What happens when you pour one liquid into another, from a higher source into a lower one? At what point do they mix? And if you stop the flow midstream, what’s the status?
The Mishna gives us a fascinating rule: If both liquids are the same temperature, they stay separate, even mid-pour. But if the lower liquid is hot and steamy, and the upper is cold, something changes. The lower liquid heats and "cooks" the upper one. In halachic terms, the identity of the upper liquid is transformed by the lower.
Here’s the powerful message hidden in this law:
Real change doesn’t necessarily have to come from above. It primarily comes from below.
If we want to grow, we must ignite our soul. We need to be fired up, stirred with passion and purpose. That inner spark is what transforms us—not something poured onto us from above. Not advice, inspiration, influence, or even holiness from the outside. Real change rises from within.
It is even more striking when we pay attention to another detail of this law. What if the liquid being poured is pure and is being mixed with impure liquid? The law is the same—it’s the lower, impure liquid that defines the mixture. The pure becomes impure.
In life, too, change often begins by hitting rock bottom. That moment when things get messy, when we’re at our lowest, that’s when something sparks inside. And when a person turns themselves around from that place, no one else can take credit. There is no “holy water” that can be sprinkled from above. The transformation comes from within.
And here’s the beauty: A person who finds that inner fire doesn’t just warm themselves, they become a source of motivation for others. They inspire those who are still cold, lost, and searching, to rise up and start their own transformation.
Because when change bubbles up from below, it can reach even higher than anything poured from above.
Take the plunge and make a change.
Shabbat Shalom.
Rabbi Shaya's Thoughts
From the Bottom Up
The Unsung Heroes Among Us
This week, in the middle of the night while almost everyone was asleep, a group of workers was busy repairing the water mains on the street in front of Chabad. These workers labored tirelessly, often without anyone even noticing. Watching them made me reflect on all the people who work behind the scenes and don’t always receive the recognition they deserve.
This idea connects to a powerful lesson from this week’s Torah portion, Vayikrah. The portion discusses the various offerings brought during Temple times—animals, flour, salt, wine, and oil. A person could bring one or all of these items, and each was considered an offering because it was placed on the altar.
Since all the offerings were burned on the altar, wood was needed to sustain the fire. This raises an interesting question: If someone brought wood as an offering, was it considered a true gift, or was it merely a necessity to keep the altar functioning?
The argument is made that not only should the wood be counted as an offering, but in some ways, it is the most significant one. Not because it stands out, but precisely because it remains in the background.
Let me explain. The purpose of bringing an offering is to symbolize offering oneself to G-d—to cultivate humility before Him. Since we cannot sacrifice ourselves, we bring an offering in our place. However, when giving a gift or making a contribution, it is often difficult to avoid feeling a sense of pride, even if only internally. And that pride, however subtle, can become an obstacle to fully closing the gap between ourselves and G-d. True humility remains incomplete when recognition or personal satisfaction is attached to our giving.
Wood, on the other hand, comes with no fanfare. It is cut in the forest, delivered through the back door, and burned to ashes. What pride can one take in it? None. And that is precisely the goal.
Just like the workers who labor through the night without expecting recognition, we too can strive to give selflessly, not for popularity or acknowledgment, but simply because it is the right thing to do.
As we approach Passover—the time when we eat matzah, the bread of humility, the food of the poor—it is the perfect opportunity to reflect on how we can contribute to making the world a better place, even when no one is watching.
Wishing you a Shabbat Shalom and a Happy Passover!