Recipe for Happiness

 By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Last week, someone wrote me an email asking how we can be happy in such unsettled times. How can we be expected to smile as we live in a country where the administration seems set on destroying the country? How can we be happy when Jews are getting beat up in Eretz Yisroel? How can we be happy when there are agunos and singles and so many tzaros? How can we be happy when there is acrimony and hatred? This is my answer. Sort of, anyway.

This week’s parsha introduces us to the mitzvah of counting 49 days from Pesach until Shavuos.

The posuk (23:10) states the obligation, on the second day of Pesach, to bring to the kohein “omer reishis ketzirchem,” an omer amount of the first barley of the season. The posuk (23:15) states the mitzvah of counting seven weeks from the day of the omer offering and then commands us to bring a minchas bikkurim of wheat at the culmination of the count. After discussing the other korbanos that are brought along with the shtei halechem, the Torah (23:22) says that the day that korban is brought is mikra kodesh, a holiday, during which it is prohibited to do labor.

The Maharal in Tiferes Yisroel (25) discusses why the initial offering is of barley and the one that marks the culmination of the count is of wheat.

Interestingly, the Torah does not give a name to the korban that is brought on the second day of Pesach. It also does not refer to the counting period as Sefiras Ha’omer. And there is no name given for the Yom Tov that is celebrated at the end of the count.

The Tur (Orach Chaim 493) compares the seven weeks of counting we refer to as Sefiras Ha’omer to the seven years of counting of Shmittah and Yovel. He cites an ancient custom to refrain from work in the evenings between Pesach and Shavuos based on this comparison. Just as it is forbidden to work the land during Shmittah, so would people refrain from work at the time the counting is supposed to take place.

The comparison to the counting of Shmittah and Yovel bears a deeper understanding.

Based on the Maharal (ibid.), we can explain that at the time of Yetzias Mitzrayim, we had just been freed. Krias Yam Suf was an essential component of the founding of our nation. The revelation of Hashem’s glory elevated and sanctified us. Thus, we bring a korban of barley, which is animal feed, to signify that when we began the journey one day after leaving Mitzrayim, we were at a very low spiritual level.

Gilui Shechinah and Mattan Torah created people, elevating human beings to their highest form.

We count 49 days, and on each day we raise ourselves one more level from where we were during the time of Yetzias Mitzrayim. By the time we reach the culmination of the count, we are expected to have achieved the level necessary for accepting the Torah, which was given to our people on the day the seven-week count ends.

Hence the name of that day. We refer to it as “Shavuos,” meaning weeks, because we counted for seven weeks, and each day we perfected another of the attributes necessary for acquiring Torah. Thus, at the end of the seven weeks, we offer the kohein a korban of wheat, which is human food, because we have fulfilled the destiny for which man was created and earned the Torah.

When you look at a cake recipe, you see a list of ingredients, but from reading the list, you cannot figure out how to bake the cake. You have to read the amounts that are required of each ingredient and the instructions of how to mix them.

Usually, a recipe also tells you how long the process takes. There are no shortcuts. If you leave something out, or mix ingredients in the wrong order, or rush the baking process, your cake will be a flop. If you want a cake that you will be able to enjoy, you have to put in the extra effort to follow instructions and properly execute every step. After having done so, you will able to remove your finished product from the oven and enjoy it.

The korban we bring at the outset of the count has no biblical name. Rather, it is referred to by the measurement of barley it consists of, namely an omer. The period of counting is not given a name, nor is the Yom Tov that celebrates the end of the count, because the entire period is about counting and about measurements, omer and shavuos.

It’s about measuring up. It’s a progression. Raw materials that have yet to be defined are mixed and purified to perfection. Ingredients take shape and become a product.

In order to acquire the Torah and reach the level of perfection that Hashem intended for us, we have to be exacting in the counting and measuring. There are no shortcuts. There must be an omer and there must be seven weeks of daily steps. Anything less invalidates the process.

We call the seven-week period following Pesach “Sefiras Ha’omer” and we call the Yom Tov at the end of the count “Shavuos,” literally weeks, to signify that we used every day of that time to perfect our middos and measurements and make ourselves worthy of the Torah.

Some years back, an aged Russian woman arrived in Israel along with the millions of Jews who took advantage of the opening of the Iron Curtain to make their way to the Promised Land. A brilliant woman and former math professor, as she got acclimated to the new country, she began telling people that she was a granddaughter of the Chofetz Chaim. A minor commotion was created in the media, and upon hearing about her, the religious grandchildren of the Chofetz Chaim began traveling to her to hear her memories of their holy grandfather.

The famed rosh yeshiva Rav Hillel Zaks, whose mother was the Chofetz Chaim’s daughter, went to see her and took along Rav Shimshon Pincus, who later recounted the conversation.

The secular woman recalled that as a young girl, she had read works of the Maskilim and, like many others of her time, was drawn by them and fell under their spell. Slowly, she gave up religion and told her parents that she was going to study in a university. They begged her to visit her grandfather, the Chofetz Chaim, prior to enrolling, thinking that perhaps it would save her.

This is how she repeated their conversation: “Zaide,” she told him, brimming with youthful enthusiasm, coming from the big, modern city of Warsaw, “you have to step out of your dark little shtetel and discover the bright new world. You’ll see that it’s a new era. Technology and science are creating a new reality. Zaide, you have to let go of your old-fashioned ideas and get with the times. Soak in the excitement and learn of the many possibilities that exist in today’s world.”

She recounted that the Chofetz Chaim told her, “Tochterel, I want you to know this: With their innovations and inventions, they will one day reach a point where they make a bomb that will kill thousands of people. Ubber mir machen mentchen. Mir machen mentchen. Do you hear? We are making people. We work to improve people. They will destroy people.”

Torah makes people, refining and raising humanity.

When Shavuos arrives, we achieve our freedom. Ein lecha ben chorin ela mi she’oseik baTorah. The ultimate freedom belongs to those who live according to the Torah. At Mattan Torah, we attained the pinnacle of our existence, having reached the plateau Hashem intended when He created the world, bishvil Yisroel shenikre’u reishis and bishvil haTorah shenikreis reishis, for the sake of the Torah and the sake of Yisroel, who, upon creation, were both referred to as “beginning.”

A beginning is a spark that contains potential and hope for the future. The creation of the world and the establishment of Klal Yisroel were just the start of a process. At Har Sinai, the potential was realized, when the children of the avos became the Bnei Yisroel. When we reenact the climb every year during this period, we achieve the level Hashem intended for us.

We can now understand the Tur’s comparison of the counting of the seven weeks to the counting of Shmittah and Yovel. That count leads to Yovel, the celebration of freedom, just as this one does.

When we think of Sefirah, we think of the simonei aveilus we follow in memory of Rabi Akiva’s 24,000 students who perished during this period.

There is no better example of the process that demonstrates that through toil, ameilus and work man can remake himself. Rabi Akiva was the personification of man’s potential and ability to grow through Torah. People can raise themselves, no matter how humble their beginnings, and reach the highest level.

Rabi Akiva began his climb as a lowly shepherd. At his apex, he was the shoresh of Torah Shebaal Peh. Rabi Akiva demonstrated that man can begin from the level the Bnei Yisroel were on at Yetzias Mitzrayim. By working on improving himself step by step, Rabi Akiva was able to rise, level by level, until he reached the level of Kabbolas HaTorah.

If we understand the connection between Shmittah and these seven weeks, perhaps we would better appreciate our avodah during this period. We are taught that the punishment for failing to count the years of Shmittah and abstaining from working the fields during the years of Shmittah and Yovel is to be separated from the land. 

The Sefer Hachinuch (mitzvah 84) writes that the purpose of Shmittah is to remember that Hashem created the land and causes it to grow and give forth fruit.

Similarly, if we wish to grow, develop and thrive, we need to “work the land” during this time to remember that Hashem created us, and the world, for a reason.

We need to use these days to improve ourselves and our middos, which are the foundation of Torah. We need to appreciate the gifts Hashem has given us and recognize the purpose for which we were created. That is our specific task during these seven weeks leading up to the day of Kabbolas HaTorah.

There are no secrets and no shortcuts. You have to measure up, Mishnah by Mishnah, daf by daf.

Rabi Akiva (Pesochim 49b) said about himself that when he was still an ignorant am haaretz, his hatred of a talmid chochom was such that “If I saw a talmid chochom, I wished to bite him like a donkey (which hurts more than a dog’s bite).”

Yet, just as water bores a hole in a rock through persistence and consistency, Torah penetrates the soul. Rabi Akiva became the paradigm of Torah study and was the link in transmitting Torah to 24,000 talmidim. Sadly, they were not able to maintain the 48 levels necessary for the acquisition of Torah, and since they failed in their mission, they were taken from this world.

We mourn them until today as a reminder to ourselves of the levels man can reach. We celebrate Rabi Akiva and his talmid, Rabi Shimon Bar Yochai, and focus on the need to constantly measure up or, chas veshalom, lose the ability to be sustained in this world, which was created for Klal Yisroel and the Torah.

Just as a skilled farmer uses the dirt, the chaff, the sun and the shade to produce delicious fruit and nutritious grains, the Torah takes all of man’s various qualities and elevates them.

Man is complex. But life is a process. These weeks, we are given directions to refine ourselves and we are provided with an example: If an unlearned shepherd was able to master the levels of middos, reaching the zenith of creation and experiencing the cheirus of Yovel, then each and every one of us can do so as well.

We mourn the tragedy of those who grew in his shadow but could not be lights on their own and fell before the challenge of rising to the next level. In the fires of Lag Ba’omer, we see 24,000 lives consumed and their tremendous potential cut short, but we also see the fuel of rebirth, a bright light showing us the way.

With the strains of music playing in the background, we offer our tefillos that we merit counting each day, making each day count, using it as intended, to climb the ladder, rung by rung, to eternity.

In Parshas Emor, we are given snapshots of the most glorious days of the year. In it, we hear echoes of the shofar, the awe of Yom Kippur, and the soft fragrance of the esrog. We are reminded of Pesach, which, though it feels like it was long ago, was only four weeks in the rearview mirror.

We experience the joys, relive the holiness with which the special days infuse us, and are reminded once again of our exalted status and potential for greatness. Yomim Tovim grant us joy, infuse us with energy, and enable us to go about the mundane period until the next Yom Tov.

My dear friend, Mr. Julius Klugman, would go to Eretz Yisroel every Sukkos. One year, he asked Rav Elazar Menachem Man Shach how the Torah can command a person to be b’simcha on Sukkos. “Is there a button we can push to experience joy?” he asked.

 “I don’t understand the question,” Rav Shach told him. “How can a person say the words ‘Atah vechartanu mikol ho’amim’ and not feel joyous?”

Examine the world. Appreciate the infinite genius in the workings of every organ of the human body. Glance at the animal kingdom and all the different animals and how each was formed to be able to live the life set out for it. Take a look at the world of insects, millions of tiny species, and their distinct lives. Look at the sea and the fishes of all sizes and ponder how they got there. See how each species was formed differently to be able to exist and flourish in its place in the vast sea. Take a leisurely stroll in a botanical garden and ponder the glory and beauty of the hundreds of grasses, trees and flowers and you will quickly conclude that there is no way that any of them came into being by themselves.

They were created and placed in this wonder world. They were fashioned in a way that each living thing can complete its life span productively on its level.

We, too, were created and placed here by the Creator with everything we need to grow and excel. The Creator gave us the Torah, our guide to living the best life possible, a life that is fulfilling, meaningful and happy. Everything is laid out for us. All we have to do is follow its recipes and instructions.

How can we be happy? How can we not be happy!

Holy

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

This week, we are blessed to be reading and learning the parshiyos of Acharei Mos and Kedoshim, which contain in them some of the basics of Yahadus. In fact, Rashi cites the Medrash which states that Parshas Kedoshim was said by Moshe to the entirety of Klal Yisroel, because the majority of the body of Torah is included in it.

The parsha begins with the obligation for the people to be holy. We sometimes refer to a person, usually from previous generations, as holy, ah heilige Yid, as if it is a trait that is rare to come by. But the Torah does not differentiate. Hashem tells Moshe to tell all of the Jewish people that they need to be holy.

Whether you are a man or a woman, old or young, rich or poor, dedicating your life to Torah study or working to support your family, you are obligated to be kadosh, holy. Irrespective of where we live or the surrounding culture, we are all obligated to be kedoshim, whether we live in Meah Shearim, are ensconced comfortably in the lap of luxury, or are somewhere in-between. Our mantra must be to consider what we are doing and to determine that it will increase our personal holiness and the kedusha of the world in general.

We were all created “b’tzelem Elokim,” in the image of Hashem. We all have a neshomah, which seeks to direct us to do good and to be good. The way we treat people can make us holy. The way we help people can make us holy. The way we walk and talk can make us holy. It boils down to love. If we love Hashem, we can become holy. If we love Hashem, we can love the people He created and we can show that we have become holy. If we love people, we are able to become holy. Being holy isn’t reserved only for people from eras gone by who lived in different worlds and under different circumstances. We, too, can be holy.

If someone needs help and you help him, you are on your way to becoming holy. If you would rather take a Sunday nap but instead you trudge about with another Yid, helping him make ends meet, then you are on your way to becoming holy. If you were up late last night and wake up groggy, but still go to the morning shiur and to daven, you have what it takes to be holy.

We can all be holy. Holiness isn’t reserved only for angels. Anyone who learns Torah and performs the mitzvos can be holy. Anyone who works on his emunah and bitachon can be holy because he won’t get upset by comments other people say and won’t seek revenge from people who hurt him.

Holy people are sweet, loving and real. They aren’t tempted by fleeting passions and luxuries. They are not motivated by wealth, and prestige doesn’t call out to them. They do what is right because it is right. They are kind and thoughtful, seeking to bring out the good when it is hidden. They protect themselves from evil and things that will damage their mind and their soul. They are calm and at peace, never rushing or pushing, waiting their turn relaxingly. Holy people take the admonition of “Kedoshim tihiyu” seriously. They see “Ve’ohavta lereiacha kamocha” not as good advice, but as the proper way to live.

Before the Ponovezher Rov, Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman, established the famed Ponovezher Yeshiva, he founded Botei Avos to absorb the many orphaned children whose parents were killed during the Holocaust. The children arrived in Israel alone and impoverished, with no place to go. In the orphan home, they were educated and given a clean place to sleep and eat. They were cared for by a loving staff, overseen and directed by the Rov himself.

One night, without prior warning, a bus full of children who had just arrived in Israel pulled up to the home, which was not prepared for them. Mattresses were found in storage, but there were no blankets or linen.

Rav Kahaneman, accompanied by his assistant, Rav Binyomin Zev Deutsch, headed to the home of Reb Eliyohu Eisenstadt, who owned the local linen store. They arrived at his darkened home and began knocking on the door. Mr. Eisenstadt had already gone to bed and didn’t hear them.

The Ponovezher Rov began knocking harder and pleading loudly, “Reb Eliyohu, Reb Eliyohu, shtei oif l’avodas haBorei. Wake up to serve Hashem! Yiddishe kinderlach hoben gekumen tzu lernen Torah, un mir huben nit kein kishin un koldre far zei. Shtei oif, Reb Eliyohu, un efen der gesheft. Jewish children want to learn Torah and we don’t have pillows or blankets for them. Dear Reb Eliyohu, please wake up and open the store for them.”

Hearing the pleas, Mr. Eisenstadt woke up and ran to the door. He wasn’t upset at the least that his sleep was disturbed. He quickly dressed, got his keys, and, with the Rov and Rav Deutsch in tow, went running to the store to supply the Yiddishe kinderlach with what they needed.

Ve’ohavta lereiacha kamocha. Three holy men were motivated by the same thing: their love for Torah and for other people. And when Yiddishe kinderlach need pillows and blankets, holy people drop what they are doing, in the middle of the day or night, and run to help.

We can all do it. We can all be holy.

Rav Yitzchok Eizik Chover was a great Litvishe master of the revealed, as well as the hidden, Torah. His seforim are treasured until this day, widely quoted by baalei machshovah. He was a very holy Yid.

One time, when Rav Chover was traveling in Lita, he entered a town. When he arrived in the Jewish neighborhood, he heard people crying. He was told that the army had come to town and took away young Jewish boys for forced conscription into the army. They were being held in the local jail.

In the days of the Cantonists, such was the practice. The boys would be ripped from their parents and families, and kept in the army for twenty-five years. The lucky ones survived that long, but they were ignorant of their heritage, and most became ruffians during their time away.

Rav Chover sized up the situation quickly and slithered away. He changed out of his rabbinic garb into the clothing of the local peasants and began prancing around and calling attention to himself as if he were drunk. The police quickly came and asked for his government-issued identification and travel permit. He mumbled and stammered and failed to answer the questions they posed to him. He was taken away and thrown into jail for creating a public nuisance.

When the big iron gates of the jail were slammed behind him, the rov approached the wailing children and told them who he was. As his soul wept for the poor children, he spoke to them about Yiddishkeit and what lay ahead of them. Gingerly and softly, he told them that they would be taken far away and would remain alone. He spoke to them about kashrus and asked them not to partake of non-kosher food. He told them never to forget where they came from and that they were Jews.

“Don’t forget Hashem, no matter what happens to you,” he said. He told them stories of Jewish heroism as they began falling asleep.

In the morning, when the guards returned, he addressed them once again. He told them that now they would be separated. “I will now be beaten for getting in here to speak to you, and you will be taken on a long journey to years of nisyonos. I don’t know if we will ever meet again in this world, but we will definitely meet in the next world, where I hope you will make me proud.”

With that, the great rov was dragged away.

What provoked him to think of getting himself into the jail with the children? What prompted him to speak to them so lovingly and carefully about the painful future that awaited them? How did the tzaddik who spent his days and nights poring over sifrei kodesh find the right words to say to them?

It was because he was a kadosh, he was holy, and thus he loved every Jew and cared about them as he cared about himself. His love for them overwhelmed him and caused him to do what he could in an effort to keep them kedoshim. He was a kadosh not only because his life was all about Torah, but also because it was about loving and helping every Jew he could.

This is the explanation of the Mishnah in Pirkei Avos that we read this week (3:10), which states that a person who finds favor in the eyes of men finds favor in the eyes of Hashem.

Obviously, the intention of Chazal, who utilize these chapters to teach us timeless lessons of honesty, integrity and human behavior, is not to say that we should act with people in ways that simply play up to their egos and need for constant gratification. There has to be more to the message.

A person who deals honestly with others in financial matters, is faithful in his relationships, and is respectful of other people is inherently someone who believes and trusts in Hashem. Since he knows that everything that happens is because Hashem wills it so, he bears malice to none, for he acknowledges that whatever came his way was sent to him by Hashem and the loss he suffered through dealing with the other person was Heaven-sent. The bad guy was only a messenger to cause him the damage that was meant to be. 

He doesn’t cheat or lie in his business, because he knows that regardless of his chicanery, he will earn whatever he was destined to. He treats people with respect, for they are a tzelem Elokim, just as he is. He loves all, for the Torah commands him to. He seeks to use every experience to raise and improve himself to be more of a kadosh, for he knows that is his ultimate ambition in life.

Rabbeinu Yonah (ad loc) cites the Gemara (Yoma 86) that states when people encounter a person who studies, teaches and conducts his business dealings honestly and faithfully, people say that he should be praised for studying Torah, and his parents and rebbi should be praised for teaching him Torah. It is through the study of Torah that a person becomes refined in his manner and conduct. It is for that reason that Hashem is also pleased with him, because he has studied His Torah and lives his life by it.

We, who have been blessed with fine parents and an exemplary Torah education, have what it takes to lead proper lives and always be respectful of others and their needs. Just as we wouldn’t slacken in the observance of other mitzvos, we should not weaken our observance of the mitzvah of treating people the way we want to be treated.

We must deal with everyone with respect and decency. Should we ever be in a situation where we feel it is necessary to correct someone or admonish him, it should be done in a way that does not cause embarrassment and lead a person to become depressed or lacking in self-worth. It must be done with the same love and consideration that we would desire should we ever need to be rectified or reprimanded.

This is how we understand another Mishnah in this perek of Pirkei Avos (3:11), which teaches that a person who publicly embarrasses someone forfeits his share in the World to Come. This is because someone who is deficient in the ability to treat people properly is lacking in the knowledge of Torah. A student of Torah recognizes the tzelem Elokim in others and observes the mitzvos of “ve’ohavta lereiacha kamocha” and “hocheiach tochiach es amisecha velo sisa olov cheit,” admonishing others in a way that doesn’t cause him embarrassment.

Someone who is quick to castigate and is flippant in his condemnation and humiliation of others demonstrates that he is ignorant in the ways of the Torah. Thus, he himself will come to discard proper observance of other mitzvos and not merit Olam Haba. 

Let us ignore the foibles we are surrounded by and the media which hypes improper behaviors. Let us treat all with love and respect.

Living the life of a kadosh is easier said than done, but Chazal (Yoma 39a) teach that if we expend effort to lead a sanctified life, Hakadosh Boruch Hu assists us in reaching increasingly higher levels of kedusha. We have to take the first steps, and they may come with difficulty, but as we continue climbing, the steps become increasingly easier to ascend.

During these days of Sefirah, as we approach Kabbolas HaTorah, we should seek to infuse each day with added degrees of kedusha as we prepare ourselves to be worthy of accepting the Torah.

What better time is there than this week, as we lain the parshiyos and study the perek of Pirkei Avos which can help guide us.

The Gift of Speech

 By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Having just lived through a plague, we have become familiar with the deprivation it causes, even among the people not physically affected by it.

One of the many costs of the coronavirus was that governments used it to force people into isolation. Elderly people who depended on visitors to keep them connected to the world and provide for them social stimulation became deprived of that vital human need of speaking and interacting with others. They suffered cognitively and physically. Illnesses crept up on them and they lost their ability to walk and move about.

Children who were locked out of school were severely impacted by not being able to play and speak with their friends and classmates, leading to mental diseases and other lingering long-term effects brought on by a lack of personal instruction and social contact.

Thankfully, in most places where our brethren live, the pandemic has dissipated and the conditions have eased. People are able to resume normal social activity and are no longer confined to their homes. They are being rejuvenated as they are reconnected to the world in general, and to their families, friends, workmates, and shul-mates.

Playing with a baby is one of the most joyous things a person can do. The baby has no concerns other than being entertained by you. All your pressing concerns are washed away as love is returned with love and a smile begets a smile. It is all pure and genuine. But there is at least one major drawback: the baby doesn’t speak. It is difficult to develop a relationship with someone with whom you cannot carry on a conversation. Hashem blessed man with the gift of speech, of being able to communicate. Those who are unable to speak or hear are able to communicate through other means. It is by doing so that they are able to have meaningful relationships. Without communication, a person is virtually alone.

There are people who are talented in music, but do not have the time or ability to take lessons and reach a professional level. They are busy working and making a living to support their family, put food on the table, and pay their mortgage or rent. The music lies buried inside of them.

When the Jews were enslaved in Mitzrayim, their inherent greatness lay dormant inside of them. Their music and song were trapped inside of them. They were unable to express themselves. They were subdued and their humanity was suppressed. They went through their days occupied with mundane servitude, happy to make it to another day.

When they were redeemed, their gifts of speech burst forth, their greatness and depth stifled no longer. They crossed the Yam Suf and emerged new people, a new nation ready to burst forth and accept the Torah on Har Sinai.

Parshas Tazria teaches us the majesty of man. Following the receipt of the Torah and its laws and the construction of the Mishkon, we receive the parshiyos dealing with the laws of tzoraas.

We have been blessed with speech, and now that the Jewish people were freed and empowered, they learned the punishment of those who use their gift in a way that is inconsistent with its purpose in creation.

Each one of us is a scion of majesty and greatness. The words we utter must be precious to us. Everything we say should be measured and clearly thought through before being spoken.

The parshiyos of Tazria and Metzora are read as we enter the Sefirah period. The parshiyos discuss the affliction of tzoraas and the necessity to remove the afflicted person from among the community and place him in isolation for weekly periods.

Bodod yeisheiv.

The Medrash (Vayikra Rabbah 16:1) teaches that tzoraas is caused by a person succumbing to seven anti-social activities: bearing conceited eyes, a tongue that speaks falsehood, hands that spill innocent blood, a heart that plans wicked thoughts, feet that run to do evil, a liar who testifies falsely, and, the worst of them all, someone who causes disputes to break out between people. This is accomplished through spreading slander and lies, motzie sheim ra and lashon hora. Thus, the Torah refers to the person with tzora’as as a metzora, for the word is formulated from the words motzie sheim ra.

In this world, there are four elementary forms. They are domeim, tzomei’ach, chai and medaber, the inert, such as stone and dirt; that which grows, such as grass and trees; that which is alive, such as animals; and, above them all, man, who is granted the gift of speech.

The ability to speak allows us to effectively communicate with each other. With speech, we can learn, grow, develop, study Torah, engage in mitzvos, and be part of a cohesive social fabric. Thus, Targum Onkelos famously says that the words in Bereishis that state that man was alive, “Vayehi adam lenefesh chaya,” indicate that “vehavas b’adam ruach memalela,” man was given the power of speech. The ability to speak gave man his spirit and life.

Life is that ability to connect with other people – the experience of interacting with them and using words to convey emotion. The breath invested into each word is the stuff of life itself.

This is why a person who spreads dissection is punished with tzora’as. Man was bestowed with the gift of speech to enable him to live an exalted life, connected with Hashem and Klal Yisroel. A person who abuses that gift and uses it to separate people from each other is therefore isolated from everyone else and locked away.

Bodod. Alone. Because he rejected the gift of life and used his words to create division and hate, he is forced to become withdrawn from society, deprived of the essential joy of life and social interaction.

We received the Torah when we were united, k’ish echod beleiv echod, and all of Klal Yisroel became areivim zeh bozeh, interconnected. Yisroel v’Oraisa v’Kudsha Brich Hu chad hu. We are connected to each other, to the Torah, and to Hashem, as one.

Sefer Derech Mitzvosecha (Issur Sinas Yisroel, Mitzvas Ahavas Yisroel) discusses the arvus that connects all the Jewish people. He quotes the Arizal, who says that all of Klal Yisroel is one body, with each person being a different limb of the single entity. We are all intertwined with each other. He quotes Rav Chaim Vital that the Arizal would recite vidui on behalf of sinners, because all of Israel is one body.

Someone who recognizes that we are linked with each other and each one of us is comprised of parts of other Jews is not encumbered by pettiness or jealousy. Those who are cognizant of that which connects us are conscious of the fact that our neshamos emanate from the same place, beneath the Kisei Hakavod. When they view another Jew, they feel the deep connection, unfettered by externals that distract the rest of us.

Man is made up of chomer, a spiritual component, and tzurah, a physical component. The image of the person is his tzurah, which includes his fine character, depth and spirituality, which are encompassed in the outer physical container. A person who is fully occupied with the superficial aspects of life is entrapped by his chomer and misses out on the significance and essence of life.

A person of chomer, who lacks in tzurah, rejects unity, as his shallowness takes away from him the ability to appreciate the tzurah at the root of everything. He sees everything in terms of their physical appeal and judges people by their physical possessions. When he sees that others have more money than him, more expensive wines and cars, and larger and more stately homes, he becomes overcome with jealousy. That leads him to speak lashon hora and seek to create animosity for the subjects of his jealousy. He finds it hard to live among other people because, invariably, he finds people who have more than what he has.

Tzoraas forces the person consumed with exterior impressions to confront physical imperfections that are brought on by his spiritual inadequacies, as he ponders the essence of his existence.

The posuk in Bereishes (2:18) states, “Lo tov heyos ha’adam levado.” As Hashem was creating the world, He said that it is not good for man to be alone and He fashioned a partner for him. Loneliness is not healthy. Man must be involved with other people and not become selfishly wrapped up with himself, his own wants and desires.

The purveyor of lashon hora, hotzaas sheim ra and rechilus divides people, bringing on loneliness and ill feelings. His punishment fits the crime, as he is left in solitary confinement.

Great people perceive the joy in being around people. They value being part of a whole. They seek people whom they can help. For we are all one.

This week’s parsha equips us with the insight to give life to others.

There is no shortage of lonely people. They may even have spouses and large families. Some appear to have many friends. They are regular, nice, normal people of any age. But they are lonely. Talk to them.

There is no shortage of people who can use a little chizuk. Let them know you care about them.

One who speaks lashon hora seeks to deprive his victims of their self-worth and the respect others have for them. Someone who lacks respect for others and causes them to lose their own self-respect snuffs out their spirit.

Someone who is so wrapped up with himself that he snuffs out other people’s respect is a person who cannot live with others. This is the reason why one who has tzoraas is locked away by himself until he learns to respect others.

If being alone is being separated from life, then being together is being very much alive. With a genuine interest in others, we can help restore life to people and give them a reason to smile. With our gift of speech, we can build people.

Consideration of other people’s feelings on any level strengthens our connection not only to each other, but also to the depths of our neshamos and to Hashem.

We mourn for the students of Rabi Akiva who died during the Sefirah period. Lo nahagu kavod zeh lozeh. They didn’t treat each other respectfully and therefore were afflicted by a plague.

These days of Sefirah are referred to in many seforim as days when we can rise spiritually. The period approaching Shavuos is considered an auspicious time. As the time of Matan Torah approaches, so does the inherent kedusha of every progressing day.

The study of the parshiyos and halachos of tzoraas should serve to assist us in the toning down of our concentration on the pursuit of physical pleasures involving chumriyus and intensifying our quest for spiritual achievements. They are longer lasting and more productive, bulking up on that which defines us and contributes to the wholesomeness of our tzurah.

The study of this week’s parshiyos should serve to remind us of what our priorities should be in life. As government money flows, as certain industries benefit from the government largesse, and as stimulus money fills bank accounts, we should remember not to compare what we have to what other people possess and not to become jealous and bitter when we don’t have as much as the other person appears to have. Doing so leads us to depression and anti-social activities, which have no rewards and only cause us to become bitter and angry, engaging in the speaking of lashon hora, one of the worst and most dangerous sins.

May the lessons of Tazria and Metzora - the significance of words, the value of being connected, and the appreciation of others - fill us with the resolve to use our gift of ruach memalela correctly, elevating ourselves and our lives to new heights.

Savor the Flavor

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Every Yom Tov adds to our life. It adds holiness and emunah and brings us closer to Hashem. A Yom Tov is not simply something that we experience and then move away from, going on to other things as the Yom Tov recedes in our memory.

We all have just enjoyed the beautiful Yom Tov of Pesach. Hopefully, regardless of where we were physically located for the duration of the chag, it touched our souls, bringing us joy and depth. We sang its songs, hummed its tunes, studied its sugyos, reviewed its halachos, and scooped up as many divrei Torah as we could.

And here we are, days later, much improved by the experience. Let’s not permit it all to fade away and return to living life the way we did before Yom Tov. Let us act noticeably improved, living better.

I thought it would be nice to share some poignant thoughts and stories I came across in various Haggados that I perused over Yom Tov.

• • • • •

One day, as Rav Yosef Chaim Sonnenfeld was walking with Rabbi Gelbstein, head of the Yerushalmi Chevra Kadisha, it began to pour. Rabbi Gelbstein quickly opened his umbrella and held it over the head of his renowned elderly companion, but Rav Sonnenfeld would have none of it.

“I am now going to fulfill the will of my Maker, and as I do so, I am a soldier in Hashem’s army. Have you ever seen a soldier go to war with an umbrella over his head to protect himself from the rain? Of course not! The concepts of a soldier and an umbrella are diametrically opposed to each other. A soldier cannot allow himself the luxury of being under an umbrella. He has to be prepared for any eventuality as he concentrates on his mission, and it is inconceivable for him to be holding an umbrella in his hand at a time like that.”

We need to be cognizant of what it is we are doing as we perform a mitzvah. It is not just something we do out of habit or without concentration. We need to be like a soldier focused on fulfilling the will of Hashem.

As we march onwards through the days of Sefirah towards Shavuos, let us bear that in mind.

• • • • •

Many years ago, it happened in a European country that there was a king who had one son. The king sought a mentor who would prepare the heir to the throne for his eventual position.

He hired an experienced professional who specialized in three areas: horses, diamonds and human psychology. The man began his task with much aplomb.

There was an equestrian auction, and since the prince sought for himself a fine horse, he proceeded to the area where the sale was held, with his mentor, an acknowledged expert in the field, naturally accompanying him.

A particular horse stood out, white and regal, with a perfect pedigree. The mentor counseled the prince not to bid on it. “That horse throws off its unsuspecting riders and kills them,” he said.

The prince found it strange that the expert would be able to discern that and he put him to the test. He asked the seller to ride it around the coral so that he could judge its gait. The seller quickly obliged. He climbed aboard the horse and began riding around the track. Suddenly, the horse began acting wildly, throwing off its rider and stomping him to death.

His confidence in the mentor reinforced and thankful that he had saved his life, the prince removed a small bill from his pocket and gave it to the man in appreciation.

Sometime later, there was a large diamond sale in the kingdom and the prince wanted to go there and check it out. He asked his mentor – a diamond expert – to join him. As they were inspecting the diamonds, the mentor told him that they should leave. “They are all fakes,” he said.

A few of the diamonds were inspected and it was ascertained that they were made of glass and worthless. In appreciation, the prince reached into his pocket and handed the mentor a small bill.

Having passed his tests in two of the areas in which he declared expertise, the prince decided that it was time to see how he did in the third, his understanding of human psychology. “Tell me what you think of me and my personality,” he said.

The man approached the prince and whispered in his ear, “You are not the son of the king and queen. You were found as an infant, abandoned. The king and queen had you brought to the palace and they adopted you as a baby.” The prince expressed disbelief, but the mentor told him again, “I have no doubt about it. You are not a royal child. If you don’t believe me, go back home and ask the king and he will confirm what I am saying.”

The prince, torn inside, returned to the palace and immediately went looking for his father. “Tell me, is what the mentor told me true? Am I your son or not?” To his great surprise, the king confirmed the story. “The queen and I were not blessed with children. When you were found, we had you brought to the palace and we concocted a story that the queen gave birth to a healthy baby boy.”

The crestfallen prince rushed back to his mentor. “It is true,” he blurted out. “I am not the natural born son of the king and queen. But tell me, how did you know?”

The man said to him, “I’ll tell you the truth. I am not a prophet. But tell me, do you think a king’s son, who was saved from death, would reward his savior with a pittance? If the heir to a royal blood line was saved from a heavy financial loss, would he reward the person who saved him with a small bill? Of course not! True royalty would handsomely express appreciation. When you didn’t, I knew that you were not an heir to a long line of kings and queens. You were a commoner who had been adopted.

Says Rav Yitzchok Zilberstein, we are children of royalty, heir to a golden chain stretching back thousands of years. It is not becoming of us to busy ourselves with pettiness, with silly things of little consequence. We have to be better than that. Let us demonstrate that we are worthy successors to the greats of our people who have come before us.

We were detached from our usual responsibilities for eight days plus and able to re-bond with our family and ourselves. Let us show that we learned lessons about priorities in life and will put them into practice. Let us show that we were able to calmly observe mitzvos and daven without being rushed and constantly checking our watches and phones.

Let’s try to maintain that renewed devotion to our spiritual obligations and the things that we now have realized are the really important things in our life, concentrating on dedicating ourselves to fulfilling our responsibilities calmly and joyfully, with love and dedication.

• • • • •

One day, the distinguished mussar personality, Rav Eliyohu Lopian, arrived at the Ponovezh Yeshiva in Bnei Brak to visit the mashgiach, Rav Yechezkel Levenstein. When they finished their discussion, Rav Levenstein asked his visitor to address the talmidim.

Until a few generations ago, he said, blood libels were a fact of Jewish life. Gentiles would allege that the Jews had killed a Christian child and sucked out his blood for use in the production of matzos. The story of the murdered child would spread like wildfire and the peasants were whipped into a frenzy to exact justice on the poor, helpless Jews. Pogroms would ensue, and Jews would be beaten, robbed, pillaged, and often massacred.

One evening prior to Pesach, in a city with a Jewish population of 30,000, a Christian child was found dead on the property of a Jewish family. The city erupted, demanding blood for blood. For some reason, the town’s mayor wasn’t convinced that the Jews had killed the Christian child. He questioned the justice of killing the Jews without being certain that they had committed the dastardly deed. “Maybe one of you did it so that you can massacre Jews,” he said.

“But how can we ever know for certain?” the townspeople responded. “We can’t compound the crime by letting the killer go free.”

The wise mayor told them that he had a way to know if it was the Jews from the home in front of which the boy was found or if it was someone else. “We will procure the services of a sniffer dog. He will pick up the scent of the child and follow its traces. If the dog sniffs his way towards the house, then we will know that the Jews killed the child. If that happens, we will kill the entire family and throw all the Jews out of our city. But if the dog traces the steps away from the house and towards the street, then we will know that he was murdered somewhere else and dumped on the Jew’s property. We will know that the Jews are innocent this time and we will leave them alone.

The plan was approved. The Jews ran to their shuls and began pouring their hearts out in prayer to Hashem. They begged to be saved. They davened that the dog be given the intelligence to make the correct decision and follow the scent away from the Jewish house.

The dog was brought and, under the watchful eye of the mayor, it began sniffing the lifeless body as it lay on the property. It smelled and smelled, picking up the scent, and began walking in circles around the dead boy, keeping its nose down and seeking to pick up all the various smells that surrounded it. Finally, when the dog was sure it had picked up the scents, it began slowly walking straight towards the street with its nose down, signaling that the boy was killed elsewhere and dragged there by evil plotters.

Said Rav Lopian, “That was the story. But I have a question for you. What reward do you think the dog should receive? It saved 30,000 Jews from immediate eviction and saved a Jewish family from immediate certain death. Shouldn’t it get something?”

“Should it get Olam Haba? Maybe, but dogs don’t get Olam Haba. So maybe a special Olam Hazeh? Also not. It gets nothing. Maybe a bone. Do you know why? Because it performed a purely natural act. It was trained to pick up smells and follow them. That’s what it did. It doesn’t know any differently. For doing that, it gets no reward.

“If so, when a Jew awakes in the morning, washes negel vasser, gets dressed and goes to shul, puts on his tefillin, davens, puts away his tefillin, and goes home to eat breakfast, what is that? It’s purely natural to him. He does it out of habit, without any thought. How much reward should he get for what he did?”

Of course, every mitzvah is rewarded, but I’m sure you get the point. If we do mitzvos by rote, out of habit, without thought or concentration, then we aren’t doing what we are supposed to do, and although we will be rewarded for what we did and our actions are certainly commendable, the reward is not what it would be if we would add thought and concentration and think about what we are doing and saying.

We have an opportunity to bring ourselves closer to Hashem and perform mitzvos properly. Let us do so.

When we ate matzah on Pesach, it was with great concentration. We went through great effort to procure the matzos, and when we ate them at the Seder, we made sure that we were eating the proper amount at the proper time while seated in the proper position. That is how we should perform all mitzvos.

When we read the Haggadah, we didn’t just run through it. We stopped to think about what we were saying and regularly paused to ponder what we were reading. That is how we should daven, thinking about what we are saying and not just racing through the siddur without stopping to think about the concepts and words we are mouthing. If we would, we would feel so much more connected to the Source of all life. Davening Shacharis would be a daily inspiration and not just something to finish and be done with. Its impact would linger throughout the day and infuse us with emunah and bitachon, as well as simcha and tzufriedenkeit. We would feel better about ourselves and do ourselves good, as our tefillos would be accepted On High.

• • • • •

The Dubna Magid (Ohel Yaakov, Lech Lecha) explains the influence of Yomim Tovim with a moshol.

A king was camping in the desert and his water supply was finished. He had a choice: He could either send his runners ahead to find water and return with it or he could put to work the hydrologists who traveled with him.

If he would send his messengers, they would return with water, but it would be a limited supply. However, if he put his hydrologists to work, they would take soil samples, consult maps, and get to work digging until they reached water. It would take longer this way, but they would have water for as long as they wanted. They’d tap into the natural underground water, and as long as they kept the flow open, there would be water for many years to come.

So too, if we tap into the kedusha and hashpa’os of the chag, they will remain with us for many years and not quickly dissipate.

• • • • •

The Meor Voshemesh writes that the reason we usually read Parshas Shemini after Pesach is because this parsha discusses the food that we are forbidden to eat. Someone who partakes of treife food is unable to learn Torah because he becomes defiled. Over Pesach, we became sanctified because we abstained from chometz and only ate matzah. By doing so, we purified ourselves and our mouths. Therefore, we attempt to maintain that higher level of holiness by ensuring that we refrain from the foods that dilute our kedusha and cause us to become impaired.

Rav Elozor Menachem Man Shach retold that on a visit to Warsaw, Rav Chaim Soloveitchik saw the sefer Degel Machneh Efraim for the first time. He read there in Parshas Eikev that the author recounted a story told by his grandfather, the Baal Shem Tov.

Thousands of people from a certain country wrote a letter to the Rambam, inquiring about a point related to emunah. The Rambam demurred from responding to their question. Instead, he wrote them that they should inspect the kashrus of the shechitah in their area. Upon inspection, they discovered that the local shochet had been feeding them treife meat for some thirteen years. They wrote to the Rambam and asked him how he knew that there was a problem with the kashrus of their food supply.

The Rambam responded that he knew that the residents of that country were fine, observant people, so as he read their question, he wondered how it could be that they would send him a question that bordered on kefirah. He determined that it had to be that their hearts and souls had become corrupted by eating non-kosher food. He knew that they couldn’t have been knowingly eating neveilos and treifos, so he perceived that it had to be that the shochet was fooling them and feeding them forbidden meat.

• • • • •

This week’s parsha discusses laws of foods. None of us could be accused of knowingly eating neveilos and treifos, but we can all use a reminder to be cautious about what we put into our mouths and what we put into our minds, hearts and souls.

Just as we were so careful over Pesach not to partake of even a morsel of chometz or have any of it in our possession, as we transition back to our non-Yom Tov daily lives, we should be more cognizant of pernicious influences and do what we can to lead our lives in tune with the higher spiritual levels where we are purer, happier and better.