Everyone wants the rewards of alignment. Far fewer people want the roots that make it possible.

Chazal teach that there is not an absolute division between the first two chapters of Tehillim. Perek Aleph and Perek Beis are, in some sense, one unit. The Gemara1 notes that this unit begins with אשרי and ends with אשרי, Perek Aleph begins with אשרי האיש, and Perek Beis concludes with אשרי כל חוסי בו.

The Gemara continues that any mizmor of Tehillim that begins with אשרי and ends with אשרי was especially beloved to Dovid HaMelech. Tosafos2 asks why Chazal state this as a general rule if this is the only place in Tehillim that follows that exact pattern.

The Rashba3 explains that the point is broader. It does not have to be specifically אשרי. Rather, when a section concludes in the same way that it begins, it creates a fuller form of praise. The Rashba adds that this is the basis for the structure of many berachos, whose endings reflect their openings.

The Chasam Sofer4 adds that this pattern is embedded in the Torah itself. The Torah opens with בראשית, which contains the letters of אשרי, and closes with ישראל, which also contains the letters of אשרי. In other words, אשרי frames these opening perakim of Tehillim, as well as Chamisha Chumshei Torah.

The Ben Yehoyada5 explains the deeper meaning of אשרי. The letters of אשרי can be rearranged to spell ראשי, “my head.” The head symbolizes chochma, and life is drawn from chochmah, as the pasuk says, והחכמה תחיה בעליה. The Ben Yehoyada brings from the Arizal that illness comes through a withdrawal of the light of chochmah from a person. Therefore, when Dovid HaMelech opened and closed mizmorim with אשרי, he was drawing down the light of chochmah, which is the source of life.

This is especially fitting for Dovid, who constantly sought life because לית ליה מגרמיה כלום, he had nothing of his own. He therefore cried, in a sense, ראשי ראשי, drawing from the light of chochmah through the word אשרי. The Ben Yehoyada adds that this is why Tehillim is uniquely associated with drawing life and healing to the sick.

He then answers Tosafos’ question and explains that when Chazal said the mizmor “ends with אשרי” does not have to mean the actual end of the mizmor. Rather, the point is that אשרי appears twice within the same section. That repetition itself shows that the section was beloved. He gives examples from Perek 32, where the perek begins אשרי נשוי פשע כסוי חטאה and then continues אשרי אדם לא יחשוב ה׳ לו עון, and from Perek 119, which begins אשרי תמימי דרך and continues אשרי נצרי עדתיו.

This itself suggests that the opening and closing אשרי are a key to understanding the unique structure of these two perakim. It frames these two perakim as a movement of life. Perek Aleph describes the person rooted in Torah, drawing life like a tree planted by streams of water. Perek Beis shows what happens when that life-force is challenged by everything that wants to cut it off from its source.

The Be’er Avraham, Rav Avraham ben HaGra, explains this division in the name of his father, the Vilna Gaon. Dovid begins Tehillim by speaking about alignment on the individual level. He describes the person who does not follow the advice of the wicked, does not stand in the path of sinners, and does not sit among scoffers. He becomes rooted, like a tree planted by streams of water.

Perek Beis then moves from the individual to the global, from micro to macro. Once spiritual alignment enters the world, it does not remain private. It begins to shape a people, and anything that shapes Klal Yisrael will eventually be opposed by the nations around them.

The Meiri makes a similar point from a different angle. He explains that this does not mean that the two chapters are literally one mizmor. In all accurate texts of Tehillim throughout history, he notes, they appear as two separate chapters. Rather, Chazal mean that they form one thematic unit. Perek Beis grows out of Perek Aleph.

In the first mizmor, we explained that the central theme is spiritual alignment. At first glance, that does not seem to fit Perek Beis, which speaks about raging nations, kings, rulers, rebellion, and war.

I would suggest that Dovid is showing us two sides of the same reality.

Perek Aleph describes the side of alignment that can be seen. It is the person who becomes like a tree planted by streams of water. He has fruit and leaves, so his life produces something real.

Perek Beis reveals the side that is not immediately visible. While a tree grows upward, it also grows downward. Before it can stand tall above the ground, it must send roots deep beneath the surface. Those roots are hidden, but they are resilient and are what allow the tree to survive the wind, the storm, and even the axe. A tree may be cut down, but if the roots remain alive, it can grow again.

Dovid understood that alignment is not only a revealed state. It is also hidden rootedness. It exists in the visible world of action, speech, and personality, but it also exists in the inner world of attachment, emotion, and spiritual structure. This can be understood through the language of the sefiros, or in simpler human terms, through the inner life of a person who remains connected even when external forces rise against him.

The Meiri brings a deeper understanding of this mizmor before turning to what he considers the more literal meaning, which follows the events of Dovid’s life. According to this first reading, Perek Beis is not only about nations and kings outside of us, it is about the forces that oppose alignment itself.

Perek Aleph ends by telling us that ודרך רשעים תאבד, the way of the wicked will perish. Perek Beis begins by showing us what wickedness does before it disappears - it gathers together to plot different ways to disrupt the alignment between Hashem and His children.

There are three ways to understand the resistance to this alignment as described in our perek. From an inner perspective, it describes the forces that resist alignment within the person himself. From a historical perspective, it describes the nations who rose against Dovid HaMelech after he became king. Finally, from the future-redemption perspective, it describes Gog u’Magog and the final rebellion against Hashem and His Mashiach.

Let us take it one at a time. The Meiri explains the inner perspective.

למה רגשו גוים ולאמים יהגו־ריק. יתיצבו  מלכי־ארץ ורוזנים נוסדו־יחד על־ה׳ ועל־משיחו

The perek begins:

למה רגשו גוים
“Why have the nations gathered?”

The Meiri explains this as follows, since the path of wisdom has already been laid out in Perek Aleph, why do those who chase the successes of this world become so agitated? These are the people called מלכי ארץ, “kings of the earth,” because their entire world is built around earthly success. They pursue power, status, control, and the imagined permanence of this world.

When they attain these imagined successes, they begin to speak על ה׳ ועל משיחו, against Hashem and against His Mashiach. According to the Meiri, משיחו refers to the perfected chacham, the spiritually complete person who is anointed with Hashem’s holy oil.

This person is called anointed because he carries a higher calling. He is not living randomly nor is he simply reacting to life. He has been drawn into the service of Hashem and shaped by it.

The world resists a person who is aligned because the world is built on misalignment. Often, an aligned person does not need to say a word. His very existence exposes the emptiness of a life built only on appetite, ambition, and ego. This emptiness is what the mizmor is referring to - ולאומים יהגו ריק

This is a direct continuation of Perek Aleph. There, Dovid described the rasha as chaff blown by the wind. Here, he describes what that chaff sounds like before the wind carries it away. They may sound powerful and appear successful. But if their entire world is severed from Hashem, then beneath all the noise is emptiness.

There is something about a truly rooted person that unsettles the unrooted.

The nations therefore say:

ננתקה את־מוסרותימו ונשליכה ממנו עבתימו. יושב בשמים ישחק אדני ילעג־למו. אז ידבר אלימו באפו ובחרונו יבהלמו. ואני נסכתי מלכי על־ציון הר־קדשי.

They go so far as to say:

ננתקה את מוסרותימו
“Let us tear off their restraints.”

The Meiri explains that this means casting off the yoke of Malchus Shamayim and the yoke of mitzvos.

In other words, the resistance is to the idea of believing in Hashem as well as the idea that a person’s life is supposed to be tied to something above himself.

The fantasy of freedom is having no yoke. The tragedy is becoming chaff.

This is not exactly an ancient problem. A lot of people today are allergic to authority. They do not want anyone telling them what to do, but more than that, they do not want to belong deeply enough for anyone to have the right to challenge them. They do not want a rav or a rebbe. They prefer a minyan over a shul, because a minyan asks very little of you. You can show up, daven, leave, and remain untouched. Nobody has to know you, guide you, correct you, or ask whether the version of yourself you are protecting is actually the person you are meant to become.

There is something deeply familiar about ננתקה את מוסרותימו. It is the inner voice that says, “I do not want to be tied down. I do not want to answer to anything higher than my own will.”

Dovid HaMelech teaches the opposite. A person with no ties may seem free, but he is loose, movable, and eventually weightless. A tree is not alive despite its roots, but because of them. The roots may seem like they trap the tree, while in truth they hold it in place, feed it, and allow it to survive the wind.

The same is true of Torah and mitzvos. They are not ropes that trap the soul. They are the rooted attachments that keep a person connected to Hashem, to purpose, to truth, and to his own deepest self. Some people see those ties as something to tear away. Dovid sees them as the source of life.

That is why Hashem’s response is laughter:

יושב בשמים ישחק
“He Who sits in Heaven laughs.”

The Meiri explains this as a metaphor. Hashem laughs because their success is not real success and their power is not real power. It is temporary, fragile, and absurd. It is a branch declaring independence from the tree.

In the end:

אז ידבר אלימו באפו ובחרונו יבהלמו
“Then He will speak to them in His anger, and in His fury He will terrify them.”

And then Hashem says about the perfected person:

ואני נסכתי מלכי על־ציון הר־קדשי
“I have installed My king upon Zion, My holy mountain.”

According to this first pshat in the Meiri, this refers to the perfected person, the one aligned with Hashem. He becomes connected to ציון הר קדשי, the place of ultimate spiritual perfection.

This is the opposite of מלכי ארץ. They are kings of earth, while he is connected to the mountain of holiness. They seek imagined power, while he seeks Divine attachment. They want to tear off the restraints, while he understands that those very restraints are what make him real.

The aligned person then says:

אספרה אל חוק ה׳ אמר אלי בני אתה אני היום ילדתיך
“I will tell of the decree: Hashem said to me, ‘You are My son; today I have begotten you.’”

The Meiri explains that this refers to the perfected person’s closeness to Hashem, in the manner of the pasuk, הוא יקראני אבי אתה, “He will call Me: You are my Father”6. The language of birth is a metaphor for spiritual formation. A person who becomes aligned with Hashem begins to reflect Him according to his ability and is, in a sense, born into a new level of existence.

This is similar to the way the Tomer Devorah understands לשארית נחלתו. Klal Yisrael is not merely attached to Hashem from the outside; we are bound to Him with the closeness of she’er basar, like one’s own flesh.

This is the opposite of the earlier rebellion. The nations wanted to sever the connection with Hashem in order to become free. The aligned person discovers that real freedom comes from being formed by Hashem. He is not less himself because he is connected; he becomes more himself because he is connected.

From there, Hashem says:

שאל ממני ואתנה גוים נחלתך ואחזתך אפסי־ארץ. תרעם בשבט ברזל ככלי יוצר תנפצם. ועתה מלכים השכילו הוסרו שפטי ארץ. עבדו את־ה׳ ביראה וגילו ברעדה. נשקו־בר פן־יאנף  ותאבדו דרך כי־יבער כמעט אפו אשרי כל־חוסי בו {פ}

The Meiri explains שאל ממני, “Ask of Me,” to mean that the wise person, the truly aligned person, is able to rule over others. This does not only mean formal power, rather it means that inner alignment creates influence. A person who governs himself properly becomes capable of guiding others. Real power is not the ability to throw off restraint. Real power is the ability to be tied to the right thing so deeply that nothing lower can dominate you.

The perek then tells us that the success of those who resist Hashem will come to an end:

תרעם בשבט ברזל
“You shall break them with an iron rod.”

But even then, the perek does not end with destruction. It turns back to instruction:

ועתה מלכים השכילו הוסרו שפטי ארץ
“And now, kings, understand; be disciplined, judges of the earth.”

Even the kings of earth are told that they can still understand. They can still learn. They can still redirect themselves. As it says:

עבדו את ה׳ ביראה וגילו ברעדה
“Serve Hashem with awe, and rejoice with trembling.”

The Meiri explains this as a call to stand before Hashem with humility. Humility means recognizing that all success comes from Him and can be taken by Him.

This may also be why the pasuk holds together two emotions that seem to pull in opposite directions: עבדו את ה׳ ביראה וגילו ברעדה. Avodas Hashem is not flat. It is not joy without seriousness, and it is not fear without hope. Real closeness to Hashem means learning how to hold both at once. A person can rejoice, but that joy must know how fragile success is. He can tremble, but that trembling must still know that Hashem is near.

Joy without humility becomes ego, and ego eventually becomes rebellion.

Finally:

נשקו בר פן יאנף ותאבדו דרך כי יבער כמעט אפו אשרי כל חוסי בו
“Arm yourselves with purity, lest He become angry and you lose the way; for His anger may soon burn. Fortunate are all who take refuge in Him.”

The Meiri explains נשקו בר as “arm yourselves with purity.” The weapon against rebellion is not more noise. It is purity, innocence, and cleanliness of soul.

A person loses his way when he tears off the bonds that were meant to guide him. Once he removes the yoke of Torah and mitzvos and severs his connection to Hashem, he may still be moving, but he no longer knows where he is going.

When the rootless begin to fall, the task is not to fall with them. The task is to remain aligned and deepen the roots. The more those roots push through the hard and stubborn ground of the inner world, the more alive the tree becomes above ground. The hidden work beneath the surface is what allows the visible life above ground to bear fruit.

The perek ends with an eternal message of return: no matter how disconnected a person may feel, he can always come back and take refuge in Him.

אשרי כל חוסי בו

This is the inner perspective of Perek Beis. The world outside us rages because something inside us also resists being rooted. The solution to both the micro and the macro is deeper attachment amidst the temptation to escape.

Note: This project is developing as I continue learning, and I may update this post as new sources or clearer understandings emerge. In the next post, I will explore the historical understanding of this mizmor, centered on Dovid HaMelech and the Plishtim. In the third post, I will explore the future perspective of Gog u’Magog. Please share any feedback, questions, corrections, or comments in the comments section below.

Thank you for learning along with me.

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You watch Curious George as a kid and see a monkey making trouble.

You watch it as a father and suddenly respect the Man with the Yellow Hat. He is one of us, a tired guy who works hard, raises a chaotic little kid, and somehow does it without yelling or losing it.

Hats off to him.

Then you wonder if Hashem looks at us the same way, with all our chaos and all our messes, and somehow still has that much patience.

Maybe that is why everything always works out for George in the end. Not because he deserves it, but because someone is watching over him the whole time.

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Tehillim The Language Of The Soul

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As we explained in the introduction, Tehillim gives expression to every state of the human soul. It is a structure that shows us from the very start , how a person should be aligned spiritually.

Tehillim begins:

“אַשְׁרֵי־הָאִישׁ אֲשֶׁר לֹא הָלַךְ בַּעֲצַת רְשָׁעִים וּבְדֶרֶךְ חַטָּאִים לֹא עָמָד וּבְמוֹשַׁב לֵצִים לֹא יָשָׁב”

The Targum translates Ashrei as טוביה דגבר, “the good of man.” A person is considered good when he is spiritually aligned.

Rav Aharon Kotler1 explains that the continuation of the pasuk teaches that even when a person is spiritually aligned, he must remain cognizant of his surroundings. The moment that alignment weakens, he begins to slide down a slippery slope.

Rav Elchanan Wasserman2 adds that a person cannot assume that nothing will happen to him. One must always be careful to maintain that alignment.

It is interesting that Dovid HaMelech chose to begin Tehillim in a negative tense. Instead of describing that one is fortunate to walk with tzaddikim, stand with the upright, and sit with the wise, he begins with what must be avoided.

My father, Rabbi Yaacov Haber, explains that this is because a person begins life fundamentally good. We were created with a neshamah. The danger is not that I lack goodness, but that I allow myself to become bent away from my intrinsic goodness.

There is a dual progression in the pasuk: between rasha, chotei, and leitz, and between halichah (going), amidah (standing), and yeshivah (sitting). Man is a social being.

Let’s explain.

We have the rasha, chotei, and leitz—and we have what they are doing. These are not redundant.

• A rasha is someone who does wrong deliberately. This is evil with intention.

• A chotei, in this context, is someone drawn by impulse, carelessness, or ignorance. The wrongdoing is real, but it is not rooted in deliberate rebellion in the same way.

• A leitz is a different kind of problem altogether. A leitz does not necessarily commit a dramatic act of evil. A leitz takes what is serious and empties it of seriousness. He trivializes what should matter.

A moshav leitzim is dangerous because it is an environment. It is a place where life itself is made weightless. Time is the most serious thing I possess. If I sit in a culture of empty amusement, endless cooling and irony, I take the most precious thing I have and convert it into nothing. That is ruinous and the ultimate misalignment.

The next set of three is the verbs: walking, standing, sitting. Alongside them are three structures:

• Eitza — the counsel of the resha’im, deliberate, thought-out direction

• Derech — the path of chata’im, habit and impulse

• Moshav — the seat of mockery, leitzanus, which does not exist in motion, but is atmospheric.

When a person is working on self-development, before starting with anything positive, he must first recognize where he is standing. Only once a person becomes aware of the surrounding negative influences (ra) can he begin aseh tov and remain aligned.

Ashrei refers to the solidity of the person. A person who is me’ushar is a person who is authentic, and of substance.

The word עמד corresponds to asiyah, machshavah, and dibbur.

The progression of הלך → עמד → ישב reflects increasing levels of involvement. A person must not participate in the path of chotim in any form—not in thought, speech, nor action.

The Alshich explains that there are two types of happiness: one that comes from סור מרע, turning away from wrongdoing, and a higher level that comes from עשה טוב, actively doing good.

However, not everyone who avoids wrongdoing is called ashrei. Only one who fully separates himself from all three dimensions of sin, and then redirects himself properly through Torah, reaches that level.

These three dimensions are:

• Thought without action which is associated with the soul

• Action without thought which is associated with the physical

• Speech which stands between the two

One who refines and guards all three is considered complete and is therefore worthy of being called ashrei.

The Ben Yehoyada3 explains that this entire pasuk is referring to Avraham Avinu4. The perek begins with ashrei ha-ish instead of ashrei ish—the extra hei indicates a specific individual, namely Avraham, whose name had a hei added to it.

The Maharsha5 explains how each part of the pasuk reflects Avraham’s life.

• “לא הלך בעצת רשעים” refers to the Dor HaPelagah. They promoted unity and brotherhood, but used it for negative purposes. Avraham rejected that entirely and instead embodied unity, love, and connection in a positive way.

• “ובדרך חטאים לא עמד” refers to Sedom. Their defining trait was the rejection of chesed. Avraham stood in direct opposition to them, going to the other extreme of actively pursuing hachnasas orchim and constant kindness.

• “ובמושב לצים לא ישב” refers to the Plishtim, who degraded Shimshon and were steeped in immorality. (As Chazal describes, the Plishtim brought their wives to Shimshon in prison in an attempt to conceive from him.) Avraham was so removed from that world that he did not even recognize Sarah’s beauty until they arrived in Mitzrayim6.

According to this, the pasuk is describing a model, rather than an abstract person. Avraham HaIvri is the prototype of what it means to be ashrei ha-ish.

The Chomas Enech (Chida) adds a different dimension. Even when a person begins to slip unintentionally, the response has to be immediate. He should react with humility and tefillah, asking Hashem for forgiveness. That immediate response prevents a small mistake from developing further.

He points out that this is hinted to in the roshei teivos of ashrei ha-ish:

אם שגג רחמים יבקש ה׳ אלהים יסלח שגגתו—if a person sins accidentally, he should immediately seek rachamim so that it does not become something more serious.

The Meiri approaches ashrei from a different angle. He notes that the word is always in the plural form. Ashrei is not describing a single success or moment of happiness, but a collection of successes. A person is called ashrei because his overall direction is one of consistency and alignment.

He then takes the pasuk further. It is not simply praising someone for avoiding obvious evil. It would not make sense to say “fortunate is the one who is not a rasha”. Rather, the praise is for someone who separates himself from what most people are naturally drawn toward and chooses to direct his life toward Torah and avodas Hashem.

Like the Ben Yehoyada, this again points toward Avraham HaIvri as someone who stood apart.

The Meiri then redefines the three categories in a very practical way:

• Resha’im — those chasing money, power, and gain. Those living with a constant drive for more.

• Chata’im — those drawn after physical pleasure beyond what is necessary

• Leitzim — those who waste their time, sitting in empty conversation and distraction

The chiddush of the Meiri is that the pasuk is describing the real ways people drift: chasing success, chasing pleasure, or simply wasting time. That is bringing it beyond just a warning against extreme evil.

Ashrei ha-ish is someone who steps away from all of that because he wants to live with focus and purpose.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali (Ramdu) explains7 that the word ashrei parallels the level of binah, which Dovid HaMelech attained. After Dovid came Shlomo, who reached the level of chochmah and expressed that through Shir HaShirim.

The Ramdu explains further8 that just as there is a structure of sefiros belonging to the side of kedushah, there is an opposing, parallel structure belonging to the Sitra Achra, on the side of tumah.

According to this, the pasuk is not only describing a general individual, it is Dovid speaking about himself. He is ashrei because he was not drawn after the Sitra Achra, which constantly attempts to pull a person away from alignment with the Creator.

Malchus, on its own, is the highest level a worldly king can reach. But Dovid understood that malchus must be connected upward—to the structure of the sefiros above it. That is what made his kingship different.

Even after his sin with Batsheva, he did not allow himself to spiral downward. He did teshuvah and realigned.

He explains9 that because Dovid was able to align himself properly and remain focused, he merited to be part of the Merkavah together with the Avos.

He continues10 that this is why Tehillim begins with this perek. Because a person’s tikkun—and his corruption—both come from his associations. There are “friends within” and “friends without,” visible companions and invisible ones.

The inner companions are the forces of the yetzer hara.

The outer companions are the people a person associates with.

The visible companions are those he sees and hears.

The invisible ones are the forces of the Sitra Achra, which are constantly present, trying to cause him to stumble.

Ashrei ha-ish is the one who does not listen to their counsel and does not follow their pull.

He is crowned with a crown of holiness upon his head and will merit the life of the World to Come, where true and lasting happiness exists. This is unlike life in this world, which ends in dust, decay, and worms.

This also explains the progression of the pasuk. A person does not begin by fully joining. First he walks. Then he stands. Then he sits. Once he begins moving in that direction, it develops.

As Chazal say, “If the spirit of the ruler rises against you, do not leave your place.” If a person begins to walk, he will eventually stand. If he stands, he will eventually sit. The pull strengthens until it becomes settled.

Now how does one stay aligned? Dovid HaMelech tells us in the next pasuk:

“כי אם בתורת ה׳ חפצו ובתורתו יהגה יומם ולילה”

“Rather, his desire is in the Torah of Hashem, and in his Torah he engages day and night”11.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali12 explains that through Torah, the yetzer tov is strengthened while the yetzer hara is subdued. Torah is not just information—it is what maintains alignment.

Rashi13 unlocks the entire perek. At first it is called Toras Hashem, and after a person labors in it, it is called Toraso—his Torah.

This transition is baffling. It sounds like a downgrade, from Hashem’s Torah to one’s own Torah.

Because of this, the Radak and Ibn Ezra explain that both phrases are referring to Hashem’s Torah. But Rashi clearly means something deeper.

The Maharsha14 explains that the difference is between encountering Torah and being transformed by Torah. At first, the Torah is outside of me. I learn it, I engage with it, but it has not yet entered me. If I work on it properly, if I work on it until it penetrates, it becomes internal. It shapes how I think and how I see the world. At that point it is called Toraso, not because I own it, but because it has become part of who I am.

The Be’er Avraham focuses on the word cheftzo. Everything begins with desire. A person must first want Torah. Even before full actualizing it, that desire already has value. From there, through consistency, yomam valayla, it becomes internalized and part of him.

Like a tree planted by water that gives fruit in its proper time, the result may not be immediate, but it is meaningful and lasting. In contrast, the success of the wicked is superficial—lacking substance, like chaff blown away by the wind.

Rav Zundel Kreuser15 explains that this refers to one who develops chiddushim in Torah and is willing to invest in it fully, even at the expense of his social life. Torah becomes central.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali16 explains that Toras Hashem refers to the Written Torah, while Toraso refers to the Oral Torah. Alternatively, he explains that the Written Torah corresponds to learning by day, and the Oral Torah to learning at night. The two together form a complete engagement with Torah.

The Alshich explains that Torah itself has two dimensions: sod and peshat.

Sod is the deeper dimension that relates to Hashem, while peshat is the revealed dimension that relates to man.

While not everyone merits reaching the level of Sod, it is still essential to desire it. Toras Hashem refers to the deeper dimension, while Toraso refers to the revealed Torah that a person learns, internalizes, and makes his own.

Reb Nosson17 explains this on a deeper level.

Chazal say that Hashem “engages in Torah.” This does not mean learning in the usual sense. Hashem does not need to learn. Rather, Hashem draws down the light of Torah and shapes it—לצייר—into a form of brachah before it enters the world. Before that process, the light is hidden and undefined.

The same thing happens when a person learns Torah. Before Torah is clarified, its light is present but not yet formed. As a person learns, struggles, and clarifies, he is shaping that light. According to how he approaches it, that is how the light takes form for him.

So too, Hashem כביכול “learns Torah” to shape the upper light—which is completely hidden—into something that can come down as blessing. The tzaddik shapes that light into truth and clarity. The rasha can take that same light and distort it, turning it into confusion or even a stumbling block.

Therefore, Toras Hashem means the Torah as it is given in its true form, and Toraso means how that Torah is now being shaped through the person.

Torah is something you shape while you learn it. How it is shaped depends on the person—his mindset, his honesty, and his inner state.

The focus of this perek is that David is describing a person who becomes substantial. The distinction between a tzaddik and a rasha is ontological more than behavioral. It is about what kind of person I have become.

That is why the next pasuk shifts to the metaphor of the tree:

“והיה כעץ שתול על פלגי מים אשר פריו יתן בעתו ועלהו לא יבול וכל אשר יעשה יצליח”

“He shall be like a tree planted by streams of water, which gives its fruit in its season, its leaf does not wither, and all that he does prospers”18.

The word “שתול” is important. It means transplanted. Left to itself, a tree may survive or fail depending on rainfall, terrain, and circumstance. Two trees can stand a few feet apart with one flourishing and the other struggling, simply because one receives water and the other does not.

But a tree planted by flowing water is no longer left to chance. It is rooted in a constant source, as its irrigated steadily and is stable.

That is Dovid HaMelech’s image of the person who has made Torah his own. He is rooted and therefore consistently successful. He gives fruit in its season because the source beneath him is dependable. His leaves do not wither because even the outer expressions of his life are sustained by something real.

“וכל אשר יעשה יצליח” means that what comes from him is lasting and alive.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali19 explains that “בעתו” teaches that a person should not become discouraged if he does not see immediate results. Even if he learns and forgets, everything has its proper time. If the desire is real and he does not give up, the fruit will come.

The Alshich explains that the tzaddik is compared to a tree planted in a place of purity, even if its branches extend into areas of impurity. When a person roots his neshamah in Torah (through constant learning) it is like watering a tree. That watering produces fruit. The Chida20 adds that this requires humility. The final letters of “והיה כעץ שתול” equal ענו (humble), with the kolel (the word itself). Without humility, the tree cannot properly receive.

The fruit are his chiddushim, the insights that come specifically from his connection to Torah. The Arizal21 explains that a person should learn the part of Torah he is drawn to. That is not random, it reflects what he came to fix in this world. One person is drawn to Hilchos Shabbos, another to Bava Kama, yet another to deeper sefarim. That piece that he learns is his chelek.

The Chida brings from the Maggid Meisharim that the Maggid told the Beis Yosef that one of his explanations in the Rambam was exactly correct, but the other should not be discarded. Even if it is not the Rambam’s intent, it is still a chiddush, and HaKadosh Baruch Hu takes pleasure in it. Every bit of intellectual effort in Torah has lasting value.

The Alshich adds that if a person is meant to reveal a certain chiddush and becomes lax in his learning, it is like withholding water from the tree. That fruit will not emerge, and he may have to return in a gilgul to complete it.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali22 similarly explains that a person learns best in the area his heart is drawn to. That is where he will succeed, because that is tied to his tikkun.

Every person in Klal Yisrael has a chelek in Torah. In the part that truly connects to him, he will find chiddushim. Torah has an infinite depth, and each person has access to his portion within it.

And what’s the effect?

“אשר פריו יתן בעתו”—the fruit are the Torah and mitzvos a person produces in their proper time.

“ועלהו לא יבול”—the leaves do not wither.

Aside from producing fruit, a healthy tree can be damaged from the outside. That brings us to a different task, to protect the tree.

Reb Nosson explains23 that the essence of the melachos of Shabbos is the concept of carrying from one domain to another. This is why there is a tikkun of an eruv.

Just as a person must be careful what enters and exits his own domain, he must also be careful not to enter someone else’s domain.

A person should not look at others and imitate them, even if they appear to be doing the right things. He must remain aligned with his own soul, rather than trying to live someone else’s path. The real danger here is not only falling in with bad influences, but comparison itself.

A person can be inspired by others, but if he begins to lose his own direction by trying to become someone else, he is no longer rooted. He has stepped out of his own domain and becomes misaligned.

The Alshich concludes that the success of the tzaddik is lasting, even in matters of parnassah. It is not temporary and fleeting like the seeming success of the rasha.

As Rav Moshe Dovid Vali24 explains “ועלהו לא יבול” refers to the external aspects of life. Even those are not diminished by Torah. On the contrary, when Torah is primary, everything else is sustained properly.

“וכל אשר יעשה יצליח”—the word “יעשה” has the gematria of שכינה, hinting that the Shechinah rests upon such a person and brings success to his actions. The leaves—worldly matters—are secondary, but they are sustained because the root is strong.

The Meiri explains that just as a tree by water never loses its moisture, so too a person’s Torah will not be forgotten. And just as the tree gives fruit at the proper time, so too he will eventually give over his Torah to others. In other words, he will share his wisdom with others after perfecting himself. Thus the fruit is teaching the Torah to others.

He explains further that “ועלהו לא יבול” does not mean the leaves do not fall, but that they do not decay. A person is able to balance his spiritual and physical needs. Alternatively, the leaves represent middos tovos which protect and enhance the Torah itself.

Through this, “וכל אשר יעשה יצליח”—his Torah, his actions, and even those who come after him will endure. Torah penetrates a person. It changes him completely. Even his ordinary speech carries a different quality.

This is the depth of what Dovid is describing. A person who becomes rooted in Torah becomes stable, real, and enduring. He becomes a partner—a shutaf—with Hashem. It becomes Toraso. And it affects every part of who he is.

Now in pasuk daled, Dovid returns to contrast:

“לא כן הרשעים כי אם כמוץ אשר תדפנו רוח”

“Not so the wicked; rather they are like chaff that the wind drives away”25.

The rasha is not like the tree. He is like chaff—light, unstable, and without permanence.

Chaff can look like part of the grain, but it is only the outer husk. Its role is temporary. Once the grain is separated, the wind carries it away. It has no enduring substance. It is appearance without core.

That is how wickedness often presents itself. It can look successful, even impressive—wealth, power, influence, image. But if there is no inner substance, then it is all chaff. The moment circumstances change, it disappears. We see often how people gather around someone because of position or success, and the moment that is gone, everything falls apart. That is chaff.

Torah is not like that. A person rooted in Torah remains who he is regardless of circumstance, because his source is internal and continuous.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali26 explains that wheat—חטה—has the numerical value of 22, corresponding to the twenty-two letters of the Torah. Just as wheat nourishes the body, the letters of Torah nourish the soul. The chaff, by contrast, has no substance and is scattered by the wind.

Dovid now closes the contrast:

“על כן לא יקמו רשעים במשפט וחטאים בעדת צדיקים”

“Therefore the wicked will not stand in judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous”27.

In this world, the chaff can masquerade as grain. In the world of truth, it cannot. External glitter does not stand up in judgment. Only substance remains.

The final pasuk seals the distinction:

“כי יודע ה׳ דרך צדיקים ודרך רשעים תאבד”

“For Hashem knows the way of the righteous, but the way of the wicked will perish”28.

“Knows” here means more than information. Of course Hashem knows everything. The word carries a sense of attachment and recognition, as in “כי ידעתיו” said about Avraham29.

Hashem is connected to the way of the tzaddik because that way is real and enduring. It is worthy of a relationship. The way of the rasha perishes because it never becomes anything lasting.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali30 explains that this “knowing” means that Hashem’s holiness cleaves to the path of the tzaddik, because it is ישר and aligned with Him. Love and attachment exist only between similar things.

The term “knowing”, when used regarding Hashem, refers to an intimate form of attachment. Therefore, the tzaddik endures, because holiness attaches itself to him. The path of the wicked is the opposite. It is disconnected from that holiness, and therefore it cannot endure. This is why the pasuk speaks about the “way” of each. The way of the tzaddik is itself something real and enduring. The way of the rasha is not—it falls away.

The Ramdu31 explains that this path of the wicked is tied to the Sitra Achra, which will ultimately be removed when Hashem completes the final tikkun. Rashi understands that these pesukim refer to the final judgment, at the time of Milchemes Gog u’Magog. At that point, everything is brought to truth. Only what is connected to what is real, what is rooted in Torah and spiritual accomplishment, remains. The reshaim, having no inner substance, will not stand.

The beginning of Tehillim tells us exactly how the whole sefer works.

There are only two kinds of people. One is rooted and the other is weightless.

One builds something real, through Torah, alignment, and inner work until it becomes who he is. The other can look impressive for a moment, but there is nothing holding him down. The wind comes and he is gone.

There is no middle. You are either a tree or you are chaff, already being carried by the wind.

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This time of year, between Purim and Pesach, is often challenging as we transition from winter into spring and begin preparing for Yom Tov.

This year, Parashas Zachor came together with the eradication of the Haman of our times. The weeks since then have been both harrowing and miraculous. Yes, we are at war. Yes, there are indiscriminate missiles that soar over our heads in an unpredictable fashion. Yes, we are privileged to live in a land of miracles. At the same time, yes, the anxiety and tension are tangible.

As Purim approached, people began speaking about the ‘imminent’ Geulah. The words of the Bnei Yissaschar spread rapidly: that the beginning of the Geulah would be on Purim and culminate with the destruction of Amalek on Erev Pesach. Geulah is in the air.

WhatsApp groups, with hundreds of members, are learning the halachos of Korban Pesach. People are quietly hoping that this year’s Chol HaMoed trip will be to Yerushalayim, amidst a full Geulah.

At the same time, we are still living with challenges and uncertainty.

How do we celebrate Pesach, the Yom Tov of Geulah, when the Geulah feels just out of reach?

I think the answer lies in korech.

Prior to the destruction of the Mikdash, the Pesach Seder was centered around sacrificing and eating the Korban Pesach together with matzah and maror. Hillel would wrap them together and eat them as one. I like to say this was perhaps the first shawarma…

Since then, the Mikdash was destroyed, we no longer have a mizbeach, and we cannot bring or eat the Korban Pesach. Instead, at the Seder, we remember and reenact aspects of that mitzvah.

That is why we eat korech, matzah together with maror, zecher laMikdash k’Hillel, recalling how Hillel would eat the Korban Pesach with matzah and maror. Today, the korban is missing, and what we have is a remembrance of that original “sandwich.”

This also raises a deeper question:

If Pesach is the celebration of Geulah, why is maror still in the sandwich? Shouldn’t the bitterness have been left behind in Mitzrayim? Why is it still inside the “shawarma”? Why is maror one of the items that Rav Gamliel said one must mention in order to fulfill the obligation of Pesach?

To understand this, we can look at the shirah of Pesach.

There are two songs that we read on Pesach: Az Yashir and Shir HaShirim. While Az Yashir reflects on the past, and perhaps the future, Shir HaShirim speaks in the present.

Rav Tzadok of Lublin1 explains that true shirah can only emerge when a person is fully present. The spiritual levels of our ancestors are more than a historical legend. Rather, these energies are accessible at certain times of the year. Pesach is one of those times.

The shirah of Geulah is about the present as much as it is about the past and future.

Perhaps this is why maror remains in the sandwich, for while we celebrate our redemption from Mitzrayim, the celebration is incomplete if we did not recognize the present moment.

Maror is not only about the bitterness of Egypt. It is about the bitterness we experience now—in our struggles, our fears, in our waiting for a brighter day.

It is this bitterness from which we turn to Hashem in tefillah, which we package up with the matzah and the Korban Pesach to transform into the Geulah. We do not wait for life to be perfect before we celebrate. Geulah is the celebration of the transformation of bitterness.

By recognizing Hashem’s hashgachah in our daily lives, we can tap into the same level of connection with Him as our forefathers did and sing a heartfelt and authentic shirah for the present moment.

As Rav Judah Mischel beautifully writes:

“When the Beis Hamikdash stood, Korech was performed by eating the Korban Pesach together with matzah and maror; today, we honor Hillel by bringing together the different flavors of matzah and maror, and charoses.

Now, as then, we observe this mitzvah b’chaburah, in unity with our family and community. This redemptive act becomes part of the tikkun of sinas chinam; it is an act of balance, of combining very different elements together, somewhat like Hillel’s olerant and balanced combining of divergent halachic perspectives and considerations. In recognizing Hillel’s path, may we internalize his middos and ultimately see the restoration of the Korban Pesach in our days.”

Hillel understood something profound:

When we eat a sandwich, we don’t taste each ingredient separately; we experience the flavors as a blend, one flavor indistinguishable from the other. It’s the “taam” of redemption that is only complete when the sorrow and the joy are joined.

Rav Tzadok teaches that at the time of the Geulah we will sing a Shir Chadash. It will be a time called Shir Chadash—a time when we are able to constantly be in a state of being fully present and recognizing each moment as an opportunity for a new and unique expression of gratitude through song.

It is for this reason that maror is included in the list of items one must mention in order to fulfill the obligation of Pesach. It is so important to recognize that whatever bitterness we are going through is a refining process for our Geulah.

May we have a redemptive Pesach!

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This project is an attempt to understand Tehillim more deeply. Tehillim is a central part of Jewish life, with its perakim forming much of our tefillah and its pesukim shaping our songs of yearning and inspiration.

While we do not necessarily know the precise order in which Tehillim was written, nor the authorship of every chapter, the order we have is rooted in our mesorah. There are ten expressions of praise found throughout Tehillim—ניצוח, ניגון, מזמור, שיר, הלל, תפילה, ברכה, הודאה, אשרי, and הללויה—each reflecting a different mode of song, prayer, or spiritual expression.

This structure corresponds to the ten primary contributors to Tehillim, aside from Dovid Hamelech: Adam, Avraham, Malki Tzedek, Asaf, Heiman, Yedusun, the three sons of Korach—Asir, Elkana, and AviAsaf—and Moshe Rabbeinu. This means that as much as David HaMelech gave us Tehillim as a sefer, he was also gathering a tradition that came from the deepest figures in our history. Somehow, whether through mesorah or Ruach HaKodesh, he accessed not only his own voice but the voices of those who came before him and those who would come after him. From the moment Adam was sent out of Gan Eden to the anguish of exile after the destruction of the Mikdash, Tehillim carries it all.

Tehillim can therefore be understood as the collected spiritual music of Jewish history.

Before beginning, however, a more basic question must be asked: why Tehillim? Why is it that in moments of need, of fear, of longing, we instinctively turn to Tehillim, and not to Mishlei or Yeshayahu?

It is noteworthy that the plural of תהילה is not תהילות but תהילים. My father, Rabbi Yaacov Haber, explains this through an analogy to tefillin. A single tefillin is, in halachic language, called a tefillah, yet tefillin are not the prayers themselves. They are the instrument through which one prepares for prayer. They are the framework, the equipment, that enables tefillah to take place.

In a similar manner, Tehillim are not merely praises in the abstract, but rather the instrument through which praise is generated. Tehillim are not identical with tefillah itself, but instead function as the mechanism that makes tefillah possible by opening the inner and outer space in which prayer can emerge.

When a person recites Tehillim, the words of David HaMelech align the heart, awaken emotional awareness, and create a sense of access that allows one to then step forward and speak before Hashem, whether through the established nusach of the siddur or through personal expression. For this reason, Tehillim occupies a central place within Pesukei DeZimra, from Baruch She’amar through Yishtabach, since this entire section serves as a necessary preparation rather than as a preliminary introduction, guiding a person into the state of being capable of standing before Hashem in tefillah.

From the earliest moments of our history, tefillah has been central to our survival. The Avos prayed. In Mitzrayim, we cried out. We are a nation that prays.

After Krias Yam Suf, we were attacked by Amalek, a nation driven not by territory or strategy, but by a desire to uproot us entirely. As the battle unfolded, Moshe ascended the mountain, and the Torah describes how, when his hands were raised, the Jewish people prevailed, and when they fell, they faltered. The Mishnah in Rosh Hashanah asks: do Moshe’s hands wage war?

Rather, the Mishnah explains that as long as the Jewish people directed their hearts toward Hashem, they were victorious. In this sense, Moshe and the people mirrored one another. The battle was not decided by strength alone, but by alignment with Hashem through the medium of tefillah.

Tehillim belongs within that same system; although it is not identical to tefillah itself, it is the instrument that makes the tefillah possible.

Rav Moshe Dovid Vali explains that David HaMelech represents the fourth leg of the Merkavah and is therefore considered חי וקיים, meaning that his presence continues to exist in a meaningful way. When a person recites Tehillim, a spark of David’s soul rests upon him, creating a subtle form of guidance and illumination that accompanies the words. In the merit of David HaMelech, Tehillim has the capacity to open gates and create access to Shamayim, but it remains necessary for the individual to continue beyond that point and engage in tefillah itself, since the opening of the gates is only the beginning of the process rather than its completion. One can have the key and turn it, but the door still needs to be opened.

This also clarifies the role of the individual within tefillah itself. My father explains that when Hashem created the human being, He took from His own breath and blew it into his nostrils, meaning that the human being carries within him a dimension of Divine expression. The neshamah is described as a רוח חיים, and through that breath a person becomes not only a recipient of existence but a participant in it. This idea is reflected in the phrase “אשר ברא אלוקים לעשות,” which indicates that the world was created in a manner that invites further development through human action, as a person, through thought and speech, has the capacity to bring something into the world that was not there before.

Rav Tzadok explains that human beings possess free choice in a way that angels do not, which means that the same capacity that allows a person to create also carries the possibility of destruction. The designation of Man as a צלם אלוקים therefore refers not only to resemblance but to function, as a person is endowed with a creative capacity that reflects, in a limited way, the creative power of Hashem. Within this framework, tefillah takes on an entirely different meaning, since when a person stands before Hashem after reciting Tehillim, he is not merely asking for change but participating in the process through which change is brought into the world. Tehillim prepares and opens, but tefillah is the moment in which an individual, as a bearer of Divine breath, speaks into that opening.

Once this is understood, the role of Tehillim can be seen on an even deeper level. Tehillim also participates in the tikkun of the Shechinah, as described in the writings of Rav Moshe Dovid Vali, who authored multiple works on Tehillim that explore its various dimensions. Within this framework, the Shechinah descends into the world of malchus in order to confront the chitzonim, the forces that obscure and fragment spiritual clarity, and Tehillim recounts that ongoing process. This dimension reflects the world of David HaMelech, which is the world of malchus, where the primary battles are often hidden and internal rather than external and visible.

At first glance, Sefer Tehillim seems to give us a glimpse into the world of Dovid and his yearning to maintain a connection with his Creator and to push away the forces that attempt to sever that connection. Tehillim expresses the pendulum of life: the ups, the downs, the triumphs, the humiliations, the pain, the unbearable suffering, and the exuberant joy. This was the life of Dovid; through every twist and turn, he turned to Hashem. This experience is often reflected in our own lives as well. It is perhaps for this reason that the Jewish people turn to the indefatigable words of Tehillim at all such times in our lives, as we echo the timeless words of Dovid in his expression to his Creator.

Rebbe Nachman of Breslov teaches that a person must find himself within every chapter of Tehillim, even when the circumstances described do not appear to match one’s own life, since the battles described within Tehillim are not limited to physical conflicts but include the internal struggles against the yetzer hara that define the human condition. He further teaches that even when David speaks in a voice of confidence or self-recognition, a person should learn to judge himself favorably and to recognize his own נקודות טובות, thereby approaching tefillah with a sense of dignity rather than inadequacy.

Through Tehillim, a person does not merely recite ancient words, but enters into a structure that has already been prepared through Ruach HaKodesh, a structure that maps the contours of the human soul and creates the conditions necessary for authentic tefillah. In this sense, the recitation of Tehillim is part of the process of becoming someone who is capable of standing before Hashem.

This understanding forms the basis of this project. As I work through the chapters of Tehillim, I will attempt to engage both the breadth and depth of the sefer by drawing upon the teachings of Chazal, the insights of the mefarshim, and the broader mesorah that surrounds these holy words, while remaining attentive to the experiential dimension of the words themselves and the ways in which they shape the inner world of the individual.

I ask Hashem to assist me in undertaking this ambitious endeavor, and I ask you, the reader, to offer feedback, critique, and insight that may help refine and deepen this work.

May it be in the merit of learning Tehillim that we merit the complete geulah and the restoration of Malchus Beis David in a rebuilt Yerushalayim.

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Dedicated L’ilui Nishmas my friend and neighbor, Rabbi Simcha Lauer (ר׳ שמחה יצחק בן אליעזר ע״ה), who moved up to the Yeshiva Shel Maala this week after a difficult illness. Simcha was an early supporter of this blog and contributed toward supporting it.

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Originally written in 2023

The Jewish people are gathered together, awaiting Moshe Rabbeinu's delivery of the grand plan of the Mishkan and eagerly anticipating its unveiling. For the past 2.5 Parashiyos, Moshe has been learning the plan from Hashem, and now it is time to relay it to the people. Despite the excitement surrounding this momentous occasion, Moshe begins by emphasizing the importance of observing Shabbos, before delving into the fundraising pitch and assembly instructions for the dwelling place of God. Why does Moshe start off with the sanctity of Shabbos instead of starting like Hashem did with the fundraising pitch of the Mishkan, after all we already knew about Shabbos from Sinai?

In his sefer Mei HaShiloach, the Izhbitzer teaches us1 that Shabbos serves as a reminder that before undertaking any action, one must have a clear understanding that it aligns with the will of Hashem. Otherwise, it is not permissible to proceed with that action.

He teaches further;2 The Torah tells us that  “A man shall fear his mother and father, and you shall keep my Shabbos’ ….”3

The Izhbitzer explains based on the Zohar4 that this represents three factors that one must consider before taking any action. Firstly, one must ensure their actions align with God's will, as symbolized by keeping Shabbos. Secondly, one must ensure that their actions do not harm the community, which is represented by honoring the father. The father's role is to impart knowledge to the son, even if it may temporarily cause distress, as the father knows it is ultimately for the son's benefit. Lastly, one must confirm that their actions will not cause harm to themselves, as symbolized by honoring the mother. The mother desires the son to follow the path of good, even if it goes against their wishes, without causing them unnecessary suffering.

To gain a deeper understanding of this concept, we can refer to a fundamental idea of the Mirrer mashgiach, Rav Yerucham Levovitz5. He first quotes the Meforshim who explain that it would have been impossible for Betzalel to possess the necessary knowledge and skills to build the Mishkan, considering the Bnei Yisrael were professional mud brick makers while in Mitzrayim and were unfamiliar with precious metals and their craftsmanship. Therefore, Hashem promised Moshe that He would provide Betzalel with all the knowledge required to complete the task at hand.

Next, Rav Yerucham quotes from the Midrash6 where Moshe asks Hashem about the identity of Betzalel. In response, Hashem shows Moshe the book of Adam HaRishon, which contains the lineage of all future generations until Techiyas HaMeisim. The leaders, prophets, and kings of each generation were predetermined at the beginning of time, including Betzalel.

The Mashgiach then offers a profound interpretation of this Midrash. He explains that before Adam's chet, everything was perfect, but with the chet came a loss of shleimus (completeness) and man became imperfect. In order to return to a state of perfection, man must undergo a 6,000 year process of tikkun (repair) to rectify and regain the state of shleimus that existed before the chet.

Furthermore, Rav Yerucham suggests that the book of Adam HaRishon was not a physical book, but rather Adam himself was the book. This means that before the chet, all future generations, including Betzalel, were in a state of perfection within Adam. Hashem was showing Moshe that Betzalel's perfection and mastery of the skills required to build the Mishkan were already predetermined in the book of Adam HaRishon.

Rav Yerucham then offers an explanation as to why Hashem used the book of Adam HaRishon to prove His point about Betzalel. He explains that this was to teach us the fundamental principle that the foundation of every person's creation, which is already engraved in the book of Adam HaRishon, is essential for their future to be maintained. A thinking individual who seeks to understand where their main focus and efforts should be directed, to achieve their maximum potential, in order to fulfill their purpose, must first look at their past. They should thoroughly examine it to recognize its root and beginning. By using their history and past to inform the work they do on their future, they will be assured of success and the continuity of their future.

I am sharing the original language of the Mashgiach, as it so beautiful.

אלא כי ללמדנו בא, כי בלתי יסוד יצירת כל אדם ואדם אשר חקוק כבר בספרו של אדם הראשון, לא יכול להתקיים עתידו, איש אשר רוח בו ומשתוקק לדעת הסתגלותו במה להשים עמלו ומגמתו כל ימי חייו, ראשית הכל עליו לראות ולספר להכין וגם לחקור היטב היטב את העבר שלו, ולהכיר שרשו והתחלתו, ואז כאשר יעמיד עבודת עתידו קבל העבר שלו, היינו שימשוך עתידו ממקור עברו, כי אז בטוח ודאי יהיה בהצלחת וקיום עתידו. 

This is what Hashem was showing Moshe. In order for Betzalel to be successful, it was necessary that Hashem show Moshe the essence of Betzalel, which is in the book Adam HaRishon, since the beginning of time.  As we explained that in the past, before the chet, everything was already perfectly fixed in practice, completed and whole. Consequently, to continue the future, only a light moment is needed, to pause and reflect and direct the attention towards the future.

Rav Yerucham stresses that one should not misunderstand this as the common way of understanding the matter of Koach and Poel, where receiving the potential is seen as something new in actuality, but in truth, everything is already completely fixed and finished, and what is lacking is just something small - the pause, the moment of reflection. 

During a conversation with my Rav, Rav Gerzi, he shared with me a captivating insight from the Arizal7. As previously mentioned, we all originate from Adam and are part of him. While this is commonly understood to explain multi-generational trauma, it also accounts for multi-generational wisdom. By reflecting on his past, Betzalel was able to tap into the wisdom of Adam, which enabled him to understand how to do his work and build the future.

Perhaps we can bridge the worlds of Mir and Izhbitz with Rav Jonathan Sacks, he writes: 

“The redemptive self does not live in the moment, it lives in the future made possible by the present, and in the story that reveals itself only in retrospect.”8

In other words, Rav Sacks is emphasizing the importance of looking beyond the present moment and considering how our actions and choices today will impact our future selves. The "story" of our lives is something that is revealed gradually over time, and it is only through reflection and introspection that we can fully appreciate the journey we have been on and the progress we have made towards our goals. 

As the Izhbitzer explains, Shabbos serves as a time for individuals to reflect on how their actions are affecting themselves, their communities, and their relationship with Hashem. Rather than seeking short-term pleasure, it is a time to consider the long-term consequences of one's actions. For instance, while indulging in too much sugar may provide immediate enjoyment, it can ultimately harm one's body. A wise person thinks beyond momentary satisfaction and considers their overall well-being.

Moreover, when making decisions, individuals should consider not only their own benefit but also the impact on the community as a whole. Actions that are harmful to the community or against God's will will not bring true benefit. By reflecting on these things, we can then reflect on the past and work to build a better future, as was the case with the construction of the Mishkan.

However, if we fail to contemplate where we came from and how our actions are affecting ourselves and those around us, we cannot hope to have the Mishkan - a symbol of the future - in our midst. Therefore, the role of the Mishkan, Shabbos, and each individual is the same: take a moment to pause and reflect on our foundations and where we are building further. By doing so, we can lead more perfected lives and ultimately achieve tikkun.

As we yearn for the building of the third Beis Hamikdash and the arrival of the era of Mashiach, let us take a few moments each day to pause and reflect on why we are doing what we are doing, whether our actions align with the Ratzon Hashem, and how they impact ourselves and those around us. In doing so, we can pave the way towards a brighter future.

Wishing you a meaningful Shabbos,

Shui

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Thanks to my brother Tzvi Hirsch for assisting me with this post and some of the translations.

Did you ever wonder why we end Shabbos with a passuk from Megillas Esther, but we don’t make havdala from Purim?

I can’t say that I’ve been losing sleep over it, but it has been on my mind for some time. So, in order to get some clarity, I went on a deep journey with the help of teachings of Shira Smiles, Michal Horowitz, Rav Dov Winston and Rav Aryeh Cohen.

Let’s start off with some insight into what Shabbos could mean to us with the exploration of Friday night Kiddush.

The first part of kiddush are passukim from the second perek of Bereshis, of which, the last few words are “Asher Bara Elokim La’asos”. One might wonder why the passuk doesn’t end with Elokim - That HaShem created. What is the la’asos coming to add? There is so much that it adds, but for the purpose of this dvar Torah, I’m quoting the Chizkuni who says that La’asos is simply L’taken, to fix.

Rebbitzin Shira Smiles explains the concept further:

“When Hashem created Adam, He breathed into him his soul and clothed him in a special light. When Adam sinned, Hashem took this light away and concealed it. When Bnei Yisroel said, “naaseh venishma/we will do and we will hear,” two angels bearing crowns came down for each Jew, crowns of that primal light. Unfortunately, when we sinned again with the golden calf, Hashem again took away that light, giving it only to Moshe whose face shone with that light upon his descent from Sinai. This is the gift in which Moshe rejoices writes the Shvilei Pinchas. But Hashem has a special treasure, Shabbos, which He then gifts to Bnei Yisroel. This gift repairs the relationship between ourselves and Hakodosh Boruch Hu. And Moshe then shares this gift of light with Bnei Yisroel on Shabbos.

Why do we get this gift on Shabbos? That light is the light reserved for tzadikim in upper realm of olam haba, and since Shabbos is a reflection of olam haba in this world, it is the appropriate time to experience a glimpse of this aura.”

Ok, so now that we appreciated that Shabbos is something special which can be an out of this world experience, let’s fast forward to how we depart from it. We say goodbye to Shabbos with Havdala, which has an interactive element of saying “l’yehudim hayesa orah…” The Rema writes that this is a minhag for men, women and children.

That leads us directly to our opening question and more. Why do we say this passuk aloud and why do we add - kein teheya lanu? What is the connection between Shabbos, Purim and havdala? Even more so, if the man is saying havdala, why do the women who don’t usually say havdala, partake in this minhag?

Let’s go through havdalah for a minute or two to understand other connections.

First, we have the bracha of the wine - what would Purim be without wine? For now, let’s just note that wine is something that we don’t share with non-Jews.

Rabbi Glatstein in Maggid HaRakia pulls together some beautiful sources which I’ll quote and build on briefly below.

After the wine, we have the bracha of besamim. The Shvili Pinchas explores how Esther, who was known as Hadassa is represented by the Hadas which some specifically use for Besamim to highlight Esther’s replacement of Vashti who is compared to Sarpad (more on that soon). Also Mordechai is hinted to in MorDror, a spice we know from the ketores. Mordechai and Esther were the influencers of the generation and in a sense (pun intended) they provided a good scent for Klal Yisrael and a good scent lingers even generations later.

You might think that other Yomim tovim would get a shout out now - maybe Chanuka is hinted to in the aish, but no - the Chasam Sofer says that Mordechai is called Mordechai ben Yair from the shoresh of ohr and if that is not enough, we use a candle with 2 wicks to represent Mordechai and Esther.

Last, we have the bracha of hamavdil, listing out the differences of kodesh & chol, ohr & choshech, yisrael & amim, yom hashvii & sheshes yimay hamaaseh.

So clearly Purim is very connected to havdala, but why? And why then isn’t there havdala on Purim?

To answer those questions, let’s look at Megillas Esther.

The 10th passuk starts with “Ba’Yom HaShvii”, which is Shabbos according to Rashi and other meforshim. It was also the 7th day of the party and that was when Vashti was asked to appear indecently in front of Achaveirosh. When she was killed, it was part of the beginning of the miracle of Purim. The midrash tells us that Vashti, who may seem like a minor character in the story, was being punished mida kneged mida for having forced Jewish women to work on Shabbos in an undignified manner because she specifically understood the power of keeping Shabbos.1

Further in the megilla, there is a subtle debate whether Purim should get the official status of Yom Tov. The 19th passuk in perek tes states “simcha, u’mishteh v’yom tov” and then in the 22nd passuk it states “la’asos osam yimei mishteh v’simcha”. Why the difference? Mordechai had initially proposed that it be a day without malacha and Bnei Yisrael didn’t accept it. According to Rav Hutner, if it would have been a yom tov, there would need to be havdala, which is a disconnection. We want to keep the connection to Purim even after the day is finished. Therefore, women partake in quoting the passuk from the megilla because it represents connection within havdala.

Where else do we see a continuation of kedusha?

Rashi teaches us that Sara Imeinu had the light of the Shabbos candles from one erev Shabbos to the next. This symbolized Sara’s connection to kedushas Shabbos allowing it to penetrate into the week. The Magein Avraham points out that women don’t drink from the havdala wine and Rav Yosef Chaim Zonnenfeld says the reason is because we women have the ability to keep the kedusha of Shabbos through the week. The Avnei Nezer says that all Jewish women can tap into their DNA from Sara Imeinu and be involved in weekly matters without being influenced by their level of Chol.

I found that fascinating because I’ve heard many ideas of what a bas Yisrael is (kol kevuda bas melech pnima, chochmas nashim bansa beysa etc) and I have never heard specifically that we have that perpetual connection to Shabbos from Sara nor what the significance of that would be.2

Also, speaking of Shabbos candles, in Parshas Tezaveh, when referring to the menora, the baal hatorim notes that נר מצוה ותורה אור - There is a deep connection between the light of Shabbos candles, the mother’s tefillos by candle lighting and the Torah of Am Yisrael.

There is more to elaborate on this, but let’s get back to why specifically we say the passuk of “l’yehudim hayasay ora”3 of all the passukim in the megilla.

If we look where this passuk is, it is right after the passuk which we also say aloud by megilla reading and that’s when Mordechai comes out “melifnei HaMelech” in the royal garments. If someone has never heard the megilla before, it would be quite strange. Maybe they would even think that a chapter is missing. We are saying that the Yehudim celebrated while the threat of their lives and future descendants was still very real! They didn’t yet experience the neis of v’nahapochu.4

This moment was when Klal Yisrael recognized the hashgacha pratis. Mordechai was being honored by King Achashveirosh and they took it as an indication that they are once again being cherished by Melech Malchei HaMelachim. It was their moment of teshuva, of accepting the Torah from ahava, kimu v’kiblu. Bnei Yisrael had Emuna and responded by showing that they are holding onto - Orah - Torah, Simcha - Yom Tov, Sasson - Bris and Yikar - Tefillin.5

Those specifically are items that set us apart from the other nations and show our pride in being HKBH’s am hanivchar.

Michal Horowitz asked, why Shabbos is not in the list?

I’d like to suggest that each of these nekudos is something that we give HaShem, while Shabbos is something that He gives us

For instance:

• Torah - we must be amel b’Torah to acquire it6

• Y"T - we are oleh la'regel once we were mekadesh the zman/chodesh and we also have to do the mitzvos of the day7

• Milah - we have the commandment to do milah8 and so many Jews through the ages were moser nefesh for this mitzvah and walk in the ways of the bris shel Avraham Avinu

• Tefilin - something a Yarey Shamayim gives of himself to HKB”H on a regular basis

Shabbos is different from all of these because whatever we do or don’t do, Shabbos is kadosh. As we say in Kiddush, it was given/created by maaseh bereishis9, before Am Yisrael was born. The day is intrinsically holy and much later, it was gifted to us, the holy nation.

Hence, when the Yehudim reaccepted the Torah upon themselves in the Purim era10, in essence, they were saying: HaShem we are prepared to be moser nefesh, to give of ourselves, to do for You. Their re-acceptance of Torah was a new commitment to Torah and mitzvos through love.

In her book “abled”, Michal Horowitz shares from Rabbi Ephraim Shapiro that alef and mem is a significant theme which connects to the word Emuna.

On Shabbos Kiddush, we say zecher l’yitztzas mitzrayim. Who were the shlichim who took us out of Mitzrayim? Aharon and Moshe. Havdala, as we have established, is connected to Purim with Esther and Mordechai, another alef and mem pair.

Perhaps we can compare Shabbos which is a day me’ayn olam haba, to how yetzias mitrayim was full of nissim gluyim. Havdala is leading into the chol, which is more related to the nes of Purim with the seser. Havdala is a time of transition. When we say l’yehudim at havdala, we remind ourselves that even as we depart from the special day and lose our neshoma yesayra, we believe that we have the power to stand tall and be proud of being different (literally havdala).

After havdala, many have a custom to sing about Eliyahu HaNavi. Eliyahu is another Alef and Mashiach is a connecting Mem.

Perhaps, by understanding the statement that the Jews in Persia made, we can learn a clue to how we can connect our Shabbos to yom she’kulo Shabbos via the koach of Purim and Havdala. Kein Teheyeh Lanu. Amen.

This dvar Torah is dedicated as a refua shleima to Simcha Yitzchak ben Miraleh Yudkeh b’soch shear cholei Yisrael. May his family and all those supporting cholim have continued strength and clear siyatta dishmaya.

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Tezaveh 5786 Bigdei Kehunah For Extra Ordinary And Ordinary Jews

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This past week I had the opportunity to be at the Shalosh Seudas tish of Rav Yitzchak Meir Morgenstern in Yerushalayim. Being in the presence of an Ish Kadosh was certainly a surreal experience. One of the interesting things I noticed was that the Rebbe wears a white bekeshe on Shabbos. Now this may seem typical of Rebbes and Mekubalim, but for someone whose every move is calculated and is obsessed with kedusha, I was curious as to why he chose to wear white. I decided to try to understand the significance of wearing white on Shabbos.

Until now, the people I know who wear white on Shabbos, share a certain Tzfat vibe. Perhaps trying to mimic the custom of mekubalim of old to wear white for Shabbos. It is something that seemingly did not fully survive the move into modern life. As I learned more about this enigmatic minhag, I realized that I was missing the point and how it is wholly integrated with the theme of our parashah, the bigdei kehunah.

The western world has an oft quoted idiom that ‘the clothes make the man’, but we often miss that it is the man who picks the clothes. We pick our clothing to match the tone of the occasion or season for which we are wearing them.

Therefore, the clothing that we wear on Shabbos is a testament to what Shabbos is. Just as the clothing that we wear during the week parallel the clothing of exile.

The custom to wear white on Shabbos seems to have originated with the Arizal. On Erev Shabbos, the Arizal and his students used to put on four white garments corresponding to the four letters of the Shem Hashem, and go out to the fields of Tzfat to welcome in the Shabbos.

Rav Chaim Vital writes in the name of the Arizal that on Shabbos one should wear only white clothing. He adds that the clothing one will wear in Olam Haba resembles what one wore on Shabbos1. Rav Moshe of Premisla writes that the white clothing symbolizes our state of cleanliness from sin in Olam Haba2. The Chemdas Yamim goes further and says that by cleaning one’s clothing for Shabbos, one performs a spiritual cleansing as well3. Daniel HaNavi described Hashem as wearing white at the time of forgiveness4. White becomes the language of selichah, of simplicity, and of ascent, because white is not inward or outward but upward, toward Keter.5

It is fascinating that this custom to wear white, rooted in such lofty ideals, seems to have been set aside for the mekubalim and Tzfat chevre. Many communities honor Shabbos through special clothing without wearing all white. It is of further interest that the Rosh writes plainly that Shabbos clothing are white6, yet his son, the Baal Haturim does not say it as clearly in the Tur. He mentions one should wear special clothing, but he does not mention the white. The silence itself says something. The world of Ohr is a quiet world. Ohr comes when we have the Keli to be mekabel it. It is not for everyone.

In Lecha Dodi, Rav Shlomo Alkabetz centers the pizmon on a yearning for the Geula and a time when it will be a day of all Shabbos. He appears to centralize this on the idea of Ohr and Levushim, light and garments.

He writes7:

— הִתְנַעֲרִי מֵעָפָר קוּמִי
Yerushalayim, Shake yourself off from the dust (of galus and destruction) and stand up!

— לִבְשִׁי בִּגְדֵי תִפְאַרְתֵּךְ עַמִּי
Put on the (“clothes” that you take so much pride in), My people (Bnei Yisrael who are returning);

— יַד בֶּן יִשַּׁי בֵּית הַלַּחְמִי
through the hand of (Mashiach, who comes from the descendants of David), ben Yishai of Beis Lechem,

— קָרְבָה אֶל נַפְשִׁי גְּאָלָהּ
redeem me out of our galus, so that my soul can draw near to You.

Then,in the next stanza, he speaks in the language of clothing.

— הִתְעוֹרְרִי הִתְעוֹרְרִי
Yerushalayim, Wake up! Wake up (from your indifference and apathy caused by our galus!);

— כִּי בָא אוֹרֵךְ קוּמִי אוֹרִי
for the light of (your redemption is coming), arise and shine your light (on us, your children);

עוּרִי עוּרִי שִׁירִי דַּבֵּרִי
Awake! Awake and break out in song (and speech);

— כְּבוֹד יהוה עָלַיִךְ נִגְלָה
because the glory of Hashem’s Presence is revealed (and resting) upon you!

Lecha Dodi is not presenting two separate metaphors. It is presenting one unified claim. Redemption is light and redemption is garments. A human world receives light only through a levush. Rav Shlomo Alkabetz makes that unity explicit by fusing two distinct pesukim: “Hisoreri, hisoreri, kumi Yerushalayim”8 with “Ki va orech, kumi ori”9. The “awakening” we demand of Yerushalayim is bound up with the Ohr that approaches it.

The words themselves hint to the deeper structure. “Hisoreri” is rooted in ער, awakening. “Orech” is rooted in אור, light. The two words sound almost identical, and the distinction is the letter ayin versus alef.

This is where Parashas Tezaveh enters, because Tezaveh is when the Torah teaches us about our clothing, levush as a way to hold Ohr in a holy way.

In the language of Kabbalah, a levush is an interface. It conceals, protects, and at the right moment it reveals. Concealment is not the inverse of revelation. Concealment is what allows revelation to exist in a world that cannot receive infinity directly. It is for this reason that Chazal speak about levushim in reference to the highest spiritual realities.

Even the Ohr Ein Sof “wears” the universe, because a finite world cannot receive infinity without form. A levush does not deny the Ohr, rather it makes it inhabitable.

Rav Joey Rosenfeld once expressed the human side of this with a sentence that clarifies the entire subject. “Our garments convey the divine element within the human being. Garments convey that which is within the garment.” A garment does not only cover. A garment conveys. When the garment is truthful, it transmits what is within. When the garment is a costume, or not truly representative of that which it purports to be clothing, it blocks what is within.

Tezaveh is the Torah teaching how to build a truthful garment.

I would like to recap a bit of a previous post in which I discussed the clothing of Esav and its history, to discuss the history of clothing in the Torah.

The Torah tells us that Hashem clothed Adam and Chavah with “kosnos or,” garments of skin, עור. The Midrash tells us that in the Torah of Rebbe Meir this was written as “kosnos Ohr (אוֹר),” garments of light10. The shift from alef to ayin becomes the spiritual story of humanity. Before the chet Adam, the human being could bear Ohr (אוֹר) as a kind of natural atmosphere. After the chet, the human being moved into a denser regime, a world that required עור, concealment.

The Tikkunei Zohar11 deepens this by speaking about the Torah of Rabbi Meir as “Ohr (אוֹר),” implying that Rabbi Meir’s Torah reflects a memory of the pre-sin state, while our Torah is the Torah of after the sin, a Torah spoken within concealment.12

Similarly, as mentioned the root of עור (skin) is ער (awake). They are both languages of revelation, because skin is the revealed surface, and waking is the revealed self. עור becomes the medium through which something can be revealed in a world that cannot bear direct Ohr (אוֹר).

The question is whether what we see on the surface is real, or just a performance. That question follows us through history.

When Rivkah dressed Yaakov in Esav’s clothes, she did so in order that Yitzchak will respond to what he can sense, as the clothing, being passed down from Adam, represented the ohr of Gan Eden. However, what Rivka realized was that the bracha was not in the clothing, the bracha was in the one wearing the clothing, with the clothing only being a literal levush of the ohr inherent within Yaakov. When Esav wore the clothing, it was merely a misdirection, as it did not represent his inner light. For Esav, it represented the possibility that religiosity could become a costume. When levush aligns with inner truth, it becomes a vessel, however, when it detaches from inner truth, it becomes fraud.

This brings us to Parashas Tezaveh, which describes the garments of the Kohanim, and especially the Kohen Gadol, in meticulous detail. The level of detail is appropriate when detailing a Keli that can hold onto the Ohr Ein Sof.

The Shlah makes this clear, explaining that the Bigdei Kehunah were meant to bring a tikkun for the chet of Adam and to raise Aharon toward the level of Adam before the sin, it is through the clothing that we can retrieve the Ohr.13 The Shlah elaborates that the Kohen Gadol wore a choshen. The word choshen חשן shares the same letters as nachash - נחש. The garment itself becomes a tikkun of the original distortion. The nachash introduced confusion, fracture, and the possibility that the external and internal could split. The choshen becomes a levush designed to heal that split. (It is not for naught that on the Choshen was all the shevatim, to show that we are all parts of the same oneness)

Furthermore, the clothing of the Kohen is called a kesones, which is reminiscent of Adam’s kesones. The Midrash teaches that Moshe wore a white kesones during the miluim, the inauguration of the mishkan.14While not all the bigdei kehuna were white, the white garments were reserved for the most auspicious times, such as for Moshe and on Yom Kippur. White indicates purity and ascent, because the garment is meant to convey truth rather than ego.

The Alter Rebbe explains that Aharon, as Kohen Gadol, serves as a primary conduit of the Ohr Ein Sof to Knesses Yisrael, and that his garments are spiritual “containers” that make this light revealable . The formation of those garments, and the revelation they enable, has three partners. Moshe draws down the berachah from above. The chachmei lev then shape and form that influx with chochmah, giving it structure and intelligibility. Finally, Bnei Yisrael “switch it on” through practical mitzvos, because without concrete deeds the vessel remains conceptual and the light remains dormant.15

In other words, Bigdei Kehunah are not just for the Kohen. They are the visible expression of a national system, where the highest Ohr is drawn down, shaped, and activated. But now the real question is unavoidable: without a standing Mikdash and without the Bigdei Kehunah, how do we draw that same light down into ordinary life?

When Rav Shlomo Alkabetz left Saloniki to make aliyah, he delivered an overarching derashah on Parashas Terumah that emphasized this theme of the Torah of Rabbi Meir as an organizing idea for his worldview. He understood the details of the building of the mishkan and the bigdei kehuna as the Torah’s attempt to restore a human relationship to Ohr (אוֹר) through keilim and levushim. This, he explains is manifested today as a zecher with Tefillin. Tefillin are made of עור. When we wear tefillin we are testifying that we are in a post - chet reality. But we can take the fabric of Galus, and use it to bring אוֹר.

Rav Moshe Cordovero, the prime student of Rav Shlomo Alkabetz, echoes this idea. He writes that the garments of leather עור after the sin are garments of galus, while the garments of Ohr (אוֹר) before the sin are garments of Shabbos and freedom16. The Ramak adds that the alef of Ohr (אוֹר) represents oneness. However, when Adam sinned, kodesh and chol began to blend together, and the Ohr (אוֹר) became עור with an ayin, which represents the seventy nations and the condition of exile. Galus feels scattered and heavy, like being defined from the outside. Geula feels whole and clear, like coming back to yourself.

The ayin of exile is not erased. It is subdued. The leather of the tefillin becomes the instrument through which the alef of Ohr (אוֹר) is reclaimed from within the ayin of exile17.18

However, tefillin is not worn on Shabbos. Which means Shabbos carries its own form of repair.

The Chemdas Yamim teaches that the tikkun for Chet Adam on Shabbos is done by wearing special clothing for Shabbos, and that Shabbos clothing enters the category of special garments grouped with the clothing of Adam, the clothing of the Kohen Gadol, the clothing of God, and the clothing of Mashiach19. Shabbos clothing is not simply special clothing to honor Shabbos, it is a way to bridge into the same spiritual category as Bigdei Kehunah, both of which are levushim that make room for the Shechinah.20

The Midrash makes the bridge between Shabbos and kehuna explicit. We honor Shabbos with food, drink, and clean clothing because Hashem made for Adam kosnos Ohr (אוֹר), and those garments were Bigdei Kehunah21. Bigdei Kehunah and bigdei Shabbos become identified in function. They are garments that allow a human being to stand before the Shechinah.

You see this again at Har Sinai. Before Matan Torah, Bnei Yisrael are told to wash their clothes22, and the Targum reads it as whitening; Rashi23 says their garments were whitened and made fit to receive the Shechinah. Clothing becomes a kind of preparation for revelation, and whiteness becomes a language of readiness. The Gemara even says that talmidei chachamim in Bavel looked like malachim, and Rashi ties that to their white clothing and covered appearance24. Again and again, levush signals a state of being that extends beyond appearance.

At this point we see the structure of Lecha Dodi. Rav Shlomo Alkabetz first tells us that we should shake off the dust of our clothing of Galus, and put on the right clothing since it is through that, that we will merit the Ohr.

Getting back to Lecha Dodi -

We later use the term “Shiri daberi”, which is sourced in Devorah’s “Uri uri dabri shir”25, and Chazal connect that phrase to the return of nevuah26. Nevuah is not merely perception, it is the experience of being present with the Shechinah. The Gemara in Shabbos teaches that Shechinah rests only upon one in joy, and it learns this from Elisha who required music to receive prophecy27. Nevuah and Shechinah become two ways of describing the same contact. If so, “shiri daberi” becomes a plea not only for song, but for the return of Shechinah.

This then leads to the closing of the stanza “Kevod Hashem alayich nigleh,” Kevod Hashem is described in Tanach as a source of illumination. “V’haaretz he’ira mikvodo,” the land is illuminated from His kavod28. Thus Lecha Dodi becomes a plea that Yerushalayim once again enjoy the illumination that radiates from the place of Mikdash, the place where kevod becomes visible in history.

At that point, Shabbos, kehuna, and geulah stop looking like separate themes.

In Parashas Tezaveh, the Torah is giving us an eternal lesson that the world can be clothed in a way that makes it fit for light. It begins with Adam, who moved from kosnos Ohr (אוֹר) to kosnos עור. It continues with Yaakov and Esav, where clothing becomes contested and levush becomes dangerous. It appears again in Tezaveh, where the Torah introduces garments whose entire purpose is alignment, and repair. It is Avodah in its truest form.

“Ki va orech, kumi ori.”
The Ohr is coming. Rise into it.

Watching Rav Morgenstern in his white bekeshe, I understood that the Ohr (אוֹר) of the Shechinah has never left. Each of us can access it when we approach it in a wholesome, truthful way. Then we can wear its levush and on Purim even what is usually reserved for the select few comes out for everyone, as each of us is blessed on that day with a singularly unique Ohr (אוֹר) of our own.29

Terumah 5786 Grasping The Ungraspable

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This week’s parashah is deeply instructional, yet confounding. It discusses the requirements for the Mishkan, with the central items including the Aron, Menorah, Shulchan, Kerashim, Mizbe’ach, and the coverings of the Mishkan.

As I reviewed the parashah, two questions stood out. One is asked by virtually everyone, and the other is asked by virtually no one.

The parashah begins with the mitzvah of terumah, however the wording is strange:

וְיִקְחוּ לִי תְּרוּמָה — “They should take for Me a donation.”

A bit later the purpose becomes clear when Hashem commands that they make Him a Mikdash, “so that I may dwell amongst them.”

There are 2 questions that are asked by the meforshim.

First, why does the Torah say, “Tell Bnei Yisrael to take for Me gifts”? Hashem is instructing Moshe to collect donations, and it seems it should say, “Tell Bnei Yisrael to give Me gifts.”

Second, why does the Torah say, “And let them make Me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them” (ושכנתי בתוכם)? It seems it should s…

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Mishpatim 5786 The Ascent Of Coming Down

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Our downstairs neighbors have a pet cat that seems to be engaged in a mostly futile attempt to bring home the neighborhood pigeons for dinner. The pigeons fly higher and the cat is left perched on our porch, or sometimes even on the porch above us, trying to figure out how to get back down. That is usually when a small rescue mission begins.

After this happened a number of times, I started to wonder why we talk so much about climbing, but so little about coming back down? We praise ascent and romanticize growth, yet the real challenge may not be the climb itself. The real problem may be getting stuck, like that cat, scrambling upward with intensity and then realizing there is no graceful way back down.

David HaMelech writes in Tehillim1, מי־יעלה בהר ה׳ ומי יקום במקום קדשו, “Who will ascend the mountain of Hashem, and who will stand in His holy place?” The Shem MiShmuel2, citing the Maggid of Kozhnitz, explains that while ascending the mountain of Hashem may seem like the achievement, the …

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Yisro 5786 Make Space For The Light

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How many times do I find myself doomscrolling through social media and losing track of time? After a while I realized that I have an unhealthy obsession with news and anything that piques my curiosity. I catch myself feeling that it’s almost as if being a responsible person means being emotionally plugged into the entire planet. Then, I realize that this need to know creates an information bank, but doesn’t necessarily create wisdom. More often, it simply generates anxiety, tension and the need to chase the next hit of dopamine.

This week, in a shiur with my mentor, Rav Yehoshua Gerzi, we spoke about the concept of daas. Daas is many things, but at its simplest level, it’s intentional thinking. It’s the awareness that fills the space between stimulus and response. We discussed how thoughts, feelings, and emotions are not the same as our neshama; they’re the domain of the nefesh. Daas is the conscious choice of what you let into your space. It’s the ability to live inside your own life …

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Beshalach 5786

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After the miraculous crossing of the Yam Suf, Bnei Yisrael began their journey through the midbar. Shortly after, the nation complained of hunger and Hashem sent them angelic food from heaven: the manna. Each day, they gathered exactly what they needed.

This continued all week, until on Friday, the people discovered a double portion. They were surprised and confused, so they approached Moshe. Only then did he inform them that the following day would be a day of rest: “Tomorrow is a day of rest, a holy Shabbos for Hashem. Whatever you wish to bake, bake today…”1. Moshe instructed them not to go out to collect on Shabbos because nothing would fall. This was the first time they were encountering Shabbos as lived reality.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe2 explains that the Jewish people already knew of Shabbos as an idea, a future reality they would one day be commanded to live by. Their confusion stemmed from encountering it in action before hearing it presented as a direct command.

That raises an obvi…

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Bo 5786

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Every home carries invisible signs.

Those signs may appear in our habits, which flow into our way of life. They are also in the memories we create and the values we protect.

We often take these signs for granted. After all, they are invisible. Yet at certain moments it becomes important to notice them and to ask what truly makes a home ours. What do we believe? What patterns shape our days? Is this the life we want our home to reflect? Are we creating the memories we hope will one day define it?

This question stands at the heart of Parashas Bo, when we encounter the mitzvah of the korban Pesach and the command to mark the doorposts with blood.

The Torah tells us some of the intricacies of the korban Pesach:

When slaughtering the lamb or kid for the korban Pesach, the blood must be collected in a basin. Some of that blood is then placed on the two doorposts and on the lintel of the houses in which the korban will be eaten. The Torah explains how the blood will serve as an os, a sign that pr…

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Shemos 5786

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Sefer Bereishis teaches us about the sin of the Etz HaDaas, which sent mankind out of Gan Eden and cut off our access to the Ohr Ein Sof, now the Ohr HaGanuz. From there, the Avos and the Shevatim work to draw that light into our world and guide it back toward tikkun, returning creation to the clarity of before the sin.

In Bereishis, we chased the Ohr Ein Sof as it flashed through beginnings and promises. In Shemos, the light lies dormant, and we learn to live through darkness as refinement brings it back into view.Sefer Shemos enters another exile in Mitzrayim, and then follows the path toward redemption.

One way to contrast Sefer Bereishis and Sefer Shemos is through the difference between the teivah of Noach and the teivah of Moshe.

There are many distinctions between the two, but one detail stands out: how each one was waterproofed. Noach’s teivah was coated with tar on the outside and the inside. Moshe’s teivah was coated with tar only on the outside, and the inside was lined with c…

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Shabbos Vayechi

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We have been learning about the great light, the Ohr Ein Sof, the Ohr hidden with Creation. The Ohr that Noach lacked the vessel to hold, that Avraham carried, that Yitzchak integrated with strength and peace. It is the same Ohr that Yaakov sought through darkness, tasted in moments of clarity, and then met again through concealment. This Ohr does not pass directly from Yaakov to his children, and it is not even given to the seeming heirs, Yehuda and Yosef. Instead Yaakov’s last words act as a prism. They name the vessels that carry the hidden Ohr through concealment, until it refracts as geulah.

Once Yaakov spoke to each shevet about its destiny ,then we see what becomes of this light. The Ohr Ein Sof remains mostly concealed, resting dormant inside the shevatim, until the end of days, a time of absolute darkness. At that time, the dormant traits which Yaakov named will begin to shine. They will each refract the same hidden Ohr in its own way, like a prism, and together they open the …

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Shabbos Vayigash

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Chanukah is over and now we miss the flames that were our most tangible connection to the Ohr HaGanuz. They appear to be gone with their oil used up, yet the light lives on. It moved into our neshamas. Now we need to make sure we do not extinguish that light for the soul of Chanukah stays with us all year round.

Recently, I noticed a tea light starting to flicker out. The wick somehow got dislodged from the little metal piece on the bottom. I tried to straighten it and in the process the flame got extinguished. I tried to relight it by bringing another flame close so it could catch and was unsuccessful. It hit me that some lights do not respond to pressure. They need a different angle, maybe a trimmed wick, fresh air, or patience.

People tend to be like that too. When someone seems far from the Source of light, our instinct is to push, nudge, or flood them with our glow and hope it catches. However the way to keep a candle burning is gentler. The key to success is to clear the draft, wa…

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Shabbos Miketz

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This has been a confusing week. On one hand, we saw darkness and hate in a way that rattled us to our very core. On the other hand, we have been lighting up our homes every night with Chanukah candles. We have been living a week of darkness and light. We have been living a week of reality. Reality keeps moving, and we keep moving with it, as hard as that may be.

This is the message of Parashas Miketz. Yosef shows how to preserve light inside darkness without romanticizing the darkness, while Shabbos shows that light can arrive from Above even when nothing down here feels ready for it.

Previously, we learned the idea that the segments of Yaakov’s life where he spent decades living with Lavan, needing to find the light in the darkness. Then he went back to Canaan, a place of light but beset with shadows and lingering darkness, setting a foundation for his children, primarily Yosef and Yehuda. As discussed, Yosef represents the light that survives the darkness, Yehuda represents the darkne…

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25 Kislev, 1st day of Chanukah 5786

Sometimes a bunch of unrelated moments line up, and only afterward do you realize they were all pieces of one idea Hashem was trying to show you.

I didn’t set out to write about this. It kind of strung together on its own. Between a text message, a conversation with a friend, opening a book, and attending a shiur that doesn’t usually fit into my schedule. Looking back, it’s hard not to see how the pieces were placed exactly where they needed to be. Hashem gives us the pieces. Our job is to notice how they fit.

As you may know, I write a weekly post on the parsha, usually trying to uncover a deeper layer beneath the surface of the text. Lately, my focus has been on Shabbos, on learning how to tap into its light and carry it with us as we move through the darkness of the weekdays.

I’ve been writing about the spirituality of light and darkness. Sometimes we have to find the hidden light inside the darkness just to get through. Even when we reach the light,…

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Shabbos Vayeshev

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Yaakov’s encounter with the darkness inside the light extends beyond himself. The Torah carries this pattern into the lives of his children and, through them, into the unfolding of Jewish history.

The Beis Yaakov1 notes that when the parashah says אלה תולדות יעקב, יוסף, “these are the generations of Yaakov: Yosef,” it speaks about more than genealogy. The hidden depths of a parent’s heart emerge either through their deeds or through their children. Yosef stands as the visible manifestation of Yaakov’s inner world. Everything that lies most inward in Yaakov, his clarity, his truth, his capacity to live only through fully clarified actions, enters history through Yosef. When Yosef is later torn away from him, Yaakov loses a beloved son and with that loss, he watches the very structure of his own spiritual life appear to collapse. Even then, the Beis Yaakov explains, Yaakov returns to what he learned in the house of Lavan and serves God in a darkness where his promises seem broken and any …

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