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.
Three Lessons from a Painful Week
It’s been a week. On Monday, five of our precious brothers and sisters were murdered in cold blood while waiting at a bus stop in Jerusalem. On Tuesday, a video surfaced showing the horrific murder of Ukrainian refugee Iryna Zarutska, who was stabbed to death unprovoked while sitting on a subway in Charlotte, while onlookers looked on, doing absolutely nothing. And on Wednesday, Conservative thought leader and pundit Charlie Kirk was savagely assassinated at an event at a university in Utah. It feels like we are entering a very, very dark time in America.
I am not a prophet, and I do not know why these things happen— but I want to share what is going through my own mind at these moments.
I recall my rabbis teaching me what Rabbi Joseph B Soleveitchik once said: The word in Hebrew for “why”, is lamah. We often ask “lamah” when terrible things happen. But Rabbi Soleveitchik observed the word lamah could also be read as “l’mah?” Which means, “For what?” We do not know why things happen. But we do ask ourselves in these moments, what can I do about this? What lesson can I personally learn?
In reflecting upon this miserable week, three actionable items popped into my head about what I personally can do about the tragedies of this week. Regarding the sadistic terror attack claiming the lives of our precious brothers and sisters in Jerusalem earlier this week, I am reminded that our enemies do not care about our differences. Neither should we. Now we need to love one another, no matter how different we think, no matter how we vote, and no matter how we practice our Judaism.
Regarding Iryna Zarutska, as she was tragically murdered, there were about half a dozen people who looked on, doing absolutely nothing. As if they could not be bothered to react, and be troubled to disrupt their busy lives to deal with a woman who had been fatally stabbed. We recall the passuk “al taamod al dam re’iacha.” Do not stand idly by when our brothers' blood is being shed. Whether we see someone being bullied, being spoken about through malicious lashon hara, or G-d forbid being physically attacked, we must accept upon ourselves the obligation to speak up and intervene.
And regarding Charlie Kirk– who spent his life debating ideas with people, whose life was snatched from him at age 31, leaving behind a young widow and two small children: What can I learn from this horrific episode? The Talmud teaches that when Rabbi Yochanan’s chavrusa (study partner) Reish Lakish died, Rabbi Yochanan became extremely depressed. The rabbis in the Yeshiva quickly found a replacement for Reish Lakish, appointing one of the up-and-coming brilliant young rabbis to become Rabbi Yochanan’s new chavrusa. However, this only made Rabbi Yochanan more depressed.
Rabbi Yochanan told his new chavrusa, “when I used to learn with Reish Lakish, he would pose 24 different challenges to everything I said– but you try to support everything I say with a proof!” Rabbi Yochanan could not handle his chavrusa parroting everything back to him, with more proofs to his ideas. He wanted– even needed– to be challenged. He wanted his ideas to be tested by other logical arguments so that he would truly arrive at the truth.
How far are we removed from this reality today? Today, people surround themselves in echo chambers, unwilling and unable to hear contrary ideas. When someone disagrees with us, we often become demonized. When someone votes differently from us, we can no longer be friends. When someone holds a different perspective about a controversial issue, rather than attacking the idea, we demonize the person. And when we do that, violence ensues.
I learned from Charlie Kirk’s assassination to personally hear out every idea people have. And though I might vehemently disagree with their nonsensical idea, it will never become personal.
We need to be able to dialogue with one another and maintain respect for each other, despite our strong disagreements.
May G-d have mercy upon all of us, and end all of our pain and suffering once and for all by bringing Moshiach, immediately, quickly in our day.
In this week’s parsha the Torah describes how one has the obligation to return lost objects. If you encounter something lost on the road, you are not permitted to ignore the object; you must try to return it to its rightful owner. The Torah also describes in this week’s parsha how we are not allowed to charge interest to our fellow Jews.
Rabbi Shmuel Berenbaum notes that the Torah specifically emphasizes the word achicha– “your brother.” In describing the obligation to return lost objects to “your brother,” the Torah uses the word achica no less than five times. In describing the prohibition of charging interest to “your brother,” the word achicha is used twice.
Every word in the Torah is precise– why does the Torah specifically emphasize how these mitzvos apply to “your brother?” The Torah could have used other words, like re’echa– “your friend”-- What is the lesson the Torah is trying to convey?
Rabbi Berenbaum answers that when someone chances upon something of value on the road, he might think, “How fortunate I am that this object landed in my lap, as if a gift from Heaven– who says I am obligated to return it to its owner? Clearly, it was destined for me.” And similarly, he explains that when a person is approached for a loan, he might think, “this money belongs to me, and just like I can rent out my home, or animal, I should also have a right to ‘rent out’ my money, and keep the interest.”
But Rabbi Berenbaum relates that Jews are required to relate to one another as brothers (and sisters). And when we feel like we are literally a sibling to our fellow Jew, when our brother or sister loses a precious object, we feel their pain, and would do anything to return the object to them. If my brother lost his signed Ozzie Smith baseball bat, which he got for his bar mitzvah, as his brother, the loss would greatly trouble me personally, and I would help him search for it and make sure it was returned to him.
Similarly, when life circumstances dictate that our own brother or sister needs to take out a personal loan, that would be a painful reality for us siblings, we ourselves personally feel for them in the event that they need to pay extra money on top of the loan, and their difficulty and struggle would cause us pain.
Explains Rabbi Berenbaum, this is why we read this parsha in Elul– the month before Rosh Hashana. As if to exclaim to the Almighty, “Look how sensitive I am to the needs of my fellow Jews––how I grieve over their misfortune as if they were my own siblings. So too, You Hashem, be sensitive to our needs– in the way that we are so sensitive to the needs of our brothers and sisters.” I would add that one of the acronyms of Elul is ish l’reihu u’mattanos l’evyonim, which is the verse from Esther that obligates us to give gifts to our friends on Purim– to make sure their needs are met.
Right now, our people are going through a lot. Our own brothers and sisters are still held captive in Gaza. Our sons and daughters are risking their lives defending our people. Now is the time to come together– and be unified as the close-knit family we are.
History has proven time and time again that when we are divided, we are vulnerable. And when we relate to one another as brothers and sisters, we cannot be stopped. May our unity and brotherhood be a merit for a kesiva v’chasima tova, the immediate returns of all of our hostages, and the coming of Moshiach, b’mheyra b’yomeinu.
This past week a very famous couple got engaged to be married. No, I am not referring to my dear friends Alex and Wendy, but rather to Travis Kelce, one of the NFL’s most talented tight ends of all time from the despised Chiefs to Taylor Swift, who the kids say is the most famous singer in the world. Apparently, a few years ago Kelce was hoping to meet Swift before or after her concert, and he wrote his phone number on a friendship bracelet, hoping to give it to her. While I do not know what a friendship bracelet is, apparently these are commonly worn and exchanged at her concerts. As fate had it, she was unable to meet him that evening.
Then, later he described this episode on his podcast, likely hoping she would hear about it. She did hear about it, and two years later, they are engaged.
While I admittedly do not like giving credit to anyone from the Kansas City Chiefs, let alone Travis Kelce, I believe there is an important lesson to be learned here, that can be applied to our avodas Hashem– our service of G-d, and the month of Elul in which we now find ourselves. Wayne Gretzky (or perhaps Michael Scott) was attributed with saying, “You miss all the shots you don’t take.” Kelce knew it would be unlikely that his bracelet would find its way to Taylor Swift, or that the message from his podcast would reach her– but he tried nonetheless, and as a result he was led to his future wife.
How many times in life do we have big aspirations, but we neglect to even bother trying to achieve them because we think it is beyond us? Our evil inclinations whisper to us that the task is too great for us, we cannot achieve our goal– so why bother even trying? How many opportunities in life do we punt on because we think we simply are incapable? How often do we make lofty goals on Rosh Hashana or Elul, quickly to abandon them because they seem beyond the scope of what we are able to achieve?
Recently, to my great dismay, horror and devastation, Krispy Kreme ceased to be Kosher in Denver. Realizing that I speak to G-d- the CEO of the Universe– every single day, multiple times a day when I pray, I may as well reach out to the CEO of Krispy Kreme as well. And while Joshua Charlesworth has not yet responded to my inquiry, it was obvious to me that it was worth trying to connect to him. I might, or might not be successful, but I must at least put forth my best effort.
Our tradition teaches that every Jew is a chelek Elokei m’maal. We are all human beings imbued with a Divine, G-dly Eternal soul. That means that we are bursting with potential. That means that we are not allowed to settle for less than the greatness that we are destined to achieve. How devastating would it be to squander our potential.
Right now, in Elul, the possibilities are endless. Hashem is so accessible in these moments. Let us cherish this time we are in, shoot for the stars, and uncover the illuminating brilliance that shines within us.
A Lesson from the top of the Mountain
This past week, five of my children and I hiked up the Thunderhead Trailhead at Steamboat. We decided that we wanted to try to make it to the top of the mountain by sunset, enjoy the view with a cold soft drink, and ride the gondola down. As we reached the top, having ascended over 2200 feet over the course of 2.5 difficult, sweaty hours, we each felt a feeling of euphoria. As we walked into the lodge, people looked at us like we were crazy and asked us incredulously, “You guys hiked up here to the top?” Apparently, it is very popular at Steamboat for people to ride the gondola up for a sunset happy hour concert from atop the mountain– very few people hike up– and even fewer people hike up with five children ages 7-16.
As we were hiking up, as difficult as it was, there was a consistent thought that remained in my head: “I would not be experiencing any of this, nor seeing any of these views, if I rode the gondola up.” I realized that the harder I worked, the more deeply meaningful the experience was. As we reached the top, I was surprised because the beauty at the top seemed to me a more profound beauty than I had ever seen before. Despite having been in this very location dozens of times previously after having taken the gondola up, it never, ever looked this breathtaking before. And I realized that it was specifically because of the effort that we exerted that helped shape the majesty of the views from the top. When we really work for things, and we don’t take shortcuts, and we literally shvitz– we experience the most gratifying payoff of all.
The Mishnah in Pirkei Avos tells us, l’fum tzaara agra– according to the pain is the reward. We all want an easy life. But our rabbis teach us that this world that we live in– this physical world– is a world of work. Olam HaBa, the World to Come– is the place where we reap the fruit of our labor. But right now is the time to toil. If I were to go to the gym and lift 5-pound weights, I would not grow very much. The way that we grow in the gym is to maximize the resistance we feel. The harder we work, the more we grow. This world -Olam HaZeh, is like a gym. Olam HaBa– the eternal next world– is a world of basking in the fruits of our labor.
Right now it is Friday afternoon. I hope to bask in the delight of Shabbos, and have food to eat on Shabbos itself. But our rabbis teach us, in order for me to do that, I have to work hard right now, while it is still a weekday. Then, on Shabbos, I bask in the bliss that comes after a hard, fulfilling week of work.
We should all be blessed with a beautiful Shabbos in which the tremendous effort we exerted during the week can help us appreciate Shabbos on an even deeper level.
Parshas V'eschanan: Where is our Comfort?
Shabbos this week is very special—not just because it is Jerry’s bar mitzvah and my anniversaries , but because it is Shabbos Nachamu—the Shabbos of comfort. Last week, we had to endure yet another Tisha Bav—and the first Shabbos after Tisha Bav is referred to as Shabbos Nachamu—named such after the immortal words of Jeremiah that we read for the Haftara, when he tells the Jewish People, “Take comfort, my people…”
As we are all keenly aware, we as a people are going through a very difficult time. Many of us saw the heart-shattering, soul-crushing videos and photos of some of the precious hostages in Gaza, who are being starved and tortured, physically and mentally. And we all feel how vulnerable we are as Jews, not truly safe anywhere, with blood libels being leveled against us and the Jewish State every single day.
So where is the comfort? How do we continue to put one foot in front of the other? How do we carry on, and not succumb to the throes of despair? Where is this comfort that Jeremiah speaks of?
The Gemara at the end of Maskkos describes how Rabbi Akiva and the other rabbis were standing at Mt. Scopus, overlooking the Temple Mount, shortly after the destruction of the Temple. As they saw a fox walk into the holy of holies, the place where only the high priest could go, once a year on Yom Kippur, the rabbis were weeping. And Rebbe Akiva was laughing. The rabbis asked him, “Rabbi Akiva, why are you laughing?” And Rabbi Akiva responded, “Why are YOU weeping?” They responded, "A place about which it is written that a non-Kohen who approaches it will die, now has foxes walking across it, and we won’t cry?” Rabbi Akiva responded that he was laughing because the prophet Isiah issued a prophecy in which he compared Uriah the Prophet to Zechariah the Prophet. Uriah prophesied that Jerusalem would be destroyed, and Zechariah prophesied that one day, old men and old women would sit again in the streets of Jerusalem. And now that Rebbe Akiva saw, word for word, the prophecy come true of Uriah, he was sure that the prophecy of Zecharia would also come true– and this is why he could laugh. To this, the Rabbis responded, Akiva, you have comforted us, Akiva, you have comforted us.”
Just like the prophecy of destruction came true, word for word, so too we are assured that the prophecy of the rebuilding of Jerusalem will also come true.
And I might add, our comfort is in our very continued existence. The Almighty promised us that He would never forsake us or abandon us. And we have seen, as testament by our simple existence, that this promise has been fulfilled. No other nation in the history of the world has been exiled from its home and lived to tell about it, 2000 years later.
We should have first been annihilated or assimilated out of existence.
But we are still here because Hashem promised this would be so.
Not only are we still here, but, 2000 years later, huge percentages of world Jewry have returned to our Homeland from where we were exiled two millennia ago.
In every generation throughout our bitter exile, at some point, the world's nations turned against us, often in brutal ways.
And in every generation, somehow, we persevere and carry on.
Because Hashem is still with us, and He will never forsake us.
That is our comfort.
In the Exile, Never Alone
In Exile, Never Alone
While in the lovely state of New Jersey this past week on a bar mitzvah trip with my son, I came across a pamphlet sharing ideas from Rabbi Shmuel Berenbaum, who was the head of the Mir Yeshiva for many years. He quotes a passage from the Talmud (Megilla 29b) which says as follows: Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai said, ‘come and see how precious the Jewish people are before G-d–that every place they were exiled, the Divine Presence was exiled along with them.” He goes on to quote how the verse in Parshas Nitzavim says “Hashem will return with your returning exiles.” The Talmud comments how it doesn’t say Hashem will return the exiles back to Jerusalem, but rather He HIMSELF will return alongside the exiles.
To explain this curious concept, Rabbi Berenbaum gives a powerful metaphor: He describes how there are two individuals who happen to be best friends, who do everything together. Unfortunately, one of them was accused of a crime, and ultimately convicted to a lengthy prison sentence. At the moment when the convicted friend reported to the jail, his friend urgently ran into the prison entrance, encountered the officer in charge and told him that he would be unable to separate from his friend–that he needed to remain with him. The officer described to him that to make an arrangement in which he would be free to come and go as he pleased would be impossible– but if he really loved his friend so much, he could serve alongside him, and only leave the prison when his friend’s sentence was complete.
Says Rabbi Berenbaum, this is what the Talmud means when it describes Hashem as being with us in galus– throughout our long and painful exile. He is not here as a visitor, who comes to be with us at selected times when we are in need. Rather, he is literally with us always throughout our exile. Like the individual in our metaphor who opted to remain permanently with his imprisoned friend until his redemption– Hashem remains with us, such that when we come back to Israel with the rebuilding of the Temple, HE will come alongside us, as the verse in Nitzavim describes.
What a powerful lesson to consider during this time– the darkest time of our year, on the eve of Tisha Bav, the saddest day of the year. As hard as things are for our people– and they are extremely difficult these days– we find solace knowing that not only has Hashem not abandoned us, but He has been with us every second of the way. In every place we have been, at every moment of our history, the Almighty has been right there with us. And perhaps there is no better proof to this, than our very continued existence. Despite all odds– expulsion after expulsion–, pogrom after pogrom– forced assimilation after forced assimilation– we remain, still very much here.
With everything going on in the world– and levels of hatred directed at us many people have never seen in our lifetimes, it can truly feel suffocating. Specifically during these times, let us carry this thought with us.
We will endure, as we always have. Because Hashem is with us. He has always been with us.
And He will never forsake us.
Tue, October 28 2025
6 Cheshvan 5786
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