Listen on:

Listen on:

Lost in the darkness. 

Too far gone to return?

A powerful revelation from Parshas Devarim that uncovers the secret of finding Hashem when He feels furthest away. 

Crushed by the Rocky Mountains of Aveiros

0:00

/1370.289833

1×

Listen on:

Dedicated by The Weidman Family (Lakewood, NJ) לע״נ משה מרדכי בן יהושע

Dedicated Anonymously (Wesley Hills, NY)
in the zechus of להגדיל תורה ולהאדירה

Parshas Devarim 5786

Sefer Devarim is Moshe Rabbeinu’s review of the Torah and of Klal Yisrael’s journey through the wilderness. There, Moshe explains that after the sin of the spies, Bnei Yisrael’s original plan to enter Eretz Yisrael directly through Mount Seir was abandoned. At Hashem’s command, they turned back toward the wilderness by way of the Yam Suf and spent nearly forty years circling the southern border of Edom. When the decree of wandering came to an end, Hashem told them (Devarim 2:3):

רַב־לָכֶם סֹב אֶת־הָהָר הַזֶּה פְּנוּ לָכֶם צָפֹנָה׃

You have been skirting this hill country long enough; now turn north.

They then traveled north along the eastern side of Edom, passing Moav and Ammon without provoking them, since those lands had already been given by Hashem to their inhabitants. Only then did Bnei Yisrael approach Eretz Yisrael from the east, entering the final stage of their journey.

These are the historical facts. They explain where Bnei Yisrael traveled and how they arrived at the borders of Eretz Yisrael. But the Torah is never merely a history book. Beneath these events lies a far deeper message—one that speaks not only to their journey, but also to our own.

WHEN “FOR ME” BECOMES A MOUNTAIN

Rav Avraham Yissocher of Radomsk, the Chesed L’Avraham, reads the pasuk as a roadmap of the yetzer hara. It begins with “לָכֶם”—when a person’s focus becomes lachem, “for me.” We begin to see our bodies, our eyes, our ears, our hands, our feet, and our minds as our own—to be used for our own desires rather than for the King. We take the greatest gifts Hashem entrusted to us and redirect them toward personal pursuits instead of His mission, contaminating the very כלים He gave us to serve Him. We waste these precious gifts not only on futility, but at times even use them to rebel against the King Himself.

Before long, that לכם becomes רַב—it grows. What began as a small indulgence slowly becomes something immense. Think of the majestic Rocky Mountains in Utah. Standing among them, you’re struck by their sheer vastness. Towering peaks stretch as far as the eye can see, and you feel completely surrounded by their greatness.

So too, our aveiros and unchecked desires can gradually become mountains of their own. What began as something small quietly expands, taking up more and more space in a person’s life until it dominates the landscape of his heart. Eventually, “סֹב אֶת הָהָר הַזֶּה”—he finds himself circling the mountain, trapped within the mountains of sin he himself allowed to rise. The mountain is the yetzer hara itself. He didn’t fall overnight; he built it one indulgence, one compromise, and one selfish decision at a time, until what was once a small hill had become an imposing mountain surrounding him on every side.

TURN NORTH

So what does one do? Even when he feels so small. Even when he is surrounded by mountains of his own making, convinced there is no way out, what is he supposed to do? What could the Torah possibly ask of him in that moment?

The Torah is כי הם חיינו, our lifeline, even in this situation. It prescribes the way out as follows: “פְּנוּ לָכֶם צָפֹנָה.” Turn yourself around. Head north, up, and back to Hashem. Get up. Dust yourself off, shake free from the shackles of despair and failure, and change direction. Get up and start the trek back. Run from the shadows of the mountains of sin. Slowly rise and overcome.

What we learn here is something truly life-changing. Just when you feel you’ve gone as far south as possible, Hashem says, פנו לכם צפונה. Lift your head. Change direction. Remember who you are. You are a צלם אלקים, a חלק אלוק ממעל. No matter how low you’ve fallen, your essence remains untouched. Hashem isn’t asking you to stay in the valley—He’s calling you to turn north and come home.

KEEP HASHEM AT THE CENTER

The Midrash on this pasuk echoes the very same message (Devarim Rabbah 1:16):

דָּבָר אַחֵר, רַב לָכֶם סֹב. זֶה שֶׁאָמַר הַכָּתוּב (תהלים לז, ז): דּוֹם לַה׳ וְהִתְחוֹלֵל לוֹ וגו׳, מַהוּ וְהִתְחוֹלֵל לוֹ, צַפֵּה לְהַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא.

Another interpretation of ‘You have circled long enough’: This is what the verse says, ‘Be silent before Hashem and vehitcholel for Him’ (Tehillim 37:7). What does ‘vehitcholel for Him’ mean? Place your hope in the Holy One, blessed be He.”

The Midrash links our pasuk, “רַב לָכֶם סֹב”—“You have circled this mountain long enough”—with the words “דּוֹם לַה׳ וְהִתְחוֹלֵל לוֹ.” The word והתחולל means “make a circle.” The Midrash is teaching that even when you find yourself going in circles, circling the same mountain of failure again and again, don’t let your orbit be around your aveiros. Let it be around Hashem.

When life feels repetitive and directionless, when you feel trapped by the mountains you’ve built and don’t know how to climb them, והתחולל לו—keep coming back to Him. Stay close to Him. Place your hope in Him. No matter how many times you’ve gone in circles, make sure the center of those circles is Hashem, because the one who keeps returning to Him is never truly lost.

HASHEM MEETS US IN THE STREET

One may wonder why we always read Parshas Devarim—the beginning of a new sefer, filled with fresh direction and hope—immediately before Tisha B’Av, the saddest day of the year.

The Baal Shem Tov reveals that there is something unique about Tisha B’Av that cannot be experienced even on the Yamim Noraim or on Simchas Torah. The pasuk says, “כמים הפנים לפנים”—just as a face is reflected in water, so too one heart reflects another. The way we turn to Hashem is reflected in the way He, so to speak, turns toward us.

On Tisha B’Av, when we sit on the floor mourning the destruction of the Beis HaMikdash, Hashem is, כביכול, mourning with us. He weeps alongside us. In truth, His pain is even greater than ours. It is His home that was destroyed and His children who remain in exile.

Usually, we picture Hashem as the King seated upon His royal throne. But on Tisha B’Av, He is not distant in the palace. He is, כביכול, in the street with us, sharing our pain. The day that appears to represent the greatest distance from Hashem is, paradoxically, the day of His greatest accessibility.

Perhaps this also explains why Parshas Devarim is always read before Tisha B’Av.

Yes, Devarim marks a new beginning. But before Moshe leads Klal Yisrael forward, he first brings them back. He revisits the tragic episode of the meraglim, the generation’s refusal to enter Eretz Yisrael, and the painful consequences that followed. Before a new chapter can begin, the old wounds must be acknowledged.

Yet hidden within that rebuke is one of the most hopeful messages in the Torah. Even when we feel most distant, abandoned, or unworthy—when we feel buried beneath the consequences of our mistakes, convinced that Hashem wants nothing to do with us—that is often when He is calling to us most powerfully.

Rise. Turn northward. Move forward.

Perhaps the greatest lie the yetzer hara ever tells us is that our aveiros have become our identity, that the mountain we created through our failures has become our permanent address. It whispers, “Stay where you are. You’ve gone too far. Hashem isn’t interested anymore.”

But Hashem says the exact opposite. He leaves His palace and comes into the street. He sits beside us on the floor of Tisha B’Av and calls out, “פנו לכם צפונה.” Don’t remain where you fell. Get up. There is still a future. There is still a journey to Eretz Yisrael. There is still a relationship waiting to be rebuilt.

No matter how crushed beneath the Rocky Mountains of aveiros we may feel, Hashem never asks us to stay under the mountain. He comes down to meet us there, extends His hand, and calls us to rise.

May we merit to hear Hashem’s call of “פנו לכם צפונה” and to rise above every failure and every barrier. And just as He mourns with us on Tisha B’Av, may we soon merit to rejoice with Him when “ישלח לקץ הימים משיחנו לפדות מחכי קץ ישועתו,” and together witness the rebuilding of the Beis HaMikdash במהרה בימינו, אמן. •

Listen on:

Listen on:

Listen on:

Listen on:

Listen on:

Listen on:

Dedicated by The Weinberg Family (Minneapolis, MN)
l’illui nishmas Avrohom ben Shmuel

Parshas Matos-Masei 5786

Amid the turbulent lead-up to Israel’s 1952 elections, Prime Minister Ben Gurion sought counsel from the revered sage, the Chazon Ish.

A significant issue raised by Ben Gurion was the coexistence of religious and secular individuals. Specifically, he expressed his desire for yeshiva bachurim to enlist in the Israeli army, seeking the Chazon Ish’s wisdom on the matter.

Responding with wisdom, the Chazon Ish employed a thought-provoking mashal from the Gemara in Sanhedrin. If two camels meet on a narrow path, one bearing a load, and one not, the one that is unburdened must make room for the camel carrying the load. We Jews who keep the mitzvos are like the camel carrying the load. We bear the yoke of many mitzvos. You must make way for us.

Ben Gurion, however, remained unsatisfied with the Chazon Ish’s perspective, arguing that settling Eretz Yisrael should also be regarded as a mitzvah, and the bachurim should be forced to join the army.

Undeterred by Ben Gurion’s dissatisfaction, the Chazon Ish cited the pasuk in Tehillim: אם ה׳ לא ישמר עיר שוא שקד שומר

If Hashem doesn’t watch over a city, then the watchman’s efforts to protect it will be in vain.

HASHEM’S PROTECTION

All of the soldiers can fight, but if the protection of Hashem which comes by virtue of limud hatorah is not evoked, then even with the most sophisticated ammunition and technology, their fighting will be in vain. The Torah of the yeshiva bachurim is fueling the soldiers with Hashem’s protection.

Ben Gurion commented about the Chazon Ish, that not only was he the wisest person he ever met, but he never even imagined that such a wise person existed.

Man is utterly powerless and incompetent without the approval and protection of the Ribbono shel Olam.

WAR AGAINST MIDYAN

After the atrocity of Baal Pe’or and sinning with the Midyanite women in last week’s parashah, Hashem commanded Moshe to wage war and take revenge against Midyan.

In this week’s parashah, this holy war takes place:

וידבר משה אל העם לאמר החלצו מאתכם אנשים לצבא...אלף למטה שנים עשר אלף חלוצי צבא.

Moshe spoke to the nation, saying, let troops be picked out from among you for a campaign...So a thousand from each tribe were furnished from the divisions of Israel, twelve thousand picked for the campaign.

Midrash Rabbah 22:3 states:

אלף למטה וגו׳, ויש אומרים שלשת אלפים מכל שבט ושבט, שנים עשר אלף משמרים את כליהם, ושנים עשר אלף לתפלה.

[You shall send to the war] a thousand per tribe. Three thousand from each and every tribe, [with twelve thousand fighters], twelve thousand to guard the baggage, and twelve thousand for prayer.

From the midrash, we see that actual fighters of the battle were not sufficient. Besides the fighters, twelve thousand men were needed to pray for the success of the war. Now, the question arises, wasn’t this a holy war? Hashem was on their side. He commanded them to wage this war. So firstly, why was there a need for an equal ratio of fighters to those praying? If Hashem commanded them to fight, weren’t they going to be victorious anyways? Let these men stay home; the battle would be a successful campaign without their intervention.

Additionally, in the midrash it seems that the “sending” of those who prayed was tantamount to the “sending” of the actual fighters of the war. This meant that just like the warriors who fought on the field, those praying also had to go to the battlefield—a place teeming with weapons, warriors, chariots, and battle cries.

PRAYER IN THE BATTLEFIELD

Why was this necessary? Why couldn’t they take their siddur out in the comfort of their quiet and safe tent and pray? If anything, they could have more concentration in a warm and cozy tent, instead of praying in fear that they might be shot dead. Yet, for some reason, they had to take their siddur to the battlefield. Again, if this was a holy war, couldn’t they stay in a safe and undisturbed zone?

Rav Chatzkel Levenstein offers an enlightening insight into this midrash: Every man wants to feel mighty, powerful, and victorious, to feel כחי ועוצם ידי, that success is in credit to my strength. The problem is that this is the trait of Amalek.

Now, those who went out to the battle against Midyan were among the great individuals of the nation. Nevertheless, despite their greatness, the human heart is still prone to heretical thoughts. Therefore, even though the battle with Midyan was a godly mission, when they would inevitably achieve victory in battle, they might take credit for themselves and neglect attributing the victory solely to the Almighty. Instead, they might attribute their success to their strength and capabilities, saying that it was their power that brought about the victory.

For this reason, alongside every fighter there had to be an equal emphasis on prayer. This was to demonstrate that the success of the fighter relied on the partnership with prayer. Moreover, the act of prayer couldn’t be conducted in a cozy and undisturbed tent. It required being front and center on the field, amidst the chaos and turmoil of battle. This was to ensure that when the inevitable victory of the holy war came, there would be a profound recognition that the source of all triumph and accomplishment did not stem from their strategies alone. Instead, it would be attributed solely to the one and only source—the Ribbono shel Olam.

Furthermore, Rav Chatzkel Levenstein asks: The victory over Midyan was obviously guided by Hashem. It was a war filled with open siyata d’Shmaya and unmistakable hashgachah. How could anyone possibly attribute the victory to themselves?

He answers that this reveals the frightening depth of כחי ועוצם ידי. Even in the face of open hashgachas Hashem, a person can still find a way to credit himself.

Therefore, corresponding to the אלף למטה sent to battle, there was also אלף לתפלה—a thousand designated for prayer. Because tefillah is the constant avodah of acknowledging that everything comes from Hashem. It is the daily declaration of אין עוד מלבדו, the practice that keeps a person grounded in emunah and living with an awareness of His constant hashgachah.

SUCCESS IS FROM HASHEM

While this message may initially appear relevant only to soldiers on the battlefield, may they be blessed and protected, it is, in fact, applicable to every Yid in their own unique battles. Whether it be in business, marriage, raising children, engaging in community affairs, or nurturing friendships, we often find ourselves driven by our own ambitions, dignity, and pride. Countless opportunities arise where we might feel that success is solely a result of our strategies, intellect, achievements, wealth, or prestige. We may proudly proclaim, “I hustled, I made moves, I secured this contract, closed that deal, facilitated the shidduch, or acquired that property.”

Undoubtedly, the feeling of success is exhilarating and at times surreal. However, it is crucial to remember that we are merely fragments of Hashem’s grand puzzle, constantly shifting at His will and subject to tests that challenge our humility and prevent arrogance from permeating our being. It is crucial to pause and acknowledge that in the grand scheme of things, our achievements and accomplishments do not solely rely on our talent and competence. Ultimately, it is the guiding hand of the Divine that shapes our path and grants us success. Without that divine intervention, regardless of how diligently we hustle or strive for success, our efforts will ultimately amount to nothing, similar to a watchman guarding in vain. •

Listen on:

Listen on:

Listen on: