He built a company from the ground up. Success. Growth. Respect. Then one phone call in June—and it was over. No renewal. No explanation.
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.
Listen on: 
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. •
