A Timely Message about the Broncos
Very often in life, things happen to us that are confusing. How are we supposed to feel? Should I be happy or sad? Grateful, or filled with self-pity? Perhaps the most profound example of this dichotomy occurred to us all on Saturday night. Personally, I was feeling quite jolly, if not euphoric, when I got home from my parents' home after having watched a recording of the Broncos-Bills game. After all, the Broncos were going back to the AFC Championship after having beaten the scariest team left in the playoffs. But then, upon reentering reality, I saw all over the news that our beloved quarterback, Bo Nix, had broken his ankle and would miss the rest of the playoffs. How was I supposed to feel? On one hand, the Broncos won their biggest game in over a decade. And on the other hand, our beloved leader was injured, and our hopes to advance to the Super Bowl appeared ever so bleak.
Fortunately, our Torah is a Toras Chaim, an instruction manual for life, and as such, it offers eternal, timeless guidance– like how to feel about our beloved Broncos in a moment like this.
In the second chapter of Pirkei Avos, the Mishnah discusses the very best traits a person should try to which a person should cleave. Rabbi Eliezer said it is to have an ayin tova. A good eye. Life is full of situations in which we can choose to see things positively or negatively. And the reality is, if we view life through a negative lens, we will be miserable, negative people. If we view life through a positive lens, we will be joyful, happy people.
With this in mind, I turned my thoughts to the Broncos victory/ Bo Nix injury conundrum: I can choose to feel blissful, as I did after the game, or I can choose to feel miserable, like I did immediately after hearing the injury news. The Broncos run, it seemed, feels too good to be true. Why did this have to happen to us?
And then I wondered what Rabbi Eleizer would say about seeing this with a good eye: Yes, it is unfortunate that our star quarterback, who returned the city of Denver to football glory, is injured. Very unfortunate. But, if anyone told me a few months ago the Broncos would be hosting the AFC championship game, I would have been overwhelmed with joy and excitement. Even if the Broncos -Heaven forbid– lose, this has been a fantastically successful season.
Secondly, my good eye compels me to understand that win or lose, we really win. On Monday morning, we will wake up in beautiful Denver, Colorado. The city with 300 days of sunshine. The city where the shimmering mountains glisten in the distance, inviting us to come visit for a hike or ski day– snow permitting. We could wake up in grey, cold Boston, as most Patriots fans will on Monday morning, too scared to walk outside for fear the bitter cold wind will leave us frost-bitten.
And finally, my “good eye” also compels me to believe that the Broncos will, in fact, win. One of the most important roles in the game of football is the role of the head coach. The Broncos coach knows how to win. He knows how to tailor a game plan uniquely crafted to the skill set of his backup quarterback. In fact, by my count, he led his three backups in New Orleans, where he was previously the Saints' head coach, to a stunning 17-4 record.
So it’s not all gloom after all– the Broncos will win this game, and advance to the Super Bowl.
And with that, a good Shabbos to all!
Towards the beginning of this week’s Parsha, Pharaoh enacts an evil decree in which he requires that all of the males born in Egypt be thrown into the river. Therefore, when recently born Moshe’s mother realized she could no longer safely hide him, a basket was built, and he was placed into it, and sent into the river. The Torah then relates how Pharaoh’s own daughter, Basya, was bathing by the river when she saw the basket. The verse tells us she “sent her amah to take the baby.” Rashi gives two explanations as to what this means: an amah could be a maidservant. This appears to be the simple way to read the verse, and means that Basya got the basket by asking her maidservant to retrieve it. But Rashi also explains that amah could also mean arm. Thus, when she saw the basket in the distance in the river, she stuck out her arm, and, as the midrash relates, her arm extended supernaturally, Inspector Gadget style, until it reached the basket, and brought it to her, saving Moshe.
According to this understanding, we might ask, what was her intention? Did she think she could accomplish anything whatsoever by sticking out her little arm, to retrieve the basket containing the crying baby, many many yards in the distance? What is the lesson for us?
Rabbi Shmuel Berenbaum answers that when a person needs help– we need to do whatever we possibly can. We need to leave no stone unturned, and put in maximal effort– even if it seems, according to the laws of nature, that our effort will not move the needle. He explains that even though, according to the laws of nature, her arm was simply not long enough to reach Moshe, nevertheless, this baby was endangered, and therefore she needed to do something–anything - whatever she could do– even though it seemed like it would not make any difference. Because she did that– a miracle happened, and her arm extended so that she could merit saving Moshe Rabainu. Explains Rabianu Berenbaum, if Basya would have sadly shrugged her shoulders, and wondered, “What could I have done, anyways?” and given up hope, we would have never had a Moshe Rabainu, who ultimately led us out of Egypt and ascended to become the greatest leader in our history.
What a powerful lesson for us as well, in our lives– personally, and nationally. Sometimes we might become aware of someone in need of help. And we might shrug our shoulders, asking ourselves what we can do? As much as we would like to help, we surely are not in position to make any kind of impact. So we don’t bother trying. And on a more communal level– as we all know too well, there were recently dozens and dozens of our precious brothers and sisters in captivity in Gaza. And many of us, especially towards the end, were consumed by the all-encompassing feeling of dread that there was nothing that could be done to get them out alive. Why would Hamas forfeit all of their leverage and release them? It seemed like an impossibility. But, like Basya, we stuck out our arms anyways. At shul, we said a special psalm of prayer after every service. Some people wrote letters to their senators, or spread awareness about what was going on. Others took on special mitzvos in their honor, or chose specific names to pray for. And at times it undoubtedly felt useless– like we weren’t accomplishing anything. But Basya taught us that when someone is endangered, and needs our help, we can’t just sit idly by, doing nothing. We at the very least must stick out our arms and try to reach the person in need.
And thank G-d, Basya saw a miracle, and so did we.
Last week, I, along with some other young professionals from Denver and Dallas, was at the T’kuma memorial site in Southern Israel, about 10 minutes away from the Nova site. T’kuma is where they brought the cars from the party goers, and it is a jarring site indeed. Seeing the burnt and bullet-ridden cars is truly shocking. And perhaps even more jarring are the rows and rows of empty cars in the distance. It feels like being at a Broncos game– but sadly, no one is coming back to these cars. They each belonged to young, precious Jews whose lives were prematurely snatched from them. Their crime? Being Jewish, simply wanted to celebrate life at a music festival.
While there, we saw the bullet-ridden car driven by Ben Shimoni, with its smashed windshield. And we heard his story. Ben was at the Nova site and managed to escape with 4 strangers to Beer Sheva, 30 minutes away. Despite his new friends' pleas that he stay there, far enough away from the warzone, he went back to the Nova site, where he saved five more people taking the same route. Not satisfied with that, he went back yet a third time, when he attempted to save four more people. On that fateful trip, he was murdered along with three other passengers. Romi Gonen was taken hostage and eventually released. All in all, he saved at least ten lives that day.
After hearing his story, we saw his father, who shared with us some of the story, and his son’s desire to care for others. We learned about his sense of selflessness and how he put the needs of others before his own. We learned that the meaning of being a Jew is to look out for others.
Right now, we have just entered the secular New Year. While we tend to set goals for ourselves around Rosh HaShana time, the secular new year also serves as an opportunity to assess how our last year has gone, and what we hope for ourselves in the upcoming secular year. And while it is very difficult, if not impossible, to reach the lofty level of Ben Shimony, perhaps we can try to incorporate some of his legacy into our own lives. Perhaps in 2026, we can specifically work on being more sensitive to others. More caring. More helpful. Perhaps we can work on putting their needs before our own.
Our people are going through a difficult time. Many of us feel more vulnerable than we ever have. And if we are feeling it– those of us who are wrapped in the embrace of our loving Jewish community– then certainly tens of thousands of our unaffiliated precious Jewish brothers and sisters with no communities to call their own feel it as well. Maybe we can ask ourselves who among them could use a phone call? Who could use a Shabbos meal invitation, or an invitation to join us on a Shabbos morning for some inspiration and good kiddush?
Perhaps in 2026, we can seek to be even more proactive in looking out for our fellow Jewish brothers and sisters. And in that merit, we should be blessed with a peaceful, joyful, and fulfilling 2026.
In this week’s Parsha, the Torah relates the very mysterious episode of Isaac and the wells. The Torah relates how “Isaac dug the wells which were dug in the days of Avraham his father, as the Philistines had stopped them up after Avraham had died– and he called the wells the same names that his father had called them.” The Torah describes how the Philistines filled in the wells that had been previously dug– only for Isaac to re-dig them, and name them the same names that his father had called them. What is the lesson? Everything the Torah records is by design– every word has meaning– what are we supposed to learn from this?
Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks ztl describes how this seemingly enigmatic episode literally provides us guidance for how to deal with the oldest hatred in the world– anti-Semitism. He comments how the Philistines filling in these wells becomes a paradigm for how anti-Semites act for millennia to come: Their hatred of the Jewish People is so strong, and so intense, that they literally sabotage their own self interests. Rather than ask Isaac to share his water with them, or to ask him to teach them how he and his father discovered these vital sources of water, they instead stopped up the wells, filling them with earth. Sabotaging the supply of water inevitably hurt them way more than it harmed Yitzchak. He would have left shortly after the famine ended, and that well, full of water– a vital necessity– would have remained with them. As Rabbi Sacks teaches, more than hate destroys the hated, it destroys the hater.
How does Isaac respond to this? What does he do? The Torah powerfully relates, “He reopened the wells that had been dug in the time of his father Avraham which the Philistines stopped up after he died, and he gave them the same names his father had given them. Rabbi Sacks points out that he was, “faithful to what his father had started,” and represented the faith of persistence and the courage of continuity. As the first Jewish child, he represented the single greatest challenge of being a Jewish child– to continue the journey our ancestors began rather than drift from it.
When faced with the irrational hatred that is anti-Semitism we have one of two choices: We can try to assimilate into the culture we are in, hoping that they will overlook our Jewishness, embrace us, and ultimately leave us alone. Or, we can dig the same wells our fathers dug, and call them the same names that our fathers called them. We can lean more into who we are, and not run away from it.
Isaac teaches us that this is the correct response to anti-Semitism. Not to abandon our people and our faith– but to embrace our people and our faith. Indeed, I have observed after October 7th dozens, if not hundreds of young Jews who have done this. After being harshly reminded of their Jewishness, tens of thousands of secular Jews were left with a choice: would they embrace their eternal heritage, or run away from it? Isaac teaches us how we are to respond.
And not only that– when confronted with this irrational hatred– Isaac does not go on social media, doom scroll about how everyone hates us, and then join a WhatsApp group, in which he and others complain about how everyone hates us. Rather, he is moved to act. After the shepherds of Gerrar claim the well that he just dug, he simply moves on, and digs another well.
He teaches us that the response to hatred against us is not to simply sulk in paralysis and despair over plight. Rather, we act– we put one foot in front of the other, and keep digging.
Parshas Chayei Sarah
At the end of last week’s parsha we see Avraham go through the greatest of his ten trials– he was prepared to sacrifice his precious son Isaac, whom he waited for all these years. Then, as he was about to lift up the knife, a voice came out from Heaven, telling him to stop. At this point– after passing this test with such incredibly flying colors, we would think that his story would end, and he will live happily ever after.
But that is not what happens.
Instead, he gets back home, to learn of the tragic death of his beloved wife, Sarah. Just as he was returning, relieved his son’s life was spared, he finds out the devastating news that his wife had died. As Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks z’tl describes, after everything that just transpired, losing his wife of many years, the woman who stayed with him through all of his travails, who twice saved his life, who miraculously gave birth at an old age- had Avraham grieved for the rest of his days, we would surely have understood.
But the Torah paints a very different picture: “Avraham eulogized Sarah, and he cried over her. And then he got up from beside his dead, to speak to the children of Chet.” Avraham grieved. And then he got up, arranged for his wife’s burial by purchasing a plot of land in Israel. And then, as the Parsha continues, he immediately sought out a wife for his son Isaac, to ensure the continuity of the future Jewish people.
What is the lesson for us?
Rabbi Sacks describes how maaseh avos siman l’banim– everything that happened to our ancestors ultimately was a sign of things to come for all of us.
Avraham grieved knowing what he has lost– but then, he rises up and builds the Jewish future. This was a unique and special gift that Avraham bestowed to his descendents. Because throughout our history, the Jewish People have experienced immense tragedies– the likes of which are truly hard to fathom and make sense of. As Rabbi Sacks describes, there was the destruction of the First Temple and Babylonian exiles, followed by the destruction of the second Temple and the end of Jewish sovereignty. Eventually came the expulsions, massacres, forced conversions and inquisitions of the Middle Ages. These were followed by the pogroms of the 17th and 19th centuries, and then the Holocaust. And, we would add the devastation of October 7th.
Yet somehow, says Rabbi Sacks, the Jewish people mourned and wept, and then rose up and built the future. This is our unique strength, which came from Avraham. As he writes, ”We must turn from yesterday’s loss to the call of a tomorrow we must help to be born.”
As we look at our people, this quality of perseverance we inherited from Avraham Avinu seems to truly define us. 79 years ago my grandmother was an orphan with no family, who found herself at a DP Camp in Europe. It was terrible– everything she had been through was truly horrific.
But somehow she found the inner resolve to move forward and to pick up her life and to rebuild.
Tens of thousands of other people like her did the same thing.
Eli Sharabi, who survived so many days in captivity in Gaza, only to come home, like Abraham to see his wife (and daughters) were no longer alive, had this to say: “This here is rock bottom. I've seen it. I've touched it. Now, life." And, “I choose life. I need to be strong for them.”
We get knocked down time after time.
It seems inconceivable to get up again and to carry on.
And yet, every single time in our history, that is exactly what we do.
This is the legacy we received from Abraham.
We are introduced to Abraham in this week’s parsha when he is told to leave his homeland, and go to the place that Hashem will show him. The Mishnah in Pirkei Avos famously comments that Avraham leaving his homeland to relocate to another locale was the second of his ten big tests in his lifetime. Rabbi Shmuel Berenbaum wonders: “What was so special about this particular test? We see every day that many people go from their homes and settle all over the world, very far from home, with the goal of attaining great material wealth and success! And furthermore, Hashem promised Avraham that if he goes, He will make him famous, he will have offspring, and he will be very wealthy!”
If G-d told me that I should leave Denver to the place He will show me, and assures me it will work out, and how I will become extremely famous and rich, I’d say, “Where do I sign up?”
What is this great test that Avraham underwent in leaving his homeland?
Rabbi Berenbaum explains that until this point, Avraham had a reasonably simple life. He was involved in Torah, and inspiring people to believe in One G-d. Now, Hashem is telling him to abandon this simple lifestyle, no longer focus on his Torah and obtaining students, and instead to “go to the land that I will show you.” He is being asked to leave his simple life he knows and loves, and go to this new place where G-d will make his name great, and make him exceedingly wealthy.
It emerges, says Rabbi Berenbaum that his test was not just to leave his homeland for a new place– but rather to begin a new path, a new avoda, a new service of G-d– to begin serving G-d in a different manner than he had until now.
Rabbi Berenbaum points out that we see this phenomenon with other forefathers as well: Yaakov was a simple man who studied Torah and “dwelled in the tents,” but eventually he had to flee his home, and become a great shepherd in Lavan’s home. Yosef was a simple shepherd, and eventually his circumstances changed, and he became the second in command in Egypt. In these cases, our holy forefathers began their lives serving the Almighty in one way, but needed to pivot at some point due to circumstances beyond their control, and serve Him in an entirely different way.
Perhaps a lesson we can learn from this is that if ever our own circumstances change, we should not fall into depression and despair, but rather relate to the change in circumstances as a test from Hashem, not unlike Avraham’s test. The test might be about how we will react to these changes, and how we will continue to serve Hashem under these new conditions. Throughout the generations our fate changes– but we always remain avdei Hashem, servants of Hashem. We have inherited in our spiritual DNA from Abraham and our forefathers this incredible ability to adapt, and to pivot.
I recently began reading the book “Hostage” which chronicles the story of survival by one of our great modern day heroes, Eli Sharabi. Upon coming to grips with the reality of what was happening as he was being taken into Gaza he relates the super-human perspective he inherited from his forefathers: I focus and concentrate on one mission: surviving to return home. There is no more regular Eli. From now on, I am Eli the survivor.”
Eli Sharabi was able to immediately recognize his life was forever changing– and he would have to adjust his perspective and his focus accordingly.
None of us should ever face such tests— but when they come our way, like Avraham, let us remain unphased, make the necessary pivot, and serve Hashem in the new way that we are being guided towards.
After the narrative of the devastating flood, the Torah tell us about the Torah of Bavel, during which there was great unity among mankind, and humanity decided to build a tower to attempt to rebel against G-d. After building this tower, “Hashem descended to look at the city and tower which the bnei adam, the sons of man built.” Rashi famously asks, why are the builders of this tower here referred to as “bnei adam, the sons of man?” In Rashi’s own words, “who else’s children are they? Perhaps the sons of donkeys or camels? (Of course they are the sons of man!) Rather, they are the descendants of Adam HaRishon, Adam, the first man, who denied the good that Hashem had done for him when he blamed his sin ‘on the woman that you have to me.’ So too, these people denied the good, to rebel against the One who bestowed goodness upon them, and saved them from the flood.”
If you recall, one week ago we read how Adam and Eve succumbed to the terrible sin of eating from the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil. When asked about it, Adam effectively passed on the blame to Eve, and G-d Himself, when he said, I are it due to “the woman that YOU gave me.” He denied the unbelievable kindness The Almighty did for him in blessing him with a life-partner– his beloved wife. Therefore, years later, when we see another egregious lack of appreciation in the form of the descendants of the survivors of the flood wanting to revel against G-d, they are referred to as Bnei Adam– Adam’s children.
The lesson for all of us is indeed very profound. One of the most terrible attributes a person could have would be to be a kafui tov– one who denies the goodness bestowed upon themselves.
Conversely, one of the greatest attributes a person can possess is to be a makir Tov– A person who recognizes the goodness bestowed upon him.
A person could potentially have everything he could possibly ever want– good health, family, a decent-job. But if they do not recognize those blessings, and think everything is just coming to themselves, they won’t event notice the brilliance of those blessings.
And a person could literally seemingly have nothing, and yet be endlessly grateful, and therefore happy.
This past Shabbos, I quoted a mind-blowing comment from former hostage Omer Shem Tov, who related how he would spend his time in the dark dungeon of Gaza talking to Hashem. He relates, “Every night before I went to bed, there were five minutes when I spoke to G-d….. and I told Him , “Thank you. Thank you for everything I have, for the air I have, for my health. Thank you for the food I have on the plate, even if it's a half a piece of bread a day. Thank you for everything, thank you for everything. If I miss anything from my captivity, it was the way I spoke to Hashem , until today I try to do this, sometimes I can feel Him the way I felt Him there…”
I understand none of us are on this mind-blowingly lofty level. But If this unbelievable spiritual hero is able to see the good, and appreciate the good, from a tunnel in Gaza, perhaps we can begin to see the good in our lives as well.
We all have different challenges, and unique situations we find ourselves in, which can sometimes make it hard. But, unquestionably, if we open up our eyes, and reflect upon the abundance of blessings each of us have in our lives, we will be happier people.
May this New Year be filled with endless blessings and joy for all of us personally, communally, and nationally as we appreciate the endless bounty of blessings in our lives.
What a Simchas Torah this will be.
Because literally— almost to the exact Hebrew day they were snatched from us, our precious, beloved brothers and sisters are finally home.
Sometimes in life the joy we feel is so profound there are simply no words to describe what we are feeling. But I wanted to share a few short reflections about things we can think about.
This morning during davening, we said, “Hodo L’Hashem Ki Tov, Ki L’olam Chasdo. Give thanks to Hashem for He is good, His kindness endures forever. We then said, “This is the day G-d made, we will exult, and we will rejoice on it.” Never in my lifetime have the words of Hallel resonated more than they did this morning.
In the Book of Prophets, in Nechemya 8:17, he prophesies, “And all the congregation of those who came back out of the captivity made sukkahs, and dwelt in the sukkahs…. And there was very great gladness.”
How appropriate that the last of our precious hostages returned on the Hoshana Rabba, the last day of Sukkos. And indeed, there is a very great gladness– perhaps the likes of which there has not been among the Jewish People since the Six-Day War.
I believe this incredible time we find ourselves also very much connects to the holiday of Shemini Atzeres, which we are celebrating tonight. The Torah describes how we have a multitude of sacrifices that were brought during the times of the Temple during Sukkos. But on Shemini Atzeres, it was only one offering.
Why?
Rashi famously describes that it can be compared to a king who invited his precious children to a multi-day feast. Once it became time to take leave of his precious children though, he pleads, “My children, I have but one request of you– please, remain with me just one more day– kashe alay pridaschem. Your separation is difficult for me.”
Shemini Atzeres is a day of tremendous intimacy in which G-d requires one more day with us, as is so hard for Him to pull back, away from the intimacy we have enjoyed during the High Holidays and Sukkos.
Many Chassidic Rebbes explain that the phrase “kasheh alay pridaschem - “your separation is difficult for me” doesn’t just mean that it is hard for G-d when we pull apart and experience more distance, but it also means “Your separation, your division, is hard for me.” G-d is telling us on Shemini Atzeres, “When you bicker and argue and fight, that is hard for me.” There is something about Shimini Atzeres which demands our unity and love for each other.
The great Chassidic Master the Bnei Yissoschar also describes that Shemini Atzeres is a day of tremendous intimacy between us and the almighty in the Yom HaNirtzah L’yichuda Shalim– an opportune day for complete and full seclusion and aloneness with the Almighty.
The complete yichud - connection and isolation we have with G-d on Shemini Atzeres that the Bnei Yisoschar describes, perhaps could also be understood and translated as “complete unity.” Shemini Atzeres is a day of our complete and total unity, both with Hashem, and, each other.
We all fight. Both here, and especially in Israel. But, by the looks of the footage coming out of the Holy Land, it is clear that right now, there is complete unity.
Let us bask in this historic, Biblical-feeling moment.
Let us thank Hashem with every fiber of our beings.
And this Simchas Torah, let us dance, and celebrate, like never before.
A Time for War, and a Time for Peace
In the deeply moving book of Koheles that we read on Shabbos Chol HaMoed of Sukkos every year, the wisest of all men, King Solomon writes, “To everything there is a season…under the heavens.. A time to cry, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance…A time for war, and a time for peace.”
I will never forget reading these immortal words two years ago, on October 7th 2023. Because Shabbos coincided with Shemini Atzeres, we read Koheles on Shemini Atzeres. And as I got to shul that morning, being informed of what was unfolding in real time, in my hazy daze, I pondered these words: This was undoubtedly a time to mourn and a time to cry, but it was also Simchas Torah in Israel, a Yom Tov described as zman simchaseinu, the time of our joy. Should I be crying, or should I be laughing? Should I be mourning, or should I be dancing?
This year, during the Ask the Clergy Panel on Yom Kippur evening, the question was posed how we can ever celebrate Simchas Torah? How can we dance on the Hebrew anniversary of the greatest massacre since the Holocaust?
And today the question presents itself as well: On one hand we feel unmitigated joy at the prospect that please G-d our holy hostages will be home by Simchas Torah– back in their families embrace two years after they were cruelly snatched away from us. And on the other hand, we mourn the return of the even more numerous hostages who were murdered on October 7th or in captivity– the scope of a tragedy so massive it is hard for our minds to comprehend.
So what is it– is today a time to cry, or a time to dance?
The answer, I believe, is both.
The reality is that we Jews are familiar with the dialectical tension. On Rosh Hashana we read the Nesaneh Tokef in which we wonder who among us will live; and who will die. And the same day is described by our Rabbis as a very joyful day, in which we are meant to eat, and drink. In the middle of Hallel, in which we express our euphoric gratitude to G-d, we stop in the middle and cry out, “Ana Hashem, Hoshiah Na– Please G-d, save us!.”
I recall in college taking a course with Dennis Ross, who negotiated under Bill Clinton the Oslo Accords and the Camp David Accords in which Israel offered all of Gaza and around 92 percent of the West Bank to the Palestinians. This offer was ultimately declined. He taught us that in order to understand the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, you have to understand each side’s collective narrative. The Palestinians have a victimhood narrative, in which they commemorate the nakba (catastrophe) of 1948, and now, 77 years later, young babies are being born in refugee camps.
The Jewish narrative is quite different. We are not a nation of victims, but of survivors. My grandmother was in a Displaced Person’s camp after losing her entire family in the Holocaust– but I did not grow up in that camp. Because as Jews, despite going through unthinkable horror– we do not sulk in our misery. We pick up the pieces, and continue building.
So today, and Simchas Torah is both a time to cry, and a time to dance. But through our tears, we rebuild.
King David taught us, HaZorim B’dima, b’rina yiktzaru. We sow and plant with tears– but we reap with joy and jubilation.
Let us sanctify the memories of those precious Jews who died solely because they are Jews. And may their holy memories inspire us in all that we do, as we please G-d enter a new era described by King Solomon–– a time for peace.
The High Holidays– Win; Don’t Lose
A great modern philosopher, Mike McDaniel, head coach of the Miami Dolphins, recently said something extremely profound: In order to win games, you have to win games, and not lose games.”
How true these immortal words are. Not only in making me feel better about the egregious penalty called against the Broncos that cost them the game last week (because at the end of the day, they lost, and didn’t win), but also in preparing me for the High Holidays that are now upon us.
The truth is, the Rambam writes something (arguably) very similar. In his classic work Hilchos Teshuva, he famously describes how every year on Rosh Hashana, our merits are weighed against our shortcomings. If we have more merits than shortcomings, we are inscribed and sealed in the book of life. If we have more shortcomings than merits, we are not—and if it's a tie, then our judgment is suspended until Yom Kippur.
Therefore, according to Rambam, a person is meant to view himself as if his merits are in perfect balance with his shortcomings. One good deed, and we can tip the scale towards the side of goodness. And one sin can tilt the scales in the opposite direction.
In the Rambam’s words, “If he performs one sin, he tips his balance and that of the entire world to the side of guilt and brings destruction upon himself. On the other hand, if he performs one mitzvah, he tips his balance and that of the entire world to the side of merit and brings deliverance and salvation to himself and others.”
Right now, during this High Holiday season, he describes, is the time to focus on going above and beyond. Or, in Mike McDaniel’s words, “to win, and not to lose.”
Right now, it’s a spiritual tie, and our actions can be the deciding factor to break the tie, and to achieve victory.
Right now, our people are in a precarious position. The war in Gaza seems never-ending. Every day, it becomes harder and harder to imagine our precious hostages coming home. But the Rambam writes that every good deed we do can tip the scales of humanity towards the side of good. Every time we bite our tongue when someone offends us, we bring merit to ourselves and our entire nation.
Every time we get up in the morning or stop work early in the afternoon to come to minyan and ensure someone can say kaddish, our actions have a massive impact on the spiritual realm.
Every time we go out of our way to help a neighbor in need, visit the sick, host people from out of town, comfort mourners, or lend a listening ear to someone going through a hard time, we are changing history.
Please, G-d, we can all be very sensitive in how we act in these next few weeks, as we individually and collectively tilt the scales once and for all to achieve a clear decisive victory. May this coming year be filled with sweetness, joy, and happiness, as we merit the Redemption once and for all.
Fri, January 23 2026
5 Shevat 5786
SERMONS
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