Yacov Nordlicht – Nitzavim And Teshuva

In this week’s parsha, we read about Klal Yisrael entering a bris with Hashem. In perek 29 pasuk 15-16, Moshe Rabbeinu says a reason as to why Klal Yisrael had to take an oath. The reason he gives is because, “You have seen the other nations’ abominations and idol-worship.”

Rav Yitzchak Isaac Sher asks a very simple question on this. Why did they needed to take an oath just because they saw idol worship? This was a nation which witnessed the miracles of the Midbar!? They saw yad Hashem almost every day! Why is this a valid reason to warrant the necessity for an oath not to stray off the path of Hashem?

Rav Sher explains that the answer lies in the following pasuk, “Perhaps there is among you a man or woman whose heart turns from being with Hashem.” That is, as the Ramban explains, that there could exist some small inkling of evil and bitterness inside the person. And that little inkling of bitterness could be the seed which could grow until it ultimately destroys the human being.

I think we see a very powerful point here which is very related to the upcoming yom tov of Rosh Hashana. The Gemara in Rosh Hashana (16b) says that four things warrant a negative judgement to be ripped up; tefilla, tzedakah, shinui sheim (the changing of one’s name) and shinui maisov (the changing of one’s actions). The Rambam in Hilchos Teshuva writes that the way of teshuva is to cry out to Hashem, then to give tzedakah,  and then separate himself from the actual sin and finally to “change his name,” meaning that the person should say to himself, “I am a different person,” and to change his ways for the good. The problem is that the Rambam implies that all these are necessary stages towards a correct teshuva and to tear up a negative judgement. However, as the Lechem Mishna asks, each one is enough to tear up a negative judgement?! And furthermore, it’s made clear in many different places that a person doesn’t even need one of these things to tear up a bad judgement, rather it’s enough to feel bad, be mekabel for the future, and do a verbal confession!? So, what’s the explanation in the Rambam?

Rav Ahron Leib Shteinman answers that in reality, to achieve teshuva all one needs is to feel bad, accept upon himself to no longer sin and to do a verbal confession. However, even after a person does this, there could remain inside of him small inklings of evil which resulted from the sin. These little “roots” of evil was what the Rambam was pinpointing. It’s true, one doesn’t need to go through the Rambam’s whole process to attain teshuva; but he does need to go through that to change himself.

The point is penetrating. We see from this week’s parsha and from this Rambam that if a person wants to walk on the path of teshuva, it’s not enough to attack the sin itself, rather one needs to attack the root of the problem. Rosh Hashana always warrants introspection. But instead of looking at our actions and deciding what we need to change, the real focus should be within. “What do I need to change about myself” is the correct question. Hopefully, armed with our heightened sense of self and what “roots” need changing, we can successfully daven to Hashem and warrant a successful year.


Yacov Nordlicht – Parsha Ki Tavo – The Mitzva Of Bikkurim

In this week’s parsha, we come across the mitzva of Bikkurim. Chazal comment in Breishis Rabbah on the pasuk of “Breishis Bara Elokim” that the world was created solely for the mitzva of Bikkurim. The question is, why? What ‘s so special about the mitzva of Bikkurim? And furthermore, nowadays we don’t have the Bikkurim of the Beis Hamikdash, so is this saying that we’re currently unable to fulfill the purpose of creation?

Furthermore, it says in Sifri that Klal Yisrael was zocheh to enter the Eretz Yisrael because of the mitzva of Bikkurim. Again, why was this mitzva so special, and what’s the specific connection between this mitzva and entering into Eretz Yisrael?

The to these questions lies in the foundation of the mitzva of Bikkurim. The mitzva wasn’t just to give fruit to the Ribbono Shel Olam, rather the mitzva was to give the first fruit. Why? Chazal tell us that a person would spend his whole year working on these fruit, putting so much time and effort into growing them and sustaining them. One morning he would walk past them and finally see the fruits of his labor. The desire to pluck off that fruit and take a bite would be so great. This fruit, it’s his baby! And yet its specifically this fruit which he’s commanded to bring as Bikkurim. We see that the yesod behind Bikkurim isn’t just giving something you own. Rather, it’s giving the thing you cherish most. When a person pours so much effort into something, it becomes a part of him. That desire to then reap the benefits of his labor is so strong and powerful. That desire is all funneled into that first fruit. And its specifically this fruit he brings for Hashem.

The Mishna in Pirkei Avos says that a goal of a person is to nullify his desires in favor of Hashem’s. We’re here to do Hashem’s will, to become closer to Him through serving Him. That may sometimes mean that we have to do things which we don’t want. But nevertheless, just as a servant would do anything a king would request, so too we do everything Hashem commands us, even if it runs contrary to our desires. This concept is the yesod of the Bikkurim. The mitzva was a representation that even though one may have his own desires, in the end of the day we give up everything to serve Hashem.

Bikkurim aren’t physically around today. We can’t go and give offer up our first fruits at the Beis Hamikdash. However, the underlying principle of nullifying our desire to serve Hashem will always exist. The ability to put all our efforts into something, to desire it so much yet to give it away for Hashem, that does still exist.

That’s the yesod behind Bikkurim and that’s the explanation of Chazal. This world wasn’t just created for the actual giving of the Bikkurim at the Beis Hamikdash; rather it was created for us to funnel all of our desires into serving our Creator. This is also the pshat in the Sifri. Klal Yisrael only entered Eretz Yisrael because of this mitzva, for at that time they were about to experience the “eretz zavas chalav u’dvash” and acquire many things of Gashmius and Olam Hazeh. For this Hashem needed to give the mitzvah of Bikkurim, so we would recognize and realize that even amidst the pleasures of this world, we can never lose sight of what’s really important. As a result, we were given the mitzva to channel our desire into a gift for Hashem.

Rosh Hashana is nearly here. Chazal say that when Klal Yisrael would bring Bikkurim, they would bow in front of Hashem and in that moment there was no separation between Hashem and Bnei Yisrael. When one would give himself to Hashem in such a way, he would connect to Hashem on the highest plateau imaginable. Elul and the climax of Rosh Hashana is all about connecting. We want to show Hashem that we deserve another year of life, health and wealth (in every category). But why do we deserve such a thing? Who says we should have these things?

We answer these questions with our actions. By showing Hashem that everything we have is for Him. From our most cherished possessions to what we barely care about, everything we use for a connection. If we really care, and we really work on showing Hashem that we try as hard as we can to grow closer to Him, we can hopefully merit a good judgement and have a successful year.


Yacov Nordlicht – Parsha Ki Teitzei – The Ben Sorer u’Moreh

This week’s parsha deals with the laws of the ben sorer u’Moreh which is loosely translated as a wayward and rebellious son. In such a case where the son exhibits certain traits required to be a ben soreh u’moreh, the Torah says that he’s given the death penalty. However, none of his actions warrant such a penalty. Rather, the reason he’s put to death isn’t because of what he has done, but because of what he will do in the future.

This is seemingly very difficult to understand. We learn in Sefer Breishis by the Parsha of Yishmael that a person is only judged by his present actions. How is it then justifiable to kill a young teen based on what we perceive he’ll do?

The Ibn Ezra gives an explanation to the ben sorer u’moreh which seemingly answers the question. He says that a ben sorer u’moreh’s biggest problem isn’t the sins he’s committed in the past, rather there’s a much deeper and fundamental issue. All the requirements the Torah gives are just ways to reveal to us the ben sorer u’moreh’s outlook on life. He doesn’t care at all about good deeds, or service to HaShem; his sole drive and motivation for his actions comes from a belief that the focal point of life is to derive as much enjoyment as possible from Olam Hazeh. A person like this will do whatever he can to give himself just as few more drops of enjoyment. It could be the desire to be licentious, or to experience the thrill of murder. This person doesn’t differentiate between right and wrong, nothing matters besides for his personal pleasure. Such a person, the Torah says to be killed now, because a person with such an outlook has no hope in the future.

I think there’s a very big mussar to be learnt out of this issue. Oft times, the worst things about a person aren’t the actual sins he commits, but the deep seeded roots where those actions came from.

We’re now in the month of Elul, a time for some much needed reflection about the past year.  I don’t know with a certainty about everyone else, but every year at around this time I try to make a few resolutions to change for the better. And although I almost unilaterally start off strong, over time the “yamim noraim” inspiration fades and the resolutions become more infrequent, until the point where I reflect a year later, wondering “what happened?” What’s pshat? Why is it so hard to keep a simple resolution to be better?

I think the answer is what we learn from the ben sorer u’moreh. When someone does something which isn’t entirely appropriate, its normally not an isolated incident. Normally, there’s a deep seeded root inside the person which caused him to act that way. And without ever changing the root, no matter how many resolutions one makes, they’ll never stick.

In order to be able to build on something, it requires a strong foundation. If a person tries to build a house on foundations of playdoh, the house probably won’t last very long. In order to build a building, the foundation needs to be even stronger. The same is true with all of us. In order to really grow and build ourselves, the deep seeded foundation of our Emunah in HaShem needs to be strong. It’s the most important thing to strengthen. When a person sins, it isn’t merely because he felt a desire which he succumbed to, rather because at that precise moment, he forgot HaShem was watching. He forgot he was standing in front of his Father, his King.

We learn from the ben sorer u’moreh how bad it can be when someone’s roots are polluted. The real lesson to us, which is increasingly relevant as we approach Rosh Hashana, is to look deep down and asses what our essence is. What do we attribute importance to? What’s our outlook on life? Only when we’re able to say with confidence that we truly want to get closer to HaShem can we begin to change. Only when we know which way our heart really points can we be confident we’re heading in the right direction.




Yacov Nordlicht – Parsha Shoftim And Elul – Guard Yourself And Search Your Heart

In this week’s parsha, the opening pasuk says, “Shoftim v’shotrim titain lecha…”, “And you shall make for yourself judges and officers…”. Rabbeinu Bachye explains that the Shofet and the Shoteir explained in the pasuk are incumbent on each other. Just as it wouldn’t be sufficient to have a judge without whom to enforce the rules, so too it wouldn’t work to just have a police force without any lawmakers.

The Sh’la Hakadosh says that the pasuk ends with a lashon yachid, in singular tense. He explains, that this mitzvah to institute officers and judges isn’t just a mitzvah which was given to Yisrael as a klal, but also a lesson to each individual as a prat. Meaning, the pasuk isn’t just referring to an obligation given specifically for the community, rather it’s also teaching a real necessity for each individual.

The Shla explains that the pasuk is coming to teach us a very important correlation. Just as the community needs to appoint judges and enforcers for themselves in order to function properly, so too each individual needs to become a judge and an enforcer on himself in order to function properly. Being a judge refers to using the sechel; the ability to think about an action and determine whether or not it’s in accordance with the will of HaShem. However, like Rabbeinu Bachye explained, it’s not enough to just have judges. A person can’t just be the sechel. He needs to also be a shoteir, to enforce the right path on himself.

The Shulchan Aruch in siman 231 defines what it means to be an eved HaShem. He explains the obligation as being literally, an avdus to HaShem. Just as a servant who stands before a king is in a constant state of introspection, so too every individual in this world must be in a constant state of thought, to determine if he’s acting the way HaShem wants. We all stand before the king constantly, as the pack says “Shvisi HaShem l’negdi tamid”, and therefore our thoughts should be like a slave before a king whose constant thought process is focused on his actions. That’s what it means to be an eved; to think about your actions and enforce a change if it’s necessary.

This is the mitzvah of “Shoftim v’shotrim”, says the Sh’la Hakadosh. There are many times in life when we realize that we aren’t acting in an acceptable manner. However, the realization by itself is never enough. With just the realization, we become like the servant who realizes he isn’t performing the will of the king, yet refuses to change. That’s not called a real eved. To become a real eved HaShem, one needs to become a shoteir as well, and enforce the necessary change for the better.

There’s a pasuk we now say every day in “L’dovid” which I feel really encapsulates the message of Elul. The pasuk says “Lecha omar libi bakshu ponai es panecha HaShem avakeish”, “to you my heart has said seek My presence, Your presence, HaShem I seek.” On the surface, this pasuk seems cryptic. Who is Dovid Hamelech talking to when saying “to you my heart has said”? It seems as if he’s talking to HaShem, but then the continuation of the pasuk doesn’t seem to make any sense at all!?

Possibly anticipating this issue, Rashi explains the word “Lecha” as “On Your behalf”. In other words, Dovid Hamelech is telling us that on the behalf of HaShem, the heart says, “seek My presence”. We can glean from here a groundbreaking yesod in Avodas HaShem and the month of Elul. Deep down inside, each one of us has a heart which is on a mission from HaShem to enlighten us to change. To give us that desire, to seek out truth and meaning in life. It isn’t something which is external to us which needs to be acquired. It’s an inherent part of us deep down inside.

Being a shofeit on oneself does mean using the sechel. It does mean thinking about whether or not our actions align with the Ratzon HaShem. That seems like a daunting task. To assess all of our actions every day? How could a person have time for such a thing? We see from the pasuk in “L’Dovid” that sometimes using the sechel doesn’t mean actively assessing each and every action. Sometimes it just means listening to the heart, to the message our neshama is telling us. It’s a reality, deep down inside. Using the sechel sometimes means peeling away the layers of filth which separate us from the true connection with the “heart’s” message. For the heart is always deep down aligned with Ratzon HaShem. Deep down we always know and feel what’s right. Being a shofet on ourselves just means knowing how to listen.

This is the message of Elul. In Elul we try to enlighten ourselves to Teshuva and to return to HaShem. It’s a time of deep introspection. The pasuk is telling us where our introspection should lead. It should lead to us listening to ourselves. The heart says seek out HaShem. It tells us to do Ratzon HaShem. It’s just up to us to take the time to really listen


Yacov Nordlicht – Why Does Tisha B’Av Have The Potential To Be A Holiday

This coming Sunday will be Tisha b’Av (the ninth of Av), the saddest day in the Jewish calendar. Jews around the world will sit on the floor in mourning, crying over the Beis HaMikdash which was destroyed many years ago on this day.

We find something somewhat alarming in the texts describing the essence of Tisha b’Av. On the one hand, we have an obligation to mourn. As our Sages have explained, the mourning isn’t merely over the physical building of the Beis HaMikdash which was destroyed, rather we mourn the disconnect which resulted between us and HaShem. We cry because we realize how far away we are from HaShem and how far we’ve strayed from His presence. On the other hand, the Medrash tells us that Tisha b’Av is called a “mo’ed”, a holiday. Yet in Jewish consciousness, holidays were given to represent a connection to HaShem! Their sole purpose is to celebrate the closeness of our eternal relationship with our Creator! This is seemingly a contradiction. How can Tisha b’Av be a day whose essence is the expression of the great distance we feel between us and HaShem while also being a day where we celebrate our closeness with Him?

The previous Slonimer Rebbe of Yerushalayim answered this question with a parable. A father has two children. One child grew up, went to medical school and became a successful doctor. He was able to pay back all of his student debts and was able to build himself a nice house with his newfound income. Being the loyal son that he was, every Friday, before Shabbos, he would call his father to see how the week had went and to wish him a gut Shabbos. The other son wasn’t as fortunate. After getting into some trouble in high school, he found himself in one difficult situation after the other. He grew up, scrimping and saving to pay off his debts, but it never seemed to be enough. He would also call his father every week before Shabbos, but his conversation would look vastly different then his brother’s. Instead of calling and saying, “Hey, Dad, how are you?… How was your week?… Have a gut Shabbos..”, this brother would call his dad and say “Dad, I’m sorry to ask you again. But I need help. I can’t do it by myself. I feel like I’m drowning… please, dad, please help….”

Who do you think the father feels more love towards? Sure, he’s probably much prouder of the first son. But to which son does he think and worry about?  Which son occupies his thoughts, and gives him a longing to just be with that son, and make everything all right?  To which does he feel closer? To me, it seems obvious that the answer is the second son.

Our relationship with HaShem is oft-times likened to the relationship between a father and a son. On Tisha b’Av, we sit and we cry because we’re so far from HaShem. But that itself brings us closer to Him. At the times where we feel like we just can’t do it anymore, like we can’t function by ourselves without Him – those are the times where HaShem feels closest to us. Just like a father, when the son calls out for help, the father is always there.

That’s the reason why the day is considered both a day of mourning, but also a holiday. Because within our mourning and sadness we come closer to HaShem.

I think the lesson here goes even a step further. When are the times that HaShem is close to us? When we mourn and cry because we’re so far away from Him. The lesson here isn’t just in a theoretical sense. It’s practical as well. How many of us fail to mourn? How many of us come to a day like Tisha b’Av without being able to cry? HaShem wants to be close to us. But how can it be if we’re not even the son who calls up the father to say, “Dad, I need help”. How can it be if we’re the son who neglects to call his father at all? The lesson here isn’t just that HaShem is closest to us in our times of despair, it’s that we need to look to Him within that sadness and use it to draw closer to Him. It means being the son who calls his father and says “please, dad, please help me…”

The first step is to know the father. That’s really what it’s all about. To not be the estranged son who neglects his father’s. Only after that can we use the tools at our disposal to draw closer and closer to Him.


Yacov Nordlicht – Parsha Matot-Massei – Travel And Growth

This week’s parsha recounts all the travels of Bnei Yisrael from when they left Mitzrayim until the final climactic entrance into Eretz Yisrael. Each period is recounted, from the seemingly superfluous to the obviously necessary.

The Apter Rav asks a question in this week’s parsha. We know that the Torah is eternal. It wasn’t just written for the generation which physically received it at Har Sinai, rather it was written for the Jews of every generation. If that’s true, then why does the Torah feel the need to recount to us the number of travels of Bnei Yisrael in the mibar? It seems like this part of the Torah only really has a connection to those who experienced it, namely those who left Mitzrayim! What practical difference does it make to our lives?

I always thought that there was an important lesson to be learnt from this episode in the Torah. The Torah tells us 42 different times Bnei Yisrael uprooted themselves form a certain place and traveled to somewhere else. 42 times they traveled further and further away from Mitzrayim until they finally reached their destination, Eretz Yisrael. They couldn’t just leave Mitzrayim and enter Eretz Yisrael. It took time and patience, traveling to each place necessary to enter Eretz Yisrael in the right way.

In life, people fall. The reality of the world is that we’re not perfect. Everyone has their own demons. After nearly all of our sins, we experience a yeridah. The cognoscenti are attuned to it, some can even feel it. Others who are so ingrained and used to the sin may not feel anything at all, yet the change itself is there. The question is how to proceed. How to go on. Of course, the first step is to always pick oneself back up, even though it’s easier said than done. But where do we go from there? How do we grow to ensure that such a thing won’t happen again?

That’s what the pasha is coming to teach us. Klal Yisrael didn’t just leave Mitrzayim and directly enter into Eretz Yisrael. They had to travel, again and again and again. Entering Eretz Yisrael didn’t happen overnight. Over a span of 40 years Klal Yisrael constantly set up camp and then, a little while later, resumed traveling. After 40 years they were finally able to enter into Eretz Yisrael.

All of us have periods of “Mitrzayim” in our lives. When we feel like we’re on such a low level of tumah that we’ve become blind to HaShem’s presence. The psukim are telling how to deal with it. We can’t expect ourselves to just pick up, leave Mitrzyaim and enter into Eretz Yisrael overnight. It takes time. It takes patience. It means conquering one level at a time. And after that level is conquered, to pick up and move onto the next level.  This is why these psukim aren’t just relevant to the generation of the midbar, rather they’re relevant to each and every one of us. Everyone has times when they’re immersed in a period Mitzrayim. The psukim are telling us how to leave Mitzrayim and how to enter into a place of kedusha like Eretz Yisrael.

To enter into a makom of kedusha in our lives takes time and work. It can only happen if a person takes it one step at a time. The psukim aren’t just telling us how to enter into Eretz Hakodesh, they’re telling us how to achieve a life of kedusha. Each one of us has the ability inside to become great, to connect with HaShem in a way few could dream imaginable. But it doesn’t just happen. A person needs to constantly be traveling, to grow from level to level until he reaches a place of dedication where the sole purpose is avodas HaShem. With this thought in mind, we can pick ourselves up, and navigate the pitfalls and trials of life in order to fulfill our purpose of closeness with our Creator.


Yacov Nordlicht – Parsha Shelach – The Spies And “Decisions”

This week’s parsha deals with the story of the meraglim, where several of the great leaders of klal Yisrael went into Eretz Yisrael to scout out the land only to return with negative reports. Only Kalev and Yehoshua returned with messages of hope and bitachon.

The meforshim ask, how could the meraglim sin this way? This was the dor hamidbar, the generation which saw countless miracles with their own eyes! If HaShem said that they would go into the land and it would be safe, how could the meraglim return with reports which warranted a desire to return to Egypt?

I once heard an idea from one of my rebbeim which I think answers this question. Every single day of our lives, we make decisions. It’s feasible that there isn’t a soul on earth who spends one day without making any decisions. Even an inmate in prison whose freedom is basically removed makes decisions.

The question isn’t so much as to what the decisions are, rather what inside of us makes the decision. When a person decides to do anything in life, there needs to be a form of justification in order to act. It could just be a thought of “this will give me pleasure,” yet nevertheless, every decision has some form of reasoning.

I remember once when I was in middle school and was called into the principal’s office for doing something wrong. At the time, I had dealt with authority enough to know that the only way to truly win is to throw a curveball. The principal is always expecting the child to walk in and start arguing his case; how he’s not the real culprit rather the victim. Those are the kinds of kids who get suspended or even worse. I would walk in and say “I’m sorry Mr. Principal, I know what I did was wrong. I just wasn’t thinking. You can trust me, I won’t do it again.” That kind of answer would freeze principals. They wouldn’t know how to react! But in reality, was I truthful? Did I really never think about these things before acting? Maybe not consciously. But every time I would do something silly, there would always be a thought process. It was normally, “If I do this, people will think ‘x’ about me, and I want that…” There was a subconscious cheshbon for no decision is made without a root.

So what is it that makes the decision? On a basic level, a person is comprised of two parts, the guf and the neshama. Each one has a say, each makes a cheshbon. The question is, which one do we listen to? Do we make our decisions based on the desires of the guf, or the counsel of the neshama?

This was the meraglim’s problem. They became too focused on the externals, on the guf, and they failed to see within. The failed to see the depths, the neshama of the matter, that even though the situation looked bleak, HaShem was looking over us. Their guf had taken over, and when a person is looking at the world through the lenses that the guf provides without the neshama’s influence, the decisions made can be disastrous, even sometimes going against known truths!

This is also the reason why the story of the meraglim is in the same parsha as tzitzis. Tzitzis comes from the word “tzits” which means to look. The meforshim say that the yesod of mitzva’s tzitzis is to always look deeper. That even something so chitzoni like a shirt still has ruchniyus to it, the tzitzis. The sin of the meraglim was that they focused on the exterior too much. As a result, we learn about the mitzva’s tzitzis to remember to always look deeper.

The Chovos Halevovos in Sha’ar HaBitachon says this idea. He says that a person’s issues and hardships in life stem from a lack of recognition of HaShem. The same thing constantly applies to us. How often do we remember HaShem in our chitzonius-dik lifestyles? It’s a tremendous avodah, but one which is quintessential to yiddishkeit; to be able to grow in our recognition of HaShem, and as a result always make decisions with the proper state of mind.


Yacov Nordlicht On Parsha Naso – The Nazir Brings The “I” Of Old

This week’s parsha deals with the laws of the Nazir. At the end of the period of the Nazir’s abstinence, in order to finish the process, he would have to go to the Beis Hamikdosh and bring a series of korbanos. When the Torah relates this obligation in the end of the process of the Nazerus, it uses a very interesting lashon. Instead of simply saying that the Nazir should go to the ohel moed to prepare to bring his korbanos, the Torah says, “and he shall bring himself….”.

What’s this idea of bringing oneself? Why does he need to bring himself, why couldn’t the Torah have just said that he should bring a korban? What’s the pasuk trying to teach us?

The Meshech Chochma says an idea here which is relevant to everyday life. What’s the worst thing which happens when a person sins? Obviously, there’s the spiritual ramifications and the inevitable distancing from HaShem. But the Ba’alei Mussar say that there’s something even worse which results. And that is, that when a person sins, he begins to associate himself with the sin. Once he begins to associate himself with the sin, there’s no telling the depths to which he could fall.

Rav Wolbe in his sefer Alei Shur talks about the concept of the “ani hapnimi”, the “internal ‘I'”. Every individual has this internal sense of self, the essence of who he really is. One of man’s greatest avodahs in this world is to separate the “I” from the exterior outliers, such as the yetzer hara. That is, to realize that the yetzer hara is not “me”, but something which convinces me to do the wrong thing. Our avodah to realize that our actions exist outside of our essence. The essence, the “I” is the neshoma, something which is completely pure and good. If sometimes we’re swayed by the yetzer hara to sin, it isn’t the “I” inside of us sinning, rather an external force which influences us. Our greatest fault isn’t in the actual sins we do, rather it’s when we associate ourselves with our sins. When we allow our internal “I” to be defined by our actions.

We live in a society obsessed with labeling. There’s a term for literally everything. If a person has a problem stealing, he becomes a “kleptomaniac”. He begins to label and view himself in a certain way, and as a result, he defines himself as a certain type of person. Once he defines himself as that type of person, his future actions follow that definition. He begins to act as who he thinks he is.

A while ago, I received a call about someone I knew who was struggling with a certain problem which could yield a future addiction. I told the caller that it was imperative that this person not identify himself with the problems he was facing. He obviously can’t ignore it, but once he begins to identify with the problem, he’ll no longer be working to rid himself of an issue, he’ll be working on uprooting his very essence.

The goal of the Nazir was to reconnect with the internal “I”. The Meshech Chochma explains that a person would take the vow of Nazerus after falling prey to the yetzer hara and sinning. The goal of the thirty days of abstinence wasn’t merely to cut back on the “goodies”, rather it was to recognize that the yetzer hara isn’t his essence! That there exists a “me” besides for my taivahs! When a person would refrain from something for thirty days, he would begin to realize that there does exist a sense of self without the yetzer hara’s persuasion.

This is what the pasuk is trying to teach us when it says that the Nazir would “bring himself”. After thirty days of abstaining from worldly pleasures, he would be a different person, one who was in touch with his individual reality! When he would achieve such a state of mind, he would be able to “bring himself”; that is, he would bring the old “him” who was defined by his desires to the Ohel Moed to prepare to bring the korbanos.

Everyone falls in life. It’s one of the realities which is sometimes hard to come to grips with. The real question is how we deal with it. A person could let it consume him, or he could realize that a mistake was made and move forward. The only true way of moving forward is to realize who we are. The work we do on ourselves is to control the “eil zar b’kirbeich”, the “foreign god inside of us” referring to the yetzer hara. Its foreign, it’s not a part of us. In order to truly grow, we need to identify ourselves with the true goodness inside of us, and not the lowly desires on the outside. Only with such an understanding can we reconnect with ourselves and take further steps down the road in avodas HaShem.


Yacov Nordlicht – Parsha Tetzaveh – Experiencing G-d

In this week’s parsha, the pasuk once again talks about HaShem resting His presence amongst klal Yisrael. The pasuk says “…I shall rest among the children of Israel…they shall know that I am HaShem their G-d who took them out of the land of Mitzrayim…” The Ramban explains this pasuk to mean that as a result of knowing that HaShem rests among us, we can properly come to the Emunah that HaShem took us out of Mitzrayim.

On a basic level, this idea is very difficult to understand. HaShem was talking to klal Yisrael at this time. This was the every same klal Yisrael which saw the miracles in Egypt! Why did they need to  “know that HaShem is among us”, in order to know that “HaShem took us out of Mitzrayim”? Rav Yitzchak Isaac Sher asks this same question in last week’s parsha. What was introduced with this knowledge which wasn’t already a part of klal Yisrael? They witnessed kriyas yam suf! The ten plagues! How could this knowledge that HaShem is within in our midst add anything to the emunah that He took us out of Mitzrayim?

There’s a very big yesod from the baalei Mussar which is very relevant. There are different levels of emunah. Rav Avigdor Miller would give a mashal of a small child. If you tell the child that the element of a stove is very hot and that he shouldn’t touch it, the child will believe you. However, even though he can know that the stove is hot, he’s never experienced the heat from the stove. On the other hand, if there’s a child who touched the stove top and got burnt, his level of knowledge that the stove is hot is on a much higher level of understanding than the first child.

The same is true with our emunah. A person can know intellectually that there exists a Ribbono shel Olam. That person’s emunah is within the realm of knowing. However, his emunah is limited, for he never experienced it. Feeling HaShem’s presence creates a much higher level of emunah than simply knowing it to be true.

The baalei mussar say that this is what the Ramban is alluding to. A person could intellectually know HaShem. He could have even seen open miracles proving what he knows! However, if a person wants to make emunah a part of him, to take with him the root of emunah which is yetzias mitzrayim, it’s not enough to just know it; one has to feel it. He needs that higher level of emunah called emunah chushis; not just an intellectual emunah, but an experiential one.

This yesod is a major yesod which I personally take much mussar from. The Torah isn’t just telling us to know HaShem, the Torah is telling us to live with HaShem. To feel His presence among us. How many times do we forget this? How many times do we act in a way which is against His will? Or furthermore, how many times do we justify our own agendas by misconstruing His will? If we felt Him in our midst, could we do such things? Would we be able to act in such a way?

The yesod is penetrating. If we want to become people who serve HaShem, who connect to yetzias Mitzrayim, HaShem has to become our reality. And the only way for us to make Him a reality is to feel His presence. To try as hard as we can to focus on Him and to put Him in front of us always. In this way, with this high level of emunah, we don’t just exist as people who know of HaShem, rather we experience HaShem.

Yacov Nordlicht – The Half Shekel

The shekalim in parshas shekalim which talks about the machzis hashekel used to count klal Yisrael has a specific tikkun for Haman and Amalek.

The question is simply what’s the connection between the two? How does the idea of the machsitz hashekel relate to the defeating of Amalek?

Chazal tell us that the machsitz hashekel was one of the few things that Moshe Rabbeinu didn’t quite grasp the first time it was told to him. Tosafos in Menachos (39a) asks, how is it possible that Moshe didn’t understand what a machsitz hashekel was? Its a simple half-shekel?! Tosafos says that surely Moshe knew the physical coin that each person was required to give. Rather, Moshe didn’t understand how such a thing could be a kapparah. The idea behind the machsitz hashekel was something which escaped Moshe. In order to further explain the idea, HaShem showed Moshe Rabbeinu a “matbeiah shel aish”, a “coin on fire”, and from that Moshe understood the yesod of the machsitz hashekel.

What does this mean? How did a flaming coin further explain to Moshe Rabbeinu the kapparah of the machsitz hashekel?

I heard an explanation from my previous Rebbe at the Mir, Rav Vagshal. Rav Vagshal explained: Whats the sin that the machsitz hashekel was coming to fix? It’s clarified in chazal that there’s a certain issur to count people. We see this by Dovid hamelech who sinned by counting people and a plague resulted. In order to have a kapparah for such a sin, HaShem gave the mitzvah of the machsitz hashekel. Why? Where’s the Takkana of the sin? Rav Vagshal explained that if a person would take a bag of coins, it would exists as a bag full of coins. Even though the bag may hold them all, they each will always exist as a separate coin. Fire, however, is different. If a person joins together two flames, they don’t continue to exist as two separate flames, rather they combine and become one.

This is what HaShem showed Moshe. That when the coins are given l’shma, they’re not just coins which exist separate from one another, rather they come together like fire. It results in an achdus, one people with one goal; to serve HaShem. This fire could be a tikkun for the sin of counting- for counting by definition separates each person as an individual. The machsitz hashekel is what united us after such a separation.

This is also the reason why chazal instituted to read shekalim before Purim. When adar begins is when shekalim were used in the Purim story. But theses shekalim aren’t just any shekalim. They’re a direct tikkun to Amalek. One of the foundations of Amalek was to create a separation. The yesod of the machsitz hashekel is the fire. There are no separate flames, only one fire.

The Zohar says that before the days of moshiach, five types of Eirev rav will present themselves. The Zohar explains that the first type of people come from the root of Amalek. They try to uproot klal yisrael from Torah, our definition, our fire which connects us. In such a time when people seek to separate us from Torah and each other, the only way to combat it is with the yesod of the machsitz hashekel. To enforce our fire and join it with our fellows. Only then can we become one and conquer the yesod of Amalek.