In a world filled with headlines, fear, war, politics, and uncertainty, this message cuts through the noise with one powerful reminder: there is only one true source behind everything.

Not governments. Not armies. Not world leaders.

Only Hashem.

Dedicated by Dovid & Esti Lowinger (Wesley Hills, NY)
לעלוי נשמת שלמה בן אברהם פנחס הלוי ז״ל

Dedicated by Yosef Nawlo (Brooklyn, NY)
l’zechus refuah sheleimah Chaya bat Seli

Parshas Tzav 5786

Under the leadership of Reb Simcha Zissel Brodie, the Kelm Yeshiva embodied the principles of mussar, fostering both intellectual growth and ethical development. Through rigorous study and introspection, students were guided on a transformative journey toward spiritual maturity and ethical excellence.

In the Talmud Torah, every detail was meticulously attended to by a dedicated shamash, responsible for various tasks ranging from arranging benches to distributing aliyos and even handling garbage disposal. Rav Yeruchom Levovitz, one of the esteemed prodigies of the yeshivah, was assigned the duty of lighting the lamps. His devotion to this task was noted by all who observed him.

Rav Yeruchom recounts that serving as a shamash was not limited to the talmidim; even Rav Simcha Zissel, the rosh yeshivah himself, had his own task. This duty entailed taking out the basins of water used by the kohanim to wash their hands before duchening. While still a novice in the Talmud Torah, Rav Yeruchom was unaware that this honorable duty belonged to the Alter. As a result, when he saw his rebbe carrying them, he quickly volunteered to replace him. Rav Yeruchom described the Alter’s reaction: “He gazed at me sternly, conveying: You are new...You don’t know anything happening around you!”

When I first read this story over a year ago (Rav Yeruchom, Judaica Press), I found myself pondering the message that Rav Simcha Zissel was trying to convey. I concluded that even seemingly small actions hold significant value as mitzvos. Engaging in these small mitzvos allows us to maintain a connection to the Divine even amidst mundane tasks. With his piercing gaze, the Alter was telling the young bachur, “You are still young; you don’t realize that even the small things bear tremendous value, and it is unprecedented to even offer to take this away from me.”

As I learned the parashah this week and encountered the various avodahs of the kohen, one particular service seemed ironic and perhaps beneath the dignity of the kohen’s stature. Then, I was reminded of the story of Rav Simcha Zissel, and my observation was confirmed.

The parashah opens up with the avodah of the kohanim (Vayikra 6:3):

ולבש הכהן מדו בד ומכנסי בד ילבש על בשרו והרים את הדשן אשר תאכל האש את־העלה על־המזבח ושמו אצל המזבח.

The priest shall dress in linen raiment, with linen breeches next to his body; and he shall take up the ashes to which the fire has reduced the burnt offering on the altar and place them beside the altar.

 This service, involving the removal of ashes, marks the first avodah of the day. The kohen scoops up a shovelful from the innermost ashes on the altar and places them on the floor of the chatzer. While seemingly utilitarian, as it involves cleaning the ashes from the Mizbei’ach, it is nonetheless a priestly service.

The holiest services are performed by the kohen gadol on the holiest day of the year. So, the avodah of the terumas hadeshen, the removal of ashes, might seem lowly and out of place for the holy kohanim to perform. Moreover, before performing this service, one which would undoubtedly soil his clothing, the kohen does not don an old pair of pants and a shirt; rather, he is commanded to get dressed in the priestly garments. The question arises: Why must he be dressed in a holy manner? And why does the kohen perform this avodah at all; why not leave it to the janitors of the Beis HaMikdash?

Rabbeinu Yonah enlightens us with golden words that not only shed light on the avodah of the kohen, but also on our collective avodah.¹

צוהו ללבוש בגדי כהונה אשר יתפאר בהם ירים את הדשן להראות שמעלת האדם הגדולה אשר בה נחשב היא בעשותו עבודה לאלקיו ואפילו בדרך הבזויה בעיני הבריות זו היא רוממותו.

Expounding on Rabbeinu Yonah, the Torah conveys to us that when the kohen wears the priestly garments while removing the ashes, it elevates the seemingly mundane task into a sacred duty of G-d. Despite appearing insignificant or undignified to others, the kohen’s dedication to fulfilling his avodah in every aspect, even those perceived as lowly by worldly and societal standards, holds great significance in the eyes of HaKadosh Baruch Hu. Avodas Hashem is solely about fulfilling the will of the King, without regard for worldly perceptions or standards.

Rabbeinu Yonah explains that there is the possibility of the kohen soiling his clothing, and the Torah is “חס על ממונו של ישראל — it pities the money of Jews.” Nevertheless, simultaneously, a fundamental life lesson takes precedence over his blackened shirts and the extra trips he has to make to the well, schlepping buckets of water. That is, it’s not about the commandment; it’s about the Commander. Therefore, it doesn’t suffice for the kohen to merely perform this particular avodah; he must dress up for it to remind us that even for a seemingly low avodah, for Hashem, there is no such thing as low. Rather, it’s about fulfilling His will. And for that, befitting attire must be donned.

The fundamental principle is also expressed in the Yerushalmi, which expounds on this avodah:

אמר רבי לוי כתיב (ויקרא ו) ולבש הכהן מדו בד והרים את הדשן אלא שאין גדולה בפלטין של מלך.

Rebbi Levi said, it is written, “The kohen shall don his tunic and he shall separate the ash.” Now, even though it doesn’t befit the kohen to perform this menial task of removing the ash, no personal prominence is recognized in the palace of the king.

The Korban HaEida explains this concept further, stating that this task was specifically designated to the kohen, although it could have been delegated to a non-kohen. This conveys the message that no one is too important or too holy to perform what is perceived as even a lowly job in the Beis HaMikdash.

The lesson that emerges from the ash removal of the kohanim echoed by the gaze of the Alter of Kelm is that nothing is small in the eyes of the Almighty.

Naturally, we aspire to achieve grand accomplishments, to make significant differences, and to overcome overwhelming challenges. However, the Torah reminds us that there is a different measure for what is considered big and grand. That measure is the ratzon Hashem, the will of G-d, which does not differentiate between small and large, both in quality and quantity. We must realize that even the seemingly small actions are cherished and beloved by Hashem.

This connects directly to the idea of seor sheb’isa. Even the smallest amount of chametz disqualifies the matzah. Not just physically, but within us as well. Matzah represents purity, the yetzer tov, a clean and simple avodah. When we allow even a little “smallness” to creep in, the thought that something is insignificant, that itself can contaminate the whole thing.

In terms of the quality of a mitzvah, tasks such as picking up a tissue in shul, peeling potatoes for Shabbos, or taking out the garbage, when done with the right intentions, are all in line with the ratzon Hashem. Similarly, in terms of quantity, performing a single action like averting our eyes from inappropriate sights, offering a single heartfelt prayer, or giving just one dollar with a smile, holds immense value in the eyes of Hashem. Therefore, we remove the word “just” from our vocabulary, as we are not the judges. Hashem is the one who decides, and in His eyes, it’s all one entity — His will.

When we fulfill the will of Hashem, we live up to the golden fundamental of Rabbeinu Yonah and adhere to the gaze of the Alter. •

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Dedicated as a zechus refuah sheleimah for אילנה חנה בת גילה בריינלע

Parshas Vayikra 5786

We just began Chodesh Nissan, a time of hischadshus, renewal. Often we work on the big things, but at times it is the smallest things that make the greatest impact.

THE UNIQUENESS OF MOSHE'S ROLE

The opening of Sefer Vayikra reads:

ויקרא אל משה וידבר ה׳ אליו מאהל מועד לאמר.

[Hashem] called to Moshe and spoke to him from the Ohel Moed, saying:

Although everything that follows is relevant not only to Moshe, but to all of klal Yisrael, nevertheless it was first directed specifically to Moshe.

To explain this, the Medrash relates:

והנשאם הביאו וגו׳, וכלי יקר שפתי דעת, לפי שהיתה נפשו של משה עגומה עליו, ואמר הכל הביאו נדבתן למשכן ואני לא הבאתי, אמר לו הקדוש ברוך הוא חייך שדיבורך חביב עלי יותר מן הכל, שמכלן לא קרא הדיבור אלא למשה, ויקרא אל משה.

The princes brought [the onyx stones and the stones for setting for the ephod and for the breastplate]” (Shemos 35:27). “But lips of knowledge are a precious vessel” — Moshe’s soul was distressed, and he said: Everyone brought their donation for the Mishkan, but I did not bring. The Holy One, blessed be He, said to him: “By your life, your speech is more beloved to Me than all of it,” for from all of them, the Divine speech called only to Moshe: “Vayikra el Moshe.”

Meaning, the reason the pasuk highlights Moshe is because Moshe did not bring a voluntary donation, and he felt a certain pain over that. Yet Hashem showed him that his unique role, that Hashem spoke specifically to him, was more beloved than all the contributions.

We must understand, this seems ironic:

The purpose of the Mishkan was for Hashem to communicate the Torah to Moshe, to give it over to klal Yisrael. So why would Moshe not have donated to this cause?

Additionally, if for whatever reason Moshe didn’t or couldn’t bring, it would be one thing for Hashem to tell him he’s excused. But how can his not bringing be considered even greater, more dear than those who did bring?

WHAT MOSHE "GAVE" WITHOUT GIVING

The Shem Mishmuel gives a powerful insight into why Moshe didn’t contribute.

The whole idea of giving to the Mishkan was about connection. When a person gave something meaningful, something of value, he wasn’t just donating an object, he was giving over a part of himself. It was a way of taking love for Hashem out of the heart and making it real, grounding it in action. That act required a person to push past his own pull toward the material and choose Hashem.

But that only applies to someone who lives with that tension, who has something to overcome.

Moshe was different. He was already completely refined, completely given over to Hashem. There was no inner resistance, no personal pull holding him back. So giving wouldn’t have been an act of sacrifice for him. It wouldn’t have expressed anything new, because there was nothing in him that wasn’t already fully aligned with Hashem.

So it wasn’t that Moshe didn’t give. It’s that there was nothing left for him to give.

Moshe had already reached the pinnacle of human achievement.

But for those of us still climbing, there are many Mishkans left to build, many parts of ourselves and our possessions still waiting to be given over and devoted to the service of our Creator.

At first glance this seems nice, but we become disheartened. How can we bring korbanos? What shaychus does it have to us? Should everyone get rid of their basic needs as a sacrifice to Hashem in lieu of the ability to bring an animal?

My Rebbe, Rabbi Yaakov Moshe Katz of the Mir, would often speak during these weeks of korbanos about what they mean for us today. While we can no longer bring offerings in the Beis HaMikdash, the underlying idea still very much applies. A korban is about giving something up for Hashem.

In our lives, there are so many opportunities for this. It doesn’t have to be something big, and it doesn’t have to be every day. There are moments, situations we all recognize, where we can give a little of ourselves. Whether it’s doing something small for another person, exercising restraint, or working on a middah, even just a bit.

And in truth, there is no such thing as “just a little.” When there is a genuine intention of giving, of sacrifice for Hashem, that itself is what He wants.

THE POWER OF SMALL ACTS

As we begin Chodesh Nisan and start thinking about chametz and Pesach, we remind ourselves of the concept of שעור שבעיסה, the leaven in the dough. Even the smallest amount can cause the dough to rise, to change its nature, and in the context of matzah, even a trace disqualifies it.

Matzah represents simplicity, wholesomeness, purity. It is straight, uninflated, real. And we all strive to be like that, to live with that kind of clarity and honesty.

But what is the se’or in our lives?

It’s the small voice that says, “This doesn’t matter. This small act isn’t significant. This little moment isn’t worth anything.”

As we read about the korbanos, we’re reminded that anything can be offered. Anything can be elevated. A small act of self-restraint, a small act of giving, a small inner shift, these are not small at all. When they are done with the mindset of a korban, of giving something of ourselves to Hashem, they become the very purpose of why we’re here.

There is no such thing as a small sacrifice.

As my rebbi once said, what makes a gadol, is not that he was 6 foot 4. It’s that nothing in his life was small.

Just as a small amount of se’or can disqualify the matzah, a small, dismissive thought can disqualify our avodah, if we let ourselves believe that it doesn’t matter.

So as we read the parshiyos of korbanos and prepare for Pesach, for the Seder, for matzah, we’re not just removing chametz from our homes, we’re removing that mindset.

And we remind ourselves: Every act matters. Every moment counts, no matter how small it seems, because if it is for the king, that is exactly what Hashem wants from us.

We can all be a gadol b’Yisrael when we realize there’s no such thing as small, because everything becomes big when it’s done for the King. •

How can something be both enough and more than enough at the same time?

In this powerful shiur, we explore the insight of the Or HaChaim that reveals a deep truth about how Hashem views our efforts. What happens when one person can give more and another can only give a little? Does it count the same? And what does that mean for us today as we approach Parshas HaChodesh and the season of renewal leading into Pesach?

Through a striking historical story about the discovery of the first vaccine and a timeless Torah perspective on growth, this episode uncovers a message many of us need to hear: even the smallest step can change everything.

If you’ve ever felt stuck in routine, discouraged by past failures, or unsure whether your efforts really matter—this conversation may change the way you see your avodah forever.

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Dedicated by Nesanel Kitay & Family

Parshas Vayakhel-Pikudei 5786

For centuries, smallpox was one of the most feared diseases in the world. Caused by the variola virus, it spread rapidly and killed about thirty percent of those who caught it. Victims suffered high fever and painful blisters that covered the body, and survivors were often left scarred or blind. Entire cities lived in fear of outbreaks.

In the late 1700s, an English doctor named Edward Jenner noticed something unusual: milkmaids who had caught the mild disease cowpox almost never seemed to get smallpox. Most doctors dismissed the idea, but Jenner could not ignore what he had seen.

In 1796 he tested his theory by introducing material from a cowpox sore into the arm of a young boy, James Phipps. The boy became mildly ill but recovered. When later exposed to smallpox, he did not become sick.

Jenner had unknowingly discovered the world’s first vaccine. Though mocked at first, his method spread across the world. In 1980 the World Health Organization declared smallpox completely eradicated.

Historians estimate that Jenner’s discovery has saved hundreds of millions of lives, all beginning with one small observation others overlooked.Sometimes a small act, a small contribution, or a small insight can carry far greater significance than we ever imagine.

CONTRADICTION

In this week’s parsha, the Ohr HaChaim HaKadosh asks a strong and well-known question, a contradiction.

Regarding the building of the vessels of the Mishkan, the Torah describes the donations brought by the people with wording that seems contradictory:

והמלאכה היתה דים לכל־המלאכה לעשות אתה והותר.

The work was sufficient for all the work to do it — and there was extra.

If the materials were sufficient, that implies they were exactly what was needed, not more. But if there was extra, then it was more than what was required.

So which was it? Was it precisely sufficient, or was there excess material?

How can the Torah describe the donations as both דים, sufficient, and והותר, extra, at the very same time?

THE BALANCE OF SUFFICIENCY AND SURPLUS

The Mayana Shel Torah quotes the Sichos Tzaddikim, which offers a deep and lomdishe pshat.

The donations for the Mishkan did indeed contain both elements mentioned in the verse: דים and הותר, sufficient and surplus.

Why was this necessary?

If the donations had been exactly the required amount, precisely what was needed and nothing more, it actually would not have been ideal. The true purpose of the Mishkan was not simply to construct a building, but to create a place where the Shechinah would dwell.

Had the amount been exact, people might have begun thinking with pride: “My donation completed the Mishkan. Without my contribution, the work could not have been finished.”

Such a mindset is antithetical to the Mishkan, which holds the Shechinah, as the Shechinah does not dwell in a place of gaavah.

Therefore the donations could not be exact.

On the other hand, if there had been a clear surplus with donations left unused, people might have walked away brokenhearted. Each person could have wondered: “Perhaps my donation was the one that was not used. Maybe I have no share in building the Mishkan.”

And that sense of humility, that broken heart, is precisely what allows the Shechinah to dwell, as the pasuk says:

אשכון את דכא.

I dwell with the crushed and humble of spirit.

Incredibly, it emerges that if the donations had only been exactly sufficient, it would actually have been lacking, because people would have become haughty. Precisely because there was a surplus, which could awaken humility within people, only then were the donations truly sufficient.

Through both elements of enough and surplus, a balance was created that brought about the resting of the Divine Presence.

The Ohr HaChaim offers another pshat, explaining how דים and והותר can coexist.

The pasuk is teaching us something about how beloved we are in the eyes of Hashem.

Just as today there are wealthy people and those of more modest means, the generation that built the Mishkan was no different. There were Yidden who could barely afford the minimum contribution, and others who could bring far more. Many brought materials in great abundance.

But this created a problem.

The Mishkan required a very precise amount of materials. If people continued bringing donations beyond that measure, inevitably there would be extra. Some of what was brought would appear unnecessary.

So what was the solution? Hashem performed a miracle that defied nature, as we find in other aspects of the Mishkan.

Out of concern for the honor of every individual who exerted himself to bring a donation, everything that was brought was incorporated into the work of the Mishkan. Even though by natural calculation not all the materials were needed, nothing was left unused.

This is the meaning of the verse: the work was sufficient for the work that Hashem commanded, and yet there was extra. There was more than required, but the vessel was able to contain beyond its natural measure.

NOTHING IS WASTED

The Mishchas Shemen explains that from here we learn a powerful lesson.

Every effort a person invests in serving Hashem is precious. Every struggle, every small exertion, every sincere attempt rises before the Eibeshter.

Nothing is wasted.

Every effort is received Above. Every small act brings satisfaction before Hashem, who cares even for the smallest measure of a person’s effort and honor.

At times we feel that the past shapes us. It can be hard to move beyond past failures, negative tendencies, old routines, or the habit of settling for mediocrity instead of striving for strength.

Now, as we lift ourselves from the darkness of winter and transition into days of light, days of ketzirah and harvesting, we cannot forget that there is a bigger picture. There is much to accomplish. The work is great and the time is short.

We all know this. But implementing it is often difficult.

Parshas HaChodesh carries a powerful inner message: hischadshus, renewal.

A Jew is never locked into what was yesterday. Our avodah is always to move forward, to rise higher, to grow.

As we approach Parshas HaChodesh, the very word chodesh reminds us of this idea. Chodesh means renewal. It is the power to begin again. A Yid always has the ability to start fresh.

And with the koach that HaKadosh Baruch Hu gives us, with tefillah and with siyata dishmaya, we can attain and achieve things we never thought were possible. Because when a person connects himself to Hashem, nothing is beyond reach.

Like the doctor whom everyone mocked but who ultimately changed the world with the vaccine, we too can change. We can change ourselves and our destiny with a small action, a small shift.

As you read this, you may wonder: what is one small thing I can do? But the Torah reminds us that every action is cherished. Like the donations to the Mishkan, where everything was ultimately used, even when there seemed to be no place for it, our efforts and all our ameilus are desired by Hashem and bear fruit, often when we do not see it.

Dr. Jenner likely felt rejected and discouraged amid the many naysayers he faced. Yet he remained resilient and ultimately changed the world.

We too, with resilience and belief in ourselves, can change worlds, the world around us and certainly our inner world. •

He could have unraveled. Instead, he went home and said, “There’s a time for everything.” And he believed it.

Where does that kind of clarity come from? How does someone face loss without losing himself?

Parshas Terumah and the month of Adar reveal a hidden yesod: what you possess is far greater than you think. When you recognize the value of what’s already in your hands, even darkness starts to look different.

Terumah: The Biggest Mistake - Treating Silver Like Metal

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Dedicated by the Felder Family (Toms River, NJ)

Dedicated by The Fireworker Family (Nanuet, NY)
l'illui nishmas Shmuel Aryeh ben Dovid

Dedicated by The Roberts Family (Lakewood, NJ)
l'illui nishmas Chana bas Harav Shmuel z"l

Parshas Terumah 5786

This week, I spoke with someone who is not a Yid, but who left a deep impression on me. He is accomplished, intelligent, and unusually grounded. Over the years, he has built companies, served as CEO, COO, and CFO, led massive operations, and today is also a professor. From the outside, his life looked like uninterrupted success.

At one point, he paused and said, “I want to be honest. Nothing is ever as picture-perfect as it seems.” A few years ago, he was thriving at a company. Sales were soaring, expectations were being exceeded, and he was leading a large team with constant praise. June came, contract renewal time, and there was no doubt he would be staying.

But the renewal date passed. Then another day. Finally, he called the CEO to ask what was going on. The response was simple: “You’ve done great with us. But we’re not renewing.”

He told me the pain was immediate. Rejection. Agony. He went home and told his wife. And then, instead of anger or resentment, he said something that stunned me.

He told his wife, “I know there is a G-d. I know Ecclesiastes. I know לכל זמן ועת – There’s a time and place for everything. Ups and downs.”

They packed up their RV and took a weeklong trip in July to Lake Patoka with their family. He told me it was one of the most peaceful and meaningful vacations they had ever experienced.

I was stunned. I asked him directly, “You’re not Jewish. You didn’t grow up with emunah or bitachon. Where did that calm come from? That certainty?”

And he again quoted the pasuk: לכל זמן ועת. There is a time and a place for everything. G-d has a plan. He cares about me.

Then he quoted Dovid HaMelech in Tehillim:

גם כי אלך בגיא צלמות לא אירא רע כי אתה עמדי.

Even when you walk through darkness, don’t panic. Because G-d is with me.

It was a real moment of truth. A real person, with real, raw faith.

And it hit me hard.

If this person, living in the Midwest, not a Yid, can face rejection without collapsing, can transform pain into faith, and choose family over despair, what does that say to us?

We sit together, we learn the sefarim of emunah and bitachon, we strengthen each other as Jews. But hearing this clarity from someone outside our world forced me to reflect deeply. If someone without Torah can live with such perspective, then certainly we must train ourselves to do so. We must surround ourselves with Torah, immerse ourselves in it, and constantly remind ourselves Who is truly running the show.

When things don’t go our way, the correct response is recognition. There is a higher power. There are ups and downs. This is the course of life. If it could be better, it would be better. And even when I am afraid, even when I feel panic in the dark alleys of life, Hashem is holding me tighter than ever. The greener pastures will come.

THE MONTH OF ADAR

And this brings us into חודש אדר.

Adar is the month of recognition. Hashem is not openly revealed. He is נסתר, hidden. In the Megillah, His Name does not appear even once, and yet the greatest miracles unfold. So too in our lives. Often specifically when we don’t see the Divine Hand, when we feel anxious and uncertain, that is precisely when we must strengthen ourselves and remember that Hashem not only cares about us, but loves each of us personally, as if we were an only child.

And this leads us directly into this week’s parshah, which begins:

דבר אל־בני ישראל ויקחו לי תרומה מאת כל איש אשר ידבנו לבו תקחו את־תרומתי.

Speak to the children of Israel, and they shall take for Me a gift.

The Midrash comments that this refers not only to material gifts, but to Torah itself, based on the pasuk:

כי לקח טוב נתתי לכם, תורתי אל תעזבו.

The Midrash then makes a curious comparison. When someone acquires an object, sometimes it contains gold but no silver, or silver but no gold. But the Torah, Hashem says, contains both gold and silver.

Rav Gedalya Schorr asks a penetrating question. Why does the Midrash frame Torah as an acquisition? Why speak in the technical language of commerce? Why not simply say that Torah is precious?

He explains with a halachic case.

TIN OR SILVER?

There was once a man who acquired a sheet of tin roofing. Later, a neighbor noticed discoloration and discovered that beneath the tin was a layer of pure silver. The question arose: who owns the silver? The original seller or the current owner?

Rabbi Eliezer ben Yoel Halevi ruled that the current owner keeps it. Ownership can only be transferred with awareness. Since the seller never knew the silver existed, he could not have sold it. Once it was handed over, it was too late.

This, says Rav Gedalya Schorr, is the yesod of the Midrash.

An acquisition only truly exists when a person knows what he possesses. If someone owns silver but thinks it is simple metal, he will treat it casually, and once it is gone, it is gone.

The same is true with Torah.

If a person does not recognize its depth, its value, and the greatness contained within it, then his acquisition is deficient. Torah is כי הם חיינו. It is the cherished possession of the Creator, the blueprint of creation, and the lifeline of a Yid. To acquire Torah means to recognize what is truly in our hands.

Once that yesod is clear, the avodah becomes practical.

A Yid must become aware of what he possesses. Every moment of Torah and mitzvos is about building awareness, developing erech, and deepening our appreciation until Torah becomes real to us.

The more we learn, refine our middos, and strengthen our bitachon, the more we begin to see the tapestry of Hashem’s wisdom. Torah does not only reward us. It transforms us. It changes our very מהות. As the Kuzari teaches, a Yid becomes a different creation.

And then life itself changes.

When a person lives with that awareness, he no longer sees people as the source. Even the rejection, even the blow, even the CEO saying no, is not random. He sees the One behind the curtain. That is Purim. That is הסתר פנים.

The more Torah becomes real, the more we realize that what we possess is not merely wisdom or religion, but the Ribbono Shel Olam Himself.

Before you sell something, make sure you know what is inside. Don’t treat silver like metal.

The same is true with our relationship with Hashem. Time is short. Don’t waste it. Take opportunities. Enhance them. Enrich them. Make them real.

Then what once felt like an unreachable madreigah becomes attainable. A person can take a blow, experience rejection, and still say: Hashem is with me.

If a non-Jew can live with that clarity, קל וחומר us, who were given Torah, emunah, and the ability to recognize the Hand behind every moment of life, even when we don’t see it.

The greatest tragedy is not losing the silver. The greatest tragedy is never realizing it was silver in the first place.

The avodah of Adar, of Parshas Terumah, and of life itself is to see the hidden worth beneath the surface, and to remember that what we hold is the greatest acquisition possible: the Ribbono Shel Olam Himself. •

Because Torah wasn’t given to angels. It was given to people in the middle of the mess.

Parshas Shekalim and Mishpatim reveal a quiet, unsettling truth: the struggle isn’t a detour. It’s the point.

Mishpatim: G-d Knows Your Struggles

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Dedicated by Yehuda & Ricki Weiss (Jackson, NJ)
l’ilui nishmas Yisroel Dov ben Yehuda Tzvi

Dedicated by CB & Eithan Pfeiffer (Wesley Hills, NY)
in honor of the bris of their grandson

Parshas Mishpatim 5786

The Maharal asks a fundamental question regarding last week’s parshah. We had just received the Torah at Har Sinai, standing at the highest possible spiritual level. The revelation was sublime, with thunder, lightning, and the Kisei HaKavod, a moment of ultimate holiness.

So why, immediately afterward, does the Torah begin Parshas Mishpatim with laws of damages, theft, and slavery? Why move from such transcendence directly into the most practical and challenging areas of human life?

To answer this, we turn to the Gemara in Shabbos 88b. When Moshe ascended to receive the Torah, the malachim protested. Such a precious treasure, they argued, belonged in Heaven. Hashem told Moshe to respond. Afraid, Moshe was instructed to grasp the Kisei HaKavod.

Moshe explained that the Torah speaks to human struggle: slavery, work, jealousy, Shabbos, honoring parents, and the yetzer hara. Since the Torah addresses earthly challenges, it was given to human beings, not angels. The malachim conceded.

THE DEBATE IN HEAVEN

The Maharal asks: Why the Kisei HaKavod? What was so significant about it? What changed when Moshe grasped it? He further asks: When Moshe Rabbeinu answered the malachim, he argued that the Torah speaks to human struggle. He asked them, “Do you have parents? Do you experience jealousy? Do you work? Do you have a yetzer hara? Do you struggle with murder, theft, or avodah zarah?” The angels had no answer and conceded. Why did they concede so completely? True, the angels do not have physical desires to kill or serve idols. But could they not have argued on a more refined level? Even if they do not commit gross physical aveiros, perhaps there is some subtle spiritual parallel, some trace of jealousy or deviation from pure unity, that exists even in the upper worlds. Why, then, did they not respond on that level? Why was this Moshe’s decisive answer?

THE IMAGE ENGRAVED ON THE THRONE

The Maharal explains that this was a purely spiritual debate. The malachim claimed the Torah had no place in the realm of basar v’dam. By instructing Moshe to grasp the Kisei HaKavod, Hashem revealed a profound truth: the image of man is engraved upon the Heavenly throne itself.

Even in Shamayim, there is recognition of the human being as he truly is — flesh and blood, living with struggle and choice.

A malach has no yetzer hara and no internal conflict. Its holiness is inherent. A human being, however, is a fusion of body and soul. His greatness lies not in automatic purity, but in choosing good despite struggle. That potential elevates him beyond a malach.

This is why Moshe grasped the Kisei HaKavod — to demonstrate that the Torah belongs in a world where struggle exists.

HOLINESS THAT IS EARNED

Once Moshe revealed this distinction, the malachim understood. Their holiness flows naturally from their essence. A human being’s holiness is earned — through effort, pressure, temptation, and perseverance.

Even if angels could identify some abstract spiritual parallel to sin, it would not change the essence of the matter. The Torah was not designed for beings whose holiness is automatic. It was given for beings whose holiness must be earned.

With this understanding, we return to our question: Why does the Torah, immediately after Matan Torah, move into the halachos of eved Ivri, nezikin, theft, and capital cases?

THE TORAH FOR REAL LIFE

Because the Torah was given to human beings.

Immediately after the revelation at Har Sinai, the Torah turns to slavery, financial disputes, responsibility, and failure. It addresses parnasah pressures, jealousy, negligence, and human weakness.

Hashem is saying: I know the world you live in. I know it is filled with nisyonos, strain, temptation, and setbacks. Imo anochi b’tzarah — I am with him in his distress.

The Torah is not detached from reality. It was tailor-made for it. Not for malachim in a realm of flawless light, but for human beings who rise precisely because they struggle.

And even there, especially there, we remain a Mamleches Kohanim and a goy kadosh.

SHABBOS SHEKALIM AND REAL CHANGE

In the Gemara, the word שקל is understood as “to take.” The Chiddushei HaRim explains that Shabbos Shekalim is a zeman mesugal for a person to take himself in both hands.

It is a time for real change, a time for a person to take hold of himself and become different.

Rav Meilech Biederman relates: Reb Mordechai, a travel agent who travels often, once had enough points to upgrade to first class by adding one hundred shekels. Curious to experience it, he decided to go for it.

Although he was not wealthy, during the flight he felt like a millionaire. His seat was wide and comfortable, and he kept adjusting the buttons to find the perfect position. He enjoyed the special treatment that began already at the airport, where he bypassed the regular lines and was assisted by a dedicated agent for first-class travelers.

Meanwhile, a Yid flying economy slipped into the first-class section and looked around. Upon seeing Reb Mordechai, he remarked, “Oh, it’s just that schlepper.”

At that moment, all the air went out of him. The feeling of wealth disappeared instantly. He realized he had only been playing the part. Someone who knew him saw the reality.

He later reflected that it is not enough to feel wealthy or to act wealthy. If you want to feel rich, the reality has to be real. Otherwise, the illusion cannot last, and the truth will eventually show who you really are.

Shabbos Shekalim is a time to take ourselves in hand, to do teshuvah and truly improve. If a person makes only superficial changes while remaining the same inside, he remains the same schlepper. Real growth requires real change. Now is the time.

The juxtaposition of Shabbos Shekalim and Mishpatim is not coincidental. At this zeman mesugal, when we face life’s nisyonos, moments that feel lonely, dark, or uncertain, we are reminded of who we are and what we have. We are Hashem’s beloved nation. We received the Torah from the malachim. It was not for them; it was for us, for our mortal struggles, trials, and challenges.

Hashem is fully aware of our struggles. The Torah was given for the real world, for human beings who face temptation, pressure, mistakes, and conflict. Hashem sees our struggles, understands our nisyonos, and accompanies us through them.

Even in the midst of difficulty, we can rise, live with kedushah, and remain a Mamleches Kohanim and a goy kadosh, because Hashem is fully aware of man’s struggles. After all, there is an image of man engraved on His Kisei HaKavod. •