Lighting the Way Forward

 This week again, the news can lead a person to feel uneasy. Talks to end the war with Iran and curb their nuclear ambitions failed to materialize. The Israeli ceasefire with Lebanon was extended, but Hezbollah continued its attacks on Israel. The Israeli Supreme Court ramped up its war against lomdei Torah. The Washington shooting was a chilling reminder of the general sense of instability and the fragility of the world order.

And yet, as the world continues spiraling in an unsettling way, we continue counting the Omer, moving steadily from Pesach to Shavuos, as we approach the uplifting day of Lag Ba’omer.

The mitzvah of counting the Omer is found in this week’s parsha of Emor (Vayikra 23:15). This counting is not merely a tally of days, but a journey that leads us toward Kabbolas HaTorah.

The mourning aspects of the Sefirah period have so taken over the seven weeks between Pesach and Shavuos that we can sometimes forget that there is more to Sefirah than refraining from cutting hair, celebrations, and music. Sefirah is a time of preparation, a gradual ascent, when we strive to make ourselves worthy of receiving the Torah anew.

In fact, the Maharal teaches that the period of Sefirah is blessed with an awesome light that is not present the rest of the year (Nesiv HaTorah 12). This ohr increases daily along with the levels of Torah, until it reaches a climax on Shavuos, when the Torah was given. He writes that as we count Sefirah, we say “Hayom,” because yom, day, is an expression of light, and we make the brocha and thank Hashem for granting us the light of this specific day of the Omer, as every day more light is revealed as we proceed along the path to Torah (Derech Mitzvosecha). Each day offers a new opportunity, a fresh measure of clarity and growth, as we move closer, step by step, to Torah.

This progression is reflected as well in the korbanos we bring. The Korban Omer, which is brought on Pesach, is comprised of se’orim, animal fodder. The shtei halechem of Shavuos is brought from wheat, which is much more refined. The message is clear: We are meant to elevate ourselves, to rise from more instinctive, physical levels to a more refined and spiritual existence.

We are all familiar with the Chazal (Yoma 9b) that the second Bais Hamikdosh was destroyed because of sinas chinom.

At the time the talmidim of Rabi Akiva perished, the churban was still fresh in the minds of the Jewish people, and the Romans who had destroyed the Bais Hamikdosh still ruled over them. No doubt they worked to repent over the sins that had caused the churban so that they would merit redemption and geulah. However, the plague that struck down the holy talmidim because “lo nohagu kavod zeh lozeh — they were lacking in respect for one another” indicated to them that the issues of sinas chinom still needed to be corrected in order to merit the geulah.

The people of that time realized that there was much more that remained to be done in order to end their golus under the Romans. The fact that the mageifah took place during the days of Sefirah, when there is increased ohr and daily introspection, perfection, and growth toward obtaining Torah, indicated that not only were the people not worthy of the Bais Hamikdosh, but they were also unworthy of Torah.

The same qualities that are necessary for Kabbolas HaTorah are necessary for geulah, so this special period of Sefirah was chosen as a time to improve ourselves and prepare not only for Torah, but also for geulah. By mourning the loss of the talmidim, we are reminded that to merit Torah, we must refine our character—how we treat each other, how we speak, and how we live together. We see what happens when there is sinas chinom and a lack of respect for each other.

During the Sefirah period, we work each day to perfect another of the 48 kinyanim of Torah and engage in raising ourselves from the nefesh habehami levels of se’orim, animal food, to the nefesh haruchni at the 49^th level of kedusha. These attributes prepare us for Kabbolas HaTorah, when we stood united, k’ish echod beleiv echod, at Har Sinai. They also prepare us for the unity that geulah necessitates, when Hashem Echod Ushemo Echod will be recognized across the world.

At the time of the destruction of the Bais Hamikdosh, the Jewish people excelled in the study and observance of Torah, mitzvos, and chesed (see Yoma, ibid.). The only area in which they were lacking was ahavas Yisroel. That alone was enough to cause the destruction of the Bais Hamikdosh and bring on golus and all that it entails.

Much the same, it seems that the talmidim of Rabi Akiva excelled in all areas of Torah, except in the realm of bein adam lachaveiro.

In our day, we note the explosion of Torah and frum communities. There is so much that we can point to with great pride. Yeshivos and Bais Yaakovs are more plentiful and larger than ever. We have every conceivable type of chesed organization. There is unprecedented dikduk b’mitzvos. Yet, the fact that we remain in golus indicates that we are lacking in ahavas Yisroel and achdus. If sinas chinom were not prevalent among us, if there were no machlokes and division, golus would have ended.

During these days of Sefirah, we must work to end the hatred and dislike of others, including people who look different or see things differently than us. We need to take to heart the message of Sefirah and the passing of Rabi Akiva’s talmidim so that we can return again to where and what we were, and what we are meant to be.

The number of days in the Sefirah period is cited as connected to the 48 methods necessary to acquire Torah. The Mishnah in Pirkei Avos teaches that to properly acquire Torah, we must excel in the 48 devorim through which Torah is acquired. Most of them involve matters that relate to the way we deal and interact with one another. Someone who has not perfected himself ethically and morally cannot properly excel in Torah. A person who is deficient in the way he deals with other people will also be lacking in Torah.

The Ramchal in Maamar Hachochmah discusses the idea that the Bnei Yisroel in Mitzrayim sank to the 49^th level of depravity. After redeeming them from servitude, Hakadosh Boruch Hu provided for them the 49-day period between Pesach and Shavuos so that the freed slaves could raise themselves from the abyss of decadence and alter their behavior in a steady progression until they would be worthy of receiving the Torah on Shavuos.

This ability is evident every year during this time period, the Ramchal says. The Ohr Hachaim adds to this concept and writes (Vayikra 23:15) that the counting of the days of the Omer is akin to the count that an impure person performs to calculate the time remaining until he regains his purity. During this period, we must engage in introspection just as the unclean person would do during their period of counting.

These days involve more than a ritual counting and mourning. They demand a spiritual ascendancy to cleanse ourselves from the moral and spiritual imperfections that afflict all of us. During this period, we are to study and apply the 48 kinyanim of Torah in order to be worthy of accepting the Torah on Shavuos.

The mourning we engage in is directly tied to the introspection that this period obligates.

We mourn the loss of Rabi Akiva’s 24,000 talmidim, we emulate their accomplishments, and we seek to fill the void created by their absence. Rav Elchonon Wasserman taught (Kovetz Maamarim V’igros) that a person who is pretentious and egotistical cannot be successful in a leadership position. An effective leader can communicate with people because he relates to them, feels their pain, and does not consider himself to be on a higher level than the people he serves.

In order to reach people, you have to truly care about them and want to influence them. You have to address them with respect. Nobody likes being talked down to. Most people respond to positive reinforcement and tune out negativity.

If you rid your soul of sinas chinom, then you will behave with mentchlichkeit and treat people properly. If you live with ahavas Yisroel, people will respect you and listen to you. You will be able to help them improve their shemiras hamitzvos, Torah learning, understanding of life, and acceptance of what Hashem gives them.

The greatest teacher is not the one who knows the most, and the greatest leader is not necessarily the one who does the greatest things. He is the one who motivates people to accomplish the greatest things. The greatest teacher is the one who understands his students and is able to reach them. The greatest teacher is the one who loves his students.

A good teacher gives a child the feeling that he has confidence in him and recognizes his potential for achieving greatness. The quality rebbi or morah lets the students know that they share their dreams, hopes, and goals for the future, and will do everything they can to help the children attain them.

There are two ways you can seek to motivate people: either by appealing to their hopes or by playing to their fears. The one who excels makes sure to speak to people’s confidence and not to their doubts. People respond far better when they are treated as if growth is possible for them. When a person feels believed in, he begins to act in a way that justifies that belief.

 

For leaders and teachers, as well as parents and friends, communication is more than words. What matters is not only what we say, but how we say it. We can inspire and motivate when we communicate with love and care. By living the commandment of “ve’ohavta lerei’acha kamocha,” we show our children, students, friends, and acquaintances that they are valued, believed in, and loved.

Every person has the ability to impact the world. If we maximize the abilities Hashem has given us by immersing ourselves in limud haTorah, using our strength to build rather than destroy, and channeling our blessings toward helping others, we can make a difference. We can change the world.

Sefirah is a time to focus on this growth—to refine not only how we learn, lilmod, but how we teach and uplift others, lelameid. It is a time to develop the sensitivity, awareness, and optimism that allow us to bring out the best in ourselves and in those around us.

On Lag Ba’omer, with achdus, brotherhood, and love, people gather, light bonfires, sing songs, and dance. They show that they have taken to heart the obligations of Sefirah and aveilus, and are preparing themselves for Torah and geulah, k’ish echod b’lev echod. They stand together, firing up their neshamos as they reach for light and holiness.

Lag Ba’omer brings a welcome interruption to the Sefirah mourning. We take haircuts, shave, trim our beards, and allow music to once again lift our spirits. The customs of aveilus, observed in memory of the passing of the talmidim of Rabi Akiva, are set aside, and a measure of simcha returns.

Rabi Akiva was the greatest of his generation. He was the shoresh of Torah Shebaal Peh. The line of transmission of the Torah from Har Sinai to future generations ran through him and his talmidim. When those students perished, the loss was staggering. A grieving nation, already battered by Roman persecution, was left to wonder how the mesorah would endure. Who would carry the Torah forward and who would teach the next generation? They wondered if they could ever be consoled for the loss of so many great men, crucial to the spiritual survival of the nation.

But Rabi Akiva did not yield to despair. He recharged the people and helped them recover from the devastating loss. He gathered a new group of talmidim and began again, ensuring that the chain of Torah would remain unbroken.

On this day, which marked a cessation of the deaths of Rabi Akiva’s talmidim, we commemorate the renewal. We celebrate the resilience, as we foresee a future bright with hopefulness and optimism. On this day, Rabi Akiva’s talmid, Rabi Shimon Bar Yochai, revealed the secrets of Toras Hasod, which infused all future generations with added dimensions of kedusha, depth, and understanding.

Through the centuries, as the Romans of every era sought to weaken and destroy us, we look to Rabi Akiva and Rabi Shimon Bar Yochai for inspiration. We note how they faced down the enemy and persevered, ensuring that our nation and Torah are alive and flourishing to this day. In the wake of a tragedy that would have felled lesser people, they strengthened themselves and set about ensuring that the chain would remain unbroken.

Lag Ba’omer rejects despair. It declares that the Jewish people do not give up or allow the chain of mesorah and greatness to break. The fires of Lag Ba’omer burn vibrantly, proclaiming that the Torah endures, the future is bright, the mesorah will continue, and our people will continue to rise.

The longer our exile is prolonged, the more we turn to days like Lag Ba’omer for inspiration and encouragement, and the more popular their observance becomes.

But it is not enough to just light a fire. It is not enough to sing and dance. We must live the message of Lag Ba’omer, the lessons of Rabi Akiva and Rabi Shimon Bar Yochai. We have to perfect our middos and achieve the 48 devorim that Torah acquisition requires. To merit Torah, we must truly care for one another, treat each other with dignity, and uproot any trace of sinas chinom from within us.

In a world that often feels fractured and uncertain, Sefirah and Lag Ba’omer remind us where our focus must be. By refining ourselves, by strengthening our commitment to Torah and deepening our connection to one another, we prepare for Kabbolas HaTorah and for geulah.

Each of us has the ability to bring light to the world through Torah, through maasim tovim, and through the way we live our Torah lives.

Let us daven that the fires of Lag Ba’omer ignite within us a lasting flame comprised of a commitment to kedusha and growth, and a dedication to proper middos, the eternal mesorah and Torah, so that we may bring about the geulah sheleimah bekarov.

Clarity Amid Chaos

Following the news these days can leave a person feeling whipsawed.

One day, the United States and Israel are striking Iran, determined to dismantle its nuclear ambitions. The next day, talk of a ceasefire emerges, and Iran signals a willingness, at least outwardly, to step back. One day, Israel is engaged in a full-scale confrontation with Hezbollah, declaring that this time it will not rest until the threat to its northern residents is eliminated. The next day, a ceasefire is imposed.

One day, President Trump announces that a sweeping peace agreement with Iran is within reach. The next day, Iran declares that it will not even attend the talks.

The same events are described in completely different terms depending on who is speaking. Some portray a necessary and even heroic campaign against a dangerous regime that threatens not only Israel, but the stability of the Western world. Others condemn the very same actions as reckless and unjustified, accusing leaders of overreach and irresponsibility.

It is not only the events themselves that are dizzying. It is also the constant shift in how they are understood.

The world feels unsteady, lurching from one crisis to the next. Wars, threats, disasters, rising hatred, senseless violence—each day seems to bring a new upheaval. It can feel as though no one is truly in control, as if there is no steady hand guiding events, no clear path toward stability.

But we know that beneath the surface turbulence, beyond what appears to be happening, nothing is haphazard. Rather, everything is being carefully guided by the Ribbono Shel Olam. There is a plan, even when we cannot see it. There is order, even when everything appears chaotic.

A person who doesn’t appreciate that cannot remove the feeling of instability. Those who live without Torah and are tethered to their phones can feel as if life pulls them in different directions, emotionally and mentally. The constant barrage of information, the shifting realities, and the conflicting voices can leave a person unanchored.

But we live differently. We exist for a higher purpose.

As Hakadosh Boruch Hu prepared to give us the Torah at Har Sinai, He defined who we are meant to be. He told Moshe Rabbeinu to convey to us our mission: “V’atem tihiyu li mamleches kohanim v’goy kadosh, You shall be to Me a kingdom of kohanim and a holy nation” (Shemos 19:6).

What sets us apart, what defines us, is not only what we do, but who we are meant to become—namely, a goy kadosh, a nation of holiness. Kedusha is not an added dimension of Yiddishkeit. It is its very core. Every one of us, no matter who we are and what we do, is charged to live a life of kedusha. That obligation is not just for the few, for the best, for the roshei yeshiva, rebbes, kollel yungeleit, rabbonim, and others who dedicate their lives to Torah study. It is the mandate of us all.

This week’s parsha of Kedoshim opens with that same all-encompassing charge: “Kedoshim tihiyu—You shall be holy.” Moshe Rabbeinu gathered together kol adas Bnei Yisroel, the entire nation, and delivered this message to everyone equally—not only to a spiritual elite, not only to those removed from the mundane world, but also to ordinary people living ordinary lives.

Because for us, holiness is not the domain of the exceptional. It is the responsibility of every Jew.

We are not meant merely to get by, performing mitzvos, learning Torah, and checking the boxes of observance. That is not the entirety of who we are. We are meant to be kedoshim, living differently, thinking differently, and being driven by a higher standard that shapes how we act, how we speak, and how we live.

But what does it mean to be holy?

It means to always be aware that Hashem created the world and created us for a purpose. When we know that He controls the world and everything in it, we live differently and conduct ourselves accordingly.

Many imagine holiness as something distant, reserved for those who withdraw completely from the material world, detaching themselves from its distractions and temptations. Yet, the Torah immediately dismantles that notion. The same parsha that commands kedusha goes on to speak about honesty in business, proper weights and measures, respect for parents, care for the poor, sensitivity in speech, and fairness in judgment.

These are not side topics. They are the definition of kedusha.

The Torah’s vision of holiness is not an escape from life, but an elevation of it.

Rashi famously explains “kedoshim tihiyu” as a call for perishus, restraint. Not merely abstaining from what is forbidden, but exercising discipline within what is permitted. A person can live entirely within the framework of halacha and still be driven by indulgence and a lack of refinement. Kedusha begins where mere permissibility ends. It is the awareness that just because “I can” does not always mean “I should.”

The Ramban sharpens this idea with his powerful description of the “novol birshus haTorah,” a person who follows the mitzvos, yet whose life lacks dignity and inner boundaries. The Torah’s command of holiness comes to close that gap. It calls upon a person to cultivate an inner nobility and live with restraint, proportion, and purpose.

As we count down toward Shavuos and Kabbolas HaTorah, we also have to take stock of our lives as Jews. We are all, no doubt, proud bnei Avrohom, Yitzchok, v’Yaakov, but sometimes we forget what it is all about.

We live in a world of plenty, where so much is available, and much of it has a hechsher or other indications that it is kosher. It becomes difficult to draw the line of where to stop and where to go; what is appropriate for us to bring into our homes and what is not. We forget to think about what will affect us in a good way and what will affect us in a negative way.

When we go shopping in the large, beautiful, fully stocked supermarkets that we are now blessed with, as we try to decide whether to purchase an item, we check the label and examine its ingredients and caloric content. How much sugar does it have? How much sodium? What about trans fats and other elements that can affect our physical health?

Being a member of the am kadosh means that we should also consider how any product we buy will affect our spiritual health. Will the product help us become better Yidden? Will it help us learn Torah? Will it give us an added geshmak in performing mitzvos? Or will it turn us off and cause us to become cynical of people who strive for holiness? Just because something has a glitzy cover and appears appealing does not mean that we should buy it.

I had a dear relative who was not privileged to grow up in a religious home. She lived out of town and did her best to keep kosher. One of the ways she determined whether food was kosher was by looking for Hebrew letters on the packaging. She assumed that any product with Hebrew letters on it was kosher, and where she lived, that assumption usually worked.

I met her shortly after she returned from her first visit to Israel and asked her how the trip had gone. She could not stop speaking about how wonderful it was to be surrounded by Jews wherever she went and how different it felt from her small hometown. Decades later, I distinctly remember one of her comments. She said, “And one of the best parts of being there was that it was so easy to find kosher products, because everything had Hebrew letters on it!”

We can laugh at her naivete, or we can feel compassion for this sincere and well-meaning woman. But in truth, we often do something quite similar. We assume that because something has a Hebrew name, it is proper and kosher enough for us.

Our world has become dumbed down and we often act without giving things sufficient thought. We form opinions based on snippets of information we have picked up, or more often merely skimmed, from dubious people driven by agendas or irresponsibility. In doing so, we lose sight of the truth and of our obligation to be better and holier than those around us.

We become involved in pursuits that take over our lives and fail to remain dedicated to Torah study and behavior.

So many of the mitzvos in Parshas Kedoshim relate to how we treat others, because without them, we can become overly focused on ourselves, our families, and our immediate circles, and grow indifferent to the needs and feelings of others.

There is much more to being a Yid, but being thoughtful, caring, and treating others the way we ourselves would like to be treated is where it begins, and it should become second nature to us.

The Alter of Kelm would say that included in this week’s mitzvah of ve’ohavta lerei’acha kamocha is that we care about another person not merely because we are commanded to do so, but because we genuinely love him. He explained that the mitzvah is to love another as you love yourself, and just as you love yourself naturally—not because anyone instructed you to—we are meant to love others as part of our very nature.

And just as there is no limit to how much people love themselves, it is not as if a person loves himself to a certain degree and then fulfills his obligation, so too, when it comes to loving others, there is no limit. We must be proactive in anticipating the needs of others, caring about them, rejoicing with them, grieving with them, assisting them, and helping them achieve a sense of satisfaction and happiness.

It is something we are all capable of doing or it would not be a mitzvah in the Torah. No one should say, “This is not for me. I am not that type of person. I do not have patience. I am too busy. I cannot be bothered attending other people’s simchos or, lo aleinu, shivahs. I cannot be kind to everyone.”

This is who we are meant to be and what our essence is meant to reflect.

We are all familiar with the story of the prospective ger who asked Hillel to summarize the entire Torah in one sentence. Hillel responded, “Mah de’aloch sonei lechavroch lo sa’avid—What you do not want done to you, do not do to your fellow.”

Apparently, Hillel was explaining the words ve’ohavta lerei’acha kamocha, teaching that this mitzvah is the very foundation of the Torah. Treating others the way we wish to be treated is not just a nice idea. It is not just another one of the 613 mitzvos.

This week, we will be learning the third perek in Pirkei Avos, where the Mishnah (3:17) states, “Im ein derech eretz, ein Torah” - without proper conduct, there can be no Torah. Someone who cannot conduct himself properly cannot properly learn Torah.

Chazal further teach in the third perek of Pirkei Avos that one who finds favor in the eyes of people finds favor in the eyes of Hashem. As members of an am kadosh, what we say and do in our interactions with others must always be aligned with the principles of derech eretz and middos tovos.

The Meshech Chochmah asks a striking question at the end of Parshas Yisro: What did Moshe Rabbeinu personally gain from Kabbolas HaTorah? Moshe had already reached the highest possible levels of spirituality. He was able to ascend to Shomayim even before the Torah was given, which is a clear indication that he had already achieved perfection. So what changed at Mattan Torah?

The Meshech Chochmah’s answer is profound and deeply relevant to us. Until Mattan Torah, he explains, even Moshe Rabbeinu’s avodah, and more broadly man’s avodah, was primarily in the realm of ruchniyus. Holiness was expressed through detachment from the physical, through elevating oneself beyond the material world.

At Mattan Torah, something fundamental changed. From that point on, gashmiyus became a vehicle for kedusha. The physical world was no longer something to escape from, but something to elevate.

In this light, the Meshech Chochmah explains the meaning of Hashem’s words to Moshe at the burning bush: “Shal ne’alecha mei’al raglecha—Remove your shoes from your feet.” On a simple level, Moshe was being told to remove the physical coverings that connected him to the earth. Symbolically, he was being told: “Set aside your physicality as you stand before Me.” At that moment in history, before the Torah was given, holiness meant stepping away from the material and entering a space of pure spirituality, like a malach.

But after Mattan Torah, everything shifted. The “shoes” are no longer removed. They are part of the avodah. The physical life of a Jew is not something to be discarded in order to serve Hashem. It is something to be refined and elevated in the process of serving Him.

Thus, after Mattan Torah, Hashem told Klal Yisroel, “Ve’anshei kodesh tihiyun li—You shall be holy people unto Me” (Shemos 22:30).

Holiness is not achieved by escaping life, but by elevating life as it is lived, and doing so with kedusha.

We are not meant to become malochim. We are meant to remain human beings who bring kedusha into human life.

We do not need to withdraw from the world to be good. We do not need to retreat into isolation to become kedoshim. The Torah wants us to live among people, amidst the complexity of daily life, and to make that life holy.

In a turbulent world, where up can feel like down and down like up, where truth becomes blurred and depth is too often replaced with emptiness, being anchored to Torah gives us stability. It allows us to find clarity and purpose amid the confusion, and to build lives of kedusha through Torah, mitzvos, and avodas Hashem.

May we all merit to fulfill our missions in this world, to live full and meaningful lives, and to bring the world ever closer to the coming of Moshiach, bemeheirah beyomeinu.

Beyond the Battlefield

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

To say that we are living in historic times would be an understatement. The United States and Israel undertook a major effort to strip Iran of its ability to threaten the world with nuclear weapons. Over the course of more than a month, thousands of sorties were flown over Iranian territory with minimal interference, and over 30,000 bombs were dropped on a wide range of strategic targets. Much of Iran’s military infrastructure was significantly damaged, including key elements of its missile production capability.

However, despite these blows, Iran retains significant residual capacity. It continues to possess enriched uranium necessary for nuclear weapons development, maintains the ability to launch attacks against Israel and several Arab Gulf states, and still holds leverage over global energy markets through its control of the Strait of Hormuz, through which roughly 20% of the world’s oil supply passes.

President Trump and Prime Minister Netanyahu agreed to a two-week ceasefire, which remains in effect as of this writing. However, negotiations stalled over Iran’s refusal to meet key demands, including a full halt to uranium enrichment, the dismantling of its nuclear infrastructure, an end to supporting terrorist proxies, the opening of the Strait of Hormuz, and a broader commitment to regional peace. At this point, it remains unclear whether, or when, the United States and Israel will resume military operations against Iran.

Yet, beyond the strategic developments and geopolitical calculations, as Torah Jews, we know that history is never only shaped on the battlefield. Events of this magnitude tend to sharpen our awareness that beneath the headlines and beyond the arena of nations, there are deeper forces at work. Chazal state (Avodah Zora 2b) that Hakadosh Boruch Hu says, “Milchamos Ani osisi, shene’emar Hashem ish milchomah—Hashem is the one who fights the wars,” though we can affect their outcomes through our actions. Many gedolim have spoken of the correlation between Israel being under attack and the country’s ongoing court-imposed battles against yeshivos.

Shuvu, the network of kiruv schools in Eretz Yisroel, is facing a serious financial emergency, prompting three Gedolim to travel to the New York area this week on its behalf. Rav Moshe Hillel Hirsch, Rav Shimon Galei, and Rav Yehuda Silman addressed gatherings, underscoring the critical importance of sustaining an organization that brings children and their families closer to Torah. Support for Torah causes is always essential, but especially in times of danger, when Klal Yisroel needs added zechuyos. Helping bring children tachas kanfei haShechinah is a unique and powerful source of merit, clearly significant enough for these leaders to undertake the journey to strengthen Shuvu’s vital work.

The war brought to mind the statement of the Pesikta Rabbosi (37:2) which I paraphrase here: Rabi Yitzchok stated that the year in which the Melech HaMoshiach will reveal himself, the leaders of the world will be fighting with each other. The leader of Poras (Iran) will be fighting with the leader of Arabia, and the leader of Arabia will go to Edom for advice and help, and the leader of Poras will seek to destroy the world; the nations of the world will become fearful and fall on their faces as they are overcome with pangs similar to birth pangs.

As we entered Nissan, the month of geulah, we were reminded of this Medrash, and as we celebrated Pesach, which is the Yom Tov of geulah, and the fighting continued and then abated, we were hopeful that the war, its bombardments, and Iran’s refusal to accede to America’s demands—which would be expected of any defeated nation in Iran’s situation—are indications that this conflagration can lead to the arrival of Moshiach, which we all long for.

But we have to prove ourselves worthy. Many times during our history, the time was ripe for Moshiach, but the people weren’t, so the opportunity was lost. The period of Sefirah is a most opportune time for us to rectify the sinas chinom that led to the destruction of the Bais Hamikdosh and our dispersal into the golus which continues to this day.

On Pesach, we celebrated the birth of our nation, the defining moments when we stood together and became Hashem’s beloved people. The Maharal writes that since the world was created for Torah and for Am Yisroel, with the forming of our people at Yetzias Mitzrayim and Krias Yam Suf, creation was complete.

This historic transformation is reinvigorated each year on Pesach, as we each view ourselves as freshly redeemed from Mitzrayim and welcomed into Hashem’s embrace.

During the uplifting days of Yom Tov and Chol Hamoed, we stepped out of the cumulative noise of everyday life and into a world of clarity and connection. Through the Sedorim, the festive meals, the spirited tefillos, and the gift of being unburdened by routine pressures, we were able to breathe again, spiritually and emotionally. We recharged our neshamos and reconnected with what defines us and with who we are.

Pesach reminds us that we are more than individuals navigating our private struggles. We are part of something larger, something eternal. It calls upon us to remember who we are and why we are here, not just in the abstract, but in our purpose in life itself: in the way we live, the way we treat each other, and the way we carry ourselves in the world.

In a displaced persons camp after the war, a group of survivors gathered to conduct a Pesach Seder. They had all lost their families, homes, and everything familiar. The table before them was bare, aside from some matzah and wine, but they were determined to relive the story of Yetzias Mitzrayim, Klal Yisroel’s and their own individual deliverances from death.

The air was charged with emotion, and when they reached Avodim Hoyinu, one of the men rose to speak.

“We say that we were slaves,” he began, his voice unsteady. “But we have just come from a place worse than slavery. We saw what man is capable of doing. And yet, we are still here. We are still together. We are still Hashem’s people. They tried to break us, to separate us, to erase us, but they failed. We are here. We have persevered, as have our forefathers throughout the ages.”

Shebechol dor vador omdim aleinu lechaloseinu. In every generation, people have risen up to destroy us, to wipe us off the face of this earth. Just as each era has its modes of war, of expression, and of speech, so does each generation experience differing methods of hate and means to kill Jews.

Over the past month, and during Pesach, our brethren in Eretz Yisroel retreated to shelters and safe rooms as they sought protection from an array of missiles and drones sent by enemies bent on their destruction. Tragically several people lost their lives. Despite the loss of property across the country, quite miraculously relatively few were harmed, and a ceasefire of sorts settled in, granting at least a temporary reprieve.

And now, as Yom Tov fades and we gently return to our responsibilities, the challenge begins. It is easy to feel elevated within the embrace of the chag, with its special mitzvos, minhagim, celebrations, and kedusha. Our task now is to carry that elevation forward and allow the clarity, joy, and fulfillment of Pesach to charge our daily lives and keep us on the higher levels we attained, so that we can continue our march toward Kabbolas HaTorah and merit geulah as well.

Pesach leads us into the Sefirah period, with its focus on tikkun hamiddos. The parshiyos of Tazria and Metzora, which we lain this week, form a bridge between Pesach and Shavuos. These parshiyos discuss the affliction of tzora’as and the necessity of removing the afflicted person from among the community and placing him in isolation for weekly periods.

The Medrash (Vayikra Rabbah 16:1) teaches that tzora’as is brought on by engagement in any one of seven corrosive traits: haughty eyes, a deceitful tongue, hands stained with innocent blood, a heart that schemes evil, feet that rush toward wrongdoing, false testimony—and, most grievous of all, the sowing of discord between people. This final sin is often carried out through slander and lies—motzi 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 motzi sheim ra. Someone who speaks lashon hora is punished with tzora’as.

In this world, there are four elementary forms, each one on a higher level than the one below it: 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 Ha’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 joining with others, interacting with them, and using words to convey emotion. The breath invested into each word is the very essence of life itself.

Humans were given the gift of speech to enable us to live an exalted life, connected with Hashem and Klal Yisroel. Someone who misuses that gift to cause dissension and separate people from each other is therefore isolated from everyone else and set apart.

Bodod. Alone. Because he rejected the gift of life and used his words to create division and hate, he is forced to withdraw 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.

Hatred causes dissension, disconnects people from each other and from Hashem, and prevents Him from returning His Shechinah to us in the Bais Hamikdosh.

Those who recognize that all of Klal Yisroel is one body that is meant to be united are not encumbered by pettiness or jealousy. They understand that our neshamos emanate from the same place beneath the Kisei Hakavod. When they see another Jew, they feel that connection, unfettered by the externals that often distract people from one another.

Man is composed of two parts, chomer and tzurah. Chomer refers to the physical side of a person: the body, material concerns, and the day-to-day demands of life. Tzurah, on the other hand, is the inner essence of a person, the spiritual core: his character, values, and soul.

While both are part of who we are, the true self is the tzurah. That is the deeper identity of a person, the part that gives meaning and direction to everything else. The chomer is only the outer layer, like a garment that covers what is inside. When a person becomes overly focused on his chomer, he becomes absorbed in the external and superficial, losing sight of what life is truly about.

A person who lives only in the world of chomer naturally becomes self-centered. Without a strong inner tzurah, he lacks the depth to properly appreciate others. He may become consumed with comparison, jealousy, and resentment. Other people’s success threatens him rather than inspiring him. Instead of feeling connected to others, he views himself as being in competition with them. This makes genuine unity impossible for him, and he ends up isolated, not only socially, but emotionally and spiritually as well.

That can lead to lashon hora and negativity. When a person is focused only on appearances and externals, he is more likely to judge, criticize, and tear others down, because he sees life through the lens of ego and insecurity rather than truth and connection.

In this sense, tzora’as is not just a physical affliction, but a wake-up call. It forces a person who has become overly focused on external appearances to confront something deeper—namely, his vulnerability and imperfection. Through that experience, he is meant to pause and reflect, to step back from the surface of life and ask what truly defines him.

It is an invitation to rediscover the tzurah within, the inner self that connects rather than divides, that builds unity rather than isolation, and that gives a person meaning beyond the physical world.

The posuk in Bereishis (2:18) states, “Lo tov heyos ha’adam levado—It is not good for a person to be alone.” As Hashem was creating the world, He declared that loneliness is unhealthy for a person, and He therefore fashioned a partner for him. Man is not meant to exist in isolation. He is meant to live in relationship, connection, and community.

This idea is not only spiritual, but also reflects what we see in human experience. Modern research and medical studies have shown that people who maintain friendships and meaningful social bonds tend to live healthier lives. Isolation, by contrast, is damaging to body and soul.

This goes even deeper on a spiritual level. A person who is consumed with lashon hara, hotza’as sheim ra and rechilus ultimately becomes a divider of people. Instead of building connections, he creates distance. Instead of strengthening relationships, he weakens them. And in doing so, he brings about his own punishment, because the world he creates is one of suspicion, mistrust, and loneliness, where people pull away from him in return.

He is, in effect, left alone in the very world he helped shape.

In contrast, a person of tzurah, rooted in arvus and animated by a ruach memalela, is sensitive to the neshomah of another person. He does not merely see people as bodies or external figures, but as inner worlds. He feels connection rather than competition, unity rather than division.

Great people, in this sense, experience genuine joy in being with others. They value being part of something larger than themselves. They look for ways to uplift, to support, and to contribute. They seek out people not to use them, but to help them, because they understand that we are all fundamentally one.

Everyone can use encouragement and some chizuk. Let people know you care. Even a small expression of interest, a sincere question, or a moment of attention can mean a lot to anyone.

A person who speaks lashon hara is not simply speaking negatively about others. He is trying to diminish them, to strip them of their kavod, their self-worth and the respect others have for them. When a person loses the respect of those around him, he often begins to lose respect for himself as well. In that sense, lashon hara can not only damage a reputation, but it can also erode a person’s spirit and cause him to withdraw from others.

This is reflected in the punishment of “vehisgiro shivas yomim,” where the person with tzora’as is confined and isolated, given space away from others until he learns once again how to value them.

With the gift of speech, ruach memalela, we have the ability to build people, restore dignity, and breathe life into someone who is struggling.

During Sefirah, we recall and mourn the talmidim of Rabi Akiva who passed away because “lo nahagu kavod zeh bazeh,” they did not treat one another with proper respect. Kavod—respect, validation and acknowledgment—is not an extra layer of refinement. It is life itself. A person needs kavod, self-worth, and the respect of others in order to function and live.

Just as the destruction of the Bais Hamikdosh was caused by sinas chinom, it will be rebuilt through love and respect for others, through hearts and neshamos that are open to one another.

We can prepare for the coming of Moshiach with every word we speak and every interaction we have. Each moment of restraint from negativity, each effort to uplift rather than diminish, and each act of restoring another person’s kavod is another step toward the coming of Moshiach.

May we merit to internalize the lessons of Tazria and Metzora—the power of speech, the sanctity of connection, and the value of every Yid. And through that, may we strengthen unity among Klal Yisroel and hasten the arrival of the day when sinas chinom will be erased. Let us return to where we were at the time we became a nation, with complete unity, k’ish echod beleiv echod, so that we may merit the arrival of Moshiach very soon.