The Iyar Journey

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Having recently celebrated Pesach, we are now in the Sefirah period, counting towards Shavuos and striving each day to refine ourselves, so that we may be worthy and prepared to accept the Torah and its way of life.

Our study this week of the parshiyos of Tazria and Metzora is an essential part of that process. Otherwise, we would not be laining these parshiyos during this time of introspection and personal growth.

These parshiyos focus on the halachos of tzoraas. Although the laws are intricate, many are familiar with the basic idea: A patch of skin, clothing, or even a house changes color. A kohein is summoned to inspect the anomaly, and if he determines it to be tzoraas, the person or object is isolated.

While tzoraas is often mistaken for leprosy or some physical disease, it is not an illness of the body. Rather, it is a whisper from Hashem, a heavenly signal that the soul has strayed and must be restored through repentance and heartfelt teshuvah.

Chazal teach us that tzoraas is not simply a physical affliction, but the result of misused speech, particularly the sin of lashon hara. It is not the body that first betrays a person, but the mouth. Tzoraas reveals what lies beneath the surface, a spiritual ailment manifesting in flesh.

Illness, more generally, can be viewed similarly. It acts much like a vaccine, introducing a small measure of weakness to stimulate strength. Traditional vaccines introduce a weakened form of a disease into the body to allow the immune system to develop resistance. In the same way, the yissurim that Hashem sends are opportunities for growth. They are Divine nudges, urging us to pause, reflect, and return.

The Rofei chol bosor, the Healer of all flesh, sometimes brings suffering with the goal of awakening the soul. There were tzaddikim who, upon falling ill, turned first not to doctors, but to introspection. They understood that every part of the body draws vitality from a specific mitzvah, and when a certain limb suffered, it hinted at a spiritual flaw. They would seek out the corresponding aveirah and begin their healing journey with sincere teshuvah.

Most of us have not attained such levels of insight. When illness strikes, chas v’shalom, we often cannot identify a particular failing. Nonetheless, we must know that nothing happens without purpose. When hardship strikes, it is a summons to examine our deeds, habits, and hearts. Teshuvah becomes our remedy. Once we begin that journey, Hashem sends healing—through natural means, through doctors, medicine, and the healing forces He placed into the world.

The name of this month, Iyar, forms the roshei teivos of the phrase, “Ani Hashem Rofecha—I am Hashem, your Healer.” It is a time especially suited for both physical and spiritual refuah.

Yet, Iyar is a month filled with paradox. Even as it embodies healing, it is a month during which talmidim of Rabi Akiva perished in large numbers. Tragedy swept across the nation. But even within that sorrow, there was hope, for the plague that felled many during Iyar ended during Iyar, on Lag Ba’omer.

Mourning and redemption are intertwined.

Healing does not come automatically. It is not a miracle granted without merit. When sin increases, devastation follows. But when we turn to Hashem in honest teshuvah, the channels of healing reopen. The deaths of Rabi Akiva’s students remind us of the high cost of spiritual failure, but Lag Ba’omer reminds us that even amidst pain and grief, Hashem’s salvation is near.

Often, we cannot perceive the direct connection between our actions and their consequences. Hashem’s ways are hidden from us, and true understanding may come only with time. Nevertheless, whether we grasp it or not, Hashem remains by our side. We are never abandoned. The One who declares, “Ani Hashem Rofecha,” stands with us, during Iyar and throughout the year.

It is no coincidence that this is also the season when herbs begin to grow—the same herbs that serve as the basis for physical healing. As nature awakens, life renews itself, and healing literally rises from the ground. This parallels our own potential for renewal: Just as the earth regenerates during Iyar, so can we.

Iyar reminds us that we are never beyond repair, never too broken to be made whole again. Healing is in the air. Growth is within reach.

The Chazon Ish would often remark that each generation experiences its own set of incurable diseases. In earlier times, people died from typhus, smallpox, and measles, and they prayed desperately for cures. Today, illnesses that were once deadly are treated with a simple course of penicillin.

Yet, once those dreaded diseases were conquered, new illnesses emerged, ones that science still struggles to cure.

This is meant to remind us that Hashem alone is the Rofei cholim. Doctors are His emissaries, but they have no power to heal unless Hashem grants it. It is He who creates illness and He who enables us to find cures.

This idea is spelled out clearly by the Rambam in Hilchos Mikvaos (11:12), in his concluding words on the topic of taharah:

“Impurity is not filth that can be washed away with water, but, rather, a scriptural decree that calls for intent and focus of the heart. Chazal therefore teach that one who immersed but did not intend to purify himself is considered as not having been toiveled.

“Although it is a gezeiras hakasuv, there is an allusion inherent in the act of tevilah. One who focuses his heart on purity is cleansed through immersion, even though there is no visible change to his body. Similarly, one who focuses his heart on removing the contamination of the soul—namely, evil thoughts and negative character traits—becomes purified when he resolves within his heart to distance himself from such counsel and immerses his soul in the waters of knowledge.”

The kohein’s mission is to bring people closer to Hashem by guiding them to remove the sins that create separation between themselves and their Maker. His role is to help people achieve taharah.

Since tzoraas stems from sin, it falls upon the kohein—the one tasked with assisting in the purification process through the offering of korbanos—to help the metzora return through teshuvah, ultimately leading him back to healing and spiritual wholeness.

We are familiar with the posuk (Tehillim 34:13) that states, “Mi ha’ish hechofeitz chaim oheiv yomim liros tov. Netzor leshoncha meira usefosecha midabeir mirma.” One who desires life must be careful not to use his mouth for evil purposes and not to speak improperly.

We know that tzoraas is a punishment for those who fail to heed the warning of that posuk and speak ill of others. Those who do not value other people, who disregard the feelings of others, or who cavalierly destroy the reputations of fellow Jews, are punished by being banished from the camp. For seeking to create separation between the people they gossiped about and their communities, they are placed in isolation.

In the town of Radin, there was a group of progressive Jewish freethinkers known as the Poalei Tzion. They used mockery and cynicism as tools to undermine the traditions of the yeshiva world, employing their writing skills to produce works that demonized yeshivos. They prepared a booklet filled with barbs and slanders to vilify the yerei’im ushleimim. Some Radiner bochurim learned of their plans and raided the Poalei Tzion headquarters. They seized the hateful materials and brought the bundles of booklets back to their yeshiva, where they tossed them into the furnace.

The next day, when Poalei Tzion activists arrived at their workplace and saw what had happened, they quickly gathered clues pointing to the identity of the perpetrators and headed straight to the yeshiva. There, in the furnace, they found the burnt remnants of their hard work.

They declared war on the bochurim, threatening physical violence and further retaliation. Their campaign began at the home of the Chofetz Chaim, where they stormed in to announce their plans.

The leader spoke with tremendous chutzpah, and almost as soon as the brazen words left his lips, he fell to the ground. His eyes bulged, and an incoherent stream of words poured from his mouth. He had lost his mind.

His terrified friends led him away and word of the incident spread quickly. The young man had gone insane.

The story, in today’s parlance, went viral.

A few days later, the incident was reported by Heint, the foremost Haskalah newspaper based in Warsaw. In a fiery editorial, they criticized the rabbon shel Yisroel. “Is this the Chofetz Chaim, known for the work he authored on the laws of lashon hora?” they asked. “How can someone who preaches love of Jews curse another Jew?”

The Chofetz Chaim took the unusual step of responding directly to the newspaper.

“In response to your report that I cursed the young man, chas veshalom, I have never cursed another Jew. In response to your report that he has been stricken with madness, that is indeed true, and that is because mit yeshiva bochurim fangt men nisht un—one doesn’t start up with yeshiva bochurim.”

The editors of Heint made a fundamental mistake that remains a risk for all of us. Man creates his own tzoraas. It is not curses or bad luck that bring about tzoraas.

However, because we are no longer worthy of receiving such direct Divine messages, people mistakenly believe that they can speak lashon hora without consequence.

The loving Rofei still sends us hints of His disapproval. We are beset by aches, pains, and at times ailments. We visit doctors, fill prescriptions, and seek cures, convincing ourselves that the cause and the solution are entirely physical.

How wrong we are.

At times, we approach life’s weighty struggles like children mimicking grown-ups at play. They reach for their little tools, intent on mending a shattered toy. Yet, no matter how sincere their efforts, no matter how full their toolbox may seem, they cannot truly fix what’s broken, for they lack the wisdom, the precision, and the hands trained by experience.

Life is a journey of unfolding lessons. With each step, as we grow in understanding, we become better equipped to meet the trials placed before us. When we respond with thoughtfulness and grace, we find the strength to remain whole—vibrant in body and steadfast in spirit.

But healing, true healing, demands more than effort. It calls for insight. Each limb, each organ, and each breath we take is nourished by a particular mitzvah. When something falters, when pain creeps in, it may be the echo of a misstep, the consequence of a hidden aveirah.

A child sees only the surface: the shine, the motion, the noise. Children have yet to live through the stumbles and triumphs that grant the soul its vision. But with maturity comes clarity, the courage to look deeper, to accept that our hardships are not random misfortunes, but sacred messages whispered by Hashem, gently guiding us back to the path of truth.

The truest path to healing does not lie in dialing a number flashing across a screen, promising miracle cures and easy relief wrapped in the enthusiastic words of strangers. Real healing begins with awareness, the soul-deep understanding that every limb is nourished by a mitzvah, and every ache is the echo of an aveirah waiting to be mended.

Today, we no longer suffer from tzoraas. But this is no blessing, for if tzoraas still cast its pale shadow across our skin, we would think twice before uttering words of lashon hora. Cause and effect would be clear, silencing gossip before it even found a voice.

But tzoraas is only the beginning. Every illness has a root, and every root draws its sustenance from the soil of our actions. It is not only lashon hora. It is every misdeed, every lapse, that leaves its trace.

We must awaken to the truth that our purity, our clarity, our very well-being, rests in our hands. The Gemara in Sotah (21a) proclaims, “Torah magna umatzla—Torah shields and rescues.” And as Mishlei teaches, “Tzedakah tatzil mimovess—Charity saves from death.”

If tzedakah holds the power to save a soul, then tefillah can open the gates of mercy. Torah surrounds us like armor, protecting us from judgment. And every action we take—each thought we nurture, each word we choose—becomes a thread woven into the tapestry of our lives.

As the posuk states (Vayikra 18:5), “Ushemartem es chukosai v’es mishpotai asher ya’aseh osam ha’adam v’chai bahem—Observe My laws and you shall live by them.” This is not a metaphor. It is life itself. Observance of Torah does not merely enrich. It gives life. So powerful is this truth that even the sanctity of Shabbos yields before the urgency of pikuach nefesh.

And so, as we enter the month of Iyar —“the time of Ani Hashem Rofecha”— may the winds of refuah blow gently across all who suffer. May every pain find its cure, every wound its balm, every heart its comfort.

During these days of Sefirah, as we study the sacred parshiyos of tzoraas, let us begin our journey back to wholeness, not only in body, but in spirit. Let us refine our middos, elevate our speech, and strengthen our connection to the mitzvos, chukim, and mishpotim.

May all who suffer be granted relief. May the sick be healed. May the lonely be embraced. And may we all, together, merit the coming of the geulah sheleimah, speedily, in our days.

Legacy of the Unshaken

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

Yom Tov provides an idyllic break from the ups and downs of life. Each day of the yemei chol is a battle between our yeitzer tov and yeitzer hora. Throughout the day, we endeavor to do what is right, to follow the path of Hashem, seeking to rise and better ourselves, while pushing back on thoughts and actions that veer us from the correct path and lower us.

Every day, we work to be good and do good to ourselves and to those around us. Hashem put us here to daven, learn Torah, perform mitzvos, help others, and contribute to the betterment of our world. Life is a daily contest between doing what we know is right and trying to do enough to get by.

We are thankful for the good days and for the good things we have, and when things don’t go the way we would like and we have issues of one type or another, we are reminded that everything is from Hashem and we reach out to Him for His help.

This week’s parsha of Shemini records one of the greatest days in Jewish history. After months of elevating themselves, the Jewish people raised themselves from their spiritual bottom as Mitzri slaves to constructing Hashem’s Mishkon as a home for the Shechinah among them.

On the day that the people celebrated their great apex with the consecration of the Mishkon, tragedy unfolded. Aharon Hakohein’s two eldest sons suddenly died after being consumed by a holy flame.

The Torah tells us that in this time of public and private grief, Aharon remained silent: “Vayidom Aharon.” Moshe offered him words of consolation and Aharon’s response was silence.

It was the greatest day in his life, when he was finally able to perform his avodah with the assistance of his sons. Suddenly, without warning, two of his sons were snatched from him. The man who was appointed by Hashem to be Moshe Rabbeinu’s spokesman did not utter a word.

The Chofetz Chaim would say that the word “vayidom” is derived from the word “domeim,” which means an inert object, such as a stone. Not only did Aharon not speak of his pain and tragedy, but he did not flinch and it was impossible to notice anything about him from looking at him.

How did he do that? How was he able to remain silent and composed in an unplanned moment of great personal tragedy?

His ability to maintain complete self discipline without showing any signs of mourning or sadness was, of course, due to his complete faith in Hakadosh Boruch Hu. He knew that everything that happens in our world is from Hashem. And since it is from Hashem, it is good.

His silence spoke volumes, for his time and for all times. The people learned from his lesson and example, and for all time, when tragedy strikes, the reaction of the faithful is silent acquiescence. We don’t ask questions, for the answer is known: It happened because Hashem willed it so. The tzaddik and those who endeavor to be tzaddikim, yerei’im ushleimim haholchim b’derech Hashem, practice the vayidom that Aharon Hakohein bequeathed to us.

In our individual lives, we experience periods of challenges and tragedy, ups and downs, regarding health, relationships and finances. People of faith are always at peace, no matter what they are facing away from public view, for they know that it all comes from a merciful Creator, who wants what is best for His creations.

We don’t have to understand everything, and there is much that we are confronted with in life that we don’t, but we can’t let that get us rattled or get us down. We accept what Hashem has done and wait until another day to comprehend what it’s all about.

Following the Holocaust, there were two courses of action for survivors. Their harrowing experiences left many forlorn and broken. They lost their will to live and felt that Hashem had forsaken them. And who could blame them? They couldn’t recover.

But there were people whose emunah was stronger, and although they had lived through those same experiences as the people who became depressed and lost, they put their lives back together, established new homes, and found things to celebrate as they went on to live productive lives of “vayidom,” neither complaining nor becoming immobilized by their multiple tragedies.

Far be it from us to comprehend what they lived through or to judge the people who were subjected to sub-human abuse, but we can learn from their examples. Each one of those people, from the simple Jews to the venerated leaders, is a hero to our nation. Together, they rebuilt and resurrected a decimated people. Their bodies were ripped apart, their families were destroyed, they were penniless and lonely, but their souls remained whole and pure.

When the news is too awful to bear, when death befalls people young and dear, when fire consumes good people at a time marked for joy, it is a time of “vayidom,” thousands of years ago and today. With superhuman strength and hearts tough as steel, it is a time of “vayidom.”

Whatever life does to us, we must remain whole and unbroken. Sometimes, the temptation to break down is overwhelming. At times such as those, we have to think back to Aharon Hakohein at the chanukas haMishkon and how our zaides and bubbes reacted to the tragedies that could have consumed them. They remained strong and pushed on, and that is why we are here.

When things happen to us, we must follow their examples and rise above our experiences in a state of “vayidom.” If we do so, nothing can break us and nothing can bring us down. Of course, it’s easier said than done. Oftentimes, we need the help and reassurance of good people to keep us on track, but survival and endurance always beat the alternative.

Our grandparents’ generation could have easily fallen into despair after losing so much, experiencing immense pain and grief. Transplanted into a new country, where they were initially overwhelmed by crushing poverty, they found reasons to celebrate and worked to live Yiddishe lives of simcha with a renewed faith in Hashem, themselves, and Yiddishkeit.

We all need little reminders of what we are about, what it means to be a Yid, and how we can make the world a better place, continuing the golden chain of Yiddishkeit that stretches through centuries of good – and not-so-good – times.

My grandfather, Rav Leizer Levin, was such a person. A talmid of the Chofetz Chaim and of Kelm, he barely made a living as rov of a small shtetel. Hashem helped him and his family, and they successfully escaped the inferno that engulfed his native Lita. He reestablished himself in this country. It wasn’t easy, but he never complained or spoke about what he had lost. He practiced the “vayidom” of Radin, Kelm, and Aharon Hakohein.

When his wife was niftar on Hoshanah Rabbah, he displayed no emotion until Yom Tov ended. When his daughter, my mother a”h, was niftar at a young age, he sat shivah with us young children, sitting stoically the entire time, showing us by example how to accept the din of Hakadosh Boruch Hu with emunah and bitachon, dignity and grace.

And just now, on Erev Pesach, our family suffered a terrible tragedy with the sudden passing of 25-year-old Rav Chaim Lipschutz zt”l, son of my dear brother, Rav Avrohom, and his wife. His family received that same guidance from their father, Rav Avrohom, who, like his zaide before him, accepted the din with a “vayidom,” conducting the Sedorim and observing Yom Tov as best as possible under the circumstances, delivering a masterful hesped at the Chol Hamoed levayah and displaying no aveilus until after Yom Tov.

The ability to live that way comes from being an oveid Hashem, of thinking always what Hashem wants me to be doing now and doing it. If we spend our lives doing what Hashem wants of us and always keeping that uppermost in our minds, Hashem provides us with the strength necessary to get through situations we never thought would befall us.

We can all use inspiration, and true inspiration comes from Torah, from devotion to Torah, from learning seforim such as Mesilas Yeshorim and Chovos Halevavos and the like. They strengthen us by reminding us what life is really all about, by discussing the challenges we face and how to overcome them with Torah and Torah principles.

We live in difficult times. Eretz Yisroel is beset by war, both internal and external, and her enemies are lined up to defeat her militarily, politically, and through the culture. Since it was overtaken by the Ayatollahs decades ago, Iran has been working to bring about Israel’s destruction. As they raced towards owning nuclear weapons, a succession of American leaders promised to stop them, but never did. Jews mistakenly placed their faith in a new president, who they thought would quickly go to war against Iran or enable Israel to. But they have now found out that the new president has been negotiating secretly with Iran for a long time, and now negotiates publicly, as he and his Jewish assistant seek to reach an accommodation with that empire.

Israel’s premier has been unsuccessfully working to put together a coalition against Iran and continues to say that he will ensure that they never achieve their nuclear ambitions. He fails to recognize that is not up to him or to anyone else, for all are pawns and puppets in Hashem’s unfolding master plan that will bring the world to Moshiach.

Our salvation is in His hands, peace is in His hands, and the end to the economic gyration is only in His Hands. As quickly as the current situation was brought about, it will end, when we prove ourselves worthy of Hashem’s blessings.

For now, Hashem has allowed our enemies to become emboldened. American universities are hothouses of anti-Semitism, European cities are hotbeds of anti-Israel activities, and despite all that has been exposed about Hamas, Hezbollah and Palestinian terrorism and genocide, France is about to recognize a non-existent Palestinian state.

Meanwhile, at a time when Jews should be coming together and appreciating the power of Torah and its study, the secular Zionists have been so successful in educating two or three generations of Israel that many of the people have no appreciation for Torah and those whose lives are guided by it.

Grandchildren of religious people, who know virtually nothing about their heritage, agitate against Torah observers and those who dedicate their lives to Torah study. They aim to rid our community of its political power, punish its school-aged youth, and institutionalize crushing financial penalties against Torah causes. They don’t appreciate the foundations of Yiddishkeit and fail to study history and the fate of the countries that have sought to force Torah scholars to forsake the Torah they dedicate their lives to. To struggle for Torah is regrettably nothing new. Our forefathers, gedolim and leaders of the past generations have showed us the way. When others measured their strength in chariots and swords, we drew close to Hashem Yisborach. He protected us then and will protect us now.

Life presents us with issues, financial ones or those involving health, shidduchim, schools, children, social relationships, friendships, and challenges brought on by quickly evolving technological changes that affect how we operate.

We have lots of good in our lives. Every night, before you got to sleep, make a list of the good things that happened to you that day and you’ll be surprised by how many things went the way you wanted them to.

And when you think something didn’t go your way, and you are faced with tension, anxiety or loss of any type, know that it came from Hashem, who loves you enough to have created you and sustain you in His world.

Think of the zaides and bubbes, of our rabbeim and moros, and Aharon Hakohein, and the path they paved for us.

There is no better cure for that which ails and bugs us than to remember to reach out to Hashem with teshuvah, tefillah and tzedakah, coupled with chizuk in emunah and bitachon. 

May the spirit of Zeman Cheiruseinu remain with us as we await the coming of Moshiach Tzidkeinu bekarov.

The Essence of Pesach

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

The essence of the Haggadah and Pesach is the relationship between father and son and the obligation for a father to transmit to his son the story of the geulah from Mitzrayim. The Torah and Chazal prescribe different ways to speak to different children and lay out the format for the Seder evening conversation.

Rav Yitzchok Zilberstein related the following story.

One Shabbos morning a few years ago, an old man and his son entered a shul in Petach Tikvah. They stood frozen at the door, gazing at the people davening Pesukei Dezimra. Finally, they felt comfortable enough to find themselves seats and sit down. There was no need for a siddur, because they both couldn’t daven, as they had been locked behind the Iron Curtain for many years.

The older man paid attention to the chazzan and seemed to enjoy his tunes and chanting, while the younger man waited for his father to lose interest so they could leave and return home. He’d have to wait.

As the laining progressed, the old man started paying particular attention. All of a sudden, he started screaming towards the gabbai in a beautiful Litvishe Yiddish, “I must have an aliyah. Please, I must have an aliyah.” The kind gabbai acquiesced and called the senior guest to the Torah at the next opportunity.

The old man borrowed a tallis and a yarmulka and made his way to the bimah. He pushed away the siddur that was given to him to read the brachos and, with a deep and emotional voice, he began to slowly recite the brocha, saying each word with meaning.

When the baal korei finished his portion, the scene repeated itself, as the man cried his way through the words of the second brocha. There was utter silence in the shul, as everyone fixed their eyes on the old man standing at the bimah crying.

After davening, people approached the guest. They asked him questions, intending to elicit his story.

“I was born and bred in Vilna,” he began. “When I was 12-1/2, my parents started arguing about where I should go to school. My mother wanted me to continue in yeshiva, but my father wanted me to go to the gymnasia school of the Maskilim. He said that this way, I would learn a trade and how to maintain my Yiddishkeit while living among goyim.

“My father won and I was sent to that school. I began focusing on the studies, which brought my father much satisfaction.

“My bar mitzvah celebration was held in the large Vilna shul. I was given the aliyah for maftir, made the birchos haTorah and lained the haftorah. My father was beaming, while my mother was upstairs in the ezras noshim weeping.

“As I came down from the bimah, Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzensky came over and shook my father’s hand, wishing him mazel tov. And then he said to my father, ‘For your benefit, let me warn you that if you do not remove your son from the gymnasia school, generations will pass before your son will be called to the Torah a second time!’

“My father did not obey the rov.

“Today, for some reason, I felt a pull to the shul,” the man said as he began to weep once again. “When the baal korei began to read the parsha, I remembered that this is my bar mitzvah parsha.”

He raised his voice and said, “Yidden, her vos ich zog eich. From that Shabbos of my bar mitzvah, when I had an aliyah to the Torah, until today is exactly seventy years [two generations]. Today is the first time since my bar mitzvah that I received an aliyah!

“Ay, iz der gaon geven gerecht. Woe is to me, what the great rov said was so true.”

His father, back in Vilna, might have meant well. He wanted the best for his son and thought that the Haskalah school would provide for him the best of both worlds. But he should have listened to the rov, because if you want nachas from your children, the way to achieve that goal is by following the Torah, as interpreted by the gedolei olam, our leaders, the people such as Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzensky with whom Hashem blesses us in every generation. Those who think they understand better and ignore the warnings of the rabbonim gedolim jeopardize their ability to succeed in this world and the next.

Pesach is an intrinsic part of our fiber. Its mitzvos, rituals, liturgy and special foods enrich and enhance our souls year after year.

While the Yom Tov has a special effect on children, as we grow older we perceive new depths. Chag hacheirus becomes more meaningful, as we appreciate its valuable messages in a different, richer way. We increasingly realize how Pesach is meant to equip us with new resolve to rid ourselves of chometz and cheit, villains and tormentors. It drives us to pine ever more for the geulah, so that we might merit visiting the home of Hashem, offering korbanos to Him.

We recognize that we can only arrive at cheirus and geulah by doing what is incumbent upon us and fulfilling our missions as best as we can. We reach our potential by delving into the study of Torah and seeking messages from great men whose lives are totally devoted to Torah and nothing else. Sometimes, they tell us to act, and other times, they say to desist. Those who seek the brachos of the Torah follow it and don’t follow the path of greater personal benefit or enjoyment, whether they understand or not.

At the time of Krias Yam Suf, the Jews were afraid that the Mitzriyim would catch up to them and destroy them. They cried out to Moshe for a plan. Instead, they were told, “Hashem yilocheim lochem ve’atem tacharishun. Your job at this time is to remain silent and do nothing. Hashem will fight for you.”

Chazal state that this advice is eternal. There are times when we must speak up and times when we must remain silent, times to do battle and times to be passive. Our limited human intelligence is not always able to figure out the proper course of action. How we are to act in all times is prescribed by the Torah, as is so beautifully expressed by Shlomo Hamelech in Koheles: “Eis livkos, ve’eis lischok... Eis le’ehov, ve’eis lisno, eis milchomah, ve’eis shalom.” How we are to act in each “eis,” or time, is determined by the Torah.

The Torah is constant, but people change. Every generation is different. We have a generational obligation to speak to our children in a language and voice that they will understand, respect and follow. What worked in the past does not necessarily work now, and to assume that it does, risks losing touch with those whom we love and whom we wish will follow in our ways.

After his arrival in Eretz Yisroel, Rav Elozor Menachem Man Shach lived in a small apartment in the Kerem Avrohom neighborhood of Yerushalayim. The diminutive, humble man kept to himself, engaging in Torah learning all the time and rarely opening his mouth to express an opinion on issues of the day. His acquaintances in the Kerem shul saw him as a talmid chochom, but few foresaw a position of leadership for the scholar.

Eventually, the poverty-stricken Rav Shach accepted a position as a maggid shiur in Tel Aviv, grateful for the chance to teach Torah and earn an income. Within weeks of starting the new job, however, he detected that the leader of the place possessed an outlook that was contrary to the views of gedolei Yisroel.

When he came upon that realization, Rav Shach immediately resigned his position and returned home, settling back into his corner of the small neighborhood shul where he once again spent his days and nights learning.

His rebbi, the Brisker Rov, encouraged him that he acted properly by leaving his job and told him that a better position would come along. “Someone who forfeits parnossah because of principle will see brachos,” he told him.

In time, the Ponovezher Rov discovered Rav Shach, and after living in virtual anonymity for so long, the rosh yeshiva’s rise to leadership began, ushering in the glory era for the olam haTorah.

He was an exceedingly humble man, but when the Torah demanded strength from him, he was strong as a lion.

Some years ago, I wrote of a dream I had before Pesach that year. In the dream, I gained a new understanding of the posuk, “V’acharei chein yeitzu b’rechush gadol,” in which Hashem foretold to our forefather Avrohom the future course of Jewish history. Hashem told Avrohom that after being enslaved for many years, the Jewish people would be freed and would depart their host country with a great treasure.

The common understanding is that the promise of “a great treasure” was fulfilled with the vast quantity of belongings the Jews received from the Mitzriyim prior to being sent out.

In the dream, I thought that the rechush gadol the Jews received was the matzoh that baked on their backs as they left b’chipazon. Matzoh is not simply a physical food. It possesses spiritual qualities and is a gift to the Bnei Yisroel. Only we have the ability to take flour and water and transform them into a cheftzah shel mitzvah.

The Netziv of Volozhin, in his peirush on Shir Hashirim titled “Rinah Shel Torah,” comments in his introduction on the posuk which states, “Sheishes yomim tochal matzos uvayom hashevi’i atzeres l’Hashem Elokecha lo sa’aseh melacha - You shall eat matzos for six days and on the seventh you shall rest for Hashem and you shall not do any work” (Devorim 16:8). He explains that on the first day of Pesach, the obligation to eat matzoh is to remember that we left Mitzrayim in such haste that the bread the fleeing Jews took along for the journey had no time to rise. He says that the obligation related to the consumption of matzoh the first six days of Pesach recalls the eating of the korban mincha by the kohanim. The korbanos mincha were brought of matzoh breads and were never made of chometz. That was to teach the Jewish people that in order to draw closer to Hashem and achieve a higher level of holiness, they must reduce their involvement in the pursuits of Olam Hazeh.

On Pesach, we sustain ourselves with matzoh for six days for that same higher purpose. On Pesach, a Jew attempts to rise spiritually and become closer to Hashem.

Therefore, on the seventh and final day of the Yom Tov, we are commanded to refrain from work and to internalize the message of the six days of eating matzoh.

Abstaining from chometz is meant to affect us in a fundamental way. It is supposed to change our outlook on life and remind us of our purpose here. Eating matzoh for seven days is not something we do to fill ourselves physically. The change in diet is meant to bring about a spiritual change in our souls.

This message supports the idea that the matzoh is a rechush gadol. Matzoh is a gift from Hashem that enables us to elevate our rote observance of mitzvos to a higher dimension of avodas Hashem. Partaking of matzoh for a week is meant to reduce our drive for physical gratification. If we heed its message, it is truly a gift, a rechush gadol, which has the power to uplift and purify us and draw us closer to our Creator.

I found a similar idea in the words of the Ramchal in Derech Hashem (4:8). He says that as long as the Jews were enslaved in Mitzrayim and living amongst the pagan population, their bodies were darkened by the poison of impurity that overwhelmed them. When they were finally delivered from that society, goy mikerev goy, their bodies underwent a purification process so that they would be able to accept the Torah and mitzvos.

This is the reason they were commanded to refrain from consuming chometz and to eat matzoh. The bread that we eat all year is prepared with yeast and rises. Easier to digest and tastier, it is the natural food of man. It feeds man’s yeitzer hora and more base inclinations.

Klal Yisroel was commanded to refrain from eating chometz for a week in order to minimize the power of the yeitzer hora and their inclination towards the physical, and to strengthen their attachment to the spiritual.

It is impossible for people to live on this diet all year round, but that is not Hashem’s intent. If we maintain this diet for the duration of Pesach while incorporating the lessons of matzoh, it will energize us spiritually for the remainder of the year.

The Ramchal connects this to the dictum of the Rambam in Hilchos Dei’os (2:1) that a person seeking to rectify his conduct should go to the opposite extreme of his natural inclination, and he will then end up in the middle, where Hashem wants us to be.

The Rambam continues (3:1) that a person should not reason that since kinah, taavah and kavod - jealousy, evil desires and the craving for honor - lead to man’s demise from this world, he should therefore adopt the extremes of self-denial, refusing to eat meat or drink wine, marry, live in a nice house or wear nice clothes. According to the Rambam, it is forbidden to follow this path; one who does is called a sinner.

The Netziv’s and the Ramchal’s understanding of Pesach is in accord with the words of the Rambam. While it is undesirable for people to live this way all year round, if someone takes a temporary turn to the extreme, it will help him return to the middle, where we all belong.

The Yom Tov of Pesach provides a respite from the pressures that govern our daily lives. Pesach is one week of the year that frees us from the yeitzer hora and the pursuits that drive us throughout the year, which lead to dead ends, disappointment and sadness.

Matzoh is indeed a rechush gadol, a treasure of the Jewish people. Matzoh weakens our evil inclinations and strengthens our inherent goodness. Matzoh has the ability to raise us above our preoccupation with the mundane.

Pesach is not meant to be a holiday of gorging and self-indulgence. On the contrary, Pesach is the time given to us to refrain to a certain degree from such pursuits and to absorb the lesson of the matzoh.

Following a week of such elevated behavior, we continue along that pattern as we count to Shavuos, when we mark the acceptance of the Torah as the ultimate gift from G-d to man. It is only after the week of matzoh and seven weeks of Sefirah that we can achieve the highest possible levels of spiritual accomplishment.

If we take the words of the great Netziv and Ramchal to heart and properly observe the mitzvos of Pesach, and we review the lessons the matzoh can teach us, its influence and inspiration will long remain with us, giving us the strength to rise above whatever challenges we face throughout the rest of the year.

Gedolim such as Rav Chaim Ozer, Rav Shach, the Brisker Rov, the Netziv and the Ramchal light up our way and provide direction and inspiration for us to follow if we wish to enjoy life the way Hashem intends us to and if we wish to be successful in all we do.

Despite all we have been through, a constant in Torah life is that those who seek lives of blessings follow the words of Torah giants. In our day as well, despite the prevalence of so much superficiality, cynicism, pessimism and negativity, when it comes to the bottom line, people who adhere to Torah know that wisdom is found by those who dedicate their lives to the pure pursuit of Torah and mitzvos.

It was Erev Pesach in the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. A couple of weeks before Yom Tov, the Bluzhever Rebbe, Rav Yisroel Spira, placed his life in jeopardy and approached the murderous head of the camp, Commandant Hass. He asked permission for forty men to bake matzoh for Pesach. He asked the Nazi to supply them with wheat, and in return they would forgo their daily ration of bread for eight days.

Surprisingly, the Nazi examined the request seriously, without issuing any threats of punishment. However, he said that since the German Reich was run in a very orderly fashion, he would have to get clearance from Berlin. A week later, the response came from Berlin and the request was approved.

After returning to the camp from their body-breaking labor, the rebbe and his group assembled a small oven and began grinding wheat kernels to make flour. They mixed the flour with water and quickly kneaded the mixture, rolling out matzos to bake in their tiny oven. Flames danced atop the branches fueling the oven and the holy work of baking matzos for Pesach in Bergen-Belsen was underway.

Suddenly, the commandant burst into the room, screaming at the Jews like a wild man and breaking everything he saw. His eyes fixed on those of the rebbe and he beat him to a pulp. When he was done, the 56-year-old rebbe was barely hanging on to life.

The historic attempt ended disastrously.

The next night, the people sat down to a “Seder” in the rebbe’s barracks. They had everything – well, almost everything. The rebbe knew the Haggadah by heart, and he was going to lead the Seder. For wine, they were going to drink the slop the Nazis called coffee. There was no shortage of maror, with bitterness everywhere. The rebbe let it be known that he was able to retrieve and save a very small piece of matzoh. They were set.

When it came time at the Seder to eat matzah, everyone assumed that the rebbe would be the one to perform the mitzvah and eat the small piece he had rescued. After all, he was the oldest, it was his idea to bake matzos to being with, and he had risked his life to obtain permission for it. Not only that, but he was a tzaddik, he was leading the Seder, and he was the one who had saved the piece. But they were wrong.

After proclaiming “motzie matzah,” the rebbe looked around the room, as if he was trying to determine who is the most appropriate person to eat the matzoh. A widow, Mrs. Kotziensky, stood up and said, “Since upon this night we engage in transmitting our traditions from one generation to the next, I propose that my young son be the one to eat the matzoh.”

The rebbe agreed. “This night,” he said, “is all about teaching the future generations about Yetzias Mitzrayim. We will give the boy the matzoh.”

After they were freed, the widow approached the Bluzhever Rebbe. She needed help. Someone had proposed a shidduch for her, but she had no way to find out about the man. Maybe, she said, the rebbe could help her. “Can you find out who he is? Can you see if he is appropriate for me and if I am appropriate for him?”

“What is his name?” asked the rebbe.

The woman responded, “Yisroel Spira.”

The rebbe said to her, “Yes, I know him well. It is a good idea that you should get to know him.”

She returned to the shadchan and gave her approval to set up the match. When the woman showed up at the right address, standing before her was none other than Rav Yisroel Spira, the man she knew as the Bluzhever Rebbe!

A short time later, they married, and the little boy who ate matzah in Bergen-Belsen became the rebbe’s son and eventual successor.

Which spiritual attributes did the rebbe see in that woman that led him to marry her? When asked, the rebbe answered that in the cauldron of Bergen-Belsen, where the horizon was measured in minutes and the future was a day at a time, a woman who believed in the nitzchiyus of Am Yisroel, that our people is eternal, and who worried for the future generation, was someone with whom it was worthy to perpetuate the golden chain.

Thankfully, we aren’t tested the way those holy people were that night in Bergen-Belsen. Our matzos come easy. For a few dollars, we can have as many as we want. We don’t have to pay for them with our lives. We can drink wine without fearing a pogrom. We can eat maror and not live it. We don’t have to make the awful choices our forefathers were forced to make.

We can sit as kings and queens at the Seder, surrounded by different generations, concentrating on doing our best to transmit our glorious heritage to the future generations, ensuring that they know the story of Yetzias Mitzrayim and Avodim Hayinu.

May we merit much nachas and simcha, cheirus and freedom, kedusha and mitzvos, at the Seder and every day of our lives.

May we merit that this be the last Pesach in golus.

The Song of Pesach

Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

I am writing this on Rosh Chodesh Nissan, grateful to have arrived at the month of geulah—both for the past and, hopefully, for the present as well.

Just as the month was about to begin, Klal Yisroel suffered a devastating tragedy, losing a mother and her two precious children on Shabbos afternoon. At their levayah on Sunday, there was an overwhelming outpouring of grief.

Also on Shabbos, a beloved mechanech and builder of Torah in Monsey passed away. Rav Moshe Schwab blazed a trail of Torah, establishing a yeshiva where each talmid was treated like a diamond, polished to sparkle and shine. He was one of the good people of Monsey, whose efforts helped make the town the special place it is today.

These tragedies, along with so many others that befall us—the wars in Eretz Yisroel between Jews and Arabs, as well as between Jews themselves; the strife, the poverty, and the many challenges we refer to as “crises”—are all symptoms of golus.

We yearn for the geulah because we long for the return of the Shechinah to the Bais Hamikdosh and for the return of all Jews to Eretz Yisroel. We pray to be in Yerushalayim this Yom Tov, partaking in the Korban Pesach. We hope for the healing of the sick, the repair of our divisions, and the return of our departed loved ones, together with all the great souls of generations past.

The Vilna Gaon writes (Even Sheleimah 11:1) that the geulah will begin on Pesach and will unfold in four stages. May it begin this Pesach.

But what can we do to help bring it about?

The Jewish people have been in golus since the destruction of the second Bais Hamikdosh and our dispersion among the nations. That Bais Hamikdosh was destroyed due to the sins of lashon hara and sinas chinom. It was because of our addiction to these sins that we were exiled, and it follows that to merit the geulah, we must eliminate these aveiros from our lives and our world. Despite the efforts of many generations, we still haven’t succeeded. It’s easier said than done.

To understand why these two aveiros are so difficult to overcome, we need to examine their roots. We’ve made significant progress in eradicating many other sins, but these two remain deeply entrenched, despite intense efforts, especially since the time of the Chofetz Chaim.

Our tradition teaches that the roots of lashon hara and sinas chinom trace back to the negative influence of the Eirev Rav, who joined our nation as we left Mitzrayim and have caused great harm ever since. Their impact still lingers in the form of what our holy sages call klipos.

To rid ourselves of these impure forces, we must eliminate the klipas Eirev Rav that fuels them, enabling them to penetrate hearts and stir up conflict, division, and hatred.

But how?

Rav Yitzchok Eizik Chover writes (Ohr Torah 27) that the sins of lashon hara and sinas chinom stem from bittul Torah. The solution, as the posuk in Mishlei (15:4) teaches, is “marpeh lashon eitz chaim.” The cure for harmful speech is Torah, the Tree of Life. Torah purifies the soul and removes the negative inclinations rooted in flawed middos, which in turn are influenced by the klipah of the Eirev Rav.

People speak ill of others and harbor resentment against good people for seemingly no reason. This pattern has persisted since the time of the second Bais Hamikdosh and we have yet to break it. In fact, it seems that in our era, the final phase of exile known as ikvesa d’Meshicha, these elements have grown even more intense. Lashon hara and baseless hatred have become particularly severe.

They are fed by the Eirev Rav. They are fed by bittul Torah. As helpful as programs and educational efforts about lashon hara and sinas chinom may be, if we don’t address the root cause, the problem will continue.

As spring nears, gardening services start promoting the need to destroy weeds at their roots to prevent regrowth. Simply mowing the lawn makes everything appear neat and green for a short time, but unless the weeds are pulled out from the roots, they will quickly return. And worse, they will rob the lawn of vital nutrients and weaken its vitality. No amount of fertilizer or watering will help unless the weeds are uprooted.

Lashon hara and sinas chinom are the weeds that choke our people and obstruct our path to geulah.

When we speak about geulah during Nissan, the chodesh hageulah, it implies that something in this month catalyzes limud haTorah, which in turn weakens the grip of the klipah of the Eirev Rav. But what is that force?

Rav Tzadok Hakohein (Pri Tzaddik, Rosh Chodesh Nissan) explains that Moshe Rabbeinu expressed hesitation in confronting Paroh, saying, “V’aich yishmo’eini Pharoh,” because “va’ani aral sefosoyim.” He doubted his ability to be heard due to his speech impediment.

Hashem, the One who grants speech, assured Moshe that He would repair his speech and that Paroh would listen. However, Moshe’s real concern, “va’ani aral sefosoyim,” alluded to the klipah of impurity in the hearts of the Jewish people, which created a disconnect from Torah and made them unable to heed his words.

This is what he meant when he said, “Hein Bnei Yisroel lo shomu eilay, ve’aich yishmo’eini Pharoh, va’ani aral sefosoyim.” The term orlah refers to the yeitzer hara. Moshe was saying that the yeitzer hara was blocking the people from hearing his message.

When Hashem told Moshe, “Hachodesh hazeh lochem,” He gave the Jewish people the power to infuse this month with extra kedusha. With this added holiness, the Jews were able to overcome their areilus, their yeitzer hara. They returned to Torah study, and the impediment in Moshe’s speech, which had been tied to their spiritual weakness, was lifted. He could now speak to Paroh. The areilus that had blocked his words was gone. Geulah was now within reach.

Even though everything Moshe said was Torah, commanded directly by Hashem, his words could not be accepted by the Jewish people, without the added kedusha brought by the month of Nissan.

It seems, then, that what transformed Nissan into a month of redemption was this infusion of extra kedusha, which neutralized the areilus that had caused a lapse in Torah study.

Nissan, the month of geulah, includes the mitzvah of biur chometz, the removal of chometz from our homes. We search for it in every crack and crevice, ensuring that not a trace remains.

Chometz is allegorically compared to the yeitzer hara, which blocks us from teshuvah and from proper behavior. Chometz is dough that has risen. Matzah is dough that has not. Chometz represents arrogance. Matzah represents humility. A humble person doesn’t engage in lashon hara or sinas chinom. He doesn’t harbor hate. He learns sifrei mussar, such as Mesilas Yeshorim, is content with what he has, learns Torah, and works on his middos.

During this month of geulah, removing chometz from our homes mirrors the need to remove chometz from our souls. To merit geulah, we must search within and cleanse ourselves of the se’or shebe’isah—the yeitzer hara that holds us back from self-improvement and spiritual growth.

Since, as Rav Yitzchok Eizik Chover taught, geulah is dependent on Torah, we are strengthened by the knowledge that this month brings added kedusha. It gives us the spiritual energy to overcome the yeitzer hara and forces of tumah. We are empowered to search for the remnants of tumah within ourselves, knowing that we can uproot them and return to lives free of chet, lashon hara, and bittul Torah.

When we rid our homes and hearts of chometz, we don’t just prepare for the heightened kedusha Nissan offers. We prepare ourselves to help usher in the geulah that this month is destined to bring.

The Arizal taught that the name of the Yom Tov, Pesach, hints at the power of speech, as it can be read as “peh soch—the mouth speaks.”

With the added kedusha of this time and the preparations for geulah, our mouths are cleansed of lashon hara and sinas chinom. We become capable of speaking with love—about our fellow Jew and about Hashem. We learn to use the gift of speech for good.

That’s why, at the Seder, we say, “Vechol hamarbeh lesaper b’Yetzias Mitzrayim harei zeh meshubach”—the more we speak about the Exodus, the more praiseworthy we are. Through this, we demonstrate our ability to use the peh soch—our speech—the way it was intended: to elevate, to inspire, and to bring kedusha into the world through words and Torah.

Imagine a young musician blessed with the ability to bring music to life at the piano, but due to poverty, he becomes a plumber. Even if he becomes the most successful plumber in town, part of him remains dormant. The song inside him goes unsung. As he fixes pipes and clears drains, he dreams of music. No one may notice this about him, but that’s only because they don’t truly know him.

So too, when Klal Yisroel was enslaved in Mitzrayim, we were a nation with a song trapped inside us. We couldn’t express it. We were weighed down, unable to soar, bound by slavery and tumah.

But when we were redeemed, the gift of speech returned. Holiness burst forth from our mouths, along with deep wells of spiritual expression.

“Vechol hamarbeh lesaper b’Yetzias Mitzrayim harei zeh meshubach.” The more we speak of our redemption, the greater we become. The Seder is an experience of expression: Torah, Hallel, and mitzvos, all flowing from mouths that have been spiritually redeemed and elevated.

The night of peh soch.

On Pesach, we became who we were meant to be. Our song—the essence of our soul—was finally released.

We now have the power to achieve greatness through our words. And we’ve been encouraged by the Master of the World Himself, who says, “Harchev picha—Open your mouth wide!”

The Jews weren’t just physically enslaved in Miztrayim. Their thoughts, souls, and speech were shackled too. They were heirs to greatness, but they were caked in mud, buried under the weight of servitude. Holy children of Hashem, they had become defiled and unrecognizable. That’s what golus can do.

But at the destined hour, Hashem lifted them out of the swamp, allowing them to rise again.

In our times, Hashem leaves the task to us. He gives us the tools to rise above the spiritual darkness. He enables us to rid our lives of chometz, to return, to pursue holiness and goodness.

He tells us: “If you want to be redeemed, you must do teshuvah. You must correct your sins—the very sins that delay the coming of Moshiach and the rebuilding of the Bais Hamikdosh.”

Through the Moshe Rabbeinus of every generation, Hashem sends us reminders year after year:

“Rachtzu, hizaku, hosiru ro’ah ma’alileichem mineged einai, chidlu harei’a.” They call out to us, as the novi Yeshayahu did, quoting pesukim, invoking Chazal, drawing from seforim, and speaking in their own words, telling us that to merit the geulah, we must separate from the misguided, abandon sin, and return to our true selves. Then the darkness will lift, the golus will end, and the geulah will usher in a new era.

We are living in the final stages of the final golus. We stand at the threshold of the moment we’ve awaited for thousands of years. It is up to us to make it a reality.

We can do it.

All it takes is a little more love, a little more compassion. Positive thoughts. Positive speech. A thorough internal cleaning and spiritual polishing that restores our brilliance and clarity.

May we all merit to be as pure and radiant as our Pesach homes. And may our actions, words, and deeds help bring the geulah soon.

Rising to Greatness

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

As we observe the world around us and witness the depths to which many have sunk, it becomes increasingly difficult to remember that we were created to achieve great heights, both as a nation and as individuals. Our mission is to continually strive for self-improvement, always working toward the goal of becoming better people.

We see so many Yidden who have become ensnared by ideologies and behaviors that are foreign to Torah. Many have been misled and strayed from our well-trodden path, and we feel pity for them, seeking to bring them back. We wonder how, and if we possess the capability, to engage in outreach that will bring about positive change.

The parshiyos that describe the construction of the Mishkon provide us with encouragement and direction. The posuk (Shemos 35:10-19) states that Moshe Rabbeinu called out to the entire Klal Yisroel and told them, “Kol chacham lev bochem yavo’u v’yaasu, every wise-hearted person among you should come forward to do everything that Hashem commanded us to do regarding the construction of the Mishkon.” The pesukim then list every component of the Mishkon that they were to complete.

The posuk (35:21) reports that every man “asher nesa’o libo,” whose heart inspired him, responded to Moshe’s call.

The Ramban explains that the reason the posuk describes the people who volunteered to help in this way is because none of the Yidden at that time had any formal training in the necessary skills. They came because Moshe said that everyone should have a share in the construction of the Mishkon and they were inspired to fulfill his directive.

Later, the pesukim refer to Betzalel (together with Oholiav) as the leader of the project, blessed by Hashem with the knowledge and ability in every aspect of the technical skills needed for the Mishkon.

Every person who responded to Moshe Rabbeinu’s call was endowed with the ability to play a part in the formation of the structure and the keilim that would house the Shechinah in this world.

Similarly, when a person is inspired to do good, to build, and to help in a positive way, Hashem enables him to rise to the occasion, making him effective and constructive. Every Jew has the ability to bring more kedusha into this world and to build proper homes for that kedusha if he is properly motivated and works leSheim Shomayim.

We see this same concept in Parshas Hachodesh, which we read this Shabbos.

Rashi, in his very first comment on the Torah (Bereishis 1:1), quotes Rav Yitzchok, who said that the Torah should have begun with the parsha of hachodesh hazeh lochem, which we read this Shabbos.

We need to understand the significance of the mitzvah of Kiddush Hachodesh and why it is that we are introduced to this mitzvah as we begin our lives as avdei Hashem. Of all the mitzvos of the Torah, why was this the first one given to the Jewish people as a group and the one with which Rashi believed the Torah should have started?

Proclaiming the new month through Kiddush Hachodesh requires a verbal statement from a bais din. The dayonim on the bais din who certify that the new moon has been seen and proclaim, “Mekudash,” must either be members of the Sanhedrin or “semuchin” (approved by the Sanhedrin for kidush hachodesh), who were certified and invested with the power of psak, forming a link in a chain that stretches back to Har Sinai (Rambam, Hilchos Kiddush Hachodesh 5:1).

Why does the Torah require those who proclaim the new moon to be semuchin? Why is it not sufficient for them to simply be proficient in recognizing the shapes of the moon, so that they can determine when to accept testimony regarding the sighting of the new moon?

This is because Hakadosh Boruch Hu invested these botei din with the ability to affect the lives of every Jew by deciding which day is Rosh Chodesh and thereby determining the calendar—not only determining the day of Rosh Chodesh, but also the days of Pesach, Sukkos, Shavuos, etc., and investing those days with kedusha and mitzvos.

They are enabled to do this in the same way that the people “asher nesaom libom” were able to take simple materials and invest them with kedusha. Because they had dedicated themselves to reach the level of semuchim, Hashem entrusted them with the ability to effect kedusha.

The Nefesh Hachaim and other seforim discuss our ability to affect events in this world and in Shomayim through the observance—and transgression—of mitzvos. That capability is first seen in the mitzvah of Kiddush Hachodesh.

Through the ability to proclaim Rosh Chodesh or a leap year, the Torah first reveals to us the potential of man to rise to the highest spheres, becoming a partner with the Creator.

The bais din, through its proclamation of which day will be Rosh Chodesh and subsequently on which day Yom Tov will begin, determines when Hashem will cause that specific measure of Divine hashpa’ah to occur. The Ribbono Shel Olam abides by the bais din’s decision and determination to celebrate the Yom Tov on that day.

Thus, since the mitzvah of Kiddush Hachodesh is unique in that it shows Klal Yisroel the incredible heights they can reach, it is the first mitzvah given to us as a group and serves as an introduction to all the other mitzvos. It goes to the root of the greatness of Am Yisroel and demonstrates how much we can accomplish if we devote ourselves to observing the mitzvos and living lives dedicated to Hashem and His Torah.

This is the idea of the mitzvah of Kiddush Hachodesh, which would have been a fitting opening to the entire Torah.

Imagine the message that Klal Yisroel received when, still in the throes of servitude, they were taught the details of a mitzvah with the capacity to transcend time and space. What a resounding announcement of their own freedom from the constrictions of Mitzrayim! It was as if they were gathered together by Moshe Rabbeinu and told, “You are redeemed from slavery and ready to soar!”

That awareness, with its accompanying demand for growth, was given to Klal Yisroel on the verge of freedom, as if to say, “This is what you can reach and accomplish through these mitzvos and by learning Torah.”

In Parshas Bo, the pesukim discuss the halachos of Pesach. The posuk (12:28) states, “Vayeilchu vaya’asu Bnei Yisroel ka’asher tzivah Hashem es Moshe v’Aharon - The Bnei Yisroel did as Hashem had commanded Moshe and Aharon.”

The Mechilta, quoted by Rashi, notes that this discussion took place on Rosh Chodesh Nissan, while the Korban Pesach wasn’t brought until the middle of the month. Still, the posuk refers to the Yidden as having done as Hashem commanded Moshe, using the past tense.

We can suggest that the posuk refers to them as having completed what was asked of them because this parsha of hachodesh hazeh lochem carries something integral to the observance of every mitzvah that would follow it, namely, an instructive lesson regarding what a mitzvah can do for us and the heights we can reach by following the Torah. “Vaya’asu” indicates that they understood the message being imparted to them, appreciating its relevance at every juncture of life. In this case, hearing, comprehending, and internalizing the messages of hachodesh hazeh lochem and the Chag Hageulah were themselves fulfillments of Hashem’s will.

The halachos of Kiddush Hachodesh and Pesach aren’t merely introductory and practical. They are a call from Shomayim. “My children,” the Ribbono Shel Olam is saying, “you are ge’ulim. There is no end to your freedom and to how great you can become!”

According to the Nefesh Hachaim (1:13), the word asiyah, which lies at the root of the word vaya’asu, means that what was being discussed achieved its tachlis, or purpose. Thus, when the Torah employs the verb asiyah to complete the discussion, stating, “Vaya’asu Bnei Yisroel ka’asher tzivah Hashem,” that indicates that they realized the potential inherent in Hashem’s commandment. They understood the message behind the tzivuy, and thus, even though they had not yet performed the mitzvah, they had actualized the potential of how high they could reach.

We, the she’airis Yisroel, the remainder that clings to Kiddush Hachodesh and all the mitzvos that follow, know that we have a special purpose to carry out in this world. We need to know that our mission is the same as those in the midbar who built the Mishkon, the semuchin in Eretz Yisroel who decided the timing of Rosh Chodesh and all the Yidden throughout the ages who dedicated their efforts lehagdil Torah ulehaadirah.

Each generation has its own unique challenges that make it difficult to rise. Every generation gives birth to styles, language, technology, and cultural immoralities with the potential to demoralize us and disconnect us from Torah.

That is why the Torah stresses the concept of discussing the events and mitzvos surrounding Yetzias Mitzrayim with the younger generations. This is because the Torah speaks to all generations for all times. No matter what questions confound an era, the answers are in the Torah. Its Divine wisdom shines like rays of welcome light into all epochs of history and corners of the globe, its lessons a living reality for each one.

We thank Hashem that the Torah can be transmitted from one generation to the next, that its messages can reach all children, and that it is relevant and meaningful to each Jewish child as well as adult. It’s a celebration of the timeless and enduring relevance of the Torah.

This represents an obligation upon parents to work to find the point where their child can be reached. No one is ever too far gone, too disinterested, or too worn out to be written off and separated from Torah. The Torah speaks to and is relevant to every Yid. Although it sometimes takes much effort, no parent should ever give up on connecting with any of their children, and no person should give up on reaching those around him and those with whom he comes into contact.

With love and Torah, everyone can be reached.

The tale is told of a chossid who felt that he needed Eliyohu Hanovi to help him out of his troubles. He was confident that his rebbe merited regular visits from the holy sage, so he went to his rebbe and asked him if he could facilitate such a meeting for him.

It was just a few days before Rosh Hashanah. The rebbe gave his chossid an address in a small shtetel and told him to go there for Yom Tov. His heart was pounding as he hitched his horse to a wagon and bumped along the unpaved roads to the tiny town. He finally reached the address his rebbe had given him. It was a run-down, ramshackle hut.

He knocked on the door and a poor widow answered. There were nine children in the hovel.

The rebbe had said that he would find Eliyohu Hanovi there, so he asked the widow if he could stay there for Yom Tov. It was already late and he had nowhere else to go, he told her.

She let him in and he stayed for Yom Tov, hoping that Eliyohu would come to that small home. When Yom Tov was over, he left without having met Eliyohu.

The forlorn chossid returned to his rebbe and said, “Rebbe, where did you send me? Eliyohu was not there. The address you gave me was of a poor almanah who didn’t even have enough food for herself and her children. I had to help them out. I gave them a generous amount of money, and boruch Hashem there was enough time for them to run off and buy what was left in the local market.”

The rebbe listened and told his chossid to go back there for Yom Kippur. With no choice but to follow his rebbe’s command, the man once again hitched his wagon to his horse and headed out. This time, he made sure to bring food for himself and for the poor family.

Finally, he reached his destination. As he was standing by the door, he heard one of the children crying to his poor mother, “Oy, mammeh, morgen iz Yom Kippur un mir hoben gornit heint tzu essen. Tomorrow is Yom Kippur, when we will fast, but we have nothing to eat today.”

The chossid stood there, lost in thought, wondering why the rebbe had sent him to this house again. Then he heard the mother’s response, which changed his life forever. With motherly love, she responded to her child, “Mein tayereh kind, on Erev Rosh Hashanah we also didn’t have anything to eat, but then Eliyohu Hanovi came to our house and bought us food for the whole Yom Tov. Who knows? Maybe he will return for Yom Kippur!”

This story is a portrayal of the concept that greatness lies within our hearts. We each have the ability to be great—great for ourselves and for others. We each have what it takes to make ourselves holy and special. We can all make the world a better place and help bring Eliyohu Hanovi and Moshiach bekarov.

Despite the distractions, temptations, and turbulence around us, we must follow the guidance of the Torah and remain focused on our missions to bring about positive change in ourselves, our families, and the world.

With the emunah and bitachon that emanate from studying the parshiyos and lessons of Yetzias Mitzrayim that we can maintain the simcha, inspiration, and conviction that we need to be good and productive.

In Parshas Pekudei, which we lain this week, the Torah gives a full reckoning of the precious metals that were donated for the Mishkon, all the keilim and begodim that were fashioned by the dedicated volunteers under the direction and leadership of Betzalel and Oholiav.

When everything was completed, it was brought to Moshe, who determined that it was all done precisely as Hashem had commanded, and Moshe blessed them all.

We do not merit at this time to have a Mishkon or a Bais Hamikdosh as a home for the Shechinah. We do not have a place to bring a Korban Pesach or any other korban. But we can still build yeshivos, botei medrash, and botei knesses, where people can become connected to Hashem through limud haTorah, and where their neshamos can be lifted. We can help tzubrocheneh people and assist them in restoring their lives. We can bring Torah to people who are distant and help others who are expanding the tent, bringing more people to shemiras hamitzvos. We can bring love and brotherhood to people who have become lost in the golus and have fallen to the temptations it offers.

Rabbeim and moros everyday show what can be done as they teach and influence their talmidim and talmidos to know and appreciate Torah, mesorah and midos tovos, working with them with love and dedication and helping them grow day by day.

If we are properly motivated and inspired, our actions can help bring about the changes necessary for Moshiach to come. Each one of us can help end the golus and bring us the geulah we so desperately await. May it happen very soon. Amein.