Dedicated by Anonymous (Lakewood, NJ) לזכות רפואה שלמה - נפתלי בן תמר חיה

Parshas Korach 5786

After the war, the Klausenberger Rebbe was living in the DP camps. Having lost his wife and eleven children to the Nazis, he spent his days trying to strengthen survivors and help them rebuild. There was one young boy who had been through more than most adults could imagine. He had thrown away his yarmulke, his tzitzis, and any connection to Yiddishkeit. Many people tried speaking to him, but nothing got through.

Someone suggested bringing him to the Klausenberger Rebbe, who had known the boy’s family before the war. The boy did whatever he could to get out of the meeting, but eventually relented. He was angry. He had lost everyone and everything, but at the same time, he had no sense of security and nowhere to turn, so he figured, what more could he possibly lose?

So the boy came, and the Rebbe immediately sensed the broken boy’s pain. The anguish and fear were written all over his face, and the boy was clear that he did not want to be in the presence of the Rebbe.

The Rebbe knew he had a mission. He knew this boy needed only one thing, and that was love and validation.

The Rebbe, knowing his time to impact this young, precious, and very shattered little boy was limited, looked at him and said, “You’re from that family, aren’t you?” The boy picked up his head and nodded.

The Rebbe continued, “I remember you when you were younger. How you were so sweet, singing and swaying to the words of your Chumash, what nachas you brought to your parents, how sweet and delightful you were.”

The boy knew exactly what the Rebbe was referring to. He knew exactly which boy the Rebbe was referring to. And again, the young boy, tears beginning to swirl in his eyes, once again nodded at the Rebbe.

Then the Rebbe, with authority and love, placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and quietly said, “You’re angry, right?” The boy looked up and nodded again.

“You’re angry because they took the best ones.”

The young, angry boy, now sobbing, cried, “Yes, Rebbe. They took everything. My parents, my siblings. I can’t. I simply can’t bear the pain.”

The Rebbe’s eyes filled with tears. His voice choked as he looked at the boy and replied, “What should I say? I lost a wife and eleven children. They took the best ones from me too. But you know what, young boy? Listen. They left us, me and you.”

The Rebbe began to cry, and the boy cried with him. The Rebbe held the boy, and after a while, the Rebbe sent him on his way.

THE REBBE TOUCHED HIS HEART

A few days later, the boy put his tzitzis back on. Not long after that, he started putting on tefillin again.

No one could understand what had happened. So many had tried to be mechazek, to talk to and reach the young boy. What did the Rebbe do?

Years later, he explained what happened: “Everyone else spoke to my head. The Rebbe touched my heart.”

The Klausenberger Rebbe, whose yahrzeit is coming up this week on Wednesday, 9 Tammuz, embodied a quality that lies at the heart of Parshas Korach. It is the very quality that allowed Moshe Rabbeinu to remain Moshe Rabbeinu even while hundreds of people were trying to tear him down.

MOSHE WAS NOT FIGHTING FOR HIMSELF

Korach was not just one upset individual. He gathered 250 respected leaders together with Dasan and Aviram and launched a full-scale challenge against Moshe’s leadership. They questioned him publicly. They accused him publicly. They sought to remove him from his position.

Yet Moshe’s reaction is astonishing. The Torah does not tell us that he defended himself. It does not tell us that he fought back. It does not tell us that he tried to hold onto power. Instead, “וישמע משה ויפול על פניו” — Moshe heard, and he fell on his face.

Why? Because Moshe was never fighting for himself.

At first glance, Korach’s argument sounds noble. “כי כל העדה כולם קדושים” — the entire nation is holy. Why should Moshe and Aharon stand above everyone else?

But beneath the argument was a simple question: Why them and not me? Korach was focused on his position. On what he thought he deserved. On the honor he felt was being withheld from him.

Moshe was focused on something entirely different. Not himself. Not his position. Not his honor. Only on Hashem’s will and what Klal Yisrael needed.

Now we can understand Moshe’s seemingly bizarre response. “וישמע משה ויפול על פניו” — Moshe heard, and he fell on his face.

Imagine a board meeting where the CEO is being challenged by hundreds of employees. Imagine a president being publicly accused by his cabinet. Imagine a shul where a group stands up and questions the rabbi’s authority in front of the entire congregation. What would we expect the response to be? A speech. A defense. A rebuttal. A show of strength.

Moshe Rabbeinu is being fiercely attacked. His authority is being challenged. Hundreds of people have joined a rebellion against him. His leadership is hanging in the balance.

And what does he do? “וישמע משה ויפול על פניו” — Moshe heard, and he fell on his face.

What kind of response is that?

The answer is that Moshe was never fighting for himself. It was never about power, prestige, or recognition. It all centered on serving Hashem and serving Klal Yisrael.

STRENGTH OVER HIMSELF

That is why Moshe could fall on his face. If someone attacks my position, I have to defend it. If someone attacks my honor, I have to protect it. But if the role was never about me to begin with, then there is nothing to defend.

In many ways, falling on his face was the greatest display of strength.

Not strength against Korach. Strength over himself.

There is a remarkable hisbatlus in that moment. As the accusations fly and his leadership hangs by a hairsbreadth, Moshe removes himself from the center of the story and places Hashem there instead.

This is similar to Aharon HaKohen’s response after the death of his sons: “וידם אהרן.” Aharon’s silence was not weakness. It was one of the greatest demonstrations of emunah and bitachon in the Torah. The silence was his submission.

So too with Moshe. His falling was not surrender to Korach. It was submission to Hashem.

MAKING ROOM FOR ANOTHER’S PAIN

Perhaps this is exactly what the Klausenberger Rebbe understood. A person consumed with himself has little room for anyone else. But a person who has achieved true humility, true hisbatlus, can carry the pain of others because he is no longer occupied with his own.

The Klausenberger Rebbe had every reason to be trapped in his own suffering. He had lost his wife and eleven children. Yet when that broken boy sat before him, the Rebbe was not focused on himself. He was focused on the child. He did not argue. He did not preach. He simply made room for another person’s pain. He saw the child he had been and the man he could become.

That is the common thread between the Rebbe and Moshe Rabbeinu. Korach’s question was, “What about me?” Moshe’s answer was, “It was never about me.” That is why Moshe could fall on his face. That is why the Rebbe could cry with a broken child. Both had transcended themselves and devoted their lives to something larger.

The boy came expecting another lecture. Instead, he met someone who understood. Someone who had room in his heart for another Jew. That is why the Rebbe succeeded where everyone else failed. Everyone else spoke to the boy’s mind. The Rebbe spoke to his heart.

While most of us will never lead a nation like Moshe Rabbeinu or rebuild lives like the Klausenberger Rebbe, every one of us is a leader in someone’s life. A spouse. A parent. A child. A friend. A student. A coworker. A neighbor. Someone is affected by our words, our actions, and our presence.

The question is not whether we lead. The question is what kind of leaders we will be. Will we be occupied with ourselves, our honor, our opinions, and our needs? Or will we make room for Hashem and for the people around us?

At times, the people who bring the most light into the world are not the most talented, charismatic, or accomplished. They are the people who create space for others. People who listen. People who are present. People who genuinely care. People who can put themselves aside long enough to truly feel another person’s pain, and in doing so, make others feel seen, heard, understood, and valued.

That is what leadership is really about. It is about caring more about the mission than the credit, more about other people than yourself, and more about serving the King than protecting your own crown.

Give your heart, even when it’s hard. You never know what world it can build. •