Crowned

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Shavuos may be the shortest of the Shalosh Regolim but its impact is immeasurable. For on this one day (or two, in chutz la’aretz), we remember and relive the special occasion which defines us: the giving of the Torah. This is the day for which the world was created, when Heaven touched Earth and a nation found its purpose. While our footsteps once led to the Beis Hamikdosh, our hearts still ascend year after year toward that same sacred encounter at Har Sinai.

“Kofah aleihem har kegigis.” Chazel tell us that Hakadosh Boruch Hu, so to speak, held Har Sinai over the Jewish people and told them that either they accept upon themselves to study and observe the Torah or He would drop the mountain upon them and they would be buried alive.

Many explanations are given for why Hashem forced them to accept the Torah under the penalty of death. One of the many is that the world was created for Torah and for the Bnei Yisroel to accept it. If they would not agree to study and be governed by the laws of the Torah, the world would cease to have a purpose and would be returned to its original inert state.

The path was laid by the avos, Avrohom, Yitzchok and Yaakov, and passed on to the shevotim and to their children. In Mitzrayim, their offspring grew exponentially, but sank to levels of depravity that endangered their ability to continue their glorious heritage.

Before they reached the point of no return, Hashem redeemed them, miraculously removing them from Mitzrayim. They went to the Yam Suf to escape the clutches of decadence and immorality and began the trek back to the hallowed land of their forefathers.

After 49 days of preparation, they were ready to fulfill their destiny and accept the Torah. They proclaimed the immortal words, “Naaseh venishma,” accepting upon themselves the Torah’s obligations and, by doing so, setting the world on its proper trajectory.

At that moment, Klal Yisroel proclaimed that although they were mortals fashioned of flesh and blood, they were willing to live on a higher and loftier plane, with the Torah as their guide.

Malochim objected to the notion of giving the Torah to humans, but after the Bnei Yisroel demonstrated their worthiness, the malochim placed crowns on their heads (Shabbos 88a). There are different interpretations as to what the crowns consisted of, what their significance was, and what they accomplished. Most likely, they did not resemble the adorable golden paper crowns that children wear to celebrate Shavuos and the receipt of their siddurim and Chumoshim, but those crowns keep the message alive and remind us of the heights we reached and can still attain even in our day.

Shavous contains the power and potency evident on the day the Torah was first given to us. Every year, on Chag Mattan Toraseinu, the gift that was first given at Sinai is regifted to those who have undertaken the proper preparations and made themselves worthy. Even in our day, when tumah is all around, it is possible to live a life of kedusha.

The further a person is removed from Torah, the more he is affected by tumah, silliness and ideas that weaken his inherent goodness.

The Meshech Chochmah at the end of Parshas Yisro writes that until Matan Torah, people were only able to serve Hashem through ruchniyus. When the Torah was given, acts that were previously purely gashmiyus and physical were invested with kedusha. With the acceptance of the Torah, people were empowered to sanctify themselves and all human needs and instincts.

That is why Hashem told Moshe Rabbeinu at the s’neh, the burning bush, “Shal ne’alecha mei’al raglecha - Remove your shoes from your feet.” He was saying, “Remove the vehicles for your gashmiyusdike physical lives as you approach Me.”

After Matan Torah, Hashem told the Jewish people, “V’anshei kodesh tihiyun li—And you shall be holy people” (Shemos 22:30). It’s a powerful instruction that reveals something essential about our identity and mission. Hashem did not ask us to become malochim. The Torah does not expect us to transcend our human nature. Instead, it teaches us to live fully human lives, while elevating ourselves with holiness.

We are meant to be people: working, building, raising families, maintaining relationships, facing challenges, and experiencing growth. But as we do so, we are expected to live as anshei kodesh, human beings who sanctify our lives through the Torah.

This concept lies at the heart of Shavuos. On this Yom Tov, we celebrate not only the giving of the Torah, but the idea that Hashem gave it to us flawed, growing, learning human beings. The Torah wasn’t given in the heavens, but here on earth. It wasn’t meant only for the spiritually elite, but for everyone: the busy parent, the student, the worker, the neighbor, the friend. Torah is a guide for life in this world, for people who strive to elevate the physical through the spiritual.

In fact, the Gemara points out something unique about Shavuos. While there is a machlokes regarding how other Yomim Tovim should be divided between spiritual pursuits (laShem) and physical enjoyment (lochem), on Shavuos, “hakol modim deba’inan nami lochem—all agree that there must be an element of lochem, of physical enjoyment.” This is not a contradiction to holiness, but a celebration of it. On Shavuos, we demonstrate that even our physical desires can be influenced, refined, and uplifted by the Torah.

Chazal (Pesikta Zutrasa, Va’eschanon) teach us: “Chayov adam liros es atzmo ke’ilu mekabel Torah miSinai,” every person is obligated to see themselves as if they are receiving the Torah today. We are all familiar with this directive regarding Yetzias Mitzrayim. In fact, a central theme of the leil haSeder is to perceive ourselves as if we were let out of Mitzrayim. On Shavuos, we need to view ourselves as if we are receiving the Torah.

Imagine if today were the day you stood at the foot of Har Sinai.

Imagine hearing the voice of Hashem, the thunder, the lightning, and the indescribable awe as the Aseres Hadibros echoed through the universe. Imagine feeling your neshomah and entire being rise, connecting to something far greater than yourself. Imagine walking through the wilderness, day after day, step by step, growing closer to your purpose, until you are finally standing at that mountain and hearing the truth that would change everything.

Now imagine your life without Torah. No mitzvos. No davening. No Shabbos or Yom Tov. No purpose, no anchor. Just an endless cycle of busyness and noise - meals, meetings, work, posts, clips, chats. A life filled with motion, but lacking meaning.

Then imagine discovering Torah for the first time  - today. Imagine being invited to learn Hashem’s word, to feel its depth, to live by its values. Imagine being given the opportunity to lead a life that has eternal meaning, clarity, and light. How grateful would you feel? How inspired would you be?

That’s what Shavuos invites us to experience. Not as a memory, but as a living moment.

Hayom hazeh nihiyeisa le’am. This is the day. Today, we are once again receiving the Torah. Today, we recommit ourselves to living as anshei kodesh.

Yes, we face distractions. Yes, it’s hard to concentrate on tefillah, to carve out time for learning, to push back against a world that often seems to pull us in every direction. But that’s the point. Torah wasn’t given to malochim. It was given to us. To human beings with struggles and limitations, but with souls capable of greatness.

Holiness is not a contradiction to humanity. It’s our potential.

Let us embrace it. Let us live it. Let us become, once again and always, anshei kodesh.

Hayom hazeh! Today and every day. Despite the degeneration of the world, despite the struggles we experience with every tefillah and the challenge of concentrating fully when we learn, despite the many forces competing for our attention and time, we have a new Kabbolas HaTorah.

Human shortcomings are but a hindrance that we can overcome.

There was once a time, not so long ago, when reverence for Torah was instinctive, deeply rooted in the hearts of even the simplest Jews. It wasn’t taught through slogans or campaigns. It was lived. It pulsed through communities, shaping their values, their choices, and their relationships with those who carried the torch of Torah.

In the town of Volozhin, this reverence was visible and tangible. Before each new zeman began, townspeople would gather at the train station, awaiting the arrival of the yeshiva bochurim. They didn’t come to observe. They came to serve. Competing for the chance to pull wagons loaded with the talmidim and their luggage, they saw honor in serving those who toiled in Torah.

When the famed Volozhin Yeshiva made a siyum upon completing a masechta, it wasn’t only the students who celebrated. The entire town felt the joy. Local tradesmen would make their way to the yeshiva to take part in the simcha. But they didn’t come as honored guests. They came as waiters.

At the celebratory meal, it was these upstanding members of the community who moved from table to table, serving food to the bnei hayeshiva. And when the celebration ended, they stayed behind to clean up. This wasn’t done begrudgingly. It was done with pride, with love, and with a sense of profound privilege. They may not have known every daf, but they knew what it meant to honor Torah. They set aside time to learn what they could and cherished those who spent their days and nights learning.

Today, we hear stories like this and we smile. There’s a sweetness to them, a charm that feels almost quaint. But more than that, they are windows into a world that understood something deep and eternal. A world that recognized the holiness of Torah and the people who bear its burden. A world that viewed service not as subservience, but as sacred opportunity.

Stories such as this one are not just nostalgic vignettes. They are a call to remember who we are and what we value. They are gentle reminders of a world that was, and of a world that we can, and should, strive to recreate.

Shavuos is a time to refocus on what Torah means to us and on how blessed we are to be able to spend time by a Gemara or Chumash or Shulchan Aruch, surrounded by more talmidei chachomim and yeshiva bochurim than there have been since the days of Sura and Pumpedisa.

We open our arms wide and accept the Torah just as those who came before us have done for thousands of years. We cherish its words, raising our children and helping guide them to see the honey under each letter.

It is who we are and what we are about. Our lives revolve around it. It is Torah.

With our feet dragging through the dust of life, temptations, parnossah and health challenges, we persist in walking with our eyes on Him and on His Torah, knowing that it is meant for us, to give us the tools to climb higher.

Modim anachnu loch shesamta chelkeinu m’yoshvei bais hamedrash. Thank You, Master of the universe, for allowing us to have a connection with Torah, to have tasted the truest joy of all.

We are the most blessed people, living in a blessed time. Let us show Hashem, our families and ourselves that we appreciate all that we have been given to be able to realize our purpose in this world.

Let us demonstrate that we are worthy of all that we have and use what Hashem has given us to enhance our own lives and those of our families and those around us. Let us show through our actions that we strive to become holier and better.

On Shavuos and throughout the year, we are called to draw closer to the Torah by learning more, by learning deeper and understanding better. To engage with Torah in a way that stirs our hearts and touches our souls, bringing us back to that sacred moment at Har Sinai, where everything began. To perform mitzvos with love, happiness and precision.

When the Bnei Yisroel gathered to receive the Torah and proclaimed, “Naaseh v’nishma,” 600,000 malochim descended from heaven and placed two crowns upon each person, one for naaseh and one for nishma. These were not just symbols of acceptance. They were testaments to our greatness, potential, and deep-rooted connection to Hashem.

But then came the sin of the Eigel. In its aftermath, 120,000 angels of destruction came and removed the crowns. It appeared as though the radiance was lost, the holiness withdrawn, the glory stripped away.

Rav Dovid Cohen, rosh yeshivas Chevron, offers a deeply comforting insight in his Beiurei Chochmah (p. 75), quoting the teachings of the Leshem. The malochim, he explains, only removed the crowns that adorned our physical bodies, our guf and chomer. The spiritual crowns, the ones embedded in our neshamos, our inner essence, were never taken. They remain, even now, resting within our souls, quietly shining.

We may not fully understand the depth of this mystical teaching, but one thing is clear: the kedusha inside us was never erased. Despite mistakes, despite pain, despite all we’ve been through, we are still crowned. We are still holy. That spark remains intact.

And so, we must stop saying that we’re not capable of reaching those heights. We must stop believing that holiness is out of reach, reserved for others but not for us. It is not true. We were at Har Sinai. Our neshamos were at Har Sinai. We carry that memory in our spiritual DNA. We carry those crowns within us.

Especially now, after all the challenges we’ve endured, it is time to rise. To remember who we are. To believe in what we still hold inside.

Let us show that we are more than resilient, that we are sacred. We are strong, we are good, and, yes, we are holy. We are an am kadosh comprised of anoshim kedoshim, looking to improve, to rise, and to fulfill our mandates of being anshei kodesh.

Our Identity

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

President Donald Trump returned from a highly publicized and triumphant visit to three Arab capitals, bringing with him promises of over $1 trillion in investments in the United States and elated by the royal treatment he received. It was, by many accounts, one of the most financially successful diplomatic trips ever undertaken by a U.S. president. Yet, unsurprisingly, his opponents offered little acknowledgment or credit.

Critics were quick to seize on certain aspects of the trip, notably his cordial remarks about the Qatari leader, widely recognized as a major supporter of Hamas. Others pointed to perceived diplomatic nuances throughout the visit that they deemed troubling for Israel. Despite these concerns, Trump reiterated his commitment to strengthening the Abraham Accords, which solidified peace agreements between Israel and four leading Arab nations.

In a notable meeting with a former Syrian militant turned political leader, Trump expressed his desire for Syria to pursue peace with Israel. Repeatedly in interviews, he emphasized his administration’s collaboration with Israel and voiced his admiration for Prime Minister Netanyahu. Still, detractors continued to raise alarms, suggesting that the president was drifting from his previously staunch pro-Israel stance.

Though there is no indication that Trump’s support for Israel has diminished, the controversy serves as a reminder of the ancient truth: “Lev melochim vesorim b’Yad Hashem—the hearts of kings and rulers are in the hands of Hashem.” Speculation and commentary cannot alter what will determine the future of this critical alliance.

Meanwhile, Israel continues its protracted campaign in Gaza, now nearing the two-year mark, with the stated goal of eradicating Hamas. Though much of the group’s leadership has been eliminated and significant caches of weapons and infrastructure have been destroyed, Hamas continues to fight on. A renewed and intensified Israeli military operation was launched last week, echoing earlier vows that this time they will not relent until Hamas is dismantled and all hostages are returned.

Israel’s military campaign in Lebanon succeeded in weakening Hezbollah and contributed to the eventual fall of Syrian dictator Bashar al-Assad. Yet threats persist. In Yemen, the Houthi rebels, despite sustained losses, still possess the capability to launch ballistic missiles toward Israel. One recent missile aimed at an Israeli airport miraculously missed its target by mere feet, narrowly averting what could have been a major catastrophe.

Terrorism within Israel itself, though underreported internationally, continues. Just last week, an expectant mother en route to the hospital was murdered in a terror attack. Her newborn fights for his life.

Across the globe, Israel faces a chorus of condemnation. Many nations issue hollow diplomatic reprimands while offering tacit support for Hamas and its allies. Meanwhile, thousands continue to march through the streets of Western cities, shouting anti-Semitic slogans, fueling a climate of hostility and moral inversion.

We look from afar and wonder what we can do. What can we do to help those who fear for their safety? What can we do to make the world a better place and bring about positive change?

The answers are not found in the conventional or social media, nor in interpersonal conversations that take place between well-intentioned people.

The answers are in this week’s parsha of Bechukosai. In it, Hakadosh Boruch Hu simply lays out for us how we can live happy, successful, and blessed lives, and how peace can reign in the Land of Israel.

The posuk states quite simply, “Im bechukosai teileichu v’es mitzvosai tishmeru va’asisem osam.” If you will follow the chukim and mitzvos of the Torah, you will be blessed.

You wonder what you can do to bring peace to Israel. You wonder what you can do to help alleviate the fear and privation that people there face daily. The Torah in this week’s parsha promises that if you follow Hashem’s commandments, “vishavtem lovetach b’artzechem… venosati shalom ba’aretz ushechavtem v’ein macharid… v’cherev lo saavor b’artzechem - you will live safely in your land, there will be peace in the land, and you will sleep with no fear.”

Everything that is happening today is clearly prescribed in this parsha. The history of the Jewish people is all in Parshas Bechukosai. When we were good, life was good. And when the people sinned and strayed, then what the pesukim say will happen (26:14–44) happened.

Most everyone is familiar with the words of Rashi on the opening posuk of the parsha. His words are so often repeated in shmuessen and drashos that they have become marching orders to generations of bnei Torah of all ages. But it’s always good to review them.

The posuk states, “Im bechukosai teileichu v’es mitzvosai tishmeru va’asisem osam.” The Toras Kohanim states on the words “Im bechukosai teileichu” that “Melameid sheHakadosh Boruch Hu misaveh sheyihiyu Yisroel ameilim baTorah…” From here we see that Hashem desires for the Jewish people to be ameil in Torah.

How does the Toras Kohanim derive this lesson from the words “Im bechukosai teileichu,” which appear to indicate that Hashem wants us to follow His chukim? The posuk says nothing about studying Torah.

Apparently, this question was troubling Rashi, leading him to quote a different message from the Toras Kohanim: I would think that the words “Im bechukosai teileichu” refer to their literal meaning—namely, observing the commandments known as chukim. But if that is the case, why does the Torah then repeat itself and say “v’es mitzvosai tishmeru,” referring once again to mitzvah observance?

Therefore, he writes those immortal words that “Im bechukosai teileichu” doesn’t only mean that we will be blessed if we follow the chukim. Rather, they contain another message: “shetihiyu ameilim baTorah,” that you shall toil in Torah. Those who toil in Torah will be blessed.

When we study Torah, we are connecting with Hashem. We study His word, and it affects us. It affects our neshamos and the way we conduct ourselves. We become better people and more attached to our purpose in life, strengthening our very being.

Shetihiyu ameilim baTorah is the hymn of our yeshivos and kollelim, islands of intense limud haTorah that produce exalted people.

The person who sits at his shtender struggling to grasp a Tosafos, lost in a world inhabited by him and Hashem, is who we aim to emulate.

And it is thanks to him, and thousands more like him, that the world exists.

I recently came across a story that portrays the potency of Torah and the zechus of those who study and support it.

There was a kollel yungerman who learned b’hasmodah rabbah for many years and developed into an outstanding talmid chochom. His wife took care of all the needs of the family so that he was able to learn, unencumbered by anything that would interrupt his limud haTorah.

She felt unwell and visited a doctor, who sent her for a series of tests. A short time later, her husband received an urgent call from the doctor. “I need you to come to my office immediately, without your wife,” the doctor said.

When he arrived at the office, the doctor told him that his wife was seriously ill and inoperable. The illness had progressed and was in its late stages. Treatments would not be effective. He said that they could operate and give her treatments, but that would not save her life. “She has, at maximum, two to three months left to live, so I suggest that instead of her suffering from the pain and hardship of the treatments, which will not help her anyway, she should be left alone to die peacefully.”

Shaken by the prognosis, the husband and wife were not about to give up. They sent the results of the tests to other doctors and medical institutions, but nobody gave them any hope, and nobody wanted to engage in the losing proposition of treating her.

The yungerman went to see his rebbi, the renowned rosh yeshiva, Rav Shmuel Berenbaum, to discuss the matter with him. After sobbing together with his talmid, Rav Shmuel told him that he would give him a brocha and Hashem would help.

The husband implored his rebbi once more. He spoke of his wife, not just as a partner, but as the quiet soul behind every line of Torah he had learned. She carried every burden so he need not carry any, tending to his and the family’s needs with love and devotion, asking for nothing, so he could learn without pause and without worry.

Rav Shmuel Berenbaum thought for a while and then said, “If this is truly the case, you have no need to worry. Hashem will help you and everything will turn out fine.”

The husband returned home and told his wife what the rosh yeshiva said, and they breathed a little easier.

Some time passed, and then came an unexpected call from a doctor representing one of the hospitals they had reached out to. He told them that the hospital was preparing to test an experimental treatment, something never tried before, and something that, after what followed, would never be tried again. He said that the chances of the treatment being effective were very slim and that it was likely to kill some of the patients they tried it on, so they were reaching out to terminal patients who had no other medical hope of survival.

The trial included twenty patients. Eighteen of them died during the trial. Two of the patients survived the treatments. One of them was the yungerman’s wife.

For weeks following the treatments, she was in a bad state, barely hanging on to life. But after three months, she began improving, until she totally recovered. She has remained healthy since then.

When the yungerman returned to his rebbi to share with him the news of his wife’s recovery, Rav Shmuel said to him, “Now I will tell you what I did when you left after telling me about your wife and her prognosis.

“When you went out, I locked the door and opened the Gemara that sat on the table before me. On the page that I opened to, the Gemara cited Abaye and Rava. I looked at the Gemara and said to them, ‘Since I was 16–17 years old, I have been studying your Torah and toiling over your teachings. I never asked you for anything and will never again, but now I will ask you for something. There is this person who is areingeton in studying your Torah day and night, and has been for decades. All of his learning is the zechus of his wife, who is totally devoted to enabling him to learn day and night. I am asking you, therefore, to do what you can to help her.’”

Torah is not merely a study. It is a bond between Heaven and earth, a force that bends the natural order when held with purity and devotion.

Just as the posuk promises, we see the power of ameilus baTorah, of those who sacrifice for it quietly behind the scenes. The pages of the Gemara absorb not just the words of the one who learns, but the whispered prayers, the missed meals, and the silent burdens borne by those who support that learning.

A wife gave everything, allowing her husband to be a yungerman who learns without pause. Her merit was so pure, so intertwined with the holiness of Torah, that even when medicine gave up, the zechus of Torah pulled through for her.

We learn of a rebbi, a giant in Torah, whose tears spoke louder than science, whose plea was not made to anyone else but to Abaye and Rava, the eternal voices of Torah.

And we learn that the Torah responds. It remembers those who toil in it, who sacrifice for it, and who stand by those who do.

We learn that while the world may see test results, percentages, and probabilities, Hashem sees mesirus nefesh and hears heartfelt tefillos.

And we learn that when a Jew opens a Gemara with tears in his eyes and faith in his heart, he is never alone. He is connected to Hashem and to the Tannoim and Amoraim in a deeper way than he can imagine. The world was created for Yisroel and for Torah, and when we learn Torah, we are fulfilling our mission and sustaining the world.

It is tragic that the leaders and the majority of the people in Israel do not appreciate this fact.

At a time when Israel desperately needs zechuyos to persevere in its existential battle against the forces of evil, the left’s deep-seated hostility toward Torah blinds them to the lessons of Jewish history. Just a few generations ago, ehrliche Yidden gave everything they had to observe mitzvos and study Torah, despite hardship and persecution. Now, their descendants, driven by leftist, secularist ideology, are waging a campaign against the very foundation of that endurance: Torah and those who dedicate their lives to it.

This is happening even as the country faces more enemies than it can manage and the European nations are lining up to recognize a Palestinian state.

One might expect introspection at such a moment. One might expect leaders to pause and ask: Why is the world turning against us? Why are there steady reports that the American administration is drifting away from us? Why do rockets still fall and soldiers still die? Why does internal terror persist? Where can we turn for a solution?

The answer is not hidden. It is written clearly in this week’s parsha. Study Torah. Support those who do. And Hashem will support you, fighting your physical and diplomatic battles on your behalf.

The message is open to all, waiting to be embraced.

A core part of being a religious, believing Jew is recognizing the centrality of Torah.

For as long as Jews have existed, Torah has been our identity, our mission, and our lifeblood. Those who strayed from it became detached from the Jewish people, their spiritual legacy fading with time. It is tragic that the leadership of the Jewish state has drifted so far from its roots that it now seeks to marginalize Torah by imprisoning, impoverishing, and otherwise punishing those who renounce materialism to devote themselves fully to its study.

And yet, despite their best efforts, yeshivos and kollelim are thriving. Organizations like Lev L’Achim, Shuvu, Oorah, and others are bringing more Jews back to Torah than ever before.

The answer lies before us. We must strengthen our own learning, introduce Torah to others, and cling ever more tightly to the eternal source of our nation’s strength. We must do more to support Torah and its causes.

In doing so, we will merit the brachos promised to those who uphold Torah, we will help bring peace to our land, and we will hasten the coming of Moshiach, speedily in our day.

A Lag Ba’omer Reflection: The Majesty Within

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Lag Ba’omer is one of those days on the Jewish calendar that the people themselves have turned into a day of great celebration. The Shulchan Aruch doesn’t mention anything special about the day. However, the Rama (493:2) writes, “In these countries, the custom is to take haircuts [on Lag Ba’omer], increase a little simcha, and we don’t recite Tachanun.”

Today, in Eretz Yisroel, the day is treated like a minor Yom Tov, and it is increasingly observed that way in our communities as well.

What is it about this day that has inspired Klal Yisroel to elevate it with such joy and celebration?

We know that it marks the end of the gezeirah that brought tragedy to the talmidim of Rabi Akiva. We also know that it is the day Rabi Shimon bar Yochai emerged from the cave where he received the full breadth of Torah, including Toras Hanistar, and the day he passed away. But clearly, there must be a deeper message, one that stirs the soul and energizes the nation.

We each carry within us the potential for greatness, and, tragically, the capacity to fall. The Torah captures this duality in the word odom.

The Shelah Hakadosh explains that this term is used for man because it encapsulates the full range of human potential. Odom is linked both to adameh, “I shall emulate,” referencing our mission to mirror the Divine, and adamah, the dust of the earth, the lowest substance.

Within this name lies both a calling and a caution: to ascend or to descend, to rise toward the heavens or to sink into the dust. Our life’s mission is to seize the daily opportunities that allow us to ascend to spiritual heights.

And yet, odom is written in the singular, because the journey is profoundly personal. Each person is born alone - odom shenivra yechidi - endowed with the power to shape their own world, to reach magnificent peaks or descend into deep valleys. Each soul is gifted by the Creator with potential, endowed with willpower, intellect, and energy. Every individual decides how - and whether - to use those gifts.

When Rav Aharon Leib Shteinman first visited the United States, he was relatively unknown to much of the American Torah world. Yet, during that visit, while addressing a massive crowd of Jewish children, he shared a seemingly simple Medrash that carries profound meaning.

The Yalkut Shimoni (Shmuel I, 1:78) recounts that before Shmuel Hanovi was born, a bas kol resounded across the world, proclaiming that a tzaddik named Shmuel would soon be born. In response, Jewish mothers everywhere named their sons Shmuel, each hoping that their child would be the one destined for greatness.

Eventually, as Shmuel’s noble conduct and brilliance became apparent, it was clear to all that he was the child to whom the bas kol had referred.

Rav Shteinman highlighted the depth of hope contained in that moment, the yearning of every Jewish parent that their child might grow to bring light and redemption to Am Yisroel.

Later that evening, after a long and exhausting day of meetings, public appearances, and shiurim, Rav Shteinman returned to his host’s home in Brooklyn. He had barely sat down when he was told that a young Russian immigrant boy had come to the house and was turned away. The child was sitting outside on the porch, weeping.

Rav Shteinman immediately asked for the boy to be brought in.

Through an interpreter, the child explained that he had recently arrived in New York from Russia and was attending a yeshiva for immigrant boys. He had come in the hope of receiving a brocha from the visiting gadol.

With the tenacity and inner resilience so characteristic of Russian Jews - traits that helped them cling to Yiddishkeit under brutal oppression - the boy persisted in his goal and ultimately received the brocha he had come for.

Rav Shteinman smiled warmly and bentched the boy, visibly moved by his determination. In that simple interaction, he showed everyone present that every Jew counts. Every child holds a spark of greatness and great potential.

We never write off a Yid. We never give up on anyone. No soul is too small, no background too broken. Every neshomah is a universe.

This eternal truth is at the heart of Lag Ba’omer, a day when joy radiates throughout the Jewish world. Why such exuberance on the day of Rabi Shimon bar Yochai’s passing? Because Rabi Shimon revealed the royalty hidden within every Jewish soul.

A powerful lesson from the Pnei Menachem, the Gerrer Rebbe, drives this point home.

A group of askonim once visited the Pnei Menachem, who was then rosh yeshiva in the Gerrer Yeshiva. They were trying to arrange a shidduch for a bochur with a difficult family background. They presented a suggestion; a girl they thought might be suitable. The rebbe listened patiently and then responded.

“I will share with you a principle that I’ve tried to live by. If you’re going to give someone an eitzah, if you’re going to offer advice, it must be something you yourself would accept. It is not proper to recommend a course of action that you wouldn’t follow. I understand that your situations are different and that you are more fortunate, but still, would any one of you consider this shidduch for your own sons?”

The room fell silent.

“If that’s the case,” the rebbe said, “then you cannot suggest it for this bochur either.”

Sensing their disappointment - they had clearly worked hard to help - the rebbe added gently, “I cannot endorse your idea, but I will give a brocha that he finds his true zivug soon and that your efforts bear fruit.”

As they turned to leave, the rebbe stopped them.

“Remember this always: Kol Yisroel bnei melochim heim. Every Yid is royalty. You can only truly help others if you see their dignity.”

Who taught us this vision?

Rabi Shimon bar Yochai.

It was Rabi Shimon (Shabbos 67 et al) who said, “Kol Yisroel bnei melochim heim,” and ruled halacha lemaaseh that every Jew may wear royal garments on Shabbos without transgressing the prohibition of hotza’ah, because every Yid is a ben melech. He perceived the splendor and majesty within every neshomah, recognizing the inherent greatness in each individual.

Where did Rabi Shimon learn this perspective? From his rebbi, Rabi Akiva.

Rabi Akiva began his journey as an unassuming shepherd, who no one expected would achieve anything extraordinary. But deep within him was royalty. He, too, was a ben melech. Through him, the Jewish people merited Rabi Shimon bar Yochai and received the legacy of Torah Sheba’al Peh.

On Lag Ba’omer, Jews across the globe light bonfires and sing songs in praise of Rabi Shimon and his rebbi, Rabi Akiva. They dance in circles, singing again and again the words, “Omar Rabi Akiva, ashreichem Yisroel - Praised be the Bnei Yisroel.” Thousands stream to the kever of Rabi Shimon in Meron, and those who are lucky are able to read the words - his words - painted atop the entrance, “Ki lo sishochach mipi zaro – The Torah will never be forgotten from the lips of Hashem’s children,” reflecting the greatness of Hashem, His Torah and His people.

When the shevotim sold Yosef and returned to their father, the posuk says, “Vayeired Yehudah.” Rashi quotes Chazal that the shevotim removed Yehudah from his position of leadership. Meforshim explain that they no longer treated him as a king.

My rebbi, Rav Elya Svei, asked that there is a principle of “ein melech belo am.” A king only maintains his position when he rules over a nation or an empire. Obviously, at that time, Yehudah didn’t rule over anyone, for Yaakov Avinu was alive and he was the leader of the family, so in what sense had Yehudah been treated as a king?

Rav Elya explained that the shevotim saw in Yehudah the traits and potential for malchus, so they accorded him the respect of a king. But when they returned home after selling Yosef and saw the pain that their act caused their father, they no longer viewed Yehudah as worthy of being a melech.

Yehudah wasn’t yet a king in title, but the brothers recognized his inner capacity for malchus. When he fell short of that, they withdrew their respect.

Rabi Akiva was the one who taught that “Ve’ahavta lerei’acha kamocha,” loving your fellow Jew, is not just a mitzvah, but the very foundation of the Torah. How could it be that Rabi Akiva’s 24,000 talmidim didn’t follow that prime teaching of their rebbi?

Rav Elya explained that the talmidim of Rabi Akiva respected one another as they were, but not for who they could become. They failed to honor each other’s potential. That, Rav Elya said, was their fatal mistake.

The Torah demands more.

And because of that failure, the world became dark until Rabi Akiva began again with five new students. From them came to us all of Torah Sheba’al Peh. Through them, Torah lived on and was not forgotten.

On Lag Ba’omer, we don’t just celebrate an end to tragedy. We celebrate a second chance, a future reclaimed, for on that day Rabi Akiva began learning with his new talmidim.

And so, we dance around flames that flicker with memory and hope. We sing the words of Rabi Shimon and his rebbi, Rabi Akiva: Ashreichem Yisroel! Fortunate are you, the nation beloved by Hashem.

Rabi Akiva taught, “Ve’ahavta lerei’acha kamocha.” Genuine Torah growth begins not with intellect alone, but with the heart - the ability to see in others the same dignity and care we wish for ourselves. This commandment speaks to the very middos that define a Jew and rests on a deeper truth: that every Jewish soul is inherently precious, deserving of honor.

The Zohar tells us that Rabi Shimon bar Yochai looked upon his talmidim and saw radiant joy on their faces. In their unity and sincere love they held for one another, he perceived something greater than happiness. “Because of your joy and brotherhood,” he said, “you have been found worthy of receiving the hidden secrets of the Torah.”

The day after Lag Ba’omer, we will listen to the krias haTorah of Parshas Emor and hear the song of Shabbos and the moadim. We will feel the freedom of Pesach, the glory of Shavuos, the awe of Rosh Hashanah, and the purity of Yom Kippur, followed by the joy of Sukkos. It’s a reminder of how each of us can lift ourselves above the mundane and enter the realm of melochim once again. The Jewish year is framed by such opportunities - the moadim, the meeting places between man and his Creator - which catapult us into a different dimension.

We contemplate how the Ribbono Shel Olam looked at a broken, weary nation and saw splendor and beauty. We learn from this the significance of each individual, the greatness of all of Klal Yisroel as a whole, and the inherent greatness that each one of us possesses. We remember that we are a mamleches kohanim, that we are bnei melochim, and that it is incumbent upon us to live that way and to treat others that way.

We recall that on Pesach, Hashem redeemed us not for who we were, but for who we could become. Before Torah, before refinement, He lifted us with love.

And we look toward Shavuos, when Hashem gave us the greatest gift.

Between Pesach and Shavuos, we walk the shoreline between redemption and revelation, framed by fire. And in the heart of it all, we find Lag Ba’omer, a day that reminds us that we are all bnei melochim, children of the King.

The teachings of Rabi Shimon bar Yochai enrich our spiritual side and our neshamos, and energize us physically and mentally as we endure the golus. He reminds us of who we are and what we are about. The Torah he transmitted elevates us exponentially, transforming us into a deeper, more refined people as we immerse ourselves in his sacred words.

As the world mocks and vilifies us, as concerns are raised about the security of Eretz Yisroel, as its neighbors negotiate deals and agreements that may have negative impacts, studying the Torah that Rabi Akiva and Rabi Shimon bequeathed to us raises us above all and reminds us not to let those who scorn us define us.

We are not burdens. We are not broken. We are a mamleches kohanim, a nation of priests and princes.

Rabi Akiva was never broken by tragedies that would have shattered others. Rabi Shimon risked his life to study with his son as Rome hunted him. They persevered, armed with emunah and bitachon, and Hashem sustained them and enabled them to grow and flourish and remain beacons of light and faith to their generation and all those who followed.

As the firelight reflects in our eyes, let us remember that “Na’aseh adam ne’emar ba’avurecha” - the Divine decision to create man was justified because of Rabi Shimon bar Yochai. Yet, it is also justified in each of us, when we choose to see through the lens of Torah. In doing so, we are blessed with the clarity, strength, and determination to persevere, grow, and flourish until the coming of Moshiach, speedily in our days.

Leimor: Living With Holiness

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

This week, as we study the parshiyos of Acharei Mos and Kedoshim, we are reminded of our sacred task as Jews navigating a turbulent world.

Parshas Kedoshim begins with a brief introduction: Hakadosh Boruch Hu tells Moshe to gather all of Klal Yisroel and instruct them to be kedoshim. The word kedoshim is commonly translated as “holy,” and the implication of the commandment is that we must all strive for holiness.

But what does it mean to be holy? What is expected of us?

Rashi, quoting the Toras Kohanim, explains that Parshas Kedoshim was delivered by Moshe to the entire Klal Yisroel because rov gufei Torah teluyim bah, most of the Torah’s fundamental principles are found in this parsha. It begins with the directive of “Kedoshim tihiyu” and concludes with a similar instruction: “Vehiyisem li kedoshim.”

Many people wonder how it is possible for every Jew to be commanded to be a kadosh. How can ordinary individuals be expected to reach the spiritual heights of the holiest among us?

It seems that the concept of kedusha is often misunderstood. We tend to equate it with severe asceticism and rigid self-denial. While kedusha may include elements of that, it encompasses much more.

Kedusha means living a life of elevation, pausing before every action to consider whether it will make us better or diminish us. Before we speak, we must ask ourselves: Will these words uplift Hashem’s world or degrade it? Will our actions support the cause of Torah or will they weaken it? Will they bring honor to Torah and Yiddishkeit or will they invite ridicule upon frum Jews, our rabbonim, and yeshivos?

A kadosh does not drift through life on autopilot. He is intentional, thoughtful, and conscientious. He is guided by vision, inspired by dreams, and anchored in responsibility. Ultimately, a kadosh is someone whose driving purpose is to bring more kedusha into the world—and into himself.

A kadosh adheres to the halachos found in Parshas Kedoshim, particularly the mitzvah of “Ve’ohavta lerei’acha kamocha,” to love others as you love yourself. He is mindful of the feelings and needs of others, never causing harm—financial or emotional—intentionally. He looks for ways to help others, whether through physical support or spiritual guidance. When someone is in distress, he quietly steps in to help, even if the person never knows who assisted him.

In fact, the Rambam writes that the highest level of charity is when the recipient has no idea who helped him. A person who gives in such a way is filled with love for others and seeks to improve the world. He acts not for recognition, but because it’s what he would want done for him and because it is the right thing to do.

The Rambam also writes (Hilchos Avel 14:1), “It is a mitzvah miderabbonon to visit the sick, comfort mourners…,” listing various forms of chesed in which we should engage. He concludes that although these mitzvos are miderabbonon, they are included in the mitzvah min haTorah of “Ve’ohavta lerei’acha kamocha”—anything you would want others to do for you, you should do for your fellow Jews in the spirit of Torah and mitzvos.

A person living with kedusha rises above the flat, self-centered perspective of this world. He is able to suppress selfish impulses and accomplish far more than others. While many might not find time to patiently sit with a struggling boy and go over the Gemara again and again until he understands it, a kadosh does, because his focus is on the greater mission of spreading Torah.

A kadosh has time and endless patience not only for others, but also for davening, learning, and bentching, because he recognizes that he is connecting with Hashem, the Creator and Sustainer of the world and of himself.

Parshas Kedoshim was said to all of Klal Yisroel together, because to be a kadosh, a person needs to see himself as part of a group, connected with everyone, while seeking to bring the world and all he is connected with to a better place.

Rabbi Isaac Schmidman was a Slabodka talmid who came to America on behalf of the glorious yeshiva. While here raising money for the bastion of Torah, he noticed that proper chinuch in this country was almost non-existent. Focused on the goal of increasing kedusha and Torah, he sensed the potential for change. He remained in New York and opened Yeshiva Toras Chaim, an elementary school, in Brownsville, then a major Jewish metropolis.

The novi Yirmiyohu (2:2) praises the willingness of Klal Yisroel to follow Hakadosh Boruch Hu into the desert. He proclaims, “Lechteich acharai bamidbar b’eretz lo zeruah.” Hashem says, “I remember the chesed of your youth as you followed Me into the desert to a land that is not planted.”

Rabbi Schmidman would offer an alternative explanation, noting that there are times when a person encounters a land of “lo zeruah,” where the “no” is firmly planted. It is a place where negativity and pessimism dominate. He would say that there is a special reward for those who forge ahead instead of succumbing to that mindset.

In the America he encountered, religious immigrant parents—even those with beards and peyos—had given up on their children following in their footsteps. It was widely accepted that Torah Judaism was a fading memory of Europe that would never take root in this country. That concept became a self-fulfilling prophecy and millions of Jews were lost forever.

Rabbi Schmidman went against the tide. He opened a yeshiva and convinced parents to enroll their children in a religious school. Rabbi Binyomin Kamenetzky, a rebbi in that school, absorbed the lesson and went off on his own to a different land of “lo zeruah,” establishing a similar school in the Five Towns of Long Island. Though the area had many Jews, there weren’t even ten shomrei Shabbos with whom to form a minyan.

With emunah, bitachon, Torah, and wisdom, he got to work. With his goal firmly implanted, nothing could deter him. He wasn’t in it for himself. He didn’t seek glory. There was no one around, but he wasn’t lonely. There was no support, but he wasn’t poor. He was bringing Torah to a place that had never welcomed it. He was bringing it to a midbar, and he knew that it was only a matter of time before it would sprout and bear fruit. The name of the school, Toras Chaim, “The Living Torah,” defined him, as the Torah gave him life. His mission to spread that life and spirit empowered him and made a desert bloom.

When you think of what the Five Towns is today, think of Rabbi Kamenetzky and his wife, two pioneers, young in age and spirit but timeless in their values and worldview, who won over family after family, student after student, one soul and then another and another.

Wherever Torah thrives today—in the hum of a bais midrash, in the voices of schoolchildren reciting pesukim, in communities alive with kedusha—it is thanks to those sacred souls who planted seeds in barren ground.

They were kedoshim, holy ones who thought not of themselves, but of Klal Yisroel.

Each city, each town, had its quiet giants, tzaddikim who stood against public opinion, who labored during the day and at night, not for praise but for promise.

In Detroit, it was Rav Avrohom Abba Freedman and Rav Shalom Goldstein, who stood at public school bus stops in Jewish neighborhoods and spoke gently and passionately to parents and children, urging them toward a life rich with Torah.

They didn’t wait for hearts to open. They knocked, they entered, and they kindled fires.

There was Rav Shraga Feivel Mendlowitz, whose burning vision gave birth to a movement, Torah Umesorah, and to the heroes it sent across the American landscape.

They were pioneers in a spiritual wilderness.

With briefcases of hope and hearts aflame, they traveled from town to town, raising schools from the dust, inspiring communities to invest in eternity.

Men like Dr. Joe Kamenetsky, Rabbi Sender Gross, Rabbi Bernie Goldenberg, and Rabbi Shea Fishman gave not just their time, but their lives, so that Torah would no longer be a whisper in America, but a voice. A presence. A promise fulfilled.

More recently, Rabbi Nate Segal took up their mission, traversing the country with vision and resolve. From city to city, he built what others only dreamed: Torah communities with day schools, kollelim, and yeshiva-trained rabbonim—seeds planted, roots deepened, futures secured.

There is still much to be done, and thankfully, there are many who continue to live by the command of “Kedoshim tihiyu,” helping others in every way possible. Every community has them, and without them, we could not function. They are the rabbeim and moros, the Hatzolah men, and the Bikur Cholim and Tomchei Shabbos volunteers. They are the people we turn to when we can’t get our children into a good school, when we need legal asistance, or when we need advice or a push. They are the kedoshim who help us remain an am kadosh.

We often imagine a kadosh as an elderly man with a long white beard, sitting in a quiet corner, immersed in a life of dveikus and abstinence. Surely, he is a kadosh. But a kadosh can also be the baker who does chesed, the grocer who feeds the poor, and the accountant and lawyer who quietly help those who cannot afford to pay.

And then there are the legions of kollel yungeleit who just began the summer zeman, dedicating their lives to shteiging in Torah and kedusha. They are the prime example of kedoshim in our day.

Kedoshim tihiyu. The Torah wants us to live with our eyes on the highest goal. Each day of Sefirah, we take another step toward Torah and kedusha. Each day that brings us closer to Kabbolas HaTorah brings us closer to understanding our purpose and why we are here.

The Ponovezher Rov, a soul carved from fire and faith, rose from the ashes of the Holocaust and built not only with stone, but with spirit. On the ruins of what was lost, he laid the foundation of the Ponovezher Yeshiva, a sanctuary of Torah built with tears turned into strength. He was a kadosh who never stopped building, healing, and carrying others upon his unbroken heart.

Among his sacred efforts was a home for the youngest survivors, children who emerged from the smoldering darkness of war, orphaned but not forgotten. It was there, in the gentle light of that home, that he once rose to speak at a bar mitzvah—not just any bar mitzvah, but one marked by miracle: the lone surviving child from the Kovno Ghetto.

The Rov’s voice, steady and burning with purpose, turned to the parsha of that week, Shemini, a portion cloaked in mourning. It tells of Nodov and Avihu, the sons of Aharon Hakohein, consumed in divine fire. Afterward, Moshe addresses the remaining sons, Elozor and Isomor: “Vayiktzof al Elozor ve’al Isomor bonov hanosarim leimor—And he became angry with Elozor and Isomor, the remaining sons, saying.”

Rashi pauses on the word leimor, saying, and explains that Moshe asked them to answer. But what was he asking?

The Rov shared that Chazal teach that Elozor and Isomor, too, had been destined for death, yet Heaven spared them. Moshe’s question now echoes: Why? Why were you kept alive if not to be mekadeish Hashem? Tell me, where is your kiddush Hashem?

Then the Rov turned, his eyes locking with the bar mitzvah boy’s, his voice soft yet thunderous.

“From all the children of the Kovno Ghetto, only you are alive. Do you hear what Hashem is saying to you? I kept you alive to sanctify My Name.”

Then his message widened, reaching every child and every heart: “Not only to you does Hashem speak. To every Jewish soul—each one spared, each one born of survival—Hashem says: Leimor. Answer Me. Why are you here? To be a living sanctification of My Name. To carry the light forward.”

Years have flowed like rivers since those words were spoken, yet their echo remains. The Holocaust recedes into history, but we, survivors and children of survivors, are its living legacy.

We are here for more than survival. We are here for holiness.

We are here to be kedoshim.

Our lives are meant to shine with kedusha.

We are called to answer.

Leimor - speak it with your life.

Leimor - proclaim it with all your deeds.

Leimor - in every corner of the world, let us be mekadshei Hashem.

Let the world see: We live not just to endure, but to elevate.

Let them hear: Our survival is not silent.

It is a symphony of kiddush Hashem.