Libi BaMizrach

This week’s Torah portion, Tetzaveh, is almost entirely devoted to clothing. Not ordinary clothing. The Bigdei Kehunah — the priestly garments — described in painstaking, almost overwhelming detail. Fabrics, colors, threads of gold, precise measurements, engraved stones, woven patterns. Page after page of wardrobe specifications. Make holy garments for your brother Aharon, for honor and for splendor  (Shemot 28:2). Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch notes that K avod — honor — expresses the essential moral and spiritual content of a person’s character. Tiferet — splendor — is the external beauty that makes that inner character visible and esteemed as it should be. The garments were not mere decoration. They were a visible manifestation of the meaning of the Kehunah itself. In fact, the garments were not optional. A Kohen who performed the service without them was disqualified. Without the garments, he was just another individual acting out of personal impulse. The sanctuary was not meant ...

The Ten Commandments occupy a unique and exalted place in the Torah. Much has been written by our sages about why these ten, of all mitzvot, were chosen to be proclaimed at Sinai and engraved on the Tablets. Without entering that broader discussion, it is clear that their selection reflects their foundational role in shaping Jewish belief and moral life. Some of the commandments are readily understood. Others require deeper reflection. Perhaps the most difficult of all is the final one: Lo Sachmod — “You shall not covet.” What does this commandment actually demand of us? What if a thought simply pops into my head: My neighbor has a beautiful home, a car, a cow — or even a wife — and I wish that were mine. Have I already transgressed the prohibition against coveting? I can’t help it! My brain is wired this way. I see something, I like it, I wish it were mine. What fault is it of mine that the thought arose at all? Isn’t that just simple human nature? This is a classic question, raise...

On a recent visit to the United States, I felt an unfamiliar disorientation. It began with the mundane: a quick trip to the grocery store and the shock of seeing how much more expensive everything felt compared to just a year or two ago. But it was a frum podcast that truly unsettled me. The hosts casually asserted that an average Orthodox family earning less than $250,000 annually is not merely struggling but verging on poverty — and that true financial security requires at least $400,000 a year. I listened, baffled. I have never earned anything close to that so-called “poverty line,” and yet I raised five children, paid tuition, married them off, and even managed to send some to camp. My instinct was to dismiss the discussion as an affluent echo chamber — the language of a small segment of the community projected onto everyone else. Conversations with friends, relatives, and acquaintances quickly disabused me of that notion. Far from rejecting the figure, many endorsed it, describi...

A study of Parashat Vayishlach   We arrive at Parashat Vayishlach during a week — during an era — in which the Jewish people again find themselves standing at a frightening crossroads. Antisemitism is erupting across European capitals, college campuses, major American cities, and international institutions. Israel is slandered with the gravest accusations — “genocide,” “ethnic cleansing” — even as the world closes its eyes to the barbarism of Hamas, the complicity of large segments of Gaza’s population, and far worse atrocities taking place around the globe. In moments like these, many Jews instinctively recoil. History has trained us to do so. Perhaps if we apologize more, soften our voice, retreat from the public square, and signal enough contrition, maybe the antisemites will leave us alone. Maybe the nations will look upon us more kindly. But the Torah this week teaches the opposite. Yaakov’s Strategy — Necessary Then, Dangerous Now When Yaakov returns to face Esav, he pr...

On the eve of Yom Kippur, I sit and wonder what my dear friend, Rav Dov Fisher z”l, might be thinking.  He passed away last night, yet due to the sanctity of Yom Kippur and Shabbat, he will not be laid to rest next to his beloved Ellen in the Eretz HaChaim cemetery outside Bet Shemesh until Sunday. In this liminal space between worlds, his extraordinary soul hovers—neither fully of this world nor entirely of the next—as the world stands in judgment. From such a vantage point, Rav Dov may well be engaging his brilliant analytical mind, observing humanity with clarity and insight, as only he could. What must feel most foreign to him now is the silence. As a new member of the “Yordei Dumah”(those who descend into silence, Tehillim 115:117) club, . he can no longer share his thoughts, write his essays, or articulate his views to the many who cherished his voice. That silence may be the hardest adjustment of all. [As an aside, given that no man is entirely without fault, may this enfor...

  בס"ד It is the beginning of the seven weeks of Nechama. We typically understand Nechama to mean consolation—something we, as a Nation, desperately need after the tragic events commemorated on Tisha B’Av. This past Shabbos I was privileged to hear a talk by Rav Karmi Gross, Rosh Yeshiva of Derech Chaim , (One of the only Chareidi Yeshivot Hesder) who offered a deeper perspective. He pointed out that the Hebrew word Nechama often appears in the Torah with the meaning “to rethink” or “to reconsider.” The first instance is in Parshas Bereishis (6:5): וַיִּנָּחֶם ה' כִּי עָשָׂה אֶת הָאָדָם—Hashem reconsidered His decision to create Man. Rav Gross suggested that this period is not only about consolation, but also about introspection and reevaluation — especially the notion that perhaps I am not always right, and the other is not entirely wrong. Such humility is essential, because when we view the other side as completely mistaken, we feel no obligation to compromise or reflect. Th...

As we enter the period of the Four Parshiyot, which ushers in the Pesach season—a time when we long for Geulah (Redemption) more than any other—we begin with Parshat Shekalim. This parsha mandates that every man in Israel, rich or poor, donate exactly half a shekel to the Sanctuary. Rav Hirsch explains that a half-shekel, rather than a whole, signifies that we cannot achieve our goals alone; only by partnering with others can we fulfill our fundamental needs, such as the daily Tamid offerings, the most crucial sacrifices brought by Am Yisrael. Wags joke that the timing of Parshat Shekalim coincides with the impending Pesach expenses, urging us to get our shekels ready. But in truth, the deeper lesson is that shared responsibility for national burdens is a prerequisite for Geulah. Only when everyone participates equally and values each other's contributions can we hope to achieve redemption. This message resonated deeply as I reflected on two contrasting events this past week. The f...