Sharing Your Blanket

Israeli war hero and statesman Moshe Dayan was once stopped for speeding by a military policeman. Dayan protested: “I only have one eye. What do you want me to watch—the speedometer or the road?”

The Shulchan Aruch (634:1) teaches that the minimum size of a kosher sukkah is 7 tefachim by 7 tefachim, about 2.5 feet by 2.5 feet—less than half the size of my desk. The Mishnah Berurah explains that as long as a sukkah can fit your head, most of your body, and part of a table, it is valid.

Rav Yankele Galinsky highlights a striking contrast between Pesach and Sukkos. On Pesach we recline, stretch out, and dine like royalty. On Sukkos, however, we squeeze into fragile, temporary huts. And once we’re inside, pressed against each other, that’s when we invite the ushpizin—Avraham, Yitzchak, Yaakov, and more. Not only them, but v’imach kol ushpizei ila’ei—“come one, come all, there’s plenty of room.” But where exactly is there room?

So much of life depends not on what we see, but on how we see. The Mishnah in Avos (5:22) teaches that Avraham Avinu lived with an ayin tova—a generous eye—while Bilam embodied an ayin ra’ah—a critical, stingy eye.

The truth is, we all carry both. At times, we see loved ones with an ayin tova, overlooking flaws, excusing quirks, and feeling close. Psychologists call this the Halo Effect. Other times, when we feel distant, we look with an ayin ra’ah, where nothing the other person does can be right.

What makes the difference? Not the size of the bed or the blanket. Not even necessarily the other person’s behavior. It’s our own perspective. As the Talmud (Sanhedrin 7a) says: when love is strong, a couple can sleep on the edge of a sword and still have room. When love is weak, even a ninety-foot bed feels cramped.

This is the heart of Sukkos. After the High Holidays, when we’ve repaired relationships and renewed our bonds, we enter our sukkah and choose to see others with an ayin tova. We give the benefit of the doubt, forgive slights, and see the good in people.

That’s why on Pesach, the four sons each ask their own question and receive their own unique answer, and the four cups must be drunk separately. But on Sukkos, the four species must be taken b’agudah achas—bound together as one. Pesach highlights individuality; Sukkos highlights unity.

So will our sukkah feel cramped and claustrophobic, or spacious and welcoming? The answer doesn’t lie in its square footage, the menu, or even our guests’ behavior. It depends entirely on us. With an ayin tova, even a tiny sukkah feels endless. With an ayin ra’ah, even the largest sukkah feels suffocating.

The Mishnah in Avos (5:5) describes how in the Beis HaMikdash, people stood crowded, yet when bowing, there was space for all. The Chasam Sofer explains: it was objectively crowded, but no one felt restricted because of the joy and love that filled them.

Several years ago, researchers in England found that the average couple argues in their bedroom 167 times a year. What do they fight about? The survey revealed the most common disagreements: leaving a light on to read, adjusting the temperature, letting children sleep in the bed, and snoring. But the top cause of conflict? Hogging the blanket.

Howard Schultz, the Chairman and Chief Global Strategist for Starbucks, visited Israel in 2011 and wrote an article upon his return. He related an encounter that he and a number of high-powered executives had when they met with Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel, zt”l, the former Rosh Yeshiva of the Mir.

Gentlemen, the elderly rabbi began, who can tell me the lesson of the Holocaust? The Rabbi called on one of the men who was surprised to be singled out and he began meekly, “We will never, ever forget …” The Rabbi indicated this was not the right answer… No one wanted to be called on next. Schultz avoided eye contact with the teacher so he wouldn’t be recognized. Another man spoke up saying “We should never be a victim or a bystander.” The elderly Rabbi dismissed this answer as well.

At this point, Schultz said the entire group felt reduced to a group of elementary school students. Then the Rabbi responded in gentle but firm voice, “Let me tell you the essence of the human spirit. As you know, during the Holocaust, people were transported in the worst possible inhumane way, by cattle cars, convinced they were going to prisoner of war camps but ultimately they ending up in death camps. After hours and hours in the stifling crowded cattle car with no light, no bathroom, nowhere to sit, they arrived in the camps freezing cold and hungry. The doors of the rail cars were swung wide open and the people inside were blinded by the light.

Men and women were separated, mothers were torn from their daughters and fathers from their sons, and they were herded off to bunks to sleep. Only 1 person out of 6 was given a blanket. And at that moment, that person, who was fortunate enough to be handed that blanket, had a choice: am I going to push the blanket to the other five people who didn’t get one or am I going to pull it toward myself to stay warm? Am I going to give or am I going to take? It was during this defining moment that we learn the power of the human spirit, when people pushed the blanket to five others.” With that, the Rabbi stood up and said “take your blanket, take it home and push it to five other people.”

This Sukkos, let’s see our sukkah, our blanket, and our love as big enough to share with other people.

Which [Book of] Life Will You Choose?

My wife’s grandfather, Isadore (Sruli) Bruckstein z”l, passed away just shy of his 99th birthday. When he was already well into his nineties I asked him, “Bameh he’erachta yamim? Why do you think you merited longevity?”

Without hesitating he responded:

“When I was in the concentration camp, I didn’t tip my cap properly to an SS guard who walked by, not out of rebellion but because I didn’t notice him. It didn’t matter; the guard beat me senseless. [In fact, he became blind in one eye as a result.]

“I returned to the barrack, broken, despondent, and in incredible physical and emotional pain. I was ready to give up; I decided that that night I would leave This World. But in the same barrack was the Chuster Rav. He saw how hopeless I was, and he stayed up the entire night giving me chizuk. He told me that if I make it through the night, he gives me a brachah that I will survive, and while Hitler and the Nazis will become a distant memory, I will live a long life and merit to see children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, all shomrei Torah u’mitzvos.

“That is why I have merited arichus yamim.”

The brachah of the Chuster Rav meant the world to him because he had been to Gehinnom and back and seen the Rav’s unconditional emunah and effort to do everything he could to live, not only physically, but spiritually. My wife’s grandfather related that one Yom Kippur in the concentration camp, the Chuster Rav found an empty barrack and invited anyone who wanted to join him for Kol Nidrei. They obviously didn’t have machzorim and kittels, and they didn’t hold sifrei Torah, but he knew the entire davening by heart and everyone else listened. Before he began Kol Nidrei, he told those in attendance that he wanted to say something.

The Gemara (Rosh Hashanah 32b) says that on Yom Kippur the books of life and the books of death are opened before the Almighty. Why, he asked, does it say books of life and books of death, in the plural? Isn’t there one book for those who will merit life and one book for those who won’t?

The Chuster Rav looked out at those skeletal Jews, the broken souls who had gathered with him to daven, and said, “I’ll tell you why: Because there is not one way to live and one way to die. You can live with freedom and prosperity, or you can live in a camp like this being tortured, beaten, and forced to work. You can die at an old age in your bed, or you can die in the gas chamber. You can be buried in a Jewish cemetery, or you can be burnt in the crematorium.

“Let us say Kol Nidrei,” he told them, “and daven that we not only merit life, but that we merit a real life, a life outside of this camp, and that if we must die, that we merit a dignified death and a proper Jewish burial.”

With that he began to sing Kol Nidrei, and all of those gathered were crying, sobbing.

The window of the barrack was open, my wife’s grandfather related, and an SS officer heard the cries. He came in and started screaming, “What are you crying about? You have no reason to cry. I will give you a reason to cry!” He shouted for the windows to be closed, but in the meantime my wife’s grandfather jumped out the window, anticipating what was to come. He later heard that the SS had beaten those inside, some of them to death.

The Chuster Rav’s question was actually asked earlier, by the Alshich Hakadosh (Parashas Emor) and others, but the answer was likely never as powerful as it was that night.

Unlike the Chuster Rav and millions of other Jewish martyrs and survivors throughout history, most of us have known only freedom, opportunity, and prosperity. We have the great luxury and brachah of not having to think of the books of life and books of death in that way. What, then, do the multiple books of life mean to us?

There are multiple books of life and death, for us as well, because there is more than one way we can choose to live. Will we see the blessings in our lives, or the hardships? Will we be grateful for what we have, or resentful and bitter for what is missing? Into which book of life will we inscribe ourselves?

Hashem decides if we live or die, but we decide how we will live, and even, to an extent, how we will die. Will you inscribe yourself in the book seeing the good in your life, even within the suffering? Or will you inscribe yourself in the book of negativity, of bitterness, of being dead while alive?

For ten days, from the bottom of our hearts we will plead zachreinu l’chayim, Melech chafetz bachayim, vechasveinu b’sefer hachayim, lemaancha Elokim chayim. The Maggid of Mezritch explains that we aren’t simply asking for a pulse and the ability to breathe. We are asking Hashem to make us truly alive, to help us know why we are here, and to imbue our lives with simchas hachayim, the joy of life that comes from understanding our mission, pursuing the opportunities we have, and recognizing the brachah that surrounds us.

We can’t change our circumstances; we can’t change the people in our lives and how they behave; we can’t change the natural events that impact us and our health. The only thing we can change is how we process and react to what happens to us. We can choose a life filled with living, or we can concede our happiness and our health to others and be as good as dead, even while alive.

Money is one form of wealth, but there so many other forms: good health, happiness, shalom bayis, nachas and more. “Some people are so poor,” the saying goes. “All they have is money.” Money can solve a lot of problems, but the ones that it can’t help are problems none of us would ever want. If our happiness is defined by what we don’t have, by what we crave, then we will never be happy because there is always something more to acquire. However, if our happiness is the result of being grateful for what we have, we can decide to be happy, because we always have something.

Throughout this time of the year, we repeat the words, “Al tashlicheinu l’eis ziknah, kichlos kocheinu al taazveinu,” which are normally translated as: Do not cast us away in old age; when our strength gives out, do not forsake us. But if that is the case, we should say b’eis ziknah, in old age. Why do we say l’eis ziknah, to old age?

Rav Eliezer Waldenburg, the Tzitz Eliezer, offers a magnificent explanation. Young people are filled with energy and vitality. They have their whole life ahead of them to grow, mature, develop, and change. Older people, however, are set in their ways, fixed in their behavior, and unlikely to change. We ask Hashem, Al tashlicheinu l’eis ziknah — don’t cast me away or give up on me as if I can’t change, as if I am old and set in my ways. Don’t forsake me when I don’t believe I have the strength to change. Help me recognize, Hashem, whether I am young or old, healthy or infirm, that I have the capacity to choose life, that I can yet change, that I am not stuck in my ways.

The possibilities, the potential, the opportunities are great. We don’t have one book, we have many. There is the book of our complacency, apathy, excuses, and regret, and there is the book of possibility, no matter what age or stage of life we are at. There is the book of misery and bitterness, or the book of feeling blessed and grateful, even when paralyzed in every muscle of your body but your eyes.

At this time of the year, the books of life and the books of death are opened. In which one will you inscribe yourself?

Taking the Plunge: Ice Baths, Neuroplasticity, and Rosh Hashana

A little over a year ago, I got an ice bath and I am proud to say I hardly miss a day of spending three minutes immersed in 45-degree water. Many studies now show the health benefits of cold exposure, from cardiovascular to controlling inflammation, from muscle recovery to increasing metabolism. When you get into an ice bath your body goes into a fight or flight, knows it can’t stay there forever, and the cold exposure causes a significant release of epinephrine or adrenaline and dopamine in the brain and body. These neurochemicals make us feel alert, awake, and energized. Each day after my “plunge,” I feel like I drank three cups of coffee and can lift a truck. All of that is nice, but it isn’t what inspired me to buy it or why I use it.

Science used to believe that our brains were hard-wired, rigid, fixed, finite. But more recently, neuroscience has discovered that the brain is “plastic,” which means that it can change, it can be molded, and we can rewire. We aren’t born with specific personalities, feelings, thoughts, capabilities, skills, strength, focus, and that is it, we are fixed and stuck that way. Rather, we are blessed with the gift of neuroplasticity.

Neuroplasticity describes the brain’s ability to change throughout our lives. According to Dr. Norman Doidge, a neuroscientist at Columbia University, in his book, The Brain that Changes Itself, the brain plasticity exists from the cradle to the grave. New neural pathways can open, we can rewire our brain based on our habits, our behaviors, our choices, our efforts. Scientifically, a 100-year-old person, like any 10-year-old or 1-year-old, can still mold their brain, it is never too late. We can literally be reborn, we can recreate and rewire if we want to, if we choose to.

Rosh Hashana corresponds not with the first day of creation but with the sixth day, not with when heaven and earth came to be, but when we, humanity, were introduced to the world. This is because only then did the world have meaning and purpose and could be considered complete. On Rosh Hashana, we don’t say היום היה הרת עולם, today was the creation of the world. It isn’t just a birthday or an anniversary, we aren’t commemorating a historical event or something that happened in the past. Indeed, we aren’t even being judged for what we have done with our time since our creation until now; judgement is not for our past.

We say, הַיּוֹם הֲרַת עוֹלָם – today, YOUR new world is BEING conceived…and therefore, הַיּוֹם יַעֲמִיד בַּמִּשְׁפָּט, TODAY, you and I, we will be judged for what we do with the opportunity to be born again, to restart, to reset and to reboot. We cannot change the past, we cannot go back in time and make different choices. Of course we must take responsibility for the past, feel remorse and regret for it. But its real significance is what we learn from it, how we make changes to not repeat it, how we create a new future with our fresh start.

Chazal say (Rosh Hashana 16b) אין דנין את האדם אלא לפי מעשיו של אותה שעה, we aren’t judged for the past, we cannot change it. We are only responsible for the present, who we are right now, at this moment. We are evaluated based on what we do not with our birthday, the anniversary of our birth, but our “birth-day,” the day we are reborn, we get to start again.

Rosh Hashana as a gift of new beginnings, fresh starts, and clean slates is not only a metaphysical truth, it is evident in the physical world, too. We are evaluated not for what we have done since creation, but if we are choosing to embrace creation, the power to create again and again, to remold, rewire, to shape our brains and ourselves.

Rosh Hashana we are asked: Are you fixed or are you growing? Are you a finished product or a work in progress? Are you stuck in the past or improving for the future? Are you neuro-stuck or neuro-plastic?

Every single time I get into the ice bath I don’t want to. But I do it anyway and when I do, I am rewiring and changing my brain, not metaphorically or symbolically, but literally. There is a part of our brain in the cortex that controls willpower called the Anterior Mid-Cingulate, the AMC, and it turns out, when we perform an action or task even when we don’t want to, the AMC actually grows in size, it gets bigger and stronger and becomes more capable of completing tasks and actions out of our comfort zone. The challenge is that it only works one day at a time and needs to be renewed daily. If you return to your comfort zone, if you don’t push your limit, the AMC shrinks and goes back to its original size.

We live in an age of life hacks, shortcuts to accomplish things. But here is the thing: there may be hacks in technology and home improvement, but not in life. The only hack in life is to do the hard thing and when you do the hard thing, you become more capable of doing more hard things. We can sit in 45-degree water for three minutes. We can rewire ourselves to be selfless instead of selfish, to be calm instead of angry, to be patient instead of rushed, to be a giver instead of a taker, to live the life we have dreamt of living.

There is someone from another community who is looked up to for his generosity and volunteering, but also his religious commitment and practice. He doesn’t miss minyan, learns daily and inspires others. But it wasn’t always that way. In 2014, on Erev Yom Kippur, he wrote to his children:

My Dear Children,

Yesterday was an important day for me. For the first time in 25 years, I started to wear Tzitzis again. That is my commitment for the New Year. I just wanted you to know that the three of you were my inspiration to do it. Each of you in your own way and at different times made me think about how I can improve myself.

He then went on to spell out how each of his children’s growth motivates him.
He concluded: “So, in summary you three are my inspiration. Mom and I love you more than anything and wish you all an easy fast and the most unbelievable year. We are so proud of you. Words cannot describe.”

This grown man who hadn’t put on tzitzis in 25 years but he took the plunge and with it he rewired his brain. He grew his AMC stronger to add more and more to his life.

This Rosh Hashana should be a neuroplasticity day. Take some time to reflect and decide how will you rewire, what will you reprogram, which challenge will you take on, which comfort zone will you breach, will you take a plunge, will you have a change of mind and allow your mind to change.

Coldplay, the US Open & Being Caught on Camera: Spiritual Lessons of a Surveillance World

Each year, our shul coordinates a men’s Mevakshim trip to New York to meet diverse Roshei Yeshiva, Rabbanim, and community leaders—to listen, learn, challenge, and grow. Before each interaction, I ask for permission to record the conversation. Some say absolutely, others are more hesitant, and many say it’s okay but only for the group and not for public distribution.

When we sat down at ArtScroll headquarters with my friend, Rabbi Gedaliah Zlotowitz, I asked for permission to record. He not only allowed it, but he also used the question as an opportunity to tell a story he heard from his father and to transmit an important message.

Each summer, the Zlotowitz family would go on a trip with the Feinsteins. One summer, they went to Niagara Falls. As is customary and necessary, on the Maid of the Mist boat tour, the Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Dovid zt”l, was wearing a poncho and hood to stay dry. Given his attire, Rav Meir Zlotowitz z”l asked the Rosh Yeshiva if it was okay to take a picture together.

The Rosh Yeshiva said it was fine and went on to explain: “I don’t do anything in my life that, if someone took a picture, I would be embarrassed. If you wouldn’t want a picture taken of it, don’t do it.” He added, “And I don’t say anything that would get me in trouble if it got out. If you wouldn’t want it to get out, don’t say it.”

Long before the advent and ubiquity of technology, our rabbis cautioned:

הִסְתַּכֵּל בִּשְׁלשָׁה דְבָרִים וְאִי אַתָּה בָא לִידֵי עֲבֵרָה, דַּע מַה לְּמַעְלָה מִמְּךָ, עַיִן רוֹאָה וְאֹזֶן שׁוֹמַעַת, וְכָל מַעֲשֶׂיךָ בַסֵּפֶר נִכְתָּבִין

Be mindful of three things and you will not come to sin: Know what there is above you—an eye that sees, an ear that hears, and all your deeds are recorded.

For all of history, our ancestors had to imagine what it meant for everything you say and do to be recorded. Our generation needs no imagination. We live in a time in which, whether we give permission or not, we are being recorded. In the aisles of the supermarket, at the airport, everywhere we go—even just stepping outside—cameras are tracking our every move. Our emails, texts, and phone calls are not truly private or confidential. Our online activity and browsing are never fully anonymous or incognito.

If the Rosh Yeshiva’s message was true before this reality, it is all the more true now. If you wouldn’t want a picture taken of what you are doing, don’t do it. If you wouldn’t want what you are saying to be made public, don’t say it.

Last week at the US Open in New York, after a five-set thriller, Polish tennis pro Kamil Majchrzak had the best victory of his life. Before leaving the court, he walked toward the stands to interact with fans. Noticing a boy waving, he took off his hat, signed it, and went to give it to him. But before the boy could take it, a man grabbed the hat, stuffed it into his wife’s bag, and walked away—leaving the boy heartbroken.

The internet went to work identifying the man as a Polish tycoon and successful CEO, then proceeded to publicly shame him for his deplorable behavior. Despite going viral, rather than apologizing, he doubled down and issued a statement: “Yes, I took it. Yes, I did it quickly. But as I’ve always said, life is first come, first served… If you were faster, you would have it… I remind you that insulting a public figure is subject to legal liability. All offensive comments, slander, and insinuations will be analyzed for the possibility of taking the matter to court.”

In July, at a Coldplay concert, the CEO and Head of HR of a technology company learned the lesson of “an eye sees, an ear hears, and all our actions are recorded” the hard way. Their relationship, caught on camera, went viral and cost them their jobs—and his marriage.

These very public stories, among others, should not only shock or amuse us. The awareness that what we do is seen and recorded—down here and Above—should also sober us.

But, the knowledge that what we do matters doesn’t only have to scare us; it can and should also motivate and inspire us.

In 2007, an employee of a New Jersey Dunkin’ Donuts named Dustin Hoffmann (not the actor) made news when the store was nearly robbed by a serial thief who jumped on the counter, grabbing cash from the register. The twenty-something Hoffmann fought back. Grabbing the man’s arm with one hand and a large coffee mug with the other, he repeatedly smashed the crook’s head with the mug and successfully thwarted the crime.

When later asked about the incident, Hoffmann said that what galvanized him into action was YouTube: “What was going through my mind at that point,” he said, “was that the security tape is either going to show me run away and hide in the office, or whack this guy in the head. So I just grabbed the cup and clocked the guy pretty hard!” He then added, “There are only a few videos like that on YouTube now, so mine’s going to be the best. That’ll teach this guy!”

The Midrash on Ruth teaches:

The Torah teaches us Derech Eretz—that when a person does a mitzvah, he should do it with a happy heart. For if Reuven had known that God would write about him, “And Reuven heard and saved him (Yosef) from their hands,” he would have brought Yosef back to his father on his shoulders. If Aharon had known that God would write about him, “Behold, he will come out towards you and be happy in his heart,” he would have come out with drums and musical instruments to greet Moshe. If Boaz had known that God would write about him, “And he picked for her roasted corn,” he would have served her fatted calves.

Rav Yaakov Kaminetzky zt”l explains that the Midrash doesn’t mean to imply that the prospect of going viral would have changed their behavior. It wasn’t ego that was the issue—it was the opposite: their extreme humility. These great men thought of themselves as small, insignificant personalities on the great world stage. They saw their behaviors as small acts of kindness, no big deal, not worth noticing, and certainly not worthy of recording. They failed to recognize the cosmic impact and lasting influence our small deeds can have, and how they are documented for posterity.

We correctly think of Elul, Rosh Hashanah, and Yom Kippur as days of judgment—a time to recognize that all of the mistakes we have made have been recorded and we are accountable for them. But it is also a time to remember and focus on the fact that our good decisions, kind deeds, and positive moments matter. We aren’t small or insignificant.

An eye sees, an ear hears, and all of our actions are recorded. Don’t do anything you wouldn’t want recorded. But also know that our best moments and deeds are going viral right now in Heaven. Keep them coming.

The Real You: Overcoming Imposter Syndrome This Elul

Have you ever felt like a fraud—as though you’re just making it up as you go, and one day the world will discover you aren’t as capable as they thought? This feeling can appear in professional life, family life, religious life—or in all three.

I’ll admit something personal. For several years after I graduated, I had a recurring nightmare: the registrar’s office called to demand my diploma back because I hadn’t really earned it. Even now, after more than twenty years serving as a rav, I catch myself thinking, “Who am I to give this derasha, officiate at this wedding, answer that halachic question, or give that shiur?”

If you’ve ever felt this way, you are not alone. Studies show that as many as 70% of people experience what psychologists Pauline Clance and Suzanne Imes in 1978 coined “imposter syndrome.” It’s the conviction that your accomplishments aren’t truly earned—that success comes from luck, timing, or having somehow fooled others into thinking you’re competent. A feeling of faking it on the outside while imprisoned by a gnawing feeling of unworthiness on the inside. Doctors feel it. Lawyers feel it. Parents feel it. Rabbis feel it.

And our greatest leaders felt it too.

When Aharon was called to serve in the Mishkan on its opening day, the Torah describes him hesitating. Rashi explains that Aharon felt unworthy, like a fraud. Moshe, who once resisted his own calling by insisting he wasn’t a speaker or a leader, reassured him: “Why are you ashamed? You were chosen for this.” That moment reframes imposter syndrome. It is not weakness—it is part of the human experience, even for the greatest among us.

We have begun the month of Elul, the countdown to Rosh Hashanah and the start of a new year, a new beginning. The Talmud teaches that Rosh Hashanah not only marks the creation of humanity, but also the day Yosef HaTzadik was released from prison. Why highlight that event? Because Yosef’s liberation mirrors the opportunity given to each of us. New beginnings, a fresh start, begin with being freed like Yosef—freed from prisons of self-doubt, from the false narratives we tell ourselves, from the limitations we impose on who we can be.

That is why the Navi Amos calls us “she’eiris Yosef”—the remnant of Yosef. This time of year, we too are invited to walk out of our prisons, to prepare for our new beginning.

A couple of years ago, I met with a tzaddik in Beit Shemesh, Rav Avraham Zvi Kluger, who gave me a total paradigm shift in how to experience this time of year. He explained that Elul and Rosh Hashanah are not about our failures but our potential. Hashem sees not only where we fall short, but He knows the best version of ourselves—the moments when we rose above, when we were patient, loving, disciplined, and strong. He knows that is our true self, the real us. The slip-ups and shortcomings, the failures, are the aberrations, not the other way around.

We mistakenly think the real us is the one who loses our cool with our spouse or children, the one who looks at the wrong things when nobody is looking or indulges the urge to say the wrong thing to curry favor with the listener. We mistakenly think that when we show up despite our shortcomings, when we occasionally get it right, that makes us imposters.

But that is wrong! The truth is that when we are able to stay calm and be patient with those we love, when we have the discipline to do the right thing despite being tempted to follow our urge, that is who we really are, that is the true us, it is who we really are.

When the shofar sounds each morning of this month and on Rosh Hashanah, it doesn’t call us to wallow in guilt. The Rambam writes that it awakens us to look into our souls, to remember who we really are and what we are capable of. Rosh Hashanah’s teshuvah is not about confession—that comes on Yom Kippur. Rosh Hashanah’s teshuvah is about recognition: remembering our best selves and realigning with them.

As Rav Kook wrote in Oros HaTeshuvah, “The primary role of teshuvah is to return to one’s true self, to the root of one’s soul.”

We are defined by our strength, not our weaknesses; we are our best moments, not our worst. While we have to take ownership and responsibility for our failures, we deserve the success and achievements we have earned.

In 1977, Laura Schultz, 63, was in the kitchen of her home in Tallahassee, Florida, when she heard her 6-year-old grandson screaming from the driveway outside. Schultz ran to the door to find her grandson pinned beneath the rear tire of a full-size Buick. Giving no consideration to limitations or barriers, Schultz ran to the car, used one hand to lift the rear of the vehicle, and used the other hand to drag her grandson to safety.

For years, Schultz refused to speak about the incident. After finally agreeing to an interview with peak performance coach Dr. Charles Garfield, Schultz was asked why she had remained silent about her miracle. Schultz revealed that the incident had scared her and reminded her that she had wasted most of her life living far beneath her true potential. If she had that strength inside her all along, why hadn’t she realized it or utilized it more often or more fully?

With a little coaching from Garfield, Schultz returned to college, earned her degree, and went on, at nearly 70 years of age, to fulfill her long-held dream of becoming a college professor.

Like Schultz, we often dismiss our best moments as exceptions, flukes, or lucky breaks. But those moments are the real us. They reveal what Hashem already knows—that we carry extraordinary potential inside. Don’t ignore the strength that is inside you. Your best moment as a mother or father, as a husband or wife, as an eved Hashem—that is the real you. Believe it, embrace it, nurture it, repeat it, and grow it.

Spend Elul overcoming your imposter syndrome and seeing and believing in the real you. This year, instead of just limiting our challenges, let’s challenge our limits.

667 Days Without a Day of Their Own: Building B’Yameinu

667 days.

Of course, we daven from the bottom of our hearts that by Tisha B’Av the hostages will all be home, our soldiers will all be with their families, and our enemies will all be defeated.

But if not, Tisha B’av will mark 667 long days since October 7. 667 days in which innocent people, guilty only of the crime of being in Israel, will have been held by cruel, evil terrorists. 667 days that heroic IDF soldiers have been fighting on several fronts, leaving their families and risking their lives for our people and our land. 667 days with an entire country of 10 million people constantly remaining aware of where a bomb shelter is and needing to think about it each time they leave their home.

For 667 days—granted in very different ways—hostages, soldiers and the people in Israel have not been able to call any day fully their own.

The Talmud (Yerushalmi, Yoma 5) tells us Kol dor she’eino nivneh b’yamav, ma’alin alav k’ilu hu hecherivu, any generation in which the Beis HaMikdash isn’t built in its days, it is considered as if that generation itself destroyed it.

Why didn’t the rabbis just say kol dor she’eino nivneh, any generation in which the Beis HaMikdash isn’t built? What is added by the word b’yamav, in their days? We use this same word daily in our davening when we ask Hashem u’vnei osah b’karov b’yameinu. Again, why not just ask Hashem to build Yerushalayim and the Beis Ha’Mikdash, what is added by b’yameinu, “in our days,” when this is inherently the request?

In his Zera Kodesh, the first rebbe of Ropshitz, Rav Naftali Tzvi Horowitz, explains that “B’yameinu” isn’t a prayer for when we want redemption and rebuilding, it is the formula and blueprint for how to bring it. The letter Beis, when used as a prefix, can mean two different things. B’yameinu can mean in our days, but it can also mean with our days.

The building blocks, the materials for a generation to build the Beis HaMikdash and bring redemption, is “b’yamav,” to use its days meaningfully, productively and as fully as possible. Doomscrolling, mindless binge watching, criticizing, fighting and sowing division are exercises in squandering our days. If we waste them, misuse them, fail to appreciate the gift of “our days,” it isn’t only that we failed to rebuild the Beis HaMidkash, but by destroying our most precious commodity, our days, k’ilu hechrivo, we destroyed what we could have done with them, what we could have built with them.

For 667 days the hostages haven’t had “y’mayheim.” Their days haven’t been their own. They haven’t had control over their time or their lives. They haven’t had their freedom or seen their families. Maybe they haven’t even seen the light of day. For 667 days they haven’t been able to decide for themselves what they want to do, where they want to be, what they want to achieve.

We daven daily that Hashem finally changes our condition in the world, that He brings a genuine and lasting peace, that He builds the Beis HaMikdash b’karov. How? B’yameinu, by using our days to heal instead of harm, to create connection instead of separation, to compliment instead of criticize, to build instead of destroy, to unite instead of divide.

In Eicha we describe the unbearable pain of yashva badad, of feeling alone, a malady and condition that too many continue to suffer from today. If loneliness is the problem, the antidote and the answer is to be nosei b’ol im chaveiro, to bear the burdens of our friends and our people, to feel their pain, to empathize with their plight and to become part of their suffering.

To be nosei b’ol im chaveiro means to not only feel bad for, but to feel pain with those who are struggling and to focus on filling our days with providing relief, support, and love.

If we want to change what is happening to us in the world, we have to be thoughtful and mindful of what we do to and for each other. We must fill yameinu, our days, with standing with and davening for the hostages, our soldiers, and all our brothers and sisters in Israel. We must ensure nobody is dreading the countdown to Shabbos wondering if they will get invited or will once again be eating alone. We must make sure that nobody in our community can’t sleep at night because they aren’t confident they will cover their bills. We can’t allow an Agunah to feel she is all alone or a victim of trauma or abuse has been abandoned.

If you own and control your days, you are not only blessed but bear an awesome responsibility to fill it with meaning, purpose, care, and concern. If we use the days leading up to Tisha B’Av well, we will merit to no longer sit on the floor and mourn but to celebrate the building of the Beis HaMikdash, constructed b’yameinu, with our days.

A Nation Rising and Roaring Like a Lion

Several times over the last few days, I was talking to someone in Israel—my daughter, sister or a friend—and they nonchalantly interrupted to say, “I need to hang up, the sirens is sounding and we need to head to the bomb shelter.” To be clear, though this is commonplace, there is absolutely nothing normal about ever having to utter the sentence, “I am gathering my family and going to a bomb shelter because ballistic missiles are headed our way.”

Is it really any wonder that Jews suffer disproportionally from gastrointestinal disease? How could the stress, anxiety, and trauma of two thousand years of running and hiding from pogroms, attempted exterminations, and expulsions not be absorbed into our people’s kishkes?

Eighty years after the Holocaust, Jews are once again running to take shelter from those attacking them. In Gaza and Lebanon, our heroic soldiers have been on the front lines risking their lives for the future of our people. But in this war with Iran, all of Israel, 10 million people, find themselves on the front lines, running for shelter and bracing for potential impact. This includes waking sleeping babies, carefully escorting the elderly, stocking up space, packing people in, and going long periods without sleep.

Mi K’amcha Yisroel – Nobody Like the Jewish People

I am in absolute awe of my family, friends and all in Israel whose lives have stopped and have been turned upside down. Many are doing it with spouses serving in miluim or stuck out of the country or without family around to help them. The entire country is now bearing the brunt of the hatred of Iran who want to wipe out the whole Jewish nation globally but are taking it all out only on those in Israel. And yet, somehow, our people carry on with positivity, faith, hope, tenacity, resolve, and a healthy sense of humor.

This is the story of our people. They, our brothers and sisters in Israel, are why we are unstoppable and undefeatable.

There is much uncertainty that remains, but as of now we know that Israel has pulled off an operation that makes the Hezbollah beeper episode look modest and, according to some experts, is on par with the miracle of the Six Day War. On June 13, 6/13, an auspicious date, Israel launched a pre-emptive strike to take out Iran’s nuclear capability, a country that has pledged to destroy Israel and wipe out the Jewish people. Earlier that same day, the Prime Minister davened at the Kotel, a seemingly innocuous gesture as he hosted a foreign leader. Together with the announcement he was going on vacation and attending a celebration, and the coordinated statements by President Trump, Secretary Rubio, and Steve Witkoff telling Israel not to attack, Iran was caught by surprise.

Mindbogglingly, the Mossad had been operating in Iran for years, setting up a base with drones that were smuggled in. Having eliminated the air defense, Israel’s extraordinary air force operated with impunity, flying more than 1,100 miles to relentlessly pound missile sites, attack nuclear sites and, in pinpoint strikes, eliminate Iranian nuclear scientists and military leaders all while brazenly refueling over Iran.

Israel orchestrated events that they knew would cause Iranian military leadership to gather and then took them out. Israel is the size of New Jersey and has 10 million people. Iran is more than twice the size of Texas and has 93 million people. We are witnessing nothing less than a modern-day version of David defeating Goliath.

This courageous action, in defiance of some world opinion and world leaders, is a gift to the world, just like it was when Israel took out Iraq and Syria’s nuclear programs. Thankfully, despite the public posture designed to distract, in truth, President Trump and the United States stand with Israel, are coordinating with Israel and are helping defend Israel.

Gratitude and Angst

On Thursday night, when Israel launched its preemptive strike, we were filled with gratitude and elation, pride and joy in the unprecedented and heroic success. But those feelings were quickly tempered as Iran began to retaliate and launch waves of barrages of ballistic missiles, most of which have been intercepted but too many of which have gone through, taken lives, and caused scores of injuries.

There have been countless, extraordinary miracles and achievements. As this war with Iran continues to unfold, we are filled simultaneously with boundless gratitude and pride on the one hand but also profound concern, worry, and angst on the other. How do we balance these conflicting feelings?

Once, in the early years of his leadership, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liadi told his chassidim: “One must live with the times.” What he meant is that every day a Jew should “live with” and interpret everything happening through the messages and prism of Torah. The timing with which we read the weekly Parsha is not random but by design from Above and there is always a connection.

It is no coincidence that Israel courageously attacked Iran in the week the Torah portion tells us: “When you are at war in your land against an aggressor who attacks you, you shall sound short blasts on the trumpets, that you may be remembered before your God and be delivered from your enemies.”

This is the same Parsha that contains the promise: “Va’yehi binsoa ha’Aron…v’yafutzu oyvecha, v’yanusu misanecha mipanecha. When the Ark was to set out, Moshe would say: Advance, Hashem! May Your enemies be scattered, And may Your foes flee before You!”

Rashi explains: “Your enemies,” a phrase we address to Hashem, means that anyone who hates the Jewish people hates the Creator of the universe. Iran has targeted the Jewish people and in so doing has targeted our Father in Heaven. Iran has started up with the wrong enemy.

When the Aron sets out, when the Torah leads us, when we are proud Jews, God makes a promise that He will help us defeat our enemies. When the Prime Minister, the political leader of the Jewish state, the Commander in Chief of the Israeli military, goes to the Kotel to pray before launching an attack, the Ark is leading, our fighting is informed and inspired by our faith.

When the government chose a name for the operation, they didn’t use a military code word or a reference to a weapon, they quoted a pasuk from our sacred Torah – Hein am k’lavi yakum, we are a nation that rises like a lion. That is leading with the Aron, fighting for our people and our Torah.

With Faith and Fortitude

The Gemara (Berachos 12b) relates that at one time our rabbis contemplated adding the parsha of Balak, which includes the words of the wicked Bilam, into the seder to be said together with Shema. Why would we think it appropriate to quote daily a villainous prophet who hated our people, and why would we couple it with the iconic and central words of the Shema?

The Gemara itself tells us that what makes the words of Bilam so special are that they contain a pasuk comparing the Jewish people to a fearsome lion: “The Jewish people crouches; he lies like a lion and a lioness. Who dares rouse him?”

Rav Kook in Ein Aya explains that Bilam poetically compared the Jewish people first to a lion that rises and then to a sleeping lion that none dare disturb. Everyone who sees it rise and roar then fears the formidable powers of this majestic creature, even when it sleeps. Our people have survived against all odds, defying all the laws of history. We rise and rest like a lion so that we can continue to declare Shema. When we accept the yoke of Heaven, when we declare the unity of Hashem, we are indestructible.

In a world of variables, there are two constants. In a world that is temporary, there are two things permanent: Hashem as expressed through Shema, and the Jewish people, the lion who roars and rises when awake and who remains and is even feared when asleep.

We feel boundless gratitude to Israel’s heroic soldiers and the members of Israel’s air force. We recognize the selfless dedication of the Mossad agents who have lived for years in Iran undercover, forfeiting their Jewish identity and Jewish practice to protect the Jewish people. We appreciate the courageous leadership of Prime Minister Netanyahu. They all deserve credit, praise, admiration, and gratitude. Yes, they have dismantled Hezbollah, Hamas and pulled off amazing feats against Iran. But none of them could or would succeed without Hashem leading the way. We must never forget or fail to credit God with our survival, our existence and our future.

And that is why we can simultaneously be grateful to God and His agents for the success so far and also manage our concern and worry for the future. When we recognize and realize that God got us here, He enabled and empowered our success and He promises us that we will be here forever, that we will persevere and triumph, that He is fighting by our side.

Our people have not only survived but thrived against all odds, against the laws of history, despite countless attempts to annihilate and exterminate us. We have persevered with faith and fortitude, resilience and resolve. When our enemies try to destroy us, we our protected by Hashem.

To our lions in Israel, not only the courageous members of the military but each and every one of the 10 million living on the front line – we are giving you the biggest hug, sending the greatest love, and thanking you from the bottom of our hearts.

From Printing Press to X, When Instant Can Become Insidious

It was a clash between two respected and prolific people with elevated positions. Nobody knew what to expect next, and everybody was shocked by how intense and at times vicious this back-and-forth was.

Rav Yaakov Emden (1697-1776), also known as the Ya’avetz, was one of the greatest halachic decisors of his time, and his opinions continue to be quoted every day around the world. In 1728, he answered the call to serve as the Rabbi of Emden, the German city from which he ultimately took his surname. In an effort to preserve his independence and ability to speak freely, he resigned after only four years and moved back to his hometown of Altona, refusing to take another official rabbinic position ever again. Soon after, he obtained permission from the King of Denmark to own a printing press, which he established in his home and used to publish his countless writings.

Rav Yonasan Eibshutz (1690-1764) was a child prodigy and became the head of the Yeshiva of Prague at only twenty-one years old. He became well known for his brilliance, scholarship, and oratory ability and ultimately became the Chief Rabbi of the “Three Communities” of Altona-Hamburg-Wandsbek.

At the time, Rav Emden was dedicated to opposing and fighting the growing movement claiming that the recently deceased Shabtai Tzvi was the messiah. In the early 1750s, amulets prepared by Rav Eibshutz were presented to him with the claim that its author was secretly a Sabbatian and had embedded heretical messages in them. Rav Emden examined them and concluded that indeed, the author of the amulets was a follower of Shabtai Tzvi, a heretic who must be opposed. Rav Eibschutz denied the allegations and accused Rav Emden of misreading and misinterpreting the amulet.

An enormous controversy erupted throughout Germany and beyond, creating a major split, with the greatest rabbis of the generation taking sides. Rav Yaakov Emden wrote and published relentlessly, leveling suspicions and accusations against Rav Yonasan Eibshutz, not only about following Shabtai Tzvi but of other outrageous and deviant behavior. In addition to many letters and pamphlets, in 1753, he published Lema’an Da’as, a collection of letters and evidence about Sabbateans in general and Rav Eibshutz in particular. In 1755, he published a polemic called Vayakem Edus B’Yaakov. In 1759, he published Sheviras Luchos HaAven, a refutation of Rav Eibshutz’s defense. (Our own Rabbi Yosef Kassorla once gave a wonderful class at BRS that delved into a detailed history of this famous episode, click here to listen to it.)

In the cemetery of Altona, Germany, only four headstones apart, are the graves of Rav Yaakov Emden and Rav Yonasan Eibshutz. Vicious public adversaries in their lifetime, these two Torah giants are buried for eternity, essentially side by side. It is said that before he passed away, members of the Chevra Kaddisha saw Rav Emden greeting his ancestors before he joined them in the Olam Ha’emes, the world of truth. And then, to the astonishment of the members of the Chevra Kaddish, he continued and said, “And Shalom Aleicha, Rav Yonasan Eibshutz.” The man whom he had opposed so vocally and vociferously had passed away twelve years earlier and was now coming to greet him and welcome him into the next world. When he learned about this, the Noda B’Yehudah, Rav Yechezkel Landau, instrusted the Chevra Kaddish to find the closest grave possible so the two who had made up and reconciled in the next world, would forever lie together in this one.

While this controversy has a heartwarming end, it threatened to tear apart the Jewish community while it raged. The conflict had grown so intense, the Emperor Frederick of Denmark, the kingdom which controlled the relevant cities, got involved. At first, he sided with Rabbi Yaakov Emden and removed Rabbi Yonasan Eibschutz from his position, but he later reversed himself, and restored him. The controversy lasted for years and led to a series of excommunications and counter-excommunications.

Much of the controversy and conflict was the result of the published polemics that spread widely. It has been pointed out that if only Rav Yaakov Emden didn’t have a printing press in his home, perhaps the harshness of the controversy could have been mitigated or avoided. If he had to enlist a publisher, have his works edited and taken time to publish, it is likely that the whole story wouldn’t have been. Instead, each time Rav Emden had a thought, a reaction, something he wanted to say, he was able to write and share almost instantaneously. Time to think, reflect, and consider would have been helpful in avoiding a conflict that continues to reverberate until today.

To be clear, Rav Emden and Rav Eibshutz were Torah giants, leaders whose words we continue to study and whose lessons we continue to learn. Their machlokes was certainly l’shem Shomayim, sincerely driven, and their places in the cemetery testifies to how much more in common they had than that which separated them and their shared legacy and place among our people. We must not trivialize this episode or minimize their greatness with comparisons to others, particularly to those who shouldn’t even be mentioned in the same sentence as them.

Yet, I thought about the particular observation of the role of the printing press as we all watched the unravelling of the partnership and bromance between the wealthiest man in the world and the most powerful man in the world in real time. Disagreeing with President Trump’s “Big, Beautiful Bill,” Elon Musk took to X to express his criticism. It didn’t take long for their public spat to escalate with each side responding in real time with insults, accusations, and behavior that frankly we might expect more from dueling children than from the most high-profile people in the world.

For now, it seems the spat has simmered, with Musk publicly supporting President Trump’s actions supporting ICE raids in Los Angeles. But the conflict brought us (and may still bring us again) dangerously close to impacting politics, policies, and the economy. As the tweets were flying, all I could think to myself was how this could have been avoided if they didn’t each have keyboards, phones, and internet access at their fingertips. Imagine if they had to convene their public relations teams, work with their PR experts to decide if they should issue this statement and publish this response? Surely they would have been counseled to slow down, catch their breath, express themselves maturely and productively.

There is no question that technology, including AI, have brought enormous blessings and gifts in the dissemination of Torah, in connecting us, and in a variety of productive ways. This spat, however, is a startling reminder of how these innovations have a much darker side: they can be dangerous and damaging and wreak havoc. As they are developed and in choosing how to engage them, one must be tremendously judicious, careful, thoughtful, and guarded.

The Kotzker Rebbe was once asked, if Shlomo HaMelech was truly the wisest of all men, the most brilliant of all time, why didn’t he invent the train? The Kotzker’s answer is penetrating and prescient. He said that surely Shlomo thought of the train and could have introduced it to the world but he understood the downside, the risk, how it could be used negatively, and he determined it wasn’t worth it, better to keep it to himself.

AI can expedite efficiency and productivity, but it can also introduce endless deceptions and lies, leaving us all wondering which correspondence, image, and video are even real.

Of course this hypothetical is too late, but knowing what we know now about the negative impact of the internet and social media on mental illness and happiness, how it is used to spread hate, would we bring it to the world anyway or would we have concluded the world is better without it?

The conclusion is not clear or black and white. The answer is debatable but as we plow forward with technological innovation, the question must be asked and considered.

The Chafetz Chaim, R’ Yisrael Meir HaKohen, (Shem Olam, Volume I) writes that while technology adds efficiency, ease, and comfort to our lives, its ultimate purpose is to serve as a metaphor that can strengthen our Emunah, our faith in Hashem and in His hashgacha, His providence in the world and in our lives.

Writing a century ago, and relating to the new inventions of his time, the Chafetz Chaim says they can help us understand and apply the Mishna (Avos 2:1), “Contemplate three things and you will not come to make mistakes: Know what is above you: a seeing eye, a listening ear, and all your deeds being inscribed in a book.”

Earlier generations were stronger in their basic Emunah and didn’t need these illustrations to bolster their faith but in the last few hundred years, he writes, when our faith has weakened and our doubt has increased, Hashem sends us these amazing technologies, each designed to help us connect with another aspect of living with Emunah.

For example, the telescope enables us to understand that Hashem sees and observes everything we do here on Earth, even though He may be very far away. The wonder of the phone enriches our belief in prayer. Just like we can talk in the phone on one side of the world and be heard on the other, Hashem hears all our prayers, even though there is a great distance for them to travel. Says the Chafetz Chaim, the photograph is a recorded picture of someone who may not even be aware they are being watched or that their picture is being taken. It lasts long after the person is gone. One day, we will appear before our Creator, Who will review the recorded life we led that exists even after we are gone. The phonograph, which is the recording of a person’s voice that can be captured and played back later, is a metaphor for how one day we will be accountable for all the ways we used our speech inappropriately to gossip, criticize, or slander.

In many ways we are beneficiaries of the printing press, the internet and AI but the controversies of the past and l’havdil, the present are reminders to be thoughtful and judicious in how we use them and to always ask ourselves how they can enhance our relationship with Hashem.

A Plane With Strings Attached: When a Gift is Not a Gimme

Heads turned this week at the news that President Trump is planning to accept a $400 million luxury plane, as a gift from the Qatari government, to serve as Air Force One. The Constitution forbids public office holders from accepting a present “of any kind whatever, from any King, Prince, or foreign State.” The president has argued that this gift does not violate that provision since it is going to the Department of Defense and not to him personally and that, moreover, it will be decommissioned after his term for his presidential library, and promises that he will not use it after leaving office.

I’m not qualified to weigh in on whether the gift is legal or illegal, but I do know that at a minimum it is a very bad look and raises suspicions about what is expected in exchange for the gift.

When challenged as to the judgement of accepting such a large gift from one of the world’s greatest sponsors of terror, President Trump said, “They’re giving us a free jet. I could say, ‘No, no, no, don’t give us, I want to pay you a billion, or $400 million,’ or whatever it is. Or, I could say, ‘Thank you very much.’”

To support his judgment and approach, he invoked the alleged saying of a golf great. “There was an old golfer named Sam Snead. Old Sam Snead had a motto. They give you a putt, you say, ‘Thank you very much.’ You pick up your ball, and you walk to the next hole. A lot of people are stupid. They say, ‘No, no, I insist on putting it.’ Then they putt it, they miss it, and their partner gets angry at them. Remember that.”

The President essentially shared his philosophy of accepting gifts. You would be stupid to ever turn one down. Treat it like a gimme putt, take it and move on no matter who it is from or what may be implied is owed in return.

What should our view be? Should we accept all gifts or do the source, intent, and circumstance matter? What if the gift could potentially influence our judgement or cause us to find favor?

The Torah’s view is very different than President Trump’s. In Mishlei (16:27), Shlomo HaMelech taught, “Sonei matanos yichye, he who despises gifts will live.” The Gemara (Sota 47b) reports that when people began to accept gifts, they started to live shorter lives.

Does this mean we should rejects all gifts? Should we reject a gift when we host someone to sleep in our home or have them for a meal? Should we send a gift back if a person we did a favor for wants to show their appreciation? Should we insist on paying for ourselves at the end of each meal, even if we are being treated for our birthday, a special occasion or no reason at all? Should those celebrating a simcha not accept gifts?

Rashi explains that the inclination to reject gifts conditions you to avoid what isn’t yours and therefore protects one from being tempted to steal. Rabbeinu Yonah explains that rejecting gifts will help a person avoid desiring that which isn’t theirs and protects one from being influenced by flattery. Rabbeinu Bechayei gives an altogether different reason. He says that if someone has true faith in Hashem, they rely only and exclusively on Him and have no interest in gifts or handouts from others.

The Rambam (Hilchos Zechiya U’matana 12:17) and Shulchan Aruch (CM 249) codify that it is a midas chasidus, a righteous practice not to receive gifts, and to trust that Hashem will provide what we need without relying on fellow man.

However, the Chida (Teshuvos Chaim Sha’al 1:74:42) writes that today, not receiving gifts is a noble practice for those who want to volunteer, but the masses do accept gifts and it is not considered a breach in faith in Hashem. Rav Wosner and Rav Shternbuch both say that receiving a gift for a wedding is not only permissible, it is a mitzvah, as there is an obligation to bring simcha to the bride and groom.

The reality is that not all gifts are the same. They come in different sizes and values, they come from different sources, they are given for different reasons, and they may or may not come with strings attached. These variables could determine the merit or ethic or appropriateness of accepting a gift.

Perhaps that is why Avraham graciously accepted gifts from Pharaoh and Avimelech, yet he told the King of Sedom that he wouldn’t so much as accept a shoelace from him. Additionally, Avraham refused to accept Ma’aras HaMachpeila as a gift from Efron and insisted on overpaying for it. Each context must be judged individually.

Rejecting a gift from a guest or someone simply trying to show appreciation, or turning down a gift given for an occasion in your life, is ungracious and can hurt the feelings of the other. One isn’t compromised by accepting it, and assuming it isn’t large enough to impact one’s need to earn a living and depend on Hashem, it doesn’t pose a threat to one’s faith. Accepting gifts when they could compromise judgement or constitute a bribe, however, taking something so significant it can alter a lifestyle or sense of dependance on Hashem, can be problematic.

In benching, we ask of Hashem, lo liydei matnas basar v’dam, may we never get to a point of needing to rely on the gifts and handouts of other people. May we have the wisdom and insight to know which gifts to graciously accept and which to principally turn down. When to pick up the ball and move to the next hole, and when to insist we putt it ourselves.

Meeting with Ben-Gvir

There are few more polarizing people in the Jewish world today than Itamar Ben-Gvir. The firebrand national security minister of Israel attracts attention, protests, headlines, and controversy wherever he goes. This week, he came to America and brought all of that with him to Florida, New York, and Washington. Many find him abhorrent and categorically reject comments he has made, policies he has pursued, and positions he espouses. Others recognize he has some extreme views but believe he has the courage to make changes necessary for greater security and agree with much of his platform, enough that they have given him a mandate in the current government coalition.

Ben-Gvir’s team expressed interest in his speaking at our Shul, which I immediately declined. This was a very simple and clear-cut calculation. I have learned that if hosting someone will attract significant controversy, potentially from within the community and almost certainly from without, if it will draw negative attention, headlines, become time-consuming and can even alienate and offend a fair number of shul members, it simply is not worth it.

Some people who read the above paragraph are undoubtably shocked and disturbed to think we would even consider giving him a platform. And no doubt some who read the same paragraph are offended and troubled that I would attempt to deny the BRS community from hearing an elected Israeli minister whose views they strongly agree with or think at least people should be open to. Both groups are likely disappointed that I am not using this space to take a definitive position on Ben-Gvir. If you want to formulate your own opinion on him or confirm what you already think, there has been plenty written about him, including a large number of articles revolving around his trip that you can read. I have nothing new to add and that isn’t my goal in this space.

While we declined the opportunity to publicly host Ben-Gvir, I did accept the request to meet with him privately. We sat together for almost an hour in my office, in which he shared the accomplishments that he is proud of and what remains on his agenda to achieve, explained what he would do to bring the hostages home, shared how he regrets some things he has said and done in his past, and talked about projects he is working on now. I used the opportunity to both respectfully challenge him on things I find objectionable and also encourage him on what I think he could do better or more of.

I had not shared with anyone that we were meeting, neither before or after, and he told me that he hadn’t either. Nevertheless, several articles about his trip mentioned in passing that we had met, which elicited two emails respectfully questioning my judgement in having done so, arguing that the meeting alone endorses and supports a person who should be isolated and marginalized.

The correspondence raised some interesting questions: Should private meetings be held to the same standard as giving a public platform? Should we meet with those we don’t just disagree with but find objectionable? If a journalist can meet with just about anyone because they are doing an interview or bringing a story to the public, should communal leaders not meet with controversial or objectional public officials in order to better be informed and to share feedback and criticism? If we do have a red line of who we are willing to talk to or meet with, where should the line be set, what are the criteria to be excluded or outside the line? If you wouldn’t meet with someone you object to, should they not be allowed to enter the campus, daven in our minyan?

After considering these questions, I don’t regret privately meeting Ben-Gvir, for several reasons. Firstly, he is the democratically elected National Security Minister of the State of Israel. Love him or hate him, the position and title he carries, and representing the Israeli citizens who elected him, I believe make him deserving of an audience and conversation. Secondly, I have a relatively broad red line when it comes to fellow Jews, particularly leaders, who want to meet and have a conversation. (That is not to suggest that I have the time or ability to meet every non-BRS member who asks for a meeting) If someone wants to meet, not for a photo op or publicity but for a genuine open conversation, why wouldn’t I want to take advantage of the opportunity to listen and learn and to influence and impact, particularly if it was someone I have differences with or even oppose?

I believe this applies to all those to the right and left of me politically and religiously, in Israel or America. Certainly it applies to our brothers and sisters, our fellow Jews who share our core values and are devoted to the good of the Jewish people, even if we may disagree with how they believe it should be achieved. But I even believe it applies to the worst actors in politics with whom we have almost nothing in common and couldn’t disagree more. I abhor everything Rashida Tlaib and Ilhan Omar stand for and their stances on Israel are dangerous if not outright evil. Of course they would never be welcomed to give a speech at BRS, but if they wanted to meet with me privately, why would I pass on the opportunity to tell elected members of Congress exactly how I feel about their positions and actions? Private dialogue and respectful debate will go much further in bringing change than shunning or boycotting.

The Torah describes that Yosef’s brothers hated him to the point that v’lo yachlu dabro l’shalom.” The Ibn Ezra explains, “v’lo yachlu dabro l’shalom – afilu l’shalom.” It isn’t that they just couldn’t talk about the issues they disagreed about. It isn’t just that they didn’t want to be close, loving brothers. It isn’t just that they couldn’t debate respectfully. “Afilu l’shalom” – they couldn’t even give each other a shalom aleichem. The hatred and intolerance had grown so deep that they couldn’t stand to even extend greetings to one another or to be in a room together.

Rav Yehonasan Eibshitz in his Tiferes Yonasan has an additional insight. When we disagree with people, we withdraw from them and stop speaking to them. We see them and paint them as “the other,” different than us and apart from us. As our communication breaks down, the dividers rise up, stronger and stronger and we can’t find a way to break through them.

Certainly, there are important disagreements and no doubt there are statements and policies that people will find objectionable about others. But there is no doubt in my mind that given the opportunity, it is better, healthier, and more productive, to communicate directly, attempt to influence, and find common ground, than sow further divide. I respect anyone’s right to disagree, I just hope they would communicate it directly, instead of boycotting a conversation.

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