Rabbi Shaya's Thoughts

Many books have been written with the intention of explaining the secret to one's success. If we just did one thing differently, our world would change for the better. This idea is found across Jewish texts as well. The difference is that within the countless tales of ordinary Jews experiencing small miracles and, sometimes, great success, these moments often stem from just one small mitzvah they have done. 

The first time we see this phenomenon is in this week’s Torah portion, Vayechi. When Joseph hears that his father is on his deathbed, he brings his two sons, Menashe and Effraim, to him for a blessing. Instead of blessing his grandsons, whom he knows well, Jacob asks, "Who are these?" Jacob had to have known who was standing in front of him, so what did he mean by this question? 

Commentators point out that he knew who was present but saw a certain glow—something special over the heads of his grandchildren. He wondered: What is it about them that gives them this light? There must have been something Joseph had done that was extraordinary. 

Joseph, not fully grasping his father’s question, gave him the best possible answer. He showed him his Ketubah, his marriage contract. 

We should bear in mind that this was before the laws of marriage were instituted, so there was no requirement for a Ketubah. Yet Joseph, in his effort to do everything right—and then some—had a Ketubah anyway. 

This act was Joseph’s secret sauce. 

Each and every one of us has opportunities in life to do what is right and what is expected of us. However, we also know the little extra things that we can add. When we do just a little more, the results are even greater. It is the small things that make us unique and special. 

Shabbat Shalom

There’s a well-known saying that your honeymoon should never end. Others express this sentiment differently, suggesting that one should remarry their spouse three times throughout
their life. These phrases carry profound wisdom beyond the obvious. If love and care are present in a relationship, what more is there to strive for? Certainly, we should never grow
weary of nurturing our bond—but why the emphasis on three times? Perhaps it should be even more?

Judaism offers a powerful teaching rooted in this week’s Torah portion, Vayigash: “Kol Yisrael arevim zeh b’zeh,” meaning, all Jews are responsible for one another. This principle emerges
from the story of Judah pledging to his father that he will act as a guarantor for his brother Benjamin on their journey to Egypt.

What exactly does it mean to be a guarantor? And why is this concept significant?

To fully grasp this idea, let’s revisit its origin. When someone borrows money, they often require a guarantor to reassure the lender that the debt will be repaid if the borrower cannot
fulfill their obligation. 

There are three ways to interpret such a commitment:
1. The guarantor assumes financial responsibility. If the borrower fails to repay, the guarantor covers the debt.
2. The guarantor acts as a stand-in for the borrower. It’s as though the guarantor themselves took out the loan.
3. The guarantor and borrower are viewed as one entity. They share an inseparable connection, akin to partners in the obligation.

This concept can be likened to our own bodies. Should we prioritize the health of one part to safeguard another, or is the relationship more interconnected? Whether it’s your foot or your
head, it’s all part of you. On an even deeper level, there’s no distinction—each organ is intrinsically part of your being.

When applied to meaningful relationships, especially between spouses (though it extends to
many commitments), this idea unfolds in stages:
1. The initial phase involves two individuals who pledge to support each other. They promise to have each other’s backs but remain distinct entities.
2. The second phase sees one partner stepping in for the other when needed. The relationship evolves beyond ensuring good outcomes; it becomes a shared endeavor.
3. The highest phase transcends individuality. The connection deepens to a point where the two are no longer separate; they are united as one. 

This progression mirrors the “remarriage” concept, symbolizing the transformative stages of a relationship as it matures and deepens.

These ideas resonate not only in marriages but in friendships and even more so, in our relationship with the Divine. They remind us of that commitment, when nurtured, it will evolve
into a bond of profound unity.

May this year bring meaningful connections and deeper relationships in all aspects of life.

Shabbat Shalom!

 As we gather with family and friends to celebrate the joy of Chanukah, it's essential to cherish these precious moments. Yet, we all know how easily tensions can rise during holiday gatherings. Someone might frustrate us, leaving us thinking, “This person is really getting in my hair!”

This week’s Torah portion, Miketz, offers us some timeless wisdom. While Joseph is in prison, he is summoned to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams. Before entering Pharaoh's chamber, Joseph undergoes a transformation as he prepares to meet the king: he gets a haircut and a change of clothes.

Why does the Torah emphasize these seemingly mundane details?

Practically speaking, prison attire is hardly fit for a king's court. But mentioning Joseph’s haircut seems unnecessary—he was known to be handsome and took meticulous care of his appearance. After two years of waiting for this moment, it’s likely that Joseph kept his hair in top shape. So why highlight the haircut?

On a deeper level, hair symbolizes what’s external to us, yet still connected. Spiritually, Joseph’s haircut represents more than grooming—it reflects a "shearing" of his ego. Despite his well-earned reputation, he approaches Pharaoh with humility, his new attire signaling a shift in attitude.

This story offers us a lesson for holiday gatherings (and life!). When someone gets under our skin—or in our hair—we can pause and take a metaphorical “haircut.” Trimming a bit of our pride can help us respond with humility, transforming tension into meaningful connection.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Chanukah!

 Have you ever wondered how the pieces of our lives fit together? Sometimes, it feels like we're caught in random events, but when we take a step back, patterns begin to emerge—connections between what seem like unrelated moments. This week’s Torah portion, Vayeshev, offers a profound lesson in seeing the bigger picture.

The Torah portion recounts Joseph's trial with Potiphar’s wife, who tried to seduce him. Despite resisting her, she slandered him, leading to his imprisonment. Meanwhile, Pharaoh’s baker and butler were also thrown into prison, where they encountered Joseph. He interpreted their dreams, which ultimately paved the way for his release and rise to power as the viceroy of Egypt.

At first glance, this sequence of events appears straightforward. But if we pause, we can find a hidden thread connecting these moments. Why does the Torah use the phrase Achar HaDevarim HaEleh, meaning “after these occurrences?” It suggests a link between Joseph’s ordeal and the baker and butler’s imprisonment, yet the wording implies they are unrelated. A deeper look reveals a fascinating insight.

The phrase can also be read as “after these words.” This hints at the gossip that spread following Joseph’s encounter with Potiphar’s wife. To silence the rumors and redirect attention, G-d orchestrated the imprisonment of the baker and butler. The gossip shifted, creating the conditions for Joseph’s eventual freedom and success.

This story teaches us about Divine Providence—that every moment, even those that seem unrelated or difficult, is part of a grand design. Joseph’s integrity in the face of temptation set off a chain reaction that led to his triumph.

The same is true in our lives. When we reflect on our experiences, we begin to see how each moment, good or challenging, serves a purpose. All we need to do is connect the dots.

There are times when we are faced with a choice of how to act, in a practical way or a meaningful way. Then there are the times when we can have both, practical yet meaningful, all wrapped into one. The best scenario is when this same act also coincides with our value system.  

In this week’s Torah portion, Vayishlach, we read about Jacob as he returned to Israel and settled in Shechem. To establish a home for his family, he purchased a parcel of land where they would pitch their tents. The Torah tells us he paid one hundred kesita, equivalent to five shekalim. To put this in perspective, it’s like saying he paid one hundred nickels rather than saying five dollars. Since five shekalim was already a small amount, why did the Torah use the even smaller denomination of kesita? 

The term kesita is rarely used in the Torah to describe currency. However, the Torah chooses this word to emphasize something deeper and more meaningful: while the land was not expensive, Jacob paid with kesita coins because they held additional value. These coins were often crafted into jewelry, making them more valuable and desirable than their face value alone. 

Jacob’s choice was intentional. He wanted to demonstrate his deep love for the land of Israel. By using a coin with intrinsic value, he elevated a practical transaction into a meaningful gesture. He not only purchased the land but also imparted a message about its significance, teaching us how much he valued it. The coins themselves, destined to be used in jewelry, symbolized a payment that extended beyond its monetary worth. 

A lesson that we can incorporate into our lives is that when given the chance to add value to our actions, we should—especially when it involves the holy land of Israel. Like Jacob, we can transform even ordinary moments into opportunities to express our deepest values and leave a lasting impact. 

Let’s not miss those opportunities. 

As election season unfolds and our mailboxes fill with campaign ads, each side seems more eager to highlight the other’s faults than their own merits. Some ads are even comedic in their intensity, like when each side claims to be the only true ally of Israel, while casting doubt on the other’s loyalty. This back-and-forth invites an important reflection: Is our reaction to others’ faults actually a reflection of our own character?

Judaism teaches that life is like a mirror, encouraging us to look within when we notice faults in others. So, if we find ourselves thinking poorly of a candidate (or anyone), could it reveal something about ourselves? Rather than casting judgment, we might consider whether these observations are opportunities to grow and refine our own character.

Conversely, If I notice a fault in someone I care about, it may not mean I share that flaw. Instead, I may speak up simply to help them become a better person. But how can we approach this without judgment? The answer lies in “compassionate differentiation”—distinguishing the person from the behavior. 

Judgment is easy when someone behaves poorly, but what if our first instinct was compassion? Imagine noticing a problem and, instead of judging, asking how we might support or understand the person better. Circumstances influence behavior, and while they don’t excuse negative actions, they offer context, helping us respond with empathy.

This week’s Torah portion, Noach, shares a story that beautifully illustrates this point. After leaving the ark, Noach gets drunk and acts irresponsibly. His son Ham mocks him, exposing his vulnerability. However, Ham’s brothers, Shem and Japheth, react differently. They cover their father’s nakedness without even looking at him in a disrespectful way. The Torah emphasizes this, with the repetition, “they did not see their father’s nakedness,” teaching us a profound lesson: They acknowledged the issue without judgment. Though aware of the situation, they responded with dignity, as if they hadn’t even seen anything inappropriate.

From this story, we learn that when we encounter faults, it’s not only what we see but how we interpret and speak about it that matters. Let’s aim to practice through this compassionate lens, especially with those close to us. 

Shabbat Shalom!

 With more than one hundred hostages still in captivity, we may start to wonder why G-d is ignoring our prayers. Jews around the world are concerned about the hostages—they pray for their release daily and do Mitzvot on their behalf, but there is no answer. As a Jews who pray to G-d, we might start to wonder if G-d is even listening. 

Let’s take a closer look at the idea of prayer. Why do we pray and how do we pray? 

This week’s Torah portion of Va’etchanan starts by telling us how Moses prayed to G-d for permission to enter the Holy Land of Israel. After all, he led the Jews for forty years, so why should he be denied the prize? 

The sages tell us that Moses prayed more than five hundred times, meaning that he used that number of pleas to G-d. He must have beseeched G-d from every angle, and he was not granted his one request.   

To appreciate what Moses was trying to accomplish, it is worth looking at the etymology of the word that the Torah uses to express Moses’s prayer, Va’etchanan.  This word can be understood mean Chinun, or Techina, i.e. praying, beseeching or demanding. Or it can come from the word Chinam. “free”. 

Moses’s prayer took a two-pronged approach: Either answer my prayer because I deserve it, or give it to me for free. 

Let’s unpack this idea. 

When we pray, we usually ask for something because we feel we deserve it. We want our hostages free. We want this person to be healed, and so on. However, if we believe that everything is in G-d’s hands, maybe we should just accept the outcome of our prayers and just say that this is G-d’s plan.  

That is why there is another approach. We call out to G-d and say, give it to us for free, as a gift. We are ready to admit that we might not be worthy of the blessings, but that does not mean that G-d shouldn’t grant us our request “just because” we asked for it. After all, G-d is the Almighty and He can accomplish whatever He wants, whether we are deserving or not.

Here lies the power of prayer.  

Prayer, on a deeper level, expresses the idea that we comprehend that everything is in G-d’s hands. With prayer, we are letting Him know what we need and want. We are also ready to acknowledge that we might not deserve what we are asking for; nevertheless, by recognizing that G-d is G-d. we are letting Him know that He can do as He wishes, just because. 

With prayers that our requests should be fulfilled for the good. 

"Do not fear him, for I have delivered him, his people, and his land into your hand. You shall do to him as you did to Sihon the king of the Amorites.” 

People don’t like war since many lives are lost on all sides. Yet, we know that at times it is necessary. One of the challenging aspects of close-quarter combat is that you are looking the enemy in the eye and you know that you are about to kill someone, and that this person has a family back home.

Looking at the challenges of war a little more closely, we know that each person, even bad people, have some merit. When facing the enemy, how is a soldier to know who has more merit, the soldier or the enemy? How does one know if they will be successful vs. the enemy? Maybe the enemy one is fighting is a better person?

Toward the end of this week’s Torah portion of Chukat, we see how Moses struggled with this dilemma. Moses feared trying to kill Og, the king of Bashan, thinking that maybe Og had some merit that could protect him from Moses.

In the verse above, G-d tells Moses not to fear him and to just get the job done. 

It is interesting to note that unlike the other wars where kings were killed, when it came to Og, G-d put the onus of responsibility squarely on Moses’s shoulders.

Why?

The Jews had complete faith in G-d that Og would be killed; it was only Moses who feared that he might be spared. Since he know that Og had done a lot of good in his life, Moses was concerned that his merits could protect him.

It is because of this lack of faith that G-d gave the job specifically to Moses to send a message loud and clear. 

The moment Og challenged the Jews, all of his merit got wiped away. G-d in essence was saying: Do not mess with the Jews! From the moment that you do, all the good that you did in your life will not protect you.

Moses also wanted to make a statement for all the Jewish people.

His doubts were his alone. He did not try to convince the Jewish people to lose hope; just the opposite, in fact—he wanted to let the Jews know that although he had second thoughts, even though we see clearly that Og had no merit left. After he challenged the Jews, he himself would take care of the business on hand.

Here we learn a very powerful lesson in leadership.

A leader, although possibly indecisive about a certain issue, should not make it everyone else’s problem, and when the leader realizes that their worries were unfounded, they should take action themselves, not shirk their responsibility.

We are all leaders in our own way. Let us not allow fear of what is right to get in the way.

Shabbat Shalom

As the election season heats up, we are starting to hear commentary on the subject matter of how we should or shouldn’t be influenced by the “handshake” between a politician and a child. After all, the reason why they interact publicly with children is so they are viewed as a compassionate and caring leader.  

This got me thinking: What happens if the same politician, during a speech, calls directly to that same child to ask for some water. Chances are that the kid would run to fetch a bottle of water. However, if the politician just said, “I need some water” into the mic without pointing out anyone in particular, what are the chances that it would be the child who would bring the water? I would venture to guess that an aide would do so.

The difference between these two scenarios is that one was a personal request to an individual, while the other was just a statement. 

This brings us to this week’s Torah portion of Tzav. In Hebrew as well as in English, there are a few word choices to select from when stating that one person is speaking to another, including “speak,” “say,” and “request.”  Each meaning can denote a kind way of speaking, a harsher way of communicating, and a nice, yet firm, form of getting one’s message across. 

The Hebrew word “Tzav” connotes the idea that “I want this thing,” as with the politician when talking to the child. The request is clear and directed. Although the child might not understand why they are being singled out, that doesn’t matter; what does matter is that the request is directed toward them. This in and of itself creates a bond between the two people.

The same is true between us and G-d. When He just gives a command to do this or that Mitzvah, we can remove ourselves from the picture and say to ourselves, let someone else do it. Yes, G-d wants all of us to fulfill this Mitzvah, but we can disassociate ourselves from it. However, when there is a personal request, we feel the urgency of the matter, as well as a greater to desire to listen. 

This is why we value tzdakah (giving charity), as G-d made clear to us that giving charity is not only something that He is telling us to do, or even just suggesting, but something that He demands from us. 

Interestingly, another meaning of the word Tzav—which is related to the word Mitzvah—is Tzavta, which means connection.  When we observe a mitzvah, especially one that was requested of us, we truly become connected to G-d.

​

What does it take to educate a child? There are many theories as to what subjects to teach, when to begin formal education, and the method by which the child should learn.   

The “what, when, and how” answers are crucial to a child’s development.  

Some people overlook the importance of educating children when they are very young, saying “when they get older, they will understand,” however it is worth challenging this assumption. 

In this week’s Torah portion, Vayak’hel, we learn how the chacham lev (the team of wise-hearted artists) built the Mishkan, the Tabernacle. Who are these chacham lev? They are wise people, those who have wisdom and skill, but not just in their manual abilities; they are also emotionally invested in their craft and in building the Tabernacle with all that it needs.  

One of the things that jumps at us is the timing of the construction: When the coverings were made—intrinsic weaving skills were needed to create it—and at the same time, the ropes were woven, as well as the stakes that were needed to anchor the roof cover to the ground so that it didn’t move in the wind.  

In addition, the Temple was built first with the walls and roof and only later did they build the vessels—the altar, menorah, ark, etc. Seemingly, the main use of the Temple was in the vessels. Why the need to build the outside coverings and walls first? After all, it was assembled all at one time.  

Here we have a lesson for us:  

Education starts at a very young age. The educator's job is to instill in a child, not only the subject matter, but even more importantly how to be well anchored so that they don’t “blow in the wind of society” as they get older. The younger the child is when they are taught these skills, the better person they will grow up to be.  

Of course, we all know that the most valuable part of the Temple was not its stakes but the Holy Ark, yet without those stakes the Holy Ark would have no home.  

This is why the Torah tells us that even the stakes had to be made by the chacham lev – by skilled craftsman.

It is the same with education. The teachers of the youngest children must be quality teachers! Parents, who are given the responsibility to educate their children, must invest all their resources to raise their children to be anchored well to what really matters to them – do not wait until “when they get older they will understand.” 

The children’s game of hide-and-seek can teach us many lessons. Amongst them is that we are not looking for anything that is not there, or even lost, as much as trying to reveal something that is already in our presence, but we just need to uncover it from its hiding place. 

Having this attitude in our lives in general can be very helpful. We have so many blessings in our lives, and all we have to do is find and reveal the blessings for ourselves and for those in our lives. 

This is evidenced in this week’s Torah portion of Tetzaveh. This portion discusses the garments worn by the Kohanim, the priests, and the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest. The High Priest owned eight garments while the regular priests owned four. These garments were exactly the same for hundreds of years (i.e., same details). However, there was one change that occurred during the Second Temple period: The breastplate, the “crown jewel” of the garments, no longer showed a very important feature called the urim v’thummim. 

Let me explain: The breastplate was made of gold and twelve precious stones, each one containing the name of one of the twelve tribes. The breastplate also had a pocket that contained G-d’s name on a piece of parchment, written by Moses. This was the urim v’thummim. The breastplate was not just beautiful, it also played a very important role for the Jewish leaders. When the leaders would ask a question of importance of the High Priest, the letters on the stones would light up and the High Priest would then decipher the answer. This miracle occurred because G-d’s name was inserted into the pocket. However, during the Second Temple period, G-d’s name was no longer accessible to them, since it had been hidden before the First Temple was destroyed. Therefore, the stones would no longer light up on demand. 

Did the Jews during this period of history feel that they had a lesser-quality breastplate? Perhaps. But on a spiritual level it was not of lesser quality, because then the garments would be incomplete. The difference was that during the First Temple period, G-d was present in a revealed way, while during the Second Temple period, G-d was not revealed although still very present. 

In our lives today, we can ask, Where is G-d? Is He even part of our lives? Does He hear our prayers, etc.? 

The answer is yes, G-d is here, we just need to search a little harder until G-d is felt in a revealed way. 

We are all ecstatic to learn the news of the miraculous rescue of the two Israeli hostages, Fernando Marman and Louis Har, who were kidnapped and held by Hamas militants for longer than four months. We read and watched how about forty soldiers put their lives on the line to rescue them. It is interesting to note that Fernando Marman and Louis Har are related. Fernando’s sister, Clara, is married to Louis. What is not well known is the spiritual part of their rescue.

Here is the spiritual story. As part of an ongoing effort by the hostages’ families to raise awareness within Israel, about four weeks ago Clara and her family went to speak at a Chabad synagogue. After they spoke, and during a Q&A session where they discussed the fact that Israel is between a rock and a hard place—no easy solutions at hand—the Rebbetzin spoke. Rebbetzin Lipsker pointed out to Clara and her family that there is action that can be taken: the performing of Mitzvot in honor of their speedy release from captivity. The Rebbetzin recommended that the women light Shabbat candles and the men don Tefillin daily. The Marman and Har families agreed. They even asked for extra pairs of Tefillin for Fernando and Louis.

Not four weeks passed and the miracle that this family waited for, happened.

The connection between the physical and the spiritual is found in this week’s Torah potion, Teruma. Teruma describes the Sanctuary’s (Temple) chambers. When discussing each area of the Temple, we notice that there are different levels of holiness in each, not limited to just its location, but also because of its uses. The Zohar explains that the Temple that we have here in our world is a reflection of the Temple that exists on high, in the spiritual realm. Therefore, we cannot look at the world we live in as if in a vacuum, but rather we need to see the full picture: how the world below and the world above work in unison. The different levels of holiness reflect this symbiotic relationship.

Although we do not have a Temple in Jerusalem today, as in the past, the lesson of how the two worlds work together still applies. This week we witnessed this ourselves.

The takeaway lesson for each of us is to do one more Mitzvah in merit of the hostages, and in some small way play a role in contributing to their release.

On October 6, 2023, Israel was divided. On October 7, the whole country united as one.

How did that happen?

We know the why—Israel was attacked and each and every person was on the same page. But how we maintain this unity is the question.

The adage goes that when you ask two Jews a question, you get three opinions. Since each of us thinks differently, we respond differently to our emotions, and perhaps each is also influenced by our surroundings.

The Torah encourages us to think for ourselves and get in touch with the way we feel.   

This idea of being in touch with who we are and what makes us tick is important as we try to understand what the Torah is teaching us. And as a result, we will have a difference of opinions.  

However, we see that when it comes to soldiers in the field, or to observance of the Mitzvot, we follow the Code of Jewish Law. True, the Talmud is known for the debates between the scholarly rabbis, but after going back and forth, it is the majority that rules. Same is with politics and the way the war on Hamas is going. There is no question that in the Knesset there are differences of opinion, but in the end, all come together with a battle plan.  

Yet, the question is, what do we do about the minority opinion? Did that opinion converge into the majority rule or was it ignored? If it was ignored, then how did it make that person feel? How can we expect to put that person’s feelings aside?  

When searching for the truth, we are not looking for what works for us, but rather for the actual truth. Yes, we look through our own lens, but we are still searching for the truth. If the conclusion is not to our liking, we still have to accept that the truth is different than what we anticipated it to be.  

This is what happened at Mount Sinai. In this week’s Torah portion of Yitro, we learn how the Jews stood united as one. They stood together knowing very well that although they each thought differently and they all felt differently, when it came to practicing the commandments and keeping the Torah’s laws, they would all be on the same page.  

The same is true about Israel today. The soldiers know what their mission is. Every Israeli knows what has to get done. There is a sense of unity in the air.

May we, too, learn to put our differences aside and look for the truth, and bring unity to this world.

Shabbat Shalom