Ki Seitzei

Posted on August 24, 2018 (5778) By Torah.org | Series: Lifeline | Level: Beginner

 

I was about 15 years old when I lost a Siddur (prayer book) on a backpacking trip near the summit of New Hampshire’s Mt. Washington, the highest peak in the Northeastern United States. It must have fallen out of my pocket at a pit-stop along the hike. After my return to New York, I had no dreams of seeing that Siddur again. Besides, it didn’t have much sentimental value to me, so it wasn’t a great loss.

 

Sometime later, maybe a few months, I received a manila envelope in the mail addressed to me, and inside I was shocked to find my Siddur. The short handwritten note inside explained that the finder was hiking along the Mt. Washington trail and found this little book between the rocks with my address in it, and they thought I would want it back. This random kindness from a complete stranger left a strong impression on my 15-year-old mind, and of course I wrote back a grateful reply.

 

The return of another’s property, even the smallest thing, can bring them so much joy.

 

It’s a Mitzva to return lost items, as detailed in this week’s Torah portion (Deut 22:1-3). From a careful reading of the verse — “VaHaSheivosa Lo” – “and you should return it to him” — the Talmud (Sanhedrin 63a) extends this commandment to healing others, returning their health and ability to live.

 

If this Mitzva applies to physical objects and physical wellbeing, then it surely applies to restoring a spiritual loss. As much as we value the things we own and our health, our greatest value is our spiritual life. We derive so much meaning from our relationships with others, and our relationship with G-d. Just like my prayer book, so many souls have fallen between the rocks. How many have become lost in the endless pursuit of the perfect house, the perfect job, the perfect car, and the perfect restaurant? People may not be in touch with the reality, but there is so much joy to be found in a spiritual experience, and a spiritual relationship with the source of all life and meaning, our Al-mighty Creator. (Based on Tiferes Shimshon)

 

“Lo Suchal L’Hisalem” – “We can’t hide and ignore (Deut 22:3)” what’s being lost in our culture of indulgence and diversion. True love to our friends and family, and even complete strangers, is expressed when we introduce them to a prayer, a Mitzva, and an inspiring or novel Torah thought.

 

 

Doctors and Pilots

Parshas Shoftim

Posted on August 9, 2026 (5786) By Rabbi Naftali Reich | Series: Legacy | Level: Beginner

 

Seeing is believing. Most of us are natural skeptics, and it is difficult to convince us of something we have not seen with our own eyes. And even then, we are apt to have lingering doubts.

 

Indeed, we take pride in our skepticism, because we know it protects us from all sorts of fraud and deception. We are nobody’s fools.

 

In this week’s portion, however, the Torah goes directly against this tendency. The Torah exhorts us not to deviate one whit from the words of our Sages, neither to the right nor to the left. What does this mean? The Talmud explains that even if they tell us that our right hand is our left and our left is our right we are to follow them with implicit faith. Of course, our Sages would obviously never tell us something that is patently ridiculous. Rather, the left and rights hands are a metaphor for something that is seemingly erroneous according to our perceptions.

 

Nonetheless, we are required to follow their lead rather than our own judgment. The Torah demands that we have faith.

 

How do we understand this requirement to have faith? Why does the Torah demand of us to go against our natural instincts? Why should we follow blindly rather than take a stand as independent thinkers and demand explanations?

 

If we pause to consider, however, we will discover that faith forms an integral part of our everyday lives. In fact, without faith we would be practically immobilized. When we get into our cars, we do not worry that our brakes may be defective and will suddenly fail when we are traveling at high speeds. Why? Because we have faith in the manufacturers. When we get on a plane, we do not worry that the pilot is incompetent or drunk. Why? Because we have faith in the pilot. When we go to doctors, we generally accept what they tell us. Why? Because we have faith in our doctors.

 

Without faith, we would be afraid to switch on the lights or put food into our mouths or believe a word anyone tells us. Clearly, Hashem created us with the innate ability to have faith. Why then, if we so easily have faith in our doctors and pilots, do we find it so difficult to have faith in Hashem even when we believe in His existence? Why do we find it so hard to accept all His deeds and commands without question?

 

The answer lies in our egotism. Doctors and pilots are there to serve us. Accepting them in good faith may result in physical restrictions, but it does not require us to surrender our personal independence in any way. We are still in control of our destinies. They advise. We make the decisions. Such faith comes easily.

Faith in Hashem is an altogether different matter. If we forfeit the right to question His deeds and commands, we acknowledge that we are subservient to Him. We surrender our independence, and that is a very difficult thing to do. But still, we must. For if we believe in Hashem yet refuse to give Him our faith and trust, we would be living a lie.

 

Therefore, the Torah exhorts us again and again to have faith in Hashem, to overcome the stiff, illogical resistance of egotism and submit to His higher intelligence. Certainly, He is at least as deserving of our good faith as our doctors and pilots.

 

After attending the yeshivah of a great sage for several years, a young student suddenly declared himself an atheist and announced that he was leaving. Naturally, this came as great shock to the other students and the faculty, and they begged him to consult the sage before he left.

 

The sage nodded gravely as he listened to the young man.

 

“I agree that if you are an atheist this is not the place for you,” he said. “But tell me, what made you become an atheist?”

 

“It is because I have lost my faith,” the young man replied.

 

“Indeed? And why did you lose your faith?”

 

“Because I have questions.”

 

The sage smiled sadly. “No, my young friend, you do not have questions. You have answers. You have decided that you want to live a certain lifestyle, and in order to do so you have to be an atheist. Now that you’ve come up with this answer, you have found questions to support your foregone conclusion.”

 

In our own lives, we experience the egotistical resistance to faith in our children, who find it hard to admit that their parents may be right but would willingly accept the same statements from others. The difference is simple. When we acknowledge the wisdom of parents, we pay a high price for personal independence. Similarly, we pay a high price when we acknowledge the awesome might and wisdom of the Master of the Universe. But if we overcome our stubborn egotism and acknowledge the obvious truth, we will find that the rewards of faith are well worth the price we pay for them.

 

Text Copyright © 2010 by Rabbi Naftali Reich and Torah.org.

Rabbi Reich is on the faculty of the Ohr Somayach Tanenbaum Education Center.