Still Standing

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Last week, the parsha we learned listed ninety-eight curses that Hashem foretold would befall the Bnei Yisroel if they would not follow in His way. This week’s parsha begins with the words, “Atem nitzovim - You are standing.”  

Rashi explains that when the Jewish people heard the multitude of curses, they turned green from fear, certain that they would not be able to withstand them. When he saw their reaction, Moshe called everyone together and proclaimed to them that they need not be so overwhelmed. He reminded them that they had been together in the desert for forty years, experiencing many ups and downs. He consoled them and said, “Despite it all, you are still here, standing upright.”

He told them that Hashem stood with them and kept them alive so that they and their future generations would be able to enter a bris with Hashem. They will promise to be His nation and He will be their G-d.

Moshe Rabbeinu then reminded them what will happen if they sway from Hashem’s path and the destruction that would befall them. He then consoled them and foretold that they will never be totally destroyed, and when they do teshuvah and return to Hashem, He will accept them and return them to the land He promised them.

We are now somewhat in the position in which the Jews found themselves at the time this originally happened. In the timeline of history, it was very recent that six million of our people were killed, while millions more were displaced, running around the world, seeking places of refuge. Some gave up all hope and forsook the life of Torah. They didn’t imagine that it would ever again be possible to live Torah lives. They sought to blend into their new surroundings. They looked for new beginnings, new starts, and restarts. 

Others were more blessed and looked to start over, but on the foundations upon which they had lived prior to the upheaval and annihilation of all that they had known. They established themselves in countries and cities in which they could continue observing Torah and mitzvos, and Hashem enabled them to raise observant children and grandchildren, and to earn a decent living.

The tragedy of the Holocaust knocked the wind out of everyone, hovering over our people for many years after it finally ended. Until today, we are affected by it. People now look around the world with fear that another horrific tragedy could be festering, ready to burst in the open.

Anti-Semitism had sort of gone into hiding. It wasn’t popular, and although Jews were never fully accepted and we often got dirty looks in public, we turned away and pretended not to notice. Laws in Western countries prohibited outright discrimination and seemed to be gaining in effectiveness. Industries and schools that had shunned Jews throughout the decades dropped those practices. Jews became accepted in the best universities, corporations, political positions, country clubs and high society.

But now, once again, all types of Jews, no matter where they are, have become fearful. In the United States, it is no longer verboten for political leaders to be openly anti-Semitic, in word and deed. Their parties don’t bother admonishing them for their behavior. Instead, they gain increased power. The media is increasingly hypocritical as it discusses Jews and Israel, displaying open double standards and not being concerned with the truth.

Students march against Jews on campus and make their lives miserable. It takes an act of Congress for anti-Semitic leaders of colleges and universities across this country to be canned. Hamas sympathizers march so often in major American cities that it isn’t news anymore and the media ignores it.

Employees of airlines and other high profile industries feel comfortable mistreating Jews. Such conduct is increasing, not decreasing.

We are in a presidential election year, and the incumbent party and its president and vice president openly castigate Israel as it fights existential battles with terror groups sworn to its destruction, while holding back the weaponry it needs.

In European countries, which have been overwhelmed by immigrants, Jews fare much worse.

Since October 7^th, Israel has been at war on its southern and northern borders. Thousands were killed, thousands were wounded, and tens of thousands were forced from their homes and towns, their lives upended. Lacking a home, school, work, or friends is not a recipe for normalcy or physical and emotional health. The northern border is now heating up more than it has during the entire war. Hezbollah, which has been bombarding border towns since the conflict began, has intensified its attacks, increasing their frequency, strength, and range.

People fear that a ground war is imminent, with massive rockets potentially reaching every corner of Eretz Yisroel. They are anxious for their lives and livelihoods. Western airlines have nearly ceased their Israeli operations, drying up the tourist dollars that entire industries rely on. The value of the shekel continues to plummet and interest rates remain high.

Adding to the tension is the deep divide being fueled by leftist Netanyahu opponents, who are targeting the religious community with punitive measures and cuts to government aid. This presents a whole other problem, with no clear solution in sight. The reduction of funding for religious teachers, playgroups, schools, and yeshivos, coupled with the courts overturning long-standing draft laws, has left many with even more to worry about.

As Rosh Hashanah approaches and people fear what the coming year may bring, Moshe Rabbeinu calls out to us with the words, “Atem nitzovim hayom kulchem.” Look around. Look at yourself, your families, your relatives, and your friends. Despite everything that has been happening over the past few years, you are still here, and you are still standing.

Through all that our people endured during the Holocaust and the years that followed, we are still here, standing and growing each year. Despite the rockets and bombs aimed at us by terrorists, we remain here, still standing. Despite the invective, the hate, and the hypocritical lectures hurled at us, we are here, and we are standing.

An elderly woman who has experienced much in her life recorded a short video message. This is what she said: “My name is Ella Blumenthal, a survivor of Majdanek, Auschwitz and Bergen-Belsen. I am now one hundred and three years old and there are a few things that I know.

“I know what it means to lose your whole family just because they are Jewish. I know what it means to survive on just one piece of bread a day. I know what it means to hope to live just one more day, in the hope that tomorrow will be better than today. I know what it means to never give up, no matter what.

“Some say that my survival is due to the irony of fate, but I know that Hashem has always been on my side, both then and now.

“In this month of Elul, I feel this stronger than ever. I want you to remember always to carry Hashem’s light and Heaven in your heart forever, just as I have.”

We haven’t lost faith in Hashem, and He hasn’t lost faith in us. The bris of this week’s parsha is still extant, and through it we live and survive. We cleave to Hashem, follow His Torah, and maintain our emunah and bitachon, living another day and hoping for a better tomorrow.

“Achakeh lo bechol yom sheyavo.” We believe every day that Moshiach will come, and if not today, then tomorrow. We know that Hakadosh Boruch Hu placed us in this world for a reason, and we strive to be the best we can in living the life we are meant to lead.

From a very young age, Rav Avrohom Ausband was trained by his parents to fulfill the mission for which he was placed in this world. Money and fame played no role in his life, which was centered around Torah, talmidim, and family.

Once a year, when he felt weak, he would go to Florida to regain his strength. He would daven in a local shul, finding a seat in the rear of the sanctuary. The rabbi would recognize him and approach, asking him to sit in the front, on the mizrach. Every year, the rabbi would extend this invitation, and every year, Rav Avrohom would decline, explaining that he was comfortable in the back as well.

One year, the rabbi was especially insistent and seemed to take the rosh yeshiva’s refusal personally. “Why won’t you sit on the mizrach, where you rightfully belong?” the rabbi asked. “Why do you turn me down year after year?”

Rav Avremel explained that the real reason he wouldn’t go up was because he found the mechitzah lacking.

The rabbi looked at him and said, “But the rosh yeshiva surely knows that according to Rav Moshe Feinstein’s ruling, the mechitzah is good.”

“I’m not looking for good,” Rav Avremel responded matter-of-factly. “I live my life looking for better.”

That should be our motto, especially during Elul as the Yomim Noraim rapidly approach. We know why we are here. We understand that we are avdei Hashem, on a mission to learn Torah, perform mitzvos, and sanctify Hashem in all that we do, striving not just to do good, but to do better and better.

Rosh Hashanah is the day when man was created, and therefore, on this day, we celebrate the anniversary of Hashem’s Kingship. It is when man recognizes Him as King that His kingship truly begins. [See Rav Dovid Cohen on Maamar Hachochmah, p. 29.]

We can suggest that just as we celebrate this anniversary through the pesukim and tefillos of Malchiyos recited on Rosh Hashanah, so too, since it is the day man was created, there is a special power in effect on Rosh Hashanah that allows man to be recreated. This is accomplished through teshuvah, which removes sins and blemishes, returning him to the state he was in before he sinned.

By doing so, he can become better than he was previously and draw closer to Hakadosh Boruch Hu, thus being granted a better year than the one before.

May all of us who were granted life last year and the ability to still be here standing (nitzovim) be inscribed in Hashem’s book for a good and better year this year. Amein.

The Path of Elul

Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Though it may be cliché to say that we are living in troubling times, it is true. Over the past few years, we have lost many of our great men and leaders. If you think about it, the number of people we looked up to and turned to for guidance who are no longer with us is tragically overwhelming. We peer into the void and wonder if, and how, it can be filled. Just recently, we lost a leading, towering rosh yeshiva, who was a mentor and guide to thousands, and a rebbe who was respected as a talmid chochom and tzaddik.

Tragedies abound. Young people hover between life and death, and just this past Sunday, there was a levayah for a young mother who suddenly took ill and passed away shortly thereafter.

Eretz Yisroel has been at war for almost a year, facing attacks from the north, south, east and west, with prospects for more attacks and a more intense double-pronged war developing. The country is unstable and ripping itself apart.

As Elul, the month of rachamim (mercy), is upon us, it appears that we have been in a period of din for too long now. What can we do to earn Hashem’s mercy so that He brings an end to our pain, suffering and losses?

This week’s parsha discusses the brachos that were delivered at Har Gerizim and the klalos that were delivered at Har Eivol. The people who follow the mitzvos of Hashem would be blessed and those who wouldn’t would be cursed.

The posuk (28:47) states that the reason the curses would befall a person is because he did not serve Hashem through joy and happiness. Many wonder why performing a mitzvah without simcha causes a person to become cursed and punished. After all, he did perform the mitzvah.

We will offer an explanation.

Last week, in Parshas Ki Seitzei, we studied 74 mitzvos, the most contained in any parsha. The most intriguing mitzvah there is the one that Chazal say never happened, namely, the ben sorer umoreh, the deviant son.

While the posuk states that he didn’t obey his parents, the Gemara (Sanhedrin 71a), quoted in Rashi, teaches that the mitzvah relates to a 13-year-old boy who stole and ate meat and wine. He is brought to bais din, and if the charges are proven, he is put to death.

What did he do to deserve the ultimate penalty? Rashi quotes the Gemara (ibid. 71b) that he is punished al sheim sofo, because if he engages in this activity, he will eventually commit acts that are punishable by death.

The Ramban gives two reasons for his severe punishment. One is that he mocked his parents and rebelled against them, and the second is that he is a zollel vesovei, a glutton. “By doing so, he is transgressing the commandment of kedoshim tihiyu, to be a holy people (Vayikra 19:2). He has also transgressed the commandments earlier in Devorim (13:5) of “ve’oso sa’avodu…uvo sidbokun - to serve Hashem and to connect to Him.”

He continues: “As I explained (Devorim 6:13), this indicates that we are to know Hashem [and include Him] bechol derocheinu, in all we do, and a person who eats and drinks such as this one will not know the derech Hashem, the path of Hashem.” The one who conducts himself in this way has veered from the path of Hashem and will never be able to get back onto it.

Not only doesn’t he have his priorities straight, but the ben sorer umoreh thinks that life is about having a good time and seeks ways to increase enjoyment. He doesn’t understand that the purpose of a Jew’s life is, as the Ramban writes, to serve Hashem and follow the path that He set out for us.

Someone who spends his days seeking pleasure will never be satiated. He’ll never have enough and he’ll never be happy. There will always be another restaurant to try out, another plane to procure, a bigger and more upscale home to move to, and a faster, nicer, more comfortable car to be driven in.

In this introspective month of Elul, we work on perfecting ourselves. One of the prime seforim people study to guide them in this pursuit is the classic Mesillas Yeshorim, written by the Ramchal. He opens the sefer by stating that at the root of being a meritorious person who properly serves Hashem is to know and understand our obligation in this world, to serve Hashem and to enjoy basking in the light of His presence.

We all know, and it should be obvious, that the world did not come into existence by itself. Through a cursory examination of a tiny fly, with its legs, wings, brain, eyes, digestive system, and more, it becomes evident that even such a small creature is far too complex to have simply evolved by chance.

Look at a tree growing in your backyard and reflect on its growth and internal irrigation system—how it sprouts fresh green leaves in the spring, which then change color and fall off in autumn—and it becomes obvious that this process didn’t happen by itself.

Since Hakadosh Boruch Hu created the world, He did so with a purpose. If the purpose of creation were simply for people to enjoy themselves, why is there so much pain and suffering in the world? Why does each person experience sadness, grief, anguish, and loss? There must be a higher reason for Hashem’s creation, especially of Am Yisroel, who Chazal teach are the very purpose of creation.

We are here as Hashem’s children, as the posuk says, “Bonim atem laHashem Elokeichem” (Devorim 14:1). We were created to observe Hashem’s mitzvos, to study His Torah, and to walk on the path He has paved for us. We must know that this is our purpose in life and behave accordingly. Those who do so earn the blessings of Hashem, as expressed in the Torah and specifically in this week’s parsha.

Additionally, by fulfilling our obligations, we become satisfied with ourselves and feel content in knowing that we are succeeding in life. Doing what we are meant to do nourishes our neshamos and brings us joy, gratification and a sense of attainment.

A person who understands that by performing mitzvos he brings brocha upon himself and fulfills the very purpose of his life will approach each mitzvah with joy. Someone who truly appreciates the inherent value of mitzvos will eagerly seize every opportunity to perform them. Procuring an esrog, for instance, is not seen as a burden; rather, he happily goes from place to place, seeking the finest esrog he can afford. He eagerly anticipates making the brocha and shaking it together with the lulav, hadasim, and aravos. With gratitude, he thanks Hashem for granting him the life and merit to perform this mitzvah, and he shakes them with joy and pride. This is true for every mitzvah.

Our original question is now answered. A person who does not perform mitzvos with joy reveals a lack of understanding of his true purpose in life. He fails to appreciate that the Creator, who sustains him, has asked him to fulfill these mitzvos. To paraphrase the Ramban’s words regarding the ben sorer umoreh, such a person does not know the derech Hashem, the path of Hashem upon which good people walk.

A most important task for parents is to be mechanech children to understand the correct priorities in life. This is not only crucial for their growth and success. It goes to the very core of their being and lives as bnei and bnos Yisroel.

The yeitzer hora is cunning, and young people who are not yet aware of its tricks can easily become entangled in material desires and peer pressures. We must guide them to follow the right path and emphasize Torah values that provide lasting fulfillment and joy. They need to understand that, as children of the Melech Malchei Hamelachim, they should conduct themselves with the dignity of royalty.

The most effective way to instill these values is through example, by learning with them and sharing meaningful divrei Torah and stories.

There is a new, fascinating sefer on the life of the Chofetz Chaim written by Rav Dov Eliach. He discusses that the Chofetz Chaim would wear simple clothes, but they were always perfectly clean and fitting, for he was a “ben Melech” and always conducted himself as such. All through the day, everything he did was for Hashem. He always sought to be connected with Hashem and was never distracted from his task of walking in the derech Hashem and acting as Hashem would want.

When he would get dressed, he would say, “I am doing this lesheim Hashem.” When he aged and began encountering difficulty in putting on his shoes, he said each time, “Ribono Shel Olam, I am doing this for Your honor.”

When he washed himself, he said, “Lesheim Hashem,” and when he wrote a letter, he would dip his pen into the bottle of ink and proclaim, “Lechvod Hashem.”

Everything was about Hashem, for he knew that his purpose in this world was to serve Hashem, and he knew that he was a favorite son to the Melech.

We need to follow his example and learn the lesson of the ben sorer umoreh, understanding what Hashem wants from us and consistently walking His path with the dignity of royalty. By doing so, we will merit Hashem’s brachos and experience true happiness, regardless of our circumstances. We will recognize that Hashem created the world and placed us in it for a supreme purpose.

We would dedicate our time to pursuing mitzvos and acting with kindness towards others. We would speak appropriately, dress properly, always be neat and clean, avoid places we don’t belong, and strive to be righteous and exemplary in all our actions.

We would earn the brachos listed in this week’s parsha, as would our children and others who follow our example.

And if we err, or fall from the path, we would get back on. We would regret our mistakes, do teshuvah, and be welcomed back into Hashem’s embrace.

We can all reach that level. We can all aspire to be like the Chofetz Chaim and other great tzaddikim, growing in Torah and avodah, if we maintain proper, eternal priorities and avoid being misled by trivial pursuits. Chasing fleeting pleasures that quickly disappear and offer little lasting value will only leave us with an empty feeling.

Elul, the Chassidic masters taught, stands for “lo anachnu.” We are Hashem’s. “Lo anachnu” - we are not for ourselves.

Elul is the time to forsake our silly wants and desires, and to recognize that we are Hashem’s. If we acknowledge that we are His, He will respond by affirming our connection and showing us mercy, just as a parent shows mercy to his children.

We have just passed the midway point of Elul. There is still much to do, but if we are on the derech Hashem and take steps towards rectifying our actions and bringing ourselves closer to Hashem, He will reach out to us, bring us all the way aboard, and grant us a kesivah vachasimah tovah. Kein yehi ratzon.

Lev Mi Lo Yecherad

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Elul, the month of introspection and preparation for the Days of Judgment—Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur—is always a serious period. As the Days of Judgment approach, people become increasingly fearful of what will transpire with them during the coming year. They seek to rectify their actions and draw closer to Hashem, His Torah, and mitzvos.

This year, an extra jolt was delivered with the sudden passing of Rav Avrohom Ausband zt”l, the great gaon, rosh yeshiva, and rebbi, beloved and admired by many thousands in the Torah community. He was seen as a vibrant and energetic talmid chochom who devoted himself to learning Torah, living Torah, teaching Torah, and advancing its causes.

American-born and raised, he was a member of the post-Holocaust generation of roshei yeshiva. He opened his yeshiva over forty years ago and had been raising and developing exceptional talmidim ever since. His brilliance, erudition, and oratory were legendary, contributing to his highly respected standing in the Torah world.

News of his petirah spread quickly around the world, as those who appreciate Torah and gedolei Torah were overcome with grief and sadness at the loss of such an outstanding and unique gadol in the prime of his life.

Every morning, at the conclusion of Shacharis during Elul, the shofar is blown to awaken us to do teshuvah, as the posuk (Amos 3:6) states, “Im yitoka shofar ba’ir v’am lo yecherodu – When the shofar is blown in the city, [can] the people not become afraid?”

This is rooted in the Tur (Hilchos Rosh Hashanah 581), who writes that Chazal established the custom of blowing the shofar during Elul so that people will be alerted to perform teshuvah, as the posuk we previously quoted states. The question in the posuk demonstrates that the sound of the shofar causes people to fear.

Rav Dovid Cohen, rosh yeshiva of Yeshivas Chevron, who is currently in the United States on behalf of the Keren Olam Torah, points out in his sefer that the posuk, which is widely repeated and mentioned as the source of the custom to blow the shofar during Elul, does not directly refer to teshuvah or Rosh Hashanah. The posuk mentions the shofar and its ability to evoke fear as a tool of war. In times of war, people panic when they hear the shofar because they know that a battle will soon be near.

How, then, is this posuk, which refers to war, a source for the shofar we sound during Elul, which is a call for people to do teshuvah?

The Zohar sees this message in the opening of this week’s parsha, “Ki seitzei lamilchamah al oyvecha,” where the Torah ostensibly discusses the Jewish people going to battle against their enemies and the capture of an aishes yefas toar. The Zohar, as well as commentators such as the Arizal and later the Ohr Hachaim, teach that these pesukim guide us in battling our eternal enemy, the yeitzer hara.

The posuk states that the woman cries for her parents for a period of one month. The Zohar and the Arizal explain that this is an indication of the month of Elul, which is a time for teshuvah.

Doing teshuvah is like going to battle against our enemy, the yeitzer hara, who seeks to distance us from Hashem and proper observance of mitzvos. Therefore, just as in a time of war leisurely pursuits are limited, so too, during Elul, that same serious mindset must prevail. Activities acceptable throughout the year have no place now.

Elul and the blowing of the shofar infuse us with a sense of urgency and desperation. Every action we undertake should be weighed to determine whether it will bring us closer to Hashem’s embrace or, chas v’shalom, distance us further.

Those in sync with the ratzon Hashem are alert to the kol shofar. They are engaged in the milchemes hayeitzer that defines human existence. Thus, when they hear the sound of the shofar, they tremble with the knowledge of “hinei yom hadin.”

In normal times, when tzaddikim are taken from us, it is a message for us to do teshuvah and draw closer to Hashem. When two tzaddikim are taken at the beginning of Elul, the message is compounded, and it is as if a thousand shofros were blown, admonishing us to quickly do teshuvah and improve our actions and lives.

 

Words & Elul

 By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Yerushalayim is the city of hidden tzaddikim, who spend their days and nights plumbing the depths of Torah and tefillah with total humility and anonymity. One such person is Rav Abish Tzainvirt. After sleeping a couple of hours each night, he awakens and learns until it is time to leave to the Kosel to daven Shacharis k’vosikin, as he has done daily for the past thirty years.

My friend heard about him and wanted to meet him and discuss some issues with him. He davened at the Kosel vosikin minyan where his rebbi, Rav Moshe Shapiro, would daven. When davening was over, he approached Rav Tzainvirt and arranged a time to meet him in his home.

As they were leaving the Kosel, my friend mentioned that he was a talmid of Rav Moshe Shapiro. He asked the elderly tzaddik if he had much of a relationship with Rav Moshe besides exchanging pleasantries following davening.

Rav Tzainvirt stopped walking and paused to think. After a few seconds, he looked at my friend with his holy eyes and said, “Ich hub geret mit em mer vi ah toisint sha’ah. I spoke to him more than one thousand hours.”

Imagine that! This tzaddik can account for every minute in his day, keeping a cheshbon of every minute of every day going back many decades.

During Elul, we, who have not yet attained those levels, should at least seriously consider how we spend our time and the words we use. Every minute and every utterance is precious and should be put to good use.

As we return to the month of Elul, the world seems like a powder keg, ready to explode at any moment. There are months associated with redemption, others with joy, and some with destruction and tragedy. Elul is the serious month, during which we examine ourselves and our place in the world as we work to repair what we find lacking. We view the world and ourselves as balanced on a scale, evenly weighted with good and bad, ready to tip in either a positive or negative direction.

Recent tragedies have added to a year already full of sorrow, continuously reminding us of the precariousness of life. Just this week, six Jewish hostages held since October 7^th were found dead, shot mere hours before rescuers could reach them. Three Jewish police officers were killed near Chevron. Jewish soldiers lost their lives battling Hamas terrorists in Gaza. A dozen tragic funerals were held across Israel. And just last week, two young men—a rosh chaburah from Lakewood and an accomplished resident of Woodmere—were taken while on vacation in the Poconos. Painful funerals followed.

Israel is engaged in a multi-front war, with the specter of a devastating Iranian attack looming large. World leaders and media castigate Israel for fighting for its survival, branding it and its leaders as genocidal murderers. Airlines boycott it and world bodies condemn the tiny country, as it presses ahead with its mission of destroying its Hamas enemies.

This week, we began reciting the kappitel of Tehillim we refer to as “L’Dovid,” in which we proclaim our faith that Hashem stands by His nation as others attack us. We beg for His mercy to stand by our side and support us. Elul is not only a month during which we become serious as we reflect on the past year and think ahead to the coming one, but also the month when Hashem’s mercy is more prevalent. As we review our actions, repent for what we did wrong, and seek atonement, Hashem is compassionate to those who approach Him with humble faith and true remorse.

As we say L’Dovid, the seriousness with which we must approach life begins to take hold. Over the past few weeks, we have eased into life, reducing our stress levels and stepping back from the usual daily pressures, but now it is time to return to what life is truly about.

For some, the transition is difficult and downright depressing, but for the more thoughtful among us, Elul is invigorating, as it brings us back to a life of meaning, forcing us to contemplate why we are here and what we can do to deserve continued life, brocha, and hatzlocha.

We arrive at this state by studying the various sifrei mussar that our people have been learning for centuries. They guide and enlighten us as they have done for our virtuous forebears throughout the ages. And then we turn to our trusted teacher, the Rambam, who has been teaching and clarifying all aspects of Yahadus for Jewish people around the world for over 800 years.

In his Hilchos Teshuvah, the Rambam carefully outlines the trajectory of teshuvah in a way that deeply affects those who study his Divinely inspired words, leaving them elevated and strengthened as they begin the process that we all need to go through at this time of year.

The person who seeks improvement is struck by how the Rambam sets up and clarifies the path to living a better, more fulfilling, and successful life. He guides you from one halacha to the next, raising you as you follow along with him, moving from laziness and sinfulness to becoming an increasingly superior person.

We find ourselves giving thought to what we do and say. We no longer act out of habit, but think about what we are doing and ensure that the act is a good one that will make us and the world a better place. Before we speak, we consider what we will say and whether it is something positive or negative, whether it will help someone or hurt them, whether it is permissible speech or forbidden speech.

Hashem places us in situations to learn from them. Last Sunday, I found myself somewhere, and WCBS news radio was playing in the background. The 100-year-old New York-based station, which had been a news-only station for the past 57 years, was being shut down by its new owners. Those who grew up with that station and depended on it for traffic and weather reports, as well as its other offerings, were saddened as the station was about to close.

I listened as various news presenters, producers, and others involved with the station spoke about their memories in somber tones. As the radio played in the background, I didn’t pay much attention, but then I heard something that made me perk up. A newswriter was recounting his introduction to the station’s rules and style. He was told to minimize the use of the word “is.” I didn’t catch the whole explanation, but an editor told him that the station worked with blocks of time measured in minutes and seconds. He said, “Our time is precious, and we have to squeeze in as much information as we can into a limited period. We also have to hold the attention of our listeners. The word ‘is’ is unnecessary. It wastes time and slows things down. Never use it.”

The person sharing this memory, whose name I didn’t catch, gave an example. He said that when the announcer gave the time, he didn’t say, “The time now is 9:48,” but rather, “The time now 9:48.”

And then it hit me, and I understood why Hashem brought me to that place as the radio played. There was a lesson in what that fellow was saying. Each person’s time in this world is limited. We must be careful not to waste our time on extraneous things and words. We must use our time wisely and think before we act or speak. If the act we are about to do is not necessary and serves no purpose, we should refrain from it. When speaking, we should consider our message and the words we use to convey it. If something is worth saying, it should be stated concisely and properly, and if the words or the message are not necessary, we shouldn’t say them.

How time flies. Rav Avrohom Pam’s 23^rd yahrtzeit was just commemorated. I remember him admonishing people who would say “whatchamacallit,” because it indicates that they don’t think before speaking.

Elul is a perfect time to work on perfecting how we speak and what we say.

The Gemara in Brachos (61b) quotes Rav Yosi Haglili, who said that the righteous are guided by their yeitzer tov, the wicked are ruled by their yeitzer hara, and beinonim are ruled by both. The terminology Rav Yosi Haglili uses to make his point is “shoftom,” from the word shfot, which is generally translated as “to judge,” as in “tzaddikim yeitzer tov shoftom.”

This translation follows the Vilna Gaon (Chiddushei Aggados), who explains that the word “shoftom” is used to signify that the yeitzer is like a shofet, a judge, who decides how people should conduct themselves.

What is interesting is that we see from here that nothing a person does happens by itself or just because. Everyone is led by a yeitzer. If he is a good person, then he follows his yeitzer hatov, and if he is an evil person, then he is led by the yeitzer hara. Beinonim vary. Sometimes they follow the yeitzer hatov and other times the yeitzer hara. Nothing we do is neutral. Our actions are either good or not good. Our task is to ensure that we don’t permit faulty considerations to mislead us into following the yeitzer hara and doing actions that are silly, wasteful, and wrong.

This week’s parsha of Shoftim begins with the commandment to appoint shoftim, judges, and shotrim, enforcers. For centuries, darshanim have thundered during Elul that the posuk refers to us.

To follow the terminology of the Vilna Gaon, we can say that the posuk is telling us that we have to be able to judge each act and properly determine whether it should be done or not. Even when it is difficult for us to act on the judgment, we must force ourselves to do what is proper. We shouldn’t do anything that a proper judgment would determine has no beneficial value.

The pesukim continue with the injunction to judge properly, not to twist a judgment, and not to accept bribes, even when reaching the right decision, for doing so will lead to corruption and improper understanding. The Torah refers to judges who are ruling on cases, but the inference to our own actions is clear as well. We must not let ourselves be led astray or be swayed by influences that disrupt our balance. “Tzedek tzedek tirdof.” We must always pursue what is right and just, as a people, as a community, and as individuals.

Take a look around and see what happens when justice is perverted, when prosecutors are corrupt, when policemen are afraid to police, and when judges twist the law. See a country torn apart by a justice system that doesn’t work. See what happens when politics determines who goes free and who faces dreadful sentences. Look at the country’s big cities, where there is no order in certain areas and crime is a regular occurrence, with perpetrators being let go at an alarming rate.

Last week, it was revealed that fully half of the riders on New York City buses don’t pay the required fare. Bus drivers are afraid to confront them, so another mark of decency and the law crumbles. In California, the police are not allowed to go after criminals who steal less than $950 worth of merchandise. Blue states let criminals out without bail and don’t hand over criminal illegal aliens to the authorities, who would remove them from the country. We see the outcome of such policies.

People who fail to judge and police themselves face the same outcome. That’s why Elul is here. It is here for us to look in the mirror and say to ourselves, “Tzedek tzedek tirdof.” We must straighten ourselves out, act properly, be good, and do good.

The parsha concludes with the halachos of the eglah arufah. If a person is found dead outside of a town, the zekeinim and shoftim of the town, along with the kohanim and levi’im, must proclaim that they had no hand in the person’s death. They declare that they did not see the deceased walking through their town without offering him food or seeking to care for him. They vow that they had no remote role in his death.

This week, as we study the parsha, let us contemplate those who have been wronged, misjudged, abused, and mistreated, and let us vow to do what is right and proper. Let us stand up for those who have no one to stand up for them. Let us fight for what is right.

We must think about others and also about ourselves. Life is a test of wills, and to the degree that we follow the urge to do good, we are good. But if we let go and fall prey to urges that push aside the good in favor of temporary enjoyment, we lose out every time.

Our brothers are at war. We need to think about them and feel the pain of the grieving families, of those who haven’t been home since Simchas Torah, and of those who lost their loved ones, homes, schools, jobs, and everything else that is important in life.

Elul is a serious time—a time to think, to daven, to improve, to fix what we didn’t do right last year, and to plan ahead for the coming year.

For the next month, we will be hearing the shofar every morning after davening. Those sounds are meant to instill the fear of Hashem within us. It is not just the sound, but the act of blowing the shofar that should awaken us from our apathy. Even if the events of the past year have not been enough to shake us and remind us how temporary and fragile life is, when we hear the shofar, there are no more excuses.

Wake up! Your life depends on it.