America is in a State of Moral Decline – What Are You Doing About It?

America is in a state of moral decline.

That is not just my feeling, it is the assessment of a majority of Americans. According to Gallup, “Not only are Americans feeling grim about the current state of moral values in the nation, but they are also mostly pessimistic about the future on the subject, as 78% say morals are getting worse and just 18% getting better.”

Moral decline can be seen in the deterioration in civility, the increase in litigation, the lack of integrity, out-of-wedlock births and breakup of families, vulgarity, promiscuity, and immodesty. As quickly as we have progressed technologically, medically and scientifically, morally we are rapidly going backwards, confused about basic fundamental values and institutions that much more primitive people understood clearly.

Perhaps this decline can be explained by another recent Gallup poll that reported that belief in God among U.S. adults has reached a new low. Belief in God provides a moral anchor and a moral compass, rules and regulations from an objective and absolute source of truth and decency. Breakdown of faith breeds relativism, a subjective interpretation of right and wrong. When morality is determined by popular opinion instead of objective truth, by needing to be compatible with comfort and convenience rather than mission and service, by the pursuit of pleasure and happiness, rather than sanctity and holiness, the result is moral decline.

In this morally regressive environment, it is understandably tempting for the Jewish community to turn inward, to focus on protecting ourselves and our families from the increasing dangers of shifting sands around us and we should.

However, we must also rise in this moment to turn outwards. Judaism and Torah were never intended only for the Jews. While we don’t believe in proselytizing in the sense of recruiting non-Jews to convert to Judaism, we fervently believe in promoting the Torah’s truths, values and ideals to the entire world. That has been our mission since our inception and one shudders to consider what the world would look like if we remain entirely insular.

Consider this letter written in 1806 by John Adams, second U.S. President:

I will insist that the Hebrews have done more to civilize men than any other Nation. If I were an atheist and believed in blind eternal fate, I should still believe that fate had ordained the Jews to be the most essential instrument for civilizing the nations. If I were an atheist of the other sect, who believe or pretend to believe that all is ordered by chance, I should believe that chance had ordered the Jews to preserve and propagate to all mankind the doctrine of a supreme, intelligent, wise, almighty sovereign of the universe, which I believe to be the great essential principle of all morality, and consequently of all civilization. They are the most glorious Nation that ever inhabited this Earth. The Romans and their Empire were but a bauble in comparison of the Jews. They have given religion to three-quarters of the Globe and have influenced the affairs of Mankind more, and more happily, than any other Nation, ancient or modern.

The language of the founding fathers came from the Torah. Three names for God in the Declaration of Independence — Creator, Judge and Providence — are unmistakably Jewish names for God. They did not come from the Greeks or Romans.

As the world is becoming more and more uncivilized, it is time for the Hebrews, the Jewish people, to once again model, teach, preach and civilize man.

To be sure, it is not comfortable today to unapologetically and non-defensively (albeit sensitively and respectfully) stand for and publicly promote our values, our principles, and our definitions. It is not simple to speak our truths, protect our sacred moral institutions and resist conforming to styles, fads, and mores of our time.

But, as W.C. Fields once said, “Remember, a dead fish can float downstream, but it takes a live one to swim upstream.” Avraham was called Avraham HaIvri meaning mei’eiver, on the other side. When the whole world took one position and stood on one side, he had the courage to stand out, remain true to the vision and will of the Almighty and to stand on the other side, even when it meant standing by himself. He was willing to go against the flow, to fulfill his mission, to fight for his truth.

This Shabbos, 3 Tammuz, is the yahrtzeit of the Rebbe, R’ Menachem Mendel Schneersohn. While most associate his legacy with a love for all Jews and sending emissaries to any place a single Jew lives, the Rebbe was also a force and influence for the non-Jewish world.

In 1983, the Rebbe launched a campaign to promote the seven Noahide laws. He referenced the Rambam who explicitly rules (Hilchos Melachim 8:10): “Moshe Rabbeinu commanded from the mouth of God to convince all the inhabitants of the world to observe the commandments given to the children of Noach.” Said the Rebbe, it is our duty and responsibility to work to influence all people to lead the righteous and decent life which comes from compliance with the Seven Noahide Laws.

Earlier, in 1974, Rav Soloveitchik shared a similar vision:

Our task was and still is to teach the Torah to mankind, to influence the non-Jewish world, to redeem it from an orgiastic way of living, from cruelty and insensitivity, to arouse in mankind a sense of justice and fairness. In a word, we are to teach the world the seven mitzvot that are binding on every human being. But we have also been assigned another mission: to be the message carrier and mentor not only of the seven mitzvos that apply to the descendants of Noah, that is, to the human race as a whole, but also of a total outlook on life, the entire moral system to which Jews are committed. The non-Jewish world is expected to take note of the Torah life we lead, to admire our ways, our customs and mores, our mishpatim and chukim, both our rational and non-rational commandments. The Jews must stand out in society as exemplars; our way of life must impress and attract people and fascinate their curiosity.

Elsewhere, in addressing a social pressure in his time, Rav Soloveitchik writes:

We must not yield – I mean emotionally, it is very important – we must not feel inferior, experience or develop an inferiority complex, and because of that complex yield to the charm – usually it is a transient and passing charm – of modern political and ideological sevoros. I say not only not to compromise – certainly not to compromise – but even not to yield emotionally, not to feel inferior, not to experience an inferiority complex. The thought should never occur that it is important to cooperate just a little bit with the modern trend or with the secular modern philosophy. In my opinion Yahadus does not have to apologize … There is no need for apology – we should have pride in our Masorah, in our heritage. And of course certainly it goes without saying that one must not try to compromise with these cultural trends and one must not try to gear the halachic norm to the transient ways of a neurotic society, which is what our society is.

This is no time to retreat, to shy away from our mission, to blend in or conform with the confusion and chaos that is around us. The world is relying on us to set it straight, stand for truth and to once again, civilize man.

Living Life One Step At a Time

K2, at 8,611 meters above sea level (28,251 feet), is the second-highest mountain on Earth, after Mount Everest. The mountain has a fatality rate of 29 percent. K2 had never been summited in the winter, and for good reason. Its dangers include pillars of ice that can turn into avalanches, and a notoriously deadly bottleneck just hundreds of feet below the summit. Considering the hurricane-speed winds the mountain is far more dangerous than Mount Everest. Summiting K2 in winter was considered the last great unattained achievement in mountaineering. That was before January 2021.

Among the greatest vilians in our Torah tradition are the Meraglim, the spies that investigated the Land and gave a negative report. But if we look closer at their exact words, we may wonder where exactly they went wrong. The Alexander Rebbe, the Yismach Yisroel, notes that the Meraglim first conceded that if Bnei Yisroel were worthy, it will be tovah ha’aretz m’od, a land of kedusha and tahara. However, if they were not, then Efes, ki az ha’am, there is also tumah, there are temptations, challenges. The Meraglim’s presentation essentially went like this: What if we are unworthy, what if we come up short, what if we aren’t up to the test and don’t have what it takes? There is possible reward if we go to the land, but there is also great risk. Maybe we should just stay here.

Wonders the Yismach Yisroel, why was that a miscalculation? What was wrong in that thinking? Didn’t Yaakov, the one whom Hakadosh Baruch Hu promised He would protect, also grow concerned and say he was afraid he wasn’t up to the challenge despite the promise? Did Yaakov then live in infamy for doubting Hashem? On the contrary, we consider him the bechir ha’avos, the choicest of our Patriarchs. So why do we vilify the Meraglim? When the Jewish people left Egypt, did they not express concern, resistance and doubt as they faced the sea despite Hashem’s promises? Why are they the dor dei’ah and the Meraglim’s report is considered scandalous?

Says the Alexander Rebbe, there is a fundamental difference. Yaakov was scared, he was nervous, he had doubts and despite that he plowed forward, he planned for his reunion with Esav, and he followed through, as much as he had fears. Part of him said I can’t, but he then became determined, and said to himself nevertheless, I will. When we stood at the Yam Suf, we panicked, we considered turning around, we doubted why we were ever taken out, but then we pushed ourselves and we jumped in the water anyway. Every year, on our Holiest days we invoke how Hashem remembers that reaction. We were nervous, insecure, had doubts and nevertheless Lechteich acharai, we followed Hashem anyway.

The problem with the Meraglim was not having doubts, being concerned, or having insecurities. Those are natural and normal. We all experience them; no matter how tough an exterior we portray, we all panic or feel filled with self-doubt. That was not only forgivable, it was completely understandable. What wasn’t forgivable and what we continue to suffer from until today, was that they leaned into their doubts, their voice of self-defeat of self-sabotage and instead of pushing through nonetheless, they said, that’s why we should stop here and not go forward. They gave up, they gave in, and they quit.

Calev jumps in, he hears them and interrupts as if he can’t take it anymore. Calev blurts out, let’s go up, who is in! Calev wasn’t fundamentally disagreeing with anything they said, he simply had a different conclusion. He heard them out and couldn’t contain himself, he burst out and said, “You think I am not scared, you think I have such confidence, you think I am not afraid of failure. Of course I am, but aloh na’aleh, let’s go up anyway, let’s put one foot in front of the other and push forward nonetheless.”

Last January, six climbers led by Purja, a former Nepalese soldier and British special forces operator achieved the unthinkable. They fought the winds, the conditions, the bottleneck, and countless other adversities and they reached the Summit of K2. When asked how they did it, Purja, while warming his frostbitten fingertips simply answered, by taking one step at a time.

We all have dreams and aspirations, we have a picture of who we could be, what we could accomplish, differences we could make. We envision the life we could be living and a better version of ourselves. But then the voice of Yaakov, those who stood at Yam Suf and the Meraglim kicks in and says, don’t bother starting to exercise or diet, you will never keep it up. Don’t take on the Daf, you will never finish. Who do you think you are going for the job or setting that goal, it isn’t going to happen or can’t be sustained.

The Meraglim said Lo nuchal, they looked up at that mountain, at the mission and they said, we can’t. Calev looked at the same picture, he felt the same apprehension, but he said Aloh na’aleh, we’ve got this, let’s climb, we don’t need to look any further than taking one step at a time.

Cholent and the Stockdale Paradox: The Power of Patience

Someone picking the words at the Annual Scripps National Spelling Bee clearly has a heimishe palette. In 2013, the winning word was “knaidel.” In 2016, the winner had to spell the word “chremslach” correctly just to make it to the final. And in 2018, a 13-year-old from Wyoming had to spell a word we know well to make it on to the next round.

When he asked for the language of origin, he was told Yiddish. Still stumped, he then asked for the meaning and the judge replied: “A Jewish Sabbath-day dish of slow-baked meat and vegetables.” Confidently, the 13-year-old then said: “cholent, c-h-o-l-e-n-t, cholent.”

Whether you pronounce it and spell cholent with an “o” or a “u,” and despite the endless varieties and recipes, all agree it is slow cooked and it takes great patience before you can indulge. In fact, according to some, the name itself indicates the patience needed to eat it. Some suggest “cholent” comes from the French chaud (“hot”) and lent (“slow”). The opposite of cholent is “nonchalant,” which means cold and disinterested.

Patience is not only literally cooked into our food, it is a critical quality we must always be working on. The Magen Avraham (o.c. 60:2) follows the opinion of the Ramban that we are Biblically commanded to remember each day the episode of Miriam speaking Lashon Harah and her subsequentquarantine. Why? The Chafetz Chaim suggests that our Parsha is a reminder of the severity of speaking gossip. We remember the consequence for Miriam as a motivation to avoid Lashon Hara, gossip, ourselves. Rabbi Soloveitchik preferred the explanation of Rav Kook (Olas Re’iah) that the purpose of remembering Miriam’s mistake is to remember never to question the singularity of Moshe and the authority of the mesorah in general.

There is a third possibility regarding what we are to remember regularly and why. After Miriam spoke Lashon Harah about her brother Moshe and was struck with tzara’as, she was quarantined for 7 days. While she was not part of the camp during that time, the camp stood still. They did not travel, they did not move forward without her. In fact, the Ohr Ha’Chaim points out that the passuk doesn’t say, ולא נסע העם, but rather וְהָעָם֙ לֹ֣א נָסַ֔ע, placing the nation first in the phrase to tell us that even though normally the people didn’t embark or journey until instructed by the clouds of glory, out of love and respect for Miriam, the people refused to leave without her.

Why? Wasn’t it incredibly dangerous to stand still in the desert baking in the sun, depleting resources? Why did 3 million people stand still, waiting for one person? The Mishna in Sota introduces the idea of midah k’neged midah, the idea that in life things happen measure for measure. The Mishna then gives the example that in the merit of Miriam waiting to see what would happen to Moshe’s basket floating in the Nile, the entire nation waited for her for seven days.

What was special about Miriam waiting at the river? Maybe she was curious what would happen. Maybe she had nothing better to do. Why did her staying earn such a great merit that the nation stood still for her? The gemara tells us that we need to understand her waiting and watching in context. Amram, Miriam’s father, was one of the great leaders of the generation. When he heard Pharaoh’s decree to kill all Jewish male children, he gave up hope in the future and felt it would be unfair to bring another child into the cruel and harsh world. He separated from his wife Yocheved in a fatalistic surrender. Others heard and followed suit.

Miriam protested her father’s conclusion and told him his decree was more severe than Pharaoh’s, who had only decreed on the males. Amram was persuaded and remarried Yocheved. She conceived and gave birth to Moshe. Again, everyone else followed their example. When Moshe was born, the house was filled with light and with promise. Amram affectionately praised Miriam and told her that her prophecy had been fulfilled.

But then it came time to throw Moshe into the Nile, to hide him from being taken and killed. At this point, Amram chastised Miriam and said, what did you do, why did you encourage us to have another child just to have to give him up in the desperate hope of his survival? It is against this backdrop that we can appreciate Miriam standing at a distance to watch what would happen with her brother. When things looked hopeless, Miriam had faith and convinced her parents to believe in a brighter future. When once again things looked bad, again Miriam stood and watched with great faith and hope. Miriam was rewarded, not just for standing on the bank of the river that day, but for her deeply rooted tenacity, faith and hope, and for her patience. That patience paid off when she intervened and enabled Moshe to be raised by his mother Yocheved, even after being found by Pharaoh’s daughter.

What would have happened if Miriam had not waited and watched? Moshe would have been raised as an Egyptian, and he would not have been sensitive to his people’s suffering. The entire drama of the exodus might not have happened had Miriam not waited. This is why, many years later, her patience and perseverance were repaid, by the people patiently waiting for her.

Vice Admiral James Stockdale was Ross Perot’s running mate in 1992, but that is not his legacy. In 1965, his plane was shot down over North Vietnam and he was taken as a prisoner of war. Five years after Stockdale was captured, his teenage son, Jim, sought out a counselor’s advice. It seemed so unlikely his father would ever come home so he was told, “You may be better off just considering your father dead and gone.”

Jim Collins tells the story in his book “Good to Great” where coined the phenomenon “The Stockdale paradox.” Tortured over twenty times during his eight-year imprisonment from 1965 to 1973, Stockdale lived through the war without any prisoner’s rights, no set release date, and no certainty as to whether he would even survive to see his family again. At one point, he beat himself with a stool and cut himself with a razor, deliberately disfiguring himself, so that he could not be put on videotape as an example of a “well-treated prisoner.” He exchanged secret intelligence information with his wife through their letters, knowing that discovery would mean more torture and perhaps death.

How did he deal with it when he was there and did not know what would be the end of his story? Collins writes:

“I never lost faith in the end of the story,” [Stockdale] said, when I asked him. “I never doubted not only that I would get out, but also that I would prevail in the end and turn the experience into the defining event of my life, which in retrospect, I would not trade.”

Finally I asked, “Who didn’t make it out?” “Oh, that’s easy,” he said. “The optimists.” “The optimists? I don’t understand,” I said, now completely confused given what he’d said earlier.

“The optimists. Oh, they were the ones who said, ‘We’re going to be out by Christmas.’ And Christmas would come, and Christmas would go. Then they’d say, ‘We’re going to be out by Easter.’ And Easter would come, and Easter would go. And then Thanksgiving, and then it would be Christmas again. And they died of a broken heart. This is a very important lesson. You must never confuse faith that you will prevail in the end–which you can never afford to lose–-with the discipline to confront the most brutal facts of your current reality, whatever they might be.”

That is the Stockdale Paradox – surviving what life throws our way requires maintaining the sometimes-contradictory attitudes of patience, hope and optimism on the one hand and realism and pragmatism on the other.

Nobody knows how to wait like the Jew. For 2,000 years we longed to return to Israel and Yerushalayim, and we were ultimately rewarded by coming home.

Perhaps the mitzvah to remember Miriam’s episode daily is a mandate to remember that we are a people of patience and of hope and like Miriam, we will one day be rewarded for it. That reward may come soon, it may come with time, and it may not even come until after our lifetimes, but the reward for patiently preserving hope while tenaciously confronting the harshness of whatever reality we confront will one day come.

Some of us are too rooted in realism and fall prey to Amram’s mistake of surrendering to the challenges and to the feeling that there is no greater meaning or plan. Others practice too much passive optimism, believing everything will be ok while ignoring the realities of the moment.

We are progeny of Miriam. She waited for Moshe, our ancestors waited for her, and they both imbued within us the capacity and will to wait for Moshiach, b’chol yom achakeh lo, every day we wait for him to come. For most of our history we have lived the Stockdale Paradox, ready to address the reality we confront, but never giving up our hope and belief in what is to come.

Always remember: Everything will be okay in the end. For if it’s not okay, it is not yet the end.

“My Son Needs Therapy. My Husband Says No”

In the May 31, 2022 issue, Mishpacha Magazine posed the following question and invited me and others to respond:

Question:

My oldest son is a smart and energetic eight-year-old. He does well in school, and his rebbi says the boys in the class like him. But at home he acts very differently. He has a hair-trigger temper, often having meltdowns when things don’t go his way, and lashing out at me or his younger siblings. The intensity of his tantrums frighten me.

I want to send him to therapy to help him learn healthier ways to respond when frustrated and to discover if there’s anything more worrisome at the root of all this anger.

But my husband is completely unfazed by our son’s behavior. He tells me that many boys get angry easily, and he’s adamant that his son does not need therapy. When I point out examples of my son’s inappropriate reactions, he just shrugs and tells me he’ll grow out of it.

I’m worried that without help, this will spiral into even more dysfunctional behavior as he gets older.

Do I force the issue and have it become a conflict between my husband and me, or should I just hope his behavior will change as he gets older?

My Answer:

Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky once ran into a talmid and inquired about how he was doing. The young man gave a krechtz, explaining that his child had kept him up several nights in a row. “Tzaar gidul banim,” he sighed. The great gadol turned to his talmid and said, “That isn’t tzaar gidul banim, the pain of child rearing, it is just gidul banim, child rearing.”

The essential question, the point of debate between the two of you is: When do behaviors, thought patterns, or phobias rise to the level of a clinical diagnoses, and when are they normative and regular? When do they need intervention and treatment, and when do we assume the person exhibiting them will grow out of them? When are they gidul banim, and when are they tzaar gidul banim?

The line between outlier behavior that should be cause for concern and more standard behavior, where there’s nothing to be particularly worried about, is often very fine and difficult to see. But here’s the thing that I believe you must try to communicate to your husband: If you observed your child frequently losing his balance or experiencing dizziness, would you dismiss it as a growing pain, something he will grow out of? Or would you — at minimum — seek the opinion of a physician, asking a qualified and trained person to make that judgment?

What is true for physical imbalance or spatial dizziness is equally true for mental imbalance and emotional dizziness. Though shalom bayis is a core value and you correctly should be committed to harmony with your husband, when it comes to your child’s physical, mental, and emotional health, there must be no shame, no stigma, and no hesitation in impressing upon him the importance of asking an expert and deferring to the guidance you receive.

The Torah tells us (Shemos 21:19) “verapo yerapei — and shall cause him to be healed,” from which the Gemara (Berachos 60a) learns, “mi’kan she’nitein reshus l’rofei l’rapos — from here we learn that permission is granted to a doctor to heal.” In other words, the practice of medicine, seeking out the treatment of a doctor, is consistent with the will of Hashem. Why would we think it isn’t? Rashi (Bava Kama 85b) explains, “I might have thought that if someone is ill, physically or mentally, that is what Hashem wants, and we are obligated to accept it. So the Torah tells us no, Hashem has given doctors license and responsibility to heal.”

The Shulchan Aruch (Yoreh Dei’ah 336:1), goes even further and writes, “The Torah has given permission to the doctor to heal. It is a mitzvah to do so and part of pikuach nefesh. If a doctor refuses to do so, he is guilty of bloodshed.” Many poskim, including the Tzitz Eliezer (12:18:8) and Rav Asher Weiss (Minchas Asher 2:134), apply the halachic principles and rules of physical health to mental health.

So, in the case of your question — are these ordinary tantrums, incidents of adolescent impetuousness, or is there clinical anger and rage? — a competent doctor must make that determination. Even if it is awkward or outside your comfort zone, for your son’s well-being, you should get to the bottom of the behavior.

How should you convince your husband? You should communicate in a non-adversarial way, engaging and positioning your husband as your partner, on the same side and part of one team, equally devoted to your son’s wellbeing. You should implore him to help. Follow your maternal instinct on this issue; though your husband may be right that this is something your son will grow out of, it is fair and reasonable for you to want a professional to endorse that. After all, if he’s right, there is no harm in having an expert say there is nothing more to do. But if he is wrong, your son will pay a price by his indifference and passiveness. You should calmly communicate that you’re asking him to partner and respect you on this, not only for the sake of your son, but also for the sake of you shalom bayis, to preserve the harmony that is good for you, your son, and the whole family.

If or when he goes along, your husband must not let your son know he’s doing so begrudgingly or under protest. The ben sorer u’moreh, the rebellious child, is described by the Torah as einenu sho’meiah b’kol aviv u’v’kol imo, he doesn’t listen to the voice of his father and the voice of his mother. Why doesn’t the Torah simply say he doesn’t listen to the voice of his father and mother? Why does it repeat the word “voice” for each? Commentators explain that part of what contributes to a rebellious child is inconsistent messaging from his parents. When a child hears different voices from his father and mother, when he perceives daylight between them, he is often lost, confused, and becomes rebellious.

Confronting potential challenges with our children can push us apart or make us grow closer together. The choice of having parenting problems or compounding them with marital strife is up to us. If we are committed to speak with one voice, to respect each other’s opinions but defer to outside guidance when we don’t agree, we can not only do what is best for our children but develop a better marriage in the process.

A Miracle Instead of a Massacre: Why You Should Celebrate Yom Yerushalayim

The Klausenberger Rebbe lost his wife and eleven children in the Holocaust. He survived and subsequently gathered a small community of followers who were also survivors; from this small group, he eventually rebuilt the whole community. Rabbi Riskin describes a visit to the Beis Medrash of the Klausenberger Rebbe in the summer of 1952 when he was just 12 years old:

Then came the Torah reading. In accordance with the custom, the Torah reader began to chant the Warnings in a whisper. And unexpectedly, almost inaudibly but unmistakably, the Yiddish word “hecher – louder,” came from the direction of the the lectern upon which the rebbe was leaning at the eastern wall of the synagogue.

The Torah reader stopped reading for a few moments; the congregants looked up from their Chumashim in questioning and even mildly shocked silence. Could they have heard their rebbe correctly? Was he ordering the Torah reader to go against time-honored custom and chant the tochacha out loud? The Torah reader continued to read in a whisper, apparently concluding that he had not heard what he thought he heard. And then the rebbe banged on his lectern, turned to face the stunned congregation and cried out in Yiddish, with a pained expression on his face and fire blazing in his eyes: “I said louder! Read these verses out loud! We have nothing to fear, we’ve already experienced the curses. Let the Master of the Universe hear them. Let Him know that the curses have already befallen us, and let Him know that it’s time for Him to send the blessings!” The rebbe turned back to the wall, and the Torah reader continued slowly chanting the cantillation out loud. I was trembling, with tears cruising down my cheeks, my body bathed in sweat.

I could hardly concentrate on the conclusion of the Torah reading. “It’s time for Him to send the blessings!” After the Additional Service ended, the rebbe rose to speak. His words were again short and to the point, but this time his eyes were warm with love leaving an indelible expression on my mind and soul. “My beloved brothers and sisters,” he said, “Pack up your belongings. We must make one more move – hopefully the last one. God promises that the blessings which must follow the curses will now come. They will come – but not from America. The blessings will only come from Israel. It is time for us to go home.” And so Kiryat Sanz – Klausenberg was established in Netanya where the rebbe built a Torah Center as well as the Laniado Medical Center.

The tochecha describes the result of siluk haShechina, when God removes and withdraws His countenance and providence. The results are devastating. The Rebbe described living through the tochecha, but it wasn’t just the Holocaust which was the fulfillment of the tochecha. In many ways, the Jewish condition during the last 2,000 years, including pogroms, crusades, the Inquisition, and countless expulsions, were all the embodiment of this harsh and devastating description.

In the middle of the tochecha, the Torah says:

וַהֲשִׁמֹּתִ֥י אֲנִ֖י אֶת־הָאָ֑רֶץ וְשָֽׁמְמ֤וּ עָלֶ֙יהָ֙ אֹֽיְבֵיכֶ֔ם הַיֹּשְׁבִ֖ים בָּֽהּ

I will make the land desolate, and your enemies who dwell in it will be desolate upon it. Chazal see a silver lining, a message of hope within even this harsh promise. The Sifra writes that when we are exiled from our land and it is occupied by others, it will remain desolate and they will not succeed in making it bloom. It is astounding to see how accurate this promise of our Parsha has been. Over the last two millennia, Eretz Yisroel was in a virtual state of ruin. The Crusaders, the Mamelukes, the Ottomans, the Turks, the Arabs, and the British all tried to settle the Land and make it blossom. Some made more progress than others, but all failed to make it truly flourish.

In the mid 1800’s, Mark Twain traveled the world and wrote a book recording his impressions and experiences called “The Innocents Abroad.” His experience in then-Palestine stands in stark contrast to the vision we have when we think of traveling around Israel. Twain writes:

Of all the lands there are for dismal scenery, I think Palestine must be the prince. The hills are barren, they are dull of color, they are un-picturesque in shape. The valleys are unsightly deserts fringed with a feeble vegetation… It is a hopeless, dreary, heartbroken land…Palestine sits in sackcloth and ashes. Over it broods the spell of a curse that has withered its fields and fettered its energies. Renowned Jerusalem itself, the stateliest name in history, has lost all its grandeur, and is become a pauper village.

Six hundred years before Twain, in his commentary on our Parsha, the Ramban writes:

And your enemies will be desolate upon it is a good tiding. It proclaims in every generation that our land does not accept our enemies. This is a great proof and promise for us, for you will not find in the entire world another land that is so good and spacious and was always inhabited but is now in such a state of ruin. Ever since we left it, it has not accepted any other nation; and they all try to settle it, but are unsuccessful.

Indeed, the Gemara (Sanhedrin 98a) quotes Rebbe Abba who teaches – ein lecha keitz megulah mi’zeh, you have no more explicit manifestation of the end of days than when produce will grow in abundance in Eretz Yisrael; it is an indication that the Moshiach will be coming soon.

R’ Yoel Bin Nun, the great Tanach teacher in Israel today, was a member of the now-famous 55^th brigade of paratroopers who liberated Yerushalayim. When his commander, a shomer ha’tzair ha’kibbutznik, asked him how he felt after taking Har Ha’Bayis, he responded “Alpaim shnot galut nigmeru, two thousand years of exile are now over.”

If, for the Klausenberger Rebbe, the Holocaust represents the fulfillment of the tochecha, the consequences of siluk haShechina, Divine withdrawal and hiddenness, then 1967, the miracle of the Six-Day War, and the reunification of Yerushalayim represents nothing short of genuine giluy haShechina, the intense presence and the powerful revelation of the hand of the Almighty.

Those of us with no memory of May 1967 and earlier don’t know what it means to feel truly fragile and vulnerable as a people. Those of you who do remember will confirm that just over 20 years after losing 6 million of our people there was a collective panic and sense of urgency that there was going to be another Holocaust. NCAA coach Bruce Pearl recently described on Behind the Bima how his grandfather, a secular American Jew, could not go to sleep at night and was glued to the TV, saying, “I’m afraid to go to sleep and wake up and find out there is no more Israel.”

Rav Yehuda Amital recounted that before the Six-Day War there were American Jewish leaders who pleaded with the Israeli government to evacuate the children from Israel, since the annihilation of Israel was expected. The Chief Rabbinate of Israel had designated public parks as burial sites and almost 100,000 graves had been dug in preparation for casualties.

Instead of a massacre, a miracle occurred. On June 5, Israel launched a preemptive strike. In a single day, it destroyed almost the entire Egyptian air force. Jordan and Syria both declared war. In six days, Israel defeated all three armies, each larger than the size of its own. The Israelis retook Sinai, captured the old city of Jerusalem and Yehuda and the Shomron and the Golan Heights.

This sweeping military victory against all odds continues to leave experts confounded. Rav Berel Wein tells the story of a cadet at West Point who asked why the Six-Day War was not part of the curriculum. The high-ranking teacher silenced the questioner and demanded he speak to him following the class. The soldier approached the general and again wondered why Israel’s victory in the Six-Day War wasn’t studied. The teacher explained that the Six-Day war is not studied because at West Point they study strategy and tactics, not miracles.

Yossi Klein HaLevi tells the powerful story of his father who was from a very religious, chassidishe family and gave up on God and on religion after surviving the Holocaust. Even after the founding of the State of Israel, he was still so traumatized from his devastating loss he couldn’t find God. In June 1967, however, after witnessing with the world the miracle of Israel not only surviving but thriving, he took his family to Israel and went directly to the Kotel. After seeing the hand of God he was ready to forgive Him and to have a relationship once again. They moved to Israel and his father came back to religion.

HaLevi explains that 1967 turned Israel from a secular to a sacred landscape. Yes, in 1948 we got a country, but we had no holy sites. After the miracle of 1967, overnight, we returned not only to the Kotel and Har HaBayis, but to our Mama Rochel Imeinu, to Chevron and Ma’aras Ha’Machpeila, to Tzefat, and to Teveria.

Following the Six-Day War, Jews around the world felt they were seven feet tall, confident, proud, almost invincible. Everyone wanted a piece of this special nation, a connection to the Jewish people. And the Jewish people felt a giluy haShechina, revelation of God Himself.

Every single time I visit Israel I find a way to spend a few minutes sitting in one of the squares in the Old City of Yerushalayim. I simply watch and listen. I watch the people walking through and I listen to the sounds of the children playing and I pinch myself that we merit to live in the generation that is literally seeing the fulfillment of prophecy.

In fact, in one of the squares the words of Zecharia Ha’Navi are etched in the stones:

עֹ֤ד יֵֽשְׁבוּ֙ זְקֵנִ֣ים וּזְקֵנ֔וֹת בִּרְחֹב֖וֹת יְרוּשָׁלָ֑͏ִם וְאִ֧ישׁ מִשְׁעַנְתּ֛וֹ בְּיָד֖וֹ מֵרֹ֥ב יָמִֽים׃

וּרְחֹב֤וֹת הָעִיר֙ יִמָּ֣לְא֔וּ יְלָדִ֖ים וִֽילָד֑וֹת מְשַׂחֲקִ֖ים בִּרְחֹֽבֹתֶֽיהָ

“Thus said the Hashem: There shall yet be old men and women in the squares of Jerusalem, each with staff in hand because of their great age. And the squares of the city shall be crowded with boys and girls playing in the squares.”

This week when we mark Yom Yerushalayim, that summer of Divine revelation and God’s miracles, we must awaken ourselves with a sense of hallel v’hodaah, profound gratitude and boundless appreciation. We must not stop feeling we experienced Yad Hashem, the guiding hand of God.

V’ha’aretz ezkor – We are in a generation that has witnessed God remembering His people and His land. Will you remember Him?

Formula Fear

The question of having limited supply of liquid and how to allocate it to dehydrating people should be purely theoretical in 2022, and yet the country is currently suffering a baby formula shortage that literally threatens the lives of thousands of babies and infants who rely exclusively on formula to survive. Some mothers describe driving to 20 stores a day to find formula. Nationwide, nearly 50% of baby formula is out of stock. The situation is so dire that this week President Biden invoked the Defense Production Act to increase baby formula manufacturing and make it more available immediately.

Two thousand years ago, our sages (Bava Metzia 62) analyzed a hypothetical dilemma around a question of shortage. Two people are lost in a desert and one of them has water, but only enough for one person. Should the owner of the water keep it to himself, drink it all, and survive? Or, should he or she share it, split the water with the other person, though it means both will surely die? Alternatively, perhaps he should give the other person the water so that they will live, even if it means giving up his own life. What is the moral decision? What would you do?

What if your companion in the desert was your child? Should you split the water? Give it all to them? Drink it all yourself? A few years ago, French tourists David and Ornella Steiner were found dead in the white sand dunes of the New Mexico desert where they had been hiking. Their ten-year-old son Enzo was found alive in the 101-degree heat. Police said they believed that the son survived because the parents decided to give him the bulk of their dwindling supply of water. For each sip they each took, they gave him two which was just enough to keep him alive, even though it cost them their lives.

So what is the right thing to do?

In the Gemara cited above, Ben Petura argues that the two people must share the water, for mutav she’yishtu sh’teihen v’yamusu v’lo yir’eh echad b’misaso shel chaveiro, better they both die and neither watch their friend perish. Rebbe Akiva disagrees and quotes a pasuk from this week’s parsha: “V’chai achicha imach – Your brother shall live together with you.” Only once your own survival is assured are you obligated to concern yourself with the well-being of the other. Rebbe Akiva, the same person who famously taught us that loving others as we love ourselves is central to Torah, concludes that we must put our self-preservation and survival first and only then save others.

The Chidushei HaRim adds something remarkable. True, we conclude like Rabbi Akiva that your life comes first, but from the Gemara it is clear that one should feel it is a dilemma, one should want to give the water to save their companion. Understanding that our instinct and our intuition should be to help another, even at our own expense, the Torah needs to explicitly say no, your life comes first. We should not only be aware of and follow the conclusion but we should also learn from the initial thought. Yes, we drink it ourselves. But all the while, we should still desire, we should want to give everything to help a fellow Jew.

There are times that morally and halachically we must put ourselves first. But even in those moments, our instinct, our natural response, should be to want to give, to help, to do for another, even if it means having less or losing out ourselves.

Developing a giving nature is not just a nice middah for interpersonal relationships. It is a religious imperative, it is how we get close to Hashem, it is how we imitate Him and serve Him.

While many are scrambling for themselves, we can be very proud of our community who responded to this crisis by turning outward and caring about other. Led by Amy Zuckerman and our amazing new Director of Member Engagement, Talia Borenstein, BRS created an emergency baby formula gemach to help stock and provide formula for families in our community who need.

Whether you are affected by this crisis or not, we must always be looking for opportunities to work on our giving nature and working on ourselves so we are not always putting ourselves first.

Lag B’Omer & Gratitude

Years ago, someone gave me a Tony Robbins cd to listen to. I was excited to hear what one of the most inspirational people of modern times would have to say and how it could change my life for the better. He started his talk by saying that he has the secret to both happiness and success. If you follow his advice and begin each and every day of your life exactly as he prescribes, he can all but guarantee you will find yourself both happier, and achieving your goals and dreams.

I was very eager to hear what his secret is.

What Tony Robbins said is correct, but for me, and for you, and for Jewish 3-year-olds around the world, it was nothing new. The secret to happiness and to achieving success, he said, is to start every day of your life by expressing gratitude. As soon as you wake up, before doing anything else, say thank you. Be grateful and appreciative for being alive, having a roof over your head, having your health if you are lucky, your family, etc.

He continued that it isn’t enough to think appreciatively, but you need to start your day by verbalizing and actually saying thank you out loud. If you wake up with an attitude of gratitude, the rest of your day is guaranteed to be successful and happy.

What Tony Robbins is teaching in the 21^st century, Judaism has taught since its inception thousands of years ago. From an early age, we teach our children to wake up saying Modeh ani lefanecha, I am grateful to you God for the fact that I woke up, that I am alive to see another day, for the wonderful blessings in my life and for my relationship with You. It has been inculcated within us from our youth that we don’t wake up feeling entitled, deserving and demanding. Rather, we wake up with a deep and profound sense of gratitude, appreciation and thanks.

In my experience, Tony Robbins is right. How we start our day has an incredible impact on how the rest of it will go. This week we will celebrate Lag B’Omer, the 33^rd day of the Omer. Each day of the Omer is characterized by another kabbalistic attribute. Lag B’Omer is Hod sh’b’hod, the glory of glory, reflecting our appreciation of God’s greatness and glory. The Hebrew word hod can be understood as coming from the same word as hodu, or modeh, meaning thanks. Lag B’Omer is a day characterized as “thankfulness within thankfulness,” or a day to celebrate gratitude.

Lag B’Omer is a day characterized as “thankfulness within thankfulness,” or a day to celebrate gratitude.

The Chassam Sofer, Rav Moshe Sofer says that the miraculous manna that fell from Heaven began to descend on Lag B’Omer. On the first day, the manna was undoubtedly greeted with great enthusiasm and appreciation, but as time went on and there was an increasing expectation the heavenly bread would descend, it became much easier to take it for granted and to forget to be appreciative for it at all. Therefore Lag B’Omer is a time that we identify and say thank you for all of the blessings that regularly descend into our lives, but unfortunately, like the manna, that we take for granted.

It is so easy to fall into a sense of entitlement and to forget to be grateful. Why should I thank my children’s teachers? They’re just doing their job. Why should I be so appreciative to the waiter, or the custodian, or the stewardess? Isn’t that what they are supposed to do? When was the last time we said thank you to whomever cleans our dirty laundry? Do we express gratitude regularly to our spouse who shops, cooks dinner, or who worked all day to pay for dinner, or in some cases did both?

As we celebrate Lag B’Omer, let’s not just say modeh ani in the morning and then quickly transition to feelings of entitlement. Let’s remember to say thank you to the people who do extraordinary things in our lives. But even more importantly, let’s especially express gratitude to the people who do the ordinary things that make our lives so filled with blessing.

Is Judaism Pro-Choice or Pro-Life?

The country was stunned this week when the draft of a Supreme Court decision overturning Roe v. Wade was leaked. The sharing of something private is not only a potentially legal breach, but Judaism views it is an egregious moral and ethical violation. The Talmud (Sanhedrin 31a) teaches that when judges arrive at the conclusion of a case, it is forbidden to disclose the confidential deliberations. It is a violation of the wise words of Shlomo HaMelech who said, “Holeich rachil megaleh sod, a base person reveals secrets.”

While the American legal system not only allows for but requires transparency as to judges’ votes and reasoning, sharing and revealing drafts that are not final, likely with the intent to influence the outcome, is base, repugnant, and corrupts justice.

Not surprisingly, the public outcry erupted in both directions, with some celebrating and many others calling the upcoming decision an atrocity and a gross violation of women’s rights.

There are legitimate debates to be had surrounding the legal, moral, and religious implications of abortion, but sadly, instead of those conversations, media and social media have lit up with both sides using this topic to score political points and advance other interests that only barely intersect with this topic.

Fundamentally, abortion comes down to two questions: when does life begin and who gets to determine when life begins? Leaving faith aside for the moment, from a strictly legal standpoint, one could argue the determination of this question should reflect the will of the people, as defined by the people elected at the federal, state, or local level. Or, one could argue the woman who carries the child, or the man who contributed half the genetics and bears financial responsibility for that child, or maybe the two together, get to follow their definition. You could argue life begins at conception, at forty days after conception, at three months or six months or even birth; the exact moment can be debated.

But, whatever one concludes is the correct answer, one’s position on abortion should not be, nor should it be seen as, maintaining a supportive attitude towards women or trying to deny them autonomy, it cannot be about left or right or political affiliation, it should be purely about the definition of life and by extension the question of when is one considered to have ended a life.

Despite the irresponsible way many have portrayed it, Judaism and Jewish law are far from monolithic in answering these very questions and addressing this fundamental issue. One thing all opinions agree on is that the definition of life is not relative, not subject to a vote, or popular opinion. It is not the result of a feeling or a desire. It is not a matter of choice. And it certainly does not change based on whatever modern social norms dictate.

The well-known Gemara in Shabbos mentions that one of the questions we are asked upon entering the next world is “Kavata Ittim L’Torah, did you establish time for Torah study?” Some commentators understand the question homiletically: Did you properly maintain the immutability of Torah no matter the time period or, conversely, did you kovea, establish the Torah l’ittim, reinterpret the Torah based on the time, on what society deemed acceptable.

As people of profound faith not only in God but in His authoritative, objective, and immutable laws, the question of abortion and its many implications must reflect our best attempt to understand His will, not ours.

In answering the question of when life begins, there are authorities of Jewish law (Igros Moshe c.m. 2:69) who see a fetus as having a life, and abortion therefore as murder. Even those authorities still hold abortion is, in rare circumstances, still permissible to save the life of an innocent person who is threatened; as a result, even those who see the fetus as being alive will allow it to be aborted if the mother’s physical, and at times mental health, is in danger.

Others (Chavas Yair 31) see the prohibition of abortion not as extinguishing a life but aborting a potential life and prevented it from developing into a full life, essentially a prohibition of wasting seed. The diversity of positions is reflected in varying Halachic conclusions among revered decisors regarding cases of severe disease, psychiatric illness, rape, mamzerus, multiple pregnancy, fetal reduction, and more.

And so there are legitimate debates and robust conversations worth having in the general public sphere and within the Halachic one. What is not legitimate is to hijack Judaism or our sacred Torah to distort and oversimplify its view and to present it as clear cut when it is anything but. In Pirkei Avos, our rabbis warned us not to turn Torah into a kardom lachpor bahem, a spade to dig with, a weapon to beat others with, or an instrument to manipulate the world with. Brazenly presenting an inaccurate view of the Torah’s approach to abortion is more than just a disservice to Hashem and His people, it is a violation of being megaleh panim b’torah shelo k’halacha, misrepresenting Torah, something R’ Shlomo Luria (Yam Shel Shlomo, Bava Kama) saw as a capital crime.

The reality is that Judaism and the Torah don’t fit neatly into either the pro-life or pro-choice camp. Most certainly, the Torah recognizes the inestimable value of both life and even potential life. It therefore sees a gestating fetus post forty days as much more than embryonic fluid that can casually be disposed of because of convenience, comfort, or regret. It, and we, are morally obligated to fight for life and potential life, to protect the most vulnerable including the unborn who cannot advocate and fight for themselves.

In an article on abortion, Rav Aharon Lichtenstein writes:

Judged by the standard prevalent today in most of the world, at least in the Western world, the Halakhic approach presented here appears rather stringent. This requires no apologetics. But it is worth making clear, certainly to those who, in seeking a humane approach, are liable to adopt slavishly an overly liberal attitude in this area, that from the perspective of the fetus and those concerned with its welfare, liberality in this direction comes at the expense of humanity, insofar as the caution of Halakha is tied to its intimate concern for the values of kindness and mercy. It is not only the honor of God which obligates us, regardless of the cost to avoid what is prohibited and to obey the commands of the Almighty that are expressed in this Halakha. It is also the honor of man in Halakha, the humane and ethical element which insists on the preservation of human dignity and concern for human welfare, that rises up in indignation against the torrent of abortions.

And yet, as we mentioned, the Torah and Jewish law unequivocally see exceptions, extenuating circumstances in which conflicting values or realities may lead to the conclusion that abortion, at rare times, is not only permissible but obligatory. I have personally dealt with several cases in which some of the greatest Halachic authorities of our generation ruled that abortion was the correct, appropriate course of action.

And so, because Judaism rejects the notion of pure choice while strongly embracing protecting life with rare exceptions, it ultimately is neither pro-life or pro-choice in the classic political sense. The Halachic approach to abortion is nuanced, complex, and responds to the specifics and sensitivities of particular situations.

When it comes to Roe v Wade, by all means have your political position and please pursue what your religion says, but I beg you, don’t hide behind your religion to advance your politics.

Who Took the Suitcase?

Early one morning shortly before Pesach, I went to Miami Airport to pick up my daughter and her family who had just traveled for 14 hours with two little children. We quickly loaded the children and suitcases in the car and got back on the road, trying to beat the morning traffic. We made good time to Boca, unloaded the car, and came into the house to huge greetings and lots of excitement. After a few minutes, when it was time to put the suitcases away, my daughter began to panic.

The large suitcases were all accounted for, but a small carry-on was nowhere to be found. We went back to the car and it wasn’t there. We looked around the entrance of the house and it wasn’t there. The missing bag had more than just Bamba and Bisli. It had a sheitel, Tallis and Tefillin, a laptop, jewelry, and other expensive and irreplaceable items. My daughter called the airport but didn’t get through to anyone who could help so despite just having taken an arduous and exhausting journey, she got back in the car to head back to the airport to try to track down this lost bag.

When she got there, it wasn’t on the curb where had last seen it. She parked and went inside, and it wasn’t in the lost and found. She was told to file a police report, which she did. She asked if they could review the security cameras to see what had happened and maybe who had taken it, but they said that wouldn’t be possible for a few days. Through actual tears, and a mix of dejection, exhaustion, and frustration, she made her way back to Boca, trying to reconcile herself to these lost and irreplaceable items being truly gone.

After a few hours, they had all but given up hope of recovering their things when they remembered it wasn’t only the carry-on that was lost, there was a hat box sitting on top of it that was also left behind. As a last-ditch effort, a true longshot, they had an idea and asked two people they know from Miami to post in group chats asking if anyone saw the bag and box at the airport. One of them, an educator, happened to be on a plane herself and had already put her phone away for takeoff. But when she got a call and took her phone out to answer it, she saw the text asking her to post about the lost bag and hat box.

A moment later, she received another call, from one of her students whom she hadn’t spoken to in a year. The young lady had just returned from seminary in Israel. They made small talk for a bit and she shared how she wasn’t supposed to come home for Pesach but last minute had arranged to return. The woman asked her, it is great to hear from you but why are you calling?

The young lady said, the very last thing I learned about in seminary before our Pesach break was the laws of hashavas aveida, the responsibility to return a lost object. I just came back from Israel and I found something, I figured I should take it so I could try to return it but I am not sure what to do now. The woman’s ears perked up and she asked, what did you find? The young lady said, I found a small suitcase and I figured it belongs to a Jewish person because there was a hat box on top of it. The woman was stunned, she said, what did the suitcase look like and when the young lady described what she had found, it was a perfect match with the description in the text message. She knew exactly whom it belonged to and within a few hours, my children had everything back.

The hashgacha pratis, the Divine Providence in getting everything back, was tremendous. A girl who hadn’t planned to come back from Israel was on the same flight and happened upon the bag. She just so happened to have learned something right before that inspired her to take it. She happened to call the very same person that my daughter had texted.

As extraordinary as the guiding hand of Hashem was, there was another thought that overwhelmed me while thinking about the story’s happy conclusion. A Jewish girl saw a hat box and immediately concluded, I have no idea to whom these things belong but I am sure we overlap in some way, I am confident I can find them. If a Christian or Muslim saw someone leave a suitcase behind, if an Asian or African American saw someone leave a suitcase who looked like or practiced the same religion as them, would they grab it and say there is no question I will find a connection with the owner?

This is what it means to be part of Am Yisrael. We are one people, one family, all interconnected and intertwined. Mi k’amcha Yisrael. We are Am Yisrael, the Jewish people. Rav Soloveitchik teaches that the word am, nation, comes from the word im, together. We are only an am, when we live with an attitude of im, togetherness and unity.

In Russia in 1913, in what was known at the time as the “Trial of the Century,” Mendel Beilis was tried for murdering a Christian child to use his blood for Pesach. The lawyer representing him was concerned that the prosecutor might quote particular Torah teachings as evidence that Jews are supremacists who discriminate against other religions and therefore would commit murder against them. One such teaching comes from Rav Shimon bar Yochai who says that only Jews are called “adam,” other nations are not. The lawyer visited the Chortkover Rebbe to ask what to do if the prosecution quotes the teaching.

The Chortkover told him, “If the prosecutor brings it up, ask the court to consider what would happen if an Italian man would be arrested and tried in court. Would all other Italians congregate and pray for his safety? What about if a Frenchman was on trial — would all of his countrymen interrupt their lives to pray for his safety, would they even follow his trial?” The Chortkover continued, “The Jewish people are unique in this regard: one Jew is arrested and put on trial, and Jews around the world stop their lives and pray for his safety.” Explained the Chortkover, “This is what Rav Shimon bar Yochai meant. We have many words for person in Hebrew. Ish and gever have plural forms but the word adam has no plural. Only the Jewish people are called adam because we are united, and we can be accurately be described as one person.”

We are currently in the period of mourning for the 24,000 students of Rebbe Akiva who were struck down in a pandemic that occurred during this time of year. Our rabbis teach that the cause was she’lo nahagu kavod zeh ba’zeh, they didn’t treat each other with respect. Indeed, many explain that is why the Talmud tells us about 12,000 pairs of students rather than tell us 24,000 students. They were not acting like pairs, connected, or bound together as one, but rather they took the posture of adversaries, competitors, and rivals.

Our mission and mandate, the key to transform this period of mourning into joy is to honor one another, to recognize our unique designation as adom, one united entity. Only when we are im together, can we truly achieve am Yisroel Chai.

Our Unrecognizable World

The world we live in is becoming less recognizable every day. Assumptions, designations, and policies we took for granted are regularly challenged, with new definitions emerging frequently. If I told you just a few years ago about a question posed in a hearing to a nominee for the United States Supreme Court, a new categorization on passport applications, or a raging debate about what is appropriate for teachers to talk to young children about, you simply would not believe me. These changes are happening all around us, but should they be happening with us? Are we even mindful of them and are we comfortable with their impact on us and our children?

There are two seemingly conflicting lessons that emerge from Pesach. While some might see them as contradictory, I believe that the synthesis of the two—and the nuanced conclusion that emerges—is not only true and authentic, but is our responsibility to embrace and model for the world.

In no less than thirty-six places (forty-six according to some), the Torah emphasizes our responsibility to be kind to the ger, the stranger, reminding us that we were strangers in the land of Egypt (Bava Metzia 59b). Commenting on this Mitzvah, the Ramban writes:

The correct interpretation appears to me to be that He is saying: do not wrong a stranger or oppress him, thinking as you might that none can deliver him out of your hand; for you know that you were strangers in the land of Egypt and I saw the oppression with which the Egyptian oppressed you, and I avenged your cause on them, because I behold the tears of such who are oppressed and have no comforter… Likewise you shall not afflict the widow and the orphan for I will hear their cry, for all these people do not rely upon themselves but trust in Me.

While this Mitzvah, the one most often repeated in our Torah, is technically referring to a halachic ger, a convert, we have been encouraged to expand the definition to others who feel invisible, vulnerable, estranged, or isolated from the community.

Rabbi Lord Sacks z”l writes that Klal Yisrael in particular is enjoined to be sympathetic and kind to the stranger, because we know from our own experience what it is like to feel like an outsider, as if we don’t belong. He writes:

To be a Jew is to be a stranger. It is hard to avoid the conclusion that this was why Avraham was commanded to leave his land, home and father’s house; why, long before Yosef was born, Avraham was already told that his descendants would be strangers in a land not their own; why Moshe had to suﬀer personal exile before assuming leadership of the people; why the Israelites underwent persecution before inheriting their own land; and why the Torah is so insistent that this experience – the retelling of the story on Pesach, along with the never-forgotten taste of the bread of affliction and the bitter herbs of slavery – should become a permanent part of their collective memory.

The first lesson of Pesach is that Torah Jews and observant communities must model environments that are actively warm and welcoming, that never bully, mistreat, call names, marginalize or God-forbid abuse anyone, especially those that feel, identify, observe, or act differently.

But there is a second lesson of Pesach that doesn’t conflict with but rather complements the first. Hashem liberated us from slavery not only to provide freedom from tyranny, but freedom to become a mamleches kohanim v’goy kadosh, a nation of priests and a holy people. We weren’t taken out of bondage to live as any other secular entity. Miracles were provided and the rules of nature were suspended to give birth to a nation that would represent, teach, and defend the Almighty’s vision for His world, His prescription for life, and His definitions and laws.

Rav Meir Shapiro, the great Rosh Yeshiva of Chochmei Lublin and founder of the Daf Yomi, visited the United States in the 1920s. It is said that when he returned to Europe, he was asked about his opinion of American Jews. He profoundly and presciently stated: “American Jews know how to make kiddush, but they do not know how to make havdallah.”

Rav Shapiro saw almost prophetically how we excel at making kiddush, at sanctifying Hashem through the Torah, Mitzvos and extraordinary acts of chesed, but that we struggle with making havdallah, differentiating ourselves from society when beliefs, social mores, and lifestyles are simply incompatible and in conflict.

The world is complicated and people are searching for answers. All kinds of feelings, instincts, labels, names, and ideas are penetrating and infiltrating into our conversations, identities and relationships, including into spaces that were once assumed to be relatively innocent and pure. There is a lot of confusion, dysfunction, and pain all around us.

While we don’t have the solutions to every problem, how fortunate and blessed we are to be heirs to a rich Torah legacy that provides us with vocabulary, language, laws, and definitions that enable us to navigate through many modern challenges.

Let there be no mistake: Our Torah definitions must be used to educate, elevate, enrich, empower, and inspire, never to bully or mistreat those who view or define things differently. But at the same time, our ideals, carrying the authority of the Almighty, should give us the confidence, pride and strength to refuse to be bullied into abandoning or being defensive of our Torah definitions either. We should never call others names, but we must also not tolerate being called names, being labeled, or looked down upon because we maintain our traditional values, or because we stand by and defend what we believe to be ontological truths. We must not accept a culture where we have to fear social consequences for publicly proclaiming, celebrating, and standing by our values.

While there are many legitimate disagreements and differing opinions within our Torah tradition, there are some things that are abundantly clear, truths that are non-debatable. Even then, discussing and applying the Torah’s positions to the realities on the ground can be complicated and typically demand nuance. To be sure, we don’t avoid or run away from difficult topics (for an example, see a talk I gave several years ago here). But while we address them with a commitment to sensitivity, we also must address them with just as firm a commitment to Hashem’s truth.

We believe genders are not social constructs; they are Divine designations. Much of Jewish law is predicated on that fact, such as the laws of marriage, divorce and familial relationships generally, obligation or exemption from certain mitzvos, and much more.

It wasn’t only humanity that God created with two genders — zachar u’nekeiva bara osam, male and female He created them (Bereishis 1:27) — the Gemara (Bava Basra 78b) tells us that kol mah she’bara Ha’Kadosh Baruch Hu b’olamo zachar u’nekeiva b’raam, every creature that the Holy One, Blessed is He, created in His world, He created them male and female. (Yes, our Torah recognizes there are highly unusual cases of tumtum and androgynous, but they are the rare exceptions, determined by technical criteria.)

We can and must love and support those that feel differently on these issues, but we also should know clearly, and not need to be afraid to say, what is a man, what is a woman, and that the Torah mandates that only a man and a woman can marry.

As the world becomes less recognizable, I believe it is our responsibility to hold on to and communicate to our children what we all once took for granted. We must not be hesitant, embarrassed, or feel guilty to speak the Torah’s truth. Our silence or avoidance on central issues or core definitions may be convenient and comfortable, but they are not neutral; they contribute to confusion, they perpetuate distortions, and they are part of the very failure to make havdallah that Rav Meir Shapiro warned about.

Our children are desperate for rootedness, for boundaries, and for clarity of beliefs. The more they engage blurred lines in culture and pop culture, in university and professionally, on billboards and in banner ads, the more they need us to be their solid anchor, to hold them steady, to speak an authentic language and to protect what we believe are proper definitions (of course, with sensitivity and nuance).

The Sefas Emes (among others) writes that our Egyptian oppressors didn’t only deprive us of physical freedom in Egypt, they deprived us of the right to maintain our opinions, our values and to express our views. Dibur and daas, speech and thought, were in galus, were in exile. The Egyptians had canceled us, silenced our traditions and our values.

When Hashem took us out, He didn’t just liberate us physically, He gave us a language and a vocabulary and made us ambassadors to speak His truth. The Sefas Emes says that the holiday of redemption is called Pesach from the words peh-sach, the mouth speaks. Redemption and freedom are related to speech, to the power, courage and capacity to speak the truth.

No matter what happens in the world at large, in the world of our Shuls and schools, around our tables and in our homes, even if it gets uncomfortable, we must keep it recognizable, we must share what is true, always with dignity, respect and sensitivity.

We and our children must continue to make kiddush by treating everyone appropriately. But if we want redemption, we must also not be afraid or apologetic to, when necessary, like our ancestors, make havdallah.

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