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.

The Night of Eternity

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

In the years before the war, a young bochur learning in the famed Mir Yeshiva was presented with a rare and amazing opportunity. He had been invited to spend the nights of Pesach at the Sedorim of the great Chofetz Chaim.

For the young talmid, it was the opportunity of a lifetime. To sit at the table of the towering tzaddik, to watch how he performed each of the night’s mitzvos, to absorb the kedusha of his Seder, who would even consider giving that up?

And yet, there was another pull. His parents expected him home for Yom Tov. His father would lead the Seder, as he had since the young man was a child.

Torn over what to do, he brought his question to his rebbi, the mashgiach, Rav Yeruchom Levovitz.

Rav Yeruchom listened carefully. The bochur likely expected a nuanced answer, perhaps even encouragement to seize the rare chance to be in the presence of the Chofetz Chaim.

But the mashgiach’s response was clear and unequivocal.

“You must go home,” he said. “On the night of Pesach, there is a special obligation to hear the story of Yetzias Mitzrayim from your father.”

The young man may have missed a once-in-a-lifetime Seder with the Chofetz Chaim. But instead, he strengthened his place in the unbroken link between father and son, a link that is the very foundation of our people, stretching back to the time our nation left Mitzrayim.

The mitzvah of the Seder is not simply to recount history. If that were the case, everyone could fulfill it alone, reading the Haggadah by themselves.

The Torah frames the entire obligation of discussing Yetzias Mitzrayim by stating, “Vehigadeta levincha—You shall tell your son.”

Chazal derived from this posuk that the obligation to recount Yetzias Mitzrayim is not merely a directive to recite, but to transmit. The story of Yetzias Mitzrayim is meant to be handed from one generation to the next, alive, personal, and rooted in relationship. A father does not just convey information. He conveys identity.

At the Seder, a child does not simply learn what happened. He learns who he is. He hears not just that the Jews left Mitzrayim, but learns it from his father, who has an obligation to demonstrate, as the Rambam says, as if he himself left Mitzrayim, just as his father did, and just as his father did before him. We are all part of that story.

And that can only happen across the table, face to face.

The bochur in Mir was not wrong to want to be by the Chofetz Chaim. But Rav Yeruchom was reminding him that even the greatest Seder cannot replace the one place where the Torah says the story must be told: from father to son.

Every father at the Seder becomes a link in a chain that stretches back thousands of years. Every child who listens becomes the next bearer of that chain.

The questions, the answers, the niggunim, the family minhagim—they make us who we are and weave together the fabric of continuity.

In a world that is constantly changing, constantly pulling in new directions, the Seder night stands apart. It is the night when we reaffirm what we have received and pass it on.

The most powerful forces are those that take place in the Jewish home, laying down foundations and then strengthening them year after year. It is the way the father makes Kiddush. The way he leans over his Haggadah searching for a vort or a story to share. The way the children say Mah Nishtanah. The way the father strains to eat the marror and finishes eating two kezeisim of matzah in the prescribed time, bechdei achilas pras. And of course, it is the way he tells the story of Yetzias Mitzrayim and brings it to life.

It is the same story repeated year after year, but every year it is different. Each year, there is more to the story, more to discover, more the son understands. Each year, a deeper connection is formed—to his father, to the mesorah, to the emunah, to the mitzvos.

It is moments such as these that have carried us through thousands of years of golus, persecution, and upheaval. These are the moments that have ensured that, no matter where we have been, we have never become disconnected from where we came. Our mesorah continues, growing stronger with each passing year, son by son, father by father, family by family.

This is why we say that Pesach, the Yom Tov of emunah, as expressed throughout the Seder, the matzos, the marror, and the arba kosos, is also the Yom Tov of chinuch. This is why the entire concept of the Seder and the discussion of Yetzias Mitzrayim is rooted in the posuk, “Vehigadeta levincha,” instructing us to tell our children the story of our redemption from Mitzrayim on the night of Pesach.

Since it is all about speaking to our children, it must be done in a way they can accept and believe.

Thus, we proclaim in the Haggadah that the Torah speaks to all types of children: “Keneged arba’ah bonim dibra Torah.”

The Seforno (Shemos 12:26) discusses the question of the wicked son, the rosha, and explains that he is asking why the Korban Pesach is different from the korbanos of every other Yom Tov. Why is it, he asks, that every person has to go through the trouble of bringing their own korban?

We answer him that the geulah from Mitzrayim was not only a national redemption, but a personal one. Hashem saw how each person suffered and what each one was going through, and He redeemed the people one by one. Therefore, the Korban Pesach is not a communal offering, but an individual one.

Every person carries his own struggles, his own questions, his own burdens. And the message of the Seder is that Hashem relates to each person individually and responds to each one in the way that is best for him.

Similarly, there is no single answer for every child. Each son asks in his own way, and each must be answered in his own way.

Therefore, there isn’t one answer for all. The answers are specific to each son. The mesorah is passed down one by one, from one individual father to his individual sons—the same mesorah, but given to each one in a way he can understand.

The sefer Menucha Ukedusha, authored by a talmid of Rav Chaim Volozhiner, emphasizes that the Torah elaborates on the mitzvah of vehigadeta levincha through the framework of the four sons so that no father will ever feel exempt. If his son is wise, a father might be tempted to say, “He knows it already.” If the son is wicked, he may think, “Why waste my time?” If the son is a simpleton, he might feel that the effort is not worthwhile.

Therefore, he writes, the Torah addresses each of these attitudes and rejects them. There is no child who is beyond the reach of the Seder, and no child for whom the discussion is unnecessary.

And we see this with our own eyes.

Our children and grandchildren come home from school, from their rabbeim and moros, with pages and pages of vertlach, stories, songs, and information. We are amazed by their capacity to absorb, to retain, and to repeat. The more they are taught, the more they take in.

No effort is ever wasted. No word of Torah is ever lost. When a father speaks, when he explains, when he sings, when he tells the story, it takes root. Sometimes that is immediately obvious, and other times it comes later, but always, something endures.

This is especially so on the night of Pesach, when the holiness that enveloped Am Yisroel as Hashem separated them from the people of Mitzrayim to make them His nation becomes tangible once more. On this night, once again, we are raised from the tumah that surrounds us, and we—father and son—are better able to transmit and receive kedusha. In this heightened state, the father is better able to transmit, and the child is more receptive to receive, the eternal truths of our mesorah.

Seforim frequently quote Rav Chaim Vital, the Alshich, the Ramchal, and others who say that the energy of the miracles commemorated by a Yom Tov is present each year on the day of its occurrence. The night of the Seder is called Leil Shimurim, the “Protected Night,” because on that night, the Jews were spared and safeguarded in Mitzrayim. That same protective energy is present again each year, infusing the night with kedusha and spiritual strength.

So, at the Seder, as we recount how Hashem freed us from Mitzrayim, we recite with joy the passage of Vehi She’omdah and proclaim, “Shebechol dor vador omdim aleinu lechaloseinu,” that in every generation, those who seek to destroy us rise up. Our challenge is seemingly constant. The enemy changes names, faces, and methods, but the threat endures. Each year, a new rosha or force dominates the headlines, wielding threats and intimidation, testing our resolve.

Our zaides and bubbes faced the Romans, the Inquisition, the Crusades, the Communist oppressors, the Nazis and many others. Through each trial, we endured. Though some generations suffered more visibly than others, we always emerged standing, and our people’s spirit grew stronger. Yet, their descendants, their ideas, and their efforts persist, rising in every generation to challenge our growth and attempt to extinguish our light.

Each generation has its own unique challenges. Alongside physical threats, new dangers come in subtler forms: shifting cultures, evolving technologies, and ideologies that can distance us from Torah. And yet, just as Hashem sustained us in the past, He sustains us today. The Seder reminds us that no matter the method or era of the threat, our survival is assured, our faith enduring, and our mission to live as free Jews remains undimmed, even amidst war or adversity.

We live in a time of freedom and plenty, but there are ill winds blowing, and the freedoms we have been enjoying may be at stake.

For decades, Iran has threatened to destroy Israel. They have pursued nuclear weapons and built a vast infrastructure of missiles, rockets, and drones. They have funded and armed terror groups, including Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Houthis, to attack Jews. They have targeted the United States, which they call the “Big Satan,” murdering hundreds of Americans and attempting to assassinate the president and other prominent leaders.

Six American presidents and dozens of American and Western leaders have declared, for decades, that they would never allow Iran to obtain nuclear weapons. Even the United Nations has issued many proclamations over the years warning Iran against going nuclear because of the danger that would present for world peace and stability.

The threat was escalating, and President Trump worked with Israeli Prime Minister Netanyahu to counter the growing danger. Last year, the United States and Israel took action to prevent Iran from reaching the brink of nuclear capability. Either that effort was not effective or Iran had sufficiently recovered from the attacks to again approach the precipice of obtaining nuclear weapons. They had to be stopped. The United States and Israel, as of this writing, are engaged in a war to counter this existential threat.

We recognize the hand of Hakadosh Boruch Hu in all that is happening, and there have been many evident miracles in this war, even as Israel is under relentless rocket attack and there have been several korbanos, many wounded, and much damage. American soldiers have been killed and wounded in the effort, which is costing billions of dollars and has raised the price of oil and gasoline.

Though we do not know the outcome, we trust that with Hashem’s help, we will prevail over those who seek our destruction.

Already, the president’s enemies are condemning him for the action he was forced to take after his attempts at diplomacy were rebuffed. The Democrat Party has turned not only against the president, but also against Israel, and virtually everyone who wants to run for elective office in that party takes an anti-Israel stance.

Anti-Semites on the right and left are blaming the war on Israel and claiming that the Jewish country dragged the United States into the war and that now Americans will pay the cost of it.

We do not know where all of this will lead, but we do know that “shebechol dor vador” resonates so powerfully as we sit down to the Seder and proclaim, from father to his children, from one generation to the next, that our emunah is strong and we know that Hakadosh Boruch Hu will redeem us from our golus as He redeemed our forefathers in Mitzrayim.

At the Seder, we tell our children the story of our geulah from Mitzrayim. We dip karpas in saltwater and marror in charoses to provoke questions. We eat matzah, the bread of the geulim. We drink the arba kosos, each one representing a different one of the four leshonos of geulah. Every gesture, every word, recalls the miracles of the past and strengthens our hope for the future.

The Seder, with its questions and answers, with its sacred mesorah and mitzvos, is a reminder that just as Hashem redeemed us then, He continues to redeem us today and will redeem us fully very soon.

We proclaim our belief that this year will be the year of our final redemption—that this war may be the last war, that this enemy may be our final enemy, that the suffering we endure may be the final suffering. We believe that we will be redeemed, each of us, everyone, emerging from our personal Mitzrayims, bekarov, with the coming of Moshiach Tzidkeinu in this month of geulah.

When we recite Shefoch Chamoscha and pour the cup for Eliyohu Hanovi, we open our homes and our hearts, ready to follow him out the door to the geulah sheleimah.

What the Headlines Don’t Tell You

By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

As Jews, we are trained to look at world events differently than others do. My rebbi, the famed Rav Mendel Kaplan, would sometimes interrupt his daily shiur to teach us how to read a newspaper. He would quip that when he was in Shanghai with the Mirrer Yeshiva during the Second World War, he would know the news simply from glancing at the Chinese newspapers, “because the main news is written between the lines.”

Headlines speak about presidents, armies, alliances, and wars. Analysts discuss strategy and politics. But a Yid knows that beneath the noise of world affairs, there is something deeper taking place. History unfolds through the constant Hand of the Ribbono Shel Olam guiding events.

Because we live in a time of hester, that guiding hand is often concealed. Yet, when we read between the lines and look at events through the prism of Torah, it becomes easier to recognize that Hashem is causing events to unfold and guiding the course of history.

As we approach the Yom Tov of Pesach, the time when we relive the great revelation of Hashgocha, we are reminded that what appears to be the unstoppable power of great nations can disappear almost overnight.

Mitzrayim was the superpower of its era. Paroh ruled with absolute authority over a vast empire. To the enslaved Jews, his dominance must have appeared permanent.

But when the appointed time for that golus came to an end, that empire was shattered, its ruler humbled, and the Jewish people walked out to freedom.

Pesach teaches a lesson that repeats itself throughout history: the forces that appear strongest at any given moment are ultimately revealed to be nothing more than pawns in Hashem’s plan, and they fade away when the Divine plan determines that their time has ended.

This week, we begin the month of Nissan, the month of geulah. It was in this month that our nation was formed when Hashem took us out of Mitzrayim.

Pesach, the Yom Tov when we celebrate our freedom, is upon us.

In 1948, as Israel was fighting its War of Independence, people were deeply worried about what the next day would bring. Rav Refoel Kook traveled to the Chazon Ish.

“People are asking me about what is going on now and how they are to understand the terrible situation they are in. Rebbe, I don’t know what to answer them.”

The Chazon Ish told him to tell the people, “Everyone can see that from Shomayim we are being led somewhere, but we are not able to figure out where until we get there. We cannot fathom the ways of Hashem.”

Pesach is the Chag Hageulah, but it is also the Chag Ha’emunah, the Yom Tov that strengthens our faith in Hakadosh Boruch Hu. It was through the faith of the Jewish people in Mitzrayim and at the Yam Suf that they merited redemption.

Throughout the years of slavery, they could not understand why they had to endure such suffering and hardship. Yet, when they were redeemed, they realized that because of the intense subjugation they had experienced, they were freed nearly two hundred years earlier than the time Hashem had originally indicated.

When they witnessed the makkos and the many miracles at the Yam Suf, they understood that everything that had happened to them was directed by Hashem. As the posuk states, “Vaya’aminu baHashem uveMoshe avdo - And their belief in Hashem and in Moshe was strengthened.”

In our own time, we see the people of Eretz Yisroel suffering. The country is once again at war. Sirens sound day and night, and people are constantly running to and from shelters. The economy is shaken, there is little calm, and no one knows how long the situation will continue.

Some say that President Trump is running out of patience and wants to bring the conflict to an end. Others believe that it will continue until Pesach, while still others predict that the war could last several months. Once again, Israel is forced to fight for its existence against an existential enemy, and once again it seems that the nations of the world are waiting for the moment when they can pressure Israel to end the war prematurely before a complete victory is achieved.

At the same time, anti-Semitism is rising across the world, and Jews are discovering that danger exists everywhere, even in this country. Synagogues have become targets of attacks, and in many places, Jews are fearful for their safety. The nation that incurred the world’s enmity at Har Sinai when the Torah was given continues to be hated and despised.

I do not understand why so many people pay attention to podcasters and other purveyors of hatred, but that is the reality of the world today. Millions follow and listen to individuals who spread irrational conspiracies and tropes against Jews. It would be foolish to ignore what is happening and comfort ourselves with the thought that these messages have no effect. The Democrat Party has largely adopted anti-Israel positions, and its leaders frequently promote narratives against Israel. Recent polls demonstrate the cumulative impact of all of this, as more Americans are turning against Israel and Jews.

People ask why all of this is happening, and everyone offers a different explanation. As believing Jews, we know that Hashem is directing what unfolds. What we understand is that in an eis tzarah, we are meant to call out to Hashem for salvation and to engage in teshuvah.

We also remember that those who possess emunah are able to maintain calm and serenity. Because we know that nothing occurs unless Hashem wills it, we do not live in constant fear of the events of the day. We recognize that everything Hashem does is ultimately for our benefit. Some things we understand immediately, and others we come to understand later. But we remain confident in the knowledge that everything is part of a Divine plan that will ultimately unfold for our good.

The month of Nissan and the Yom Tov of Pesach remind us that when there is a deluge of negativity and painful news, we respond with faith, not fear; with tefillah, not despair; and with the knowledge that with every missile that falls, we are drawing closer to the geulah.

Three times a day, in Modim, we thank Hashem for the daily miracles. Some we recognize and some we do not, but we know that they are there. Be on the lookout for them, write them down, and appreciate the good that we have. Doing so helps us cope with our difficulties and reminds us that we are never alone.

Eighty-five years ago, when murder and destruction spread across Europe, a small group of yeshivos were brought through Divine intervention to Shanghai, where they spent those terrible years in relative peace. In that hot, distant city they had never previously heard of, they flourished. Their suffering produced tremendous growth in Torah, ultimately gifting our people with a generation of gedolim, roshei yeshiva, rabbonim, and maggidei shiur.

When the war ended, the full weight of their situation finally struck them. Free to travel, they realized that very few among them had parents or families waiting to reunite with them. There was nowhere to return to. Everyone had been killed. Everything had been destroyed.

As a steady stream of talmidim headed to Eretz Yisroel and America, several were left behind, waiting for visas. For the first time, they were overtaken by despair. The Gerrer Rebbe, the Imrei Emes, penned a letter to a group of stranded Polish bochurim. He wrote, “The main thing now is to know that everything comes from Hashem and no bad emanates from Him. Everything is for the good... As the seforim teach, ‘Vayehi erev vayehi voker yom echod,’ both the darkness and kindness are from one source and for one goal: to illuminate the world for us later on.

“We believe that just as the Tochacha, the prophecies foretelling difficult times, were fulfilled, so will the hopeful and comforting prophecies come to be. The hester ponim is a test, an illusion, and in the end, everything will turn out very good.”

The Gerrer Rebbe quoted the Rambam’s Iggeres Teiman, where he encouraged the beleaguered Jews of Yemen during a difficult period.

“The Rambam writes that a cord of Torah and mitzvos connects heaven and earth. To the degree that a person grasps it, he will be strengthened...”

The rebbe sought to sustain the refugees with the eternal message that g’nus leads to shevach, winter leads to spring, and darkness leads to light. This message goes back to the first day of creation, when night and day were formed, as the posuk states, “Vayehi erev vayehi voker yom echod.”

The Sefas Emes explains that Nissan is considered the first of the Hebrew months because it was during this month that Hashem revealed the hanhogah that became visible in this world during Yetzias Mitzrayim.

Until that time, it had been a hanhogah of hester, but during the month of Nissan, Hashem revealed His presence and strength in Mitzrayim b’yad chazokah uvizroa netuya.

Each year, during Nissan, that spiritual energy returns to the world, offering an opportunity to reveal Hashem in the lower realms and to fill this world with His presence. Pesach, the Yom Tov of emunah, gives us the opportunity to fill our hearts - and those of our children - with this awareness of freedom and protection.

As the month of Nissan begins, it reminds us that Hakadosh Boruch Hu is here, just as He was in Mitzrayim, directing events and preparing the world for redemption.

When the Imrei Emes passed away in 1948, his oldest surviving son, Rav Yisroel, became rebbe. It was an extremely difficult period. The people had not yet recovered from the devastation they had suffered in the Holocaust. Israel was fighting for its survival, and there were regular attacks on settled areas and cities.

When he spoke on the first Shabbos, he quoted his grandfather, the Chiddushei Horim, who shared a remarkable explanation of why the halachos of eved Ivri apply only when there is Yovel. When Yovel ended with the churban, the phenomenon of a Jewish slave ended as well.

He explained that this teaches the Jewish people that every period of difficulty, every challenge, does not last forever. Every tzorah has a time when it ends and when good times return. When Yovel, which frees the slaves, is no longer active, there can no longer be Jewish slaves, because there would be no mechanism to bring their painful period to an end.

Throughout Jewish history, we have repeatedly seen this pattern. Periods of great darkness are followed by periods of extraordinary light.

After the darkness that descended upon Klal Yisroel with the killing of the Asarah Harugei Malchus, the world was illuminated by the teachings of Rabi Shimon Bar Yochai and the revelation of the Torah’s hidden wisdom in the Sefer HaZohar. Following the terrible era of Tach V’Tat, when tens of thousands of Jews were slaughtered and communities were destroyed, Klal Yisroel was blessed with towering lights such as the Vilna Gaon, the Baal Shem Tov, and the Ramchal. And after the unspeakable darkness of the Holocaust came the remarkable rebuilding of Torah life, with flourishing communities in Eretz Yisroel, America, and throughout the world.

Rav Tzadok Hakohein of Lublin explains that this pattern reflects the way the Ribbono Shel Olam created the world. As the posuk describing creation states, “Vayehi erev vayehi voker,” evening is followed by morning. Periods of darkness and sadness are followed by periods of light and renewal.

Rav Yisroel Eliyohu Weintraub quoted the Sefer Hachassidim, who explains that Hashem wishes to bestow goodness upon man, but the Soton interferes and claims that man does not deserve it. The Soton questions why Hashem should be so kind to undeserving people. It is for this reason, he explains, that Hashem brings periods of great pain and nisyonos to silence the evil Soton.

And today, just as in Mitzrayim, for us to merit Hashem’s light and goodness, we must first endure darkness and pain. Let us strengthen ourselves in Torah, tefillah, and maasim tovim.

As we approach Pesach, let us strengthen ourselves in emunah and bitachon, so that on this Yom Tov of emunah, we will merit to see our faith rewarded.

We must know that the difficult time will end, hopefully soon, and that better days will return. Have no fear. Do not despair.

Which brings us to what is happening in the world today.

For decades, American presidents have repeatedly vowed that Iran would never be allowed to obtain a nuclear weapon.

In Washington, there is a phrase that has been repeated for so many years that it has almost become background noise: Iran must never be allowed to obtain a nuclear weapon.

President after president said it. Republicans said it. Democrats said it. The statement appeared in speeches, press briefings, and policy papers. It was presented as an unshakable principle of American foreign policy.

 And yet, for decades, it remained mostly words because presidents were afraid of confronting Iran.

Sanctions were imposed and then eased. Negotiations were conducted and agreements were signed. Red lines were drawn and then moved. All the while, Iran’s regime continued enriching uranium, developing missiles, and spreading terror through its network of proxies across the Middle East.

Washington promised that Iran would never get the bomb, but Tehran learned to believe that the promise would never truly be enforced.

For all his failings, President Franklin D. Roosevelt led the United States into World War II to confront the Nazi menace before it could reach American shores. In a famous fireside chat he declared, “The United States has no right or reason to encourage talk of peace until the day shall come when there is a clear intention on the part of the aggressor nations to abandon all thought of dominating or conquering the world.”

Those words could easily have been echoed by President Donald Trump as he explained why he has taken this nation into confrontation with the Islamic theocracy of Iran that has spent decades and untold sums plotting the destruction of Israel, America, and the Western world. He pursues this course despite the loud objections of isolationists and political demagogues who condemn his actions, much as figures like Father Coughlin railed against Roosevelt.

When President Donald Trump moved from declarations to action against Iran’s nuclear ambitions, many Democrats and large segments of the media reacted with outrage - not at Iran, but at Trump.

Yet, working closely together, the United States and Israel have carried out coordinated strikes against key elements of Iran’s military and nuclear infrastructure. Missile sites, command centers, and strategic facilities tied to the regime’s military machine have been struck. The goal has been clear: Dismantle the capabilities that allow Tehran to threaten Israel, destabilize the region, and move toward nuclear weapons.

While Tehran has responded with missiles and drones, much of that firepower has been intercepted or neutralized.

For the Jewish people, all of this is unfolding during the months of Adar and Nissan, when we are reminded that the sight of great power collapsing is nothing new.

All the firepower that Iran accumulated and the infrastructure it had established to destroy Israel has been evaporating at a historical pace.

On Pesach, we will sit at the Seder and retell the story that defines our nation. Mitzrayim was the greatest superpower of its time. Paroh ruled over an empire that appeared eternal. To the Jews enslaved there, Egypt must have seemed invincible.

But history turned in a single dramatic moment.

The Haggadah reminds us, “B’chol dor v’dor omdim aleinu l’chaloseinu,” that in every generation, there are those who rise against us to destroy us. Empires arise. Tyrants make threats. Powerful regimes boast that they will eliminate the Jewish people.

Yet, the next words are the ones that have defined our history: “V’Hakadosh Boruch Hu matzileinu miyodom.” The Ribbono Shel Olam saves us from their plans.

Time and again, forces that appeared overwhelming crumbled. Egypt fell. Persia faded. Rome disappeared. The Soviet Union collapsed. Gamel Nasser, Saddam Hussein, Yasser Arafat, Hafez Assad, and his son Bashar are gone and almost forgotten. As all who threatened us have been struck down, the Jewish people endure.

Pesach reminds us that what seems like the iron grip of power can collapse overnight when the Master of the world decides that the moment of redemption from that particular golus has arrived.

As Pesach approaches, we prepare not only to remember the past, but also to understand the present.

At the Seder we proclaim, “Avodim hoyinu…vayotzieinu Hashem Elokeinu mishom b’yod chazokah u’vizroa netuyah.” At that moment, we are reminded that history is not written in the halls of power or on the battlefields of empires.

It is written by the Ribbono Shel Olam.

Empires rise. Threats come and go. The headlines of today will one day fade into the pages of history. But the Jewish people continue forward with emunah, knowing that the Yad Hashem that redeemed us from Mitzrayim continues to guide the world today.

And that is the most powerful message we carry with us into this chodesh of geulah.

As others debate the war and speculate about how it will end and what victory will look like, events continue to unfold before our eyes.

Drones, bombs, and missiles continue falling on Eretz Yisroel. Travel is curtailed, and much of daily life in that country has been placed on hold.

At such moments, we must remember the truth that has sustained our people for thousands of years: The nations may rage, the mighty may boast, and tyrants may threaten, but Klal Yisroel lives on, because the One who redeemed us then continues to watch over us now.

We must know that just as in Mitzrayim, the pain we endure - the battles, the struggles, and the difficulties we face in our personal lives, in our communities, and in the world around us - are part of a process that will ultimately lead to geulah, when our suffering will finally come to an end.

The Jews in Mitzrayim were unable to listen to Moshe Rabbeinu when he brought them words of consolation and told them that their redemption was near. Let us not be like them.

Let us strengthen our emunah. Let us carry the simcha of Adar into Nissan. Let us remember that the difficult period will lead to better times. And may we merit that in the month in which geulah began, we will witness its completion once and for all with the coming of the final and everlasting geulah.