Small tidbits and Sparks of wisdom

On Tisha B’Av, many search for meaning. Some ask, What should I feel? What am I supposed to be doing? But the truth is—we don’t need to invent meaning for Tisha B’Av. Hashem Himself already wrote the script.

This isn’t a day for inspiration, programming, or motivational content. This is a day to do something far deeper—to join Hashem in His pain.

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“Hashem Called for Weeping and Sackcloth”

וַיִּקְרָא אֲדֹנָי ה’ צְבָאוֹת בַּיּוֹם הַהוּא לִבְכִי וּלְמִסְפֵּד וּלְקָרְחָה וְלַחֲגוֹר שָׂק
“Hashem, Lord of Legions, called on that day for weeping, mourning, baldness, and sackcloth.”
(Yeshayahu 22:12)

If we could go up to Shamayim and ask what’s playing today—we wouldn’t find programming or special events. No speakers, no panels, no media. We’d see Hashem sitting low, mourning His House, His people, His presence withdrawn from the world.

Hashem declared this day as one of crying. And when we sit on the floor, in silence, in darkness—we are not just remembering the Churban. We are joining the Divine in His own declared grief.

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The Fifth Middah: He Lets Go of His Anger

וְלֹא יַחֲזִיק לָעַד אַפּוֹ
“He does not retain His anger forever.”
(Micha 7:18)

There is a moment, even while sin still lingers, when Hashem says: “Enough. I will no longer hold on to My anger. Not because you deserve it. Because I choose mercy.”

This is what happened in the times of Yeravam ben Yoash: despite idolatry, Hashem restored the borders of Israel (Melachim II 14:26–27). Why? Because He could no longer bear to see the affliction of His people. His compassion overpowered His judgment.

And maybe this is also what happened in 1948. We weren’t worthy. Most of us weren’t even observant. But Hashem still gave us return, borders, and a home. He let go of His fury—not because of us, but because of Him.

And sometimes, that mercy—undeserved, unearned, Divine kindness—becomes the spark that finally awakens true teshuvah.

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The First Midrash in Eicha Rabbah: The King Still Loves Her

“A king had a wife who sinned. In his anger, he expelled her from his palace—but his heart remained with her.”
(Eicha Rabbah 1:1)

So too, says the Midrash, Hashem sent us into exile, but His Shechinah went with us. His heart never left. Even when we are disgusting. Even when we are unworthy. Hashem mourns the distance more than we do.

Tisha B’Av is not a day of abandonment. It’s a day of estranged closeness. We sit on the floor because the Shechinah is sitting there too.

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The Two Acts Hashem Does Himself: Burial and Comfort

There are only two acts in Tanach that the Torah says Hashem did Himself, not through a malach:

1. He Buried Moshe

וַיִּקְבֹּר אֹתוֹ בַגַּי – “He buried him in the valley…”
(Devarim 34:6)

2. He Will Personally Comfort Zion

אָנֹכִי אָנֹכִי הוּא מְנַחֶמְכֶם – “I, I am the One who comforts you.”
(Yeshayahu 51:12)

So what are we doing on Tisha B’Av?

We are burying the dignity of a nation. We are comforting the Shechinah. We are not just fulfilling mitzvos—we are imitating the actions of Hashem Himself.

When you cry on Tisha B’Av, you are walking in the footsteps of G-d.

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Hashem Keeps the Mitzvos: But These He Revealed

The Yalkut Shimoni teaches that Hashem keeps all the mitzvos: tefillin, tzitzis, etc. But those are mystical, hidden.

Yet here, in these three mitzvos, Hashem revealed to us His own practice, so we could emulate Him directly:

• Bikkur Cholim – Visiting the sick: Hashem visited Avraham after his bris.
• Kevurah – Hashem Himself buried Moshe.
• Nichum Aveilim – Hashem personally comforts Tzion.

On Tisha B’Av, we fulfill all three:

• We sit with the broken.
• We comfort each other.
• We bury the memory of what was lost.

We do not imitate humans. We imitate the Creator.

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When We Help the Enemy’s Donkey

“If you see the donkey of your enemy collapsed under its burden, you must help him…”
(Shemos 23:5)

That donkey is us. We were Hashem’s enemy. We betrayed the covenant. We made ourselves disgusting.

But when we collapsed under the burden of exile, Hashem still came to help.

That’s the middah of וְלֹא יַחֲזִיק לָעַד אַפּוֹ. He was right to be angry. He still helps anyway.

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Conclusion: Tisha B’Av Is Not a Ritual—It’s a Reunion

On this day, we do what Hashem did:

• We sit low like the Shechinah.
• We bury what has been lost.
• We comfort what has been broken.
• And we cry—not just to remember, but to return.

Because maybe—just maybe—if we mourn with Hashem, He will build with us.

The Deeper Structure of the Ten Commandments

The Ten Commandments are famously divided into two sets:

The first five address man’s relationship with Hashem.

The second five address man’s relationship with his fellow man.

But this division is only surface-deep. In truth, all ten commandments are fundamentally between man and God.

Why?

Because if you accept Hashem as your Creator, the One who gave you life, shaped your identity, and wrote your script—then you must also accept that He gave everyone else their portion too.

To harm another person—to steal from him, to covet his spouse, to dishonor his dignity—is to rebel not only against him, but against the One who gave it to him.

> Theft is rebellion. Coveting is heresy.
All bein adam lechaveiro is also bein adam laMakom.

The Torah is not a list of crimes—it is a declaration of emunah.

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The Tenth Commandment: The Battle in the Mind

The final commandment—“Lo Sachmod,” do not covet—asks nothing of your actions. It demands control of your inner world: your thoughts, your desires, your longings.

This is the ultimate test.

A person can learn Torah, keep mitzvos, dress the part—and still burn inside with jealousy:

Why is his house nicer?

Why is her husband more accomplished?

Why did they get the attention, the recognition, the bracha I feel I deserve?

This is not just an emotional flaw. It is a spiritual danger.

> Jealousy is rebellion against God’s allocation.

It is saying: Hashem made a mistake.
That I should have gotten what he has.
That the Creator of the world got it wrong.

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The Lifelong Battle

Conquering jealousy isn’t a one-time victory. It’s a lifelong battle.

And it’s harder for people who are stronger, more capable, more ambitious, or more gifted—because they are constantly tested by comparison.

But that very nisayon—feeling like you deserve more—is itself a tailor-made spiritual workout. Hashem wants you to conquer it. Not through retreat, but through growth.

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You Are a Piece of the Puzzle

The antidote to jealousy begins with one truth:

> You are irreplaceable.

Your talents, your circumstances, your soul’s mission—were all handcrafted by Hashem.

Every person is a piece in a puzzle. And without your piece, the picture is not complete.

Not everyone will be a leader, a speaker, or a success story in worldly terms. But every Jew can be great in the eyes of Hashem—through truth, humility, and inner growth.

Your portion is your world. Own it. Build it. Don’t stare at someone else’s.

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The Danger of the Wrong Environment

When a Jew lives in a Torah community—where spiritual success is celebrated and values are elevated—his soul is lifted.

But when he moves into a place where materialism, vanity, and superficiality dominate, he begins to judge his worth by comparison. And the last five commandments begin to fall:

Murder becomes character assassination.

Adultery becomes normalized.

Theft becomes creative accounting.

False witness becomes lying to preserve image.

Coveting becomes a way of life.

The Torah’s blueprint depends on environment. Without it, even good people stumble.

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Giving Is the Real Receiving

In a world chasing spotlight, Torah teaches the opposite:

> To give is to become.

Giving isn’t just charity—it’s transformation.

Giving money more than you’re comfortable with.

Giving time when you’re tired.

Giving kindness when you’d rather withdraw.

Giving Torah—even when you feel unqualified.

That kind of giving breaks the ego. And when you break the ego, you create room for Hashem to dwell inside you.

> To say no when you can help is not neutrality—it’s spiritual blockage.

When you give, you activate the flow of blessing—not only for others, but for yourself.

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The Body of Torah

The 613 mitzvos are not individual tasks. They are limbs of one Divine body.
The Torah is not merely a law book. It is the Book of Life.

It teaches you how to:

Think

Speak

Eat

Give

Control

Build

Love

Dress

Wake

Sleep

Every moment, every breath, can be Torah—if you live consciously.

> “Ki hem chayeinu v’orech yameinu – For they are our life and the length of our days.”

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The Real Success

Real success isn’t having more.
It’s needing less.
It’s giving more.
It’s being anchored in purpose when the world around you is blowing in the wind.

You don’t need to be someone else. You need to be the truest version of yourself—as the Torah defines it.

> You are enough. And you are necessary.

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You know how it goes. Sometimes the kasha is great, but the teretz disappoints. Sometimes it’s vice versa. Not this time. Get ready.

If the most significant, and oft-cited reason for the Churban was clearly sin’as chinom – baseless hatred – why do we have a halacha NOT to say “Hello,” or “Good morning,” on Tisha B’Av? Farkert! Especially on that day, we should go out of our way to greet our fellow Jews?!?

Answers Harav Yitzchok Vorko zt”l: Because more often than not, our greetings to each other are, in fact, perfunctory, forced, and insincere. THAT is sin’as chinom. So on Tisha B’Av we STOP that disingenuous behavior. The next day, we can resolve to say, “Hello,” with real simcha, and “How are you?” like we really mean it. That new and heartfelt care is exactly the tikkun we need to lay the foundation for the eternal Beis Hamikdash.

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There’s something beautiful about small Jewish communities in out-of-town places — Cleveland, Memphis, Phoenix, or even suburban New Jersey. On Shabbos, seeing another frum Yid on the street is a highlight. You feel

“But God said to me: Say to them, do not ascend and do not fight, because I am not in your midst, so that you will not be beaten before your enemies.
Thus did I speak to you, but you did not listen; you rebelled against the word of God and ascended the mountain presumptuously.
And the Emori who dwells upon that mountain came out to meet you and pursued you, as bees do, and struck you down in Se’ir until Chormah.
Then you returned and wept before Hashem, but Hashem did not listen to your voice and did not incline His ear toward you.”
— Devarim 1:42–45

These pesukim are not a feel-good narrative. They are painful. They record failure. They document rebellion, arrogance, punishment, and divine silence. No nation inventing its own religious mythology would ever write this. And that’s precisely the point.

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Chapter 1: Self-Criticism as the Seal of Truth

In life, the greatest indicator of authenticity—whether in a person, a business, a nation, or a religion—is the ability to accept critique and encourage self-examination. Confidence isn’t proven by boasting; it’s proven by accountability. The best individuals, the healthiest societies, and the truest faiths welcome questions. They aren’t afraid to challenge themselves, because they are built on a solid foundation.

Judaism embraces that principle. Torah study is defined by inquiry. Every daf of Gemara is filled with arguments, challenges, and questions. Our greatest sages were not unquestioned rulers—they were relentlessly interrogated by their peers and students.

The Torah itself leads by example. It doesn’t just permit criticism—it models it. It recounts the nation’s failures without excuse. In these verses from Devarim, the people act with presumption, ignoring Hashem’s warning not to wage war. The result is disaster. And even when they cry and beg afterward, Hashem does not listen.

Would any man-made religion write this? Would it document a time when prayer went unanswered? When God’s people were defeated and ignored? If the Torah were a product of political convenience or myth-making, these verses wouldn’t exist.

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Chapter 2: No Marketing, Only Truth

The Torah is not written like the New Testament or the Quran. It doesn’t glorify its followers, hide its mistakes, or sanitize its leaders. Avraham argues with God. Moshe hits the rock and is punished. Aharon remains silent after his sons die. The people complain. They doubt. They rebel. And it’s all there in black and white.

Man-made ideologies suppress dissent. They cannot afford to be challenged. They enforce belief with fear. Torah encourages challenge. Hashem commands us to ask, to study, to debate. Why? Because it’s true. And truth can stand on its own.

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Chapter 3: The Only True Religion

This is why Judaism is unique. It is not the invention of a single man, nor a cult of personality. It is the legacy of a nation that received the Torah at Sinai, from the Creator Himself. If it were invented, it would hide our sins. Instead, it exposes them. That alone is a radical sign of authenticity.

Those who accept criticism are seeking to improve. Those who fear it are hiding weakness. The Torah invites us to examine it, to examine ourselves, and to rise higher.

There is no other religion in the world that dares to show its people failing, weeping, and being ignored by God—while still holding fast to the covenant. That is not fiction. That is reality. That is divine.

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Chapter 4: If the Torah Were Man-Made, It Would Have Been Disproven Long Ago

If the Torah were authored by a man, especially 3,000 years ago in a desert with no access to global exploration or modern science, it would have been filled with guesswork—and eventually disproven. But instead, it boldly makes universal, testable claims about the natural world—claims that have never been refuted.

Take, for example, the Torah’s criteria for kosher fish: only those with fins and scales may be eaten. The Torah doesn’t just say this casually—it presents it as an absolute rule (Vayikra 11:9-12). Chazal in the Gemara (Chullin 66b) further clarify that any fish with scales also has fins, and therefore there is no such thing as a fish that has scales but no fins.

Now think: Moshe Rabbeinu never visited the Amazon River, didn’t dive in the Pacific, and didn’t have access to Arctic marine life. If this statement were a human guess, it could easily have been disproven by one odd fish in some obscure corner of the world. But thousands of years have passed, countless marine species have been cataloged, and not one fish has ever contradicted this rule.

Likewise, the Torah gives precise signs for kosher birds and land animals: birds of prey are forbidden, and kosher animals must both chew their cud and have split hooves. The Torah doesn’t list these laws vaguely; it names specific exceptions like the camel, pig, and hare—each of which possesses only one sign. Again, such biological claims, if invented by man, would have collapsed under scientific scrutiny. But they haven’t.

And remember—Moshe never traveled to Australia, North America, or sub-Saharan Africa. Yet the Torah contains no zoological error. Not one kosher species listed contradicts the Torah’s signs. Not one forbidden species has both kosher indicators. That’s not luck. That’s revelation.

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Conclusion: Truth in Character, Truth in Fact

The Torah doesn’t just tell the moral truth by criticizing its own leaders and exposing its people’s failures. It tells the scientific truth—bold, specific, universal—and does so thousands of years before humanity could verify it.

This is not the work of a man. No man in the ancient world could have written such a flawless system of laws, ethics, zoology, and prophecy. The only rational conclusion is the one we’ve always held: the Torah is from the Creator Himself.

It is not a religion of men. It is a covenant from Hashem. It holds up to criticism. It holds up to history. And it holds up to science. That is why the Torah remains eternal, unmatched, and utterly true.

The Silence of Leadership:

Devarim 2:16-17 reads:

> “And it came to pass when all the men of war had finished dying from among the people… Hashem spoke to me saying…”

The Sages in Bava Basra 121b derive a striking truth from this verse. For nearly thirty-eight years, Hashem did not speak to Moshe in the same direct, intimate manner as before. Not because Moshe failed, chalilah, but because the people failed—due to the sin of the spies.

The Mechilta and Sifra emphasize that prophecy isn’t merely a private affair between Hashem and the navi. It is a national channel—and when the nation is unworthy, even the greatest leader’s prophecy is affected. Hashem withheld His word not out of Moshe’s personal lacking, but because the nation as a whole was undeserving.

This isn’t just a commentary on Divine communication. It’s a foundational statement about Jewish leadership. Moshe Rabbeinu, the greatest of all prophets, was silenced—because the people he led were not in a state to receive.

One Body, One Soul

This teaches us: leaders and the people are one body. If the “foot” is limping, the “head” feels pain. If the “heart” is corrupted, the “eyes” go dim. Moshe’s silence is not his shame—it is our collective accountability.

We are not a nation of celebrity worship or idolatrous hierarchies. Our leaders are not divine figures—they are mirrors of our potential. If the generation behaves righteously, the leader shines. If the generation fails, the leader is burdened.

As the commentary notes:

> “It was not out of consideration of the personal standing of the prophets, but only for the sake of the nation as a whole… God allowed His Word to come to them, and this was true even in the case of Moshe.”

We Are All Celebrities in Hashem’s Eyes

Torah Judaism does not promote “rockstar” rabbanim or cults of personality. Even the most gifted leader is only elevated for the sake of the klal. And when the klal fails—so too does the leader’s spiritual conduit.

Each of us holds a spark of greatness. Some are blessed with gifts—wisdom, charisma, strength—to lead. But those gifts are not for self-glory. They exist to serve the tzibbur, the way a shepherd serves his flock with love, not superiority.

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Closing Thought

The Torah’s silence toward Moshe during the midbar years is not a tragedy—it is a wake-up call. When we elevate ourselves, we elevate our leaders. And when we fall, they suffer with us. One nation. One body. One soul.

Let us act in a way that restores the Divine Voice—not just to our prophets, but into the fabric of our daily lives.

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The Torah speaks often in collective terms — “you shall appoint,” “take for yourselves,” “the people shall give.” But in any real Jewish community, from Lakewood to Chicago to Antwerp, we all know the truth: the majority of people are just trying to make it through the day.

They come to shul, daven, pay tuition, pay bills. But they don’t vote, they don’t organize, and they’re not on any boards. So who exactly is the Torah talking to when it says “you shall appoint leaders over yourselves”?

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Torah Structure: Not a Democracy, But Not a Dictatorship

> “Take for yourselves men who are wise, understanding, and known to your tribes, and I will place them as heads over you.” — Devarim 1:13

This is not democracy. It’s a hierarchy, but one that depends on recognition by the people. The leaders must be “known to your tribes” — meaning there must be some level of grassroots awareness. But let’s be honest — in most communities, even in the time of Moshe, it was probably a minority that actively cared.

So the Torah is speaking ideally, calling on people to engage — but the reality has always been that only a handful step up.

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The 10-15% Minority That Runs the Show

Walk into any shul or Jewish nonprofit, and the breakdown is the same:

5% are the drivers — loud voices, big donors, or true believers.

15% show up when asked.

The rest? They keep their heads down, come for a kiddush, write a check once a year, and just want to be left alone.

This isn’t a modern issue. It’s built into the system. That’s why Chazal say:

> “In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.” — Pirkei Avos 2:5

The Torah assumes most people won’t lead. But it urges those who can to step up.

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Why Does the Torah Speak to Everyone Then?

Because the Torah believes in collective spiritual responsibility. Whether or not you speak at meetings or donate large sums, you are part of the kehilla — and you are spiritually tied to its outcomes. That’s arvus.

So even if 90% of the people don’t lead, the Torah holds all accountable. It’s not naïve — it’s calling the silent majority to wake up.

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So Is the Torah System Communistic? Socialist?

It looks like it — but it’s not.

The Torah mandates giving, tithes, shared infrastructure, and communal responsibility.

But it also guarantees private property, individual inheritance, and hierarchy of kedusha.

This isn’t Marx. This is Sinai.

The Torah model is shared obligation without erasing the individual. It’s not about flattening society. It’s about raising society through mitzvah, not coercion.

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Gray Zones, Conflicting Opinions, and the Myth of Unity

Every Jew has a different take. Ask 100 Jews a question, you get 100 opinions. Some are far right. Some are extreme left. Some are in the middle. And most just want to daven, eat supper, and put the kids to bed.

So how do communal decisions happen?

Usually through inertia and power.

The people with money or influence make decisions.

The rabbi may advise, but doesn’t control.

Everyone else goes along, unless something blows up.

That’s not cynicism. That’s how most communities function. And sometimes it works beautifully — when there is trust, transparency, and fear of Heaven. When not, it leads to resentment and dysfunction.

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So What Do You Do With All This?

If you’re in the 90%:

Don’t tune out completely. Even small engagement matters.

Back the people doing it right, even if they’re imperfect.

Remember: If you stay silent, you can’t complain later.

If you’re in the 10-15%:

Stay humble.

Know the difference between stewardship and control.

Don’t use the tzibbur for kavod or gain. The Torah sees everything.

If you’re a rabbi or leader:

Be transparent. Be accountable. Be real.

You carry the Torah — not your own agenda.

Remember that you’re not owed loyalty — you earn it by how you carry Hashem’s name.

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Final Thought: Ideal Language, Real Expectations and maybe this is specifically for living in the Land of Israel not in diaspora?!

The Torah speaks to an ideal nation: awake, engaged, God-fearing.

Reality is messier. Most people are tired, overworked, and barely staying afloat.

But the Torah doesn’t lower the bar. Instead, it raises individuals. One Jew at a time. One voice at a time. Until slowly, a kehilla emerges that mirrors the vision.

That’s how it’s always been. And that’s how it will be — until Mashiach, and beyond.

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“Do not place your trust in nobles, nor in a human being, for he holds no salvation. His spirit departs, he returns to his earth; on that very day, his thoughts perish.”
(Tehillim 146:3–4)

This verse delivers a hard but holy truth: no human—no matter how powerful, wealthy, or kind—is the true source of salvation. Their spirit is temporary, their power is fleeting. Ultimately, everything a person has or receives is from Hashem alone.

Many religious Jews say, “I trust in Hashem,” yet quietly lean—just a little—on their paycheck, their parents, their spouse, their network. A sliver of reliance here, a trace of hope there. But King David warns us: even that small trace is misplaced. If we believe blessing comes from people, even if Hashem is in the background, we’ve already begun to corrupt the clarity of emunah.

Avraham’s Refusal: A Lesson in Pure Faith

Nowhere is this message more sharply illustrated than in the life of Avraham Avinu.

After risking his life to defeat the four kings and rescue Lot, Avraham is offered a massive reward by the King of Sodom. And yet, he refuses, saying:

“I raise my hand to Hashem, God Most High, Maker of Heaven and Earth, that I will not take even a thread or a shoelace, lest you say: ‘I made Avram rich.’”
(Bereishis 14:22–23)

Think about this: Avraham had just waged war, won decisively, and had every legal and moral right to take the spoils. Yet he turned it all down—not because he didn’t need it, not because he was above wealth, but because he refused to let anyone say that his success came from human hands. Not even a shoelace.

This is the extreme expression of bitachon. To deny not just the help of others, but even the perception of dependence. Not out of ego—but out of spiritual clarity. Avraham wanted no one—even generations later—to claim that any part of his success, his legacy, or his blessing came from a corrupt human source.

Taking Help ≠ Placing Trust

This doesn’t mean we walk through life rejecting kindness or refusing to function in society. On the contrary, Torah requires us to be mesudar—organized, relational, grateful, and kind. We are meant to work, interact, give, and receive. But beneath all the interactions lies the root question: where is your trust?

Do you believe the help came through that person? Or from them?

A true ba’al bitachon knows: the boss who signs the check, the spouse who supports emotionally, the parent who gives advice—all are just instruments. The real Meitiv, the ultimate Giver, is Hashem. Everyone else is just delivering the package.

This is why some of our greatest tzaddikim even avoided small gifts or favors—not because they were ungrateful, but because they feared the spiritual distortion. They didn’t want you to think you were the source. And even more—they didn’t want themselves to fall into that illusion.

A Counterculture of Bitachon

In our culture, success is paraded, wealth is admired, and connections are treated like salvation. But the Torah view is clear: even if the world praises you for “being well connected,” or “knowing how to network,” none of it guarantees your blessing. Only Hashem does. And sometimes He removes the props—just to show us Who truly holds us up.

Avraham Avinu’s example reminds us that spiritual integrity sometimes requires rejecting comfort. That bitachon isn’t passive—it’s a militant clarity of mind. A refusal to allow success to be interpreted as human-made.

When a Jew says, “I trust only in Hashem,” it should mean only. Not 90%. Not 99%. But with the shoelace too.

Footnote: The Midrash (Bereishis Rabbah 43:9) and Rashi (on Bereishis 14:23) explain that Avraham’s refusal was not just moral, but spiritual. He wanted to sanctify God’s Name by demonstrating that his success was due only to Hashem, not to alliances or royal handouts.

Gradual Growth, Real Identity, and the Trap of Sudden Success

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Chapter 1: The Value of the Average Man

In a world obsessed with talent, genius, and fame, there remains a deep and quiet blessing in being average—the man or woman of moderate intelligence, solid values, and steady temperament. Such a person isn’t weighed down by the inner torment of brilliance nor intoxicated by illusions of grandeur. His strength lies in stability, consistency, and knowing his place.

He doesn’t fly too high—so he doesn’t crash.

The average man rises early, provides for his family, supports his community, and walks with God without needing to be seen. He has no dramatic downfall because he climbs no false pedestal. In a Torah worldview, this isn’t a weakness. It is a virtue. As Chazal say:

> “Tov shachen karov me’ach rachok” – A nearby neighbor is better than a distant brother.

This isn’t only about geography. It’s about realism. Better to be rooted in reality than to chase illusions of greatness.

Society teaches that average means failure. But Hashem’s world tells a different story. The “beinoni”, the in-between man described in Mussar and Chassidus, is the ideal—the one who constantly struggles, constantly builds. The tzaddik is rare. The rasha is destructive. But the average man who keeps climbing is what the world is built upon.

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Chapter 2: The Curse of Sudden Success

Sudden change is rarely a blessing.

When a man wins the lottery overnight, it’s often not wealth that enters his life—but chaos. Many lottery winners return to poverty within a few years. The money reveals who they already were. If they lacked inner structure and discipline, wealth becomes a weapon—not a tool. Marriages fall apart, addictions arise, and pride leads to ruin.

Why? Because transformation without preparation leads to collapse.

This same danger exists in the spiritual world. A man raised without mitzvot may suddenly dive into Torah observance. His actions may be passionate—but superficial. Without proper foundations, he burns out. A convert or baal teshuvah who rushes through the outer changes—clothing, speech, lifestyle—without internalizing the Torah slowly, falls into the trap of imitation without absorption. The soul wasn’t ready. The steps were skipped.

For this reason, the Torah insists on process.

When Hashem took us out of Egypt, it wasn’t instantaneous. The plagues unfolded gradually. Then came the crossing of the sea. Then forty-nine days of internal preparation, one day at a time, leading to Har Sinai. And even then, the people were not fully ready. They failed at the Golden Calf, rejected the Land due to the spies, and showed impatience with Moshe. They had freedom, but not yet identity. It would take forty years in the wilderness for a new generation to grow into their role.

> Growth without grounding is a setup for failure.

This theme was captured prophetically in the song “Like Janis” by Rodriguez, a 1970 folk protest ballad that criticized materialism, superficiality, and artificial relationships. One haunting lyric declares:

> “You can walk in silk and have all the power and the glory,
But a monkey in silk is still a monkey.”

Rodriguez’s song[¹] reminds us: You can change your clothes, your house, your status—but if you haven’t changed inside, you’re just dressing up failure in luxury.

The Torah teaches the same. Without inner refinement, the outer image is a lie. Holiness cannot be faked. Wealth cannot replace character. Wisdom without humility leads to arrogance. Growth without work leads to collapse.

Those who climb gradually—whether in Torah, finance, or marriage—build lasting success. They have a foundation. They have tools. They have patience. The Torah was never meant to be swallowed in a day. Nor was success.

Let others chase quick wins and grand displays. We follow a slow, sacred path—brick by brick, step by step.

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Conclusion: The Dignity of the Middle

The modern world despises the average man. He’s not famous. He’s not on social media. He doesn’t live for likes. He simply lives.

But in the world of Torah, the average man is the pillar of the world. The one who works honestly, learns Torah steadily, raises a family in modesty, gives tzedakah with dignity, and walks humbly with his God. He may never get an award. But in Heaven, he’s counted among the great.

The man who builds slowly may never be glamorous—but he will endure. The man who grows in Torah day by day may not preach, but he stands strong. The woman who takes on mitzvot with sincerity and realism builds a palace of faith.

As the Jewish people learned in Egypt and the desert—and as every individual learns in his own struggles—there are no shortcuts to holiness. Sudden success, whether in wealth or religion, is dangerous if unearned. But steady, humble effort builds greatness that lasts for generations.

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Footnote

[¹] “Like Janis” by Rodriguez, 1970 album “Cold Fact.” The song critiques the illusions of materialism and superficial relationships. Rodriguez wrote with penetrating moral clarity. The lyric, “a monkey in silk is still a monkey”, expresses the futility of outer success without inner transformation. Full lyrics: https://genius.com/Rodriguez-like-janis-lyrics

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Boredom is not the absence of activity. It’s the absence of meaning.

For top-performing professionals — doctors, CEOs, elite lawyers — boredom rarely looks like sitting on the couch staring at the wall. Their version of boredom is existential: a loss of purpose, loss of challenge, or a disruption of the rhythm that once gave meaning to their intense schedules.

This kind of boredom often hits hardest after success — when they’ve achieved the big goal (retirement, selling the company, winning a case, getting tenure). Once the adrenaline fades and there’s no next crisis, they’re faced with a terrifying vacuum.

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Is Boredom a Vacuum?

Yes — and it’s not neutral. A vacuum in the human experience is dangerous.

In Torah language: “Batel min haTorah, harei zeh misah.” (Neglect of Torah is a kind of death.)

In psychological terms, boredom is often a gap between capacity and purpose. The person has tremendous mental and emotional horsepower but no clear direction to apply it to.

That’s why boredom can quickly mutate into:

Restlessness

Addictive behaviors (gambling, affairs, risky investments)

Obsessive hobbies (e.g. flying lessons, Ironman races)

Depression or nihilism

The modern world sells “leisure” as a luxury. But without structured purpose, leisure becomes a slow descent into chaos.

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Replacing Work with Play

Taking up flying, skiing, adventure travel — these are symbolic replacements for the high-stakes pressure cooker they thrived in. They’re mimicking the edge, the learning curve, the rush, and even the danger of their old professional life.

It’s a coping mechanism for avoiding the raw void of purposelessness.

But here’s the key: this only works temporarily. Once they master the new skill or conquer the mountain, the thrill fades — and they’re back in the vacuum.

The Illusion of “Next-Level” Success

Many highly successful individuals, after reaching a plateau of achievement, drift into ideological crusades or public influence as a way of staying relevant, useful, or energized. Some go into politics, hoping to shape society in line with their personal worldview. Others — like tech moguls or billionaires — attempt to reshape entire civilizations, funding new technologies, ideologies, or global initiatives.

In the extreme, some even aim for presidential power, or worse — dictatorship masked as legacy-building. Elon Musk, for instance, is a modern case of a man chasing planetary influence under the banner of progress — but perhaps also under the shadow of boredom. Once you’ve conquered one arena, you seek another. It’s not inherently evil, but it is revealing.

From a Torah perspective, however, this cycle is deeply flawed. The goal of life is not to keep conquering new worlds, but to conquer the inner world.

The true measure of success is not physical wealth or public impact. Those are gifts from Hashem, often given for others’ benefit more than the recipient’s. If a man uses his wealth and time merely for travel, luxury, art collecting, or personal pleasure — even if he “sprinkles in” some charity or Torah — he may appear diversified, but he’s really hedging his bets. That’s not Avodas Hashem. That’s spiritual procrastination.

The ideal is to use one’s excess — whether in money, time, or influence — as a platform for giving, and to keep only what one needs. That is not boredom. That is avodah.

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Is Boredom a Sign Something’s Wrong?

Absolutely. It’s a warning light, not a disease. It’s a call for realignment with purpose.

In the Torah worldview, there is no such thing as “free time” in the neutral sense. Time is either:

Kadosh (dedicated to a purpose),

or Hefker (ownerless, purposeless — and subject to being claimed by anything and everything).

As the Mesillas Yesharim warns, people who run from one distraction to another are avoiding the real question: “Why am I here?”

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What if He’s Not a Learner?

> Then let him become a man of chesed.

If he has financial means, he should involve himself in:

Organized tzedakah

Supporting Torah institutions

Funding schools and kollelim

Building community infrastructure

— not just with his money, but with his time, wisdom, and presence.

If he lacks money but has time, he should:

Volunteer

Mentor youth

Study halachah or Chumash

Visit the sick or help neighbors

Even an older person who never learned can now begin. No one is exempt from spiritual growth.

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Expanded Conclusion

A successful person who doesn’t consciously replace “doing” with “becoming” will inevitably slide into a life of distraction and emptiness.

The Torah solution is not more thrills — it’s more inner work, more Torah, more chesed, and more clarity about the ultimate goal.

> “Lo nivra adam ela la’amal.” — Man was only created to toil.

And if he cannot toil in Torah, then let him toil in kindness. Let him become useful. Let him occupy himself spiritually for as long as Hashem grants him breath.

Because idleness is a spiritual vacuum, and in Torah life, vacuum is forbidden.

That’s how you avoid boredom. That’s how you avoid the slow death of meaninglessness. That’s how you live — truly live.

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Selections from Sefer Devarim with Commentary and Reflection

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Opening Reflection – Chapter 1, Verse 1 (אלה הדברים):

> “אלה הדברים – These are the words…”

This phrase refers to the entire contents of Sefer Devarim, the fifth book of the Torah.

Whereas Bamidbar ends with commandments relating to the conquest of the Land, Devarim opens with Moshe’s final speeches. He would not be entering the Land with the people, and so he leaves them with these last words — infused with his spirit, perspective, and concern for their spiritual survival.

The Torah lists specific geographic locations where Moshe spoke, even though these places lack monuments, markers, or visible features. The intent is to create a memory not through tombstones or statues, but through words — so that when future generations pass these places, they will remember Moshe’s voice and message. Moshe’s grave is unknown, but his words endure.

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“וְיִירְאוּ מִכֶּם – And They Shall Fear You” (Devarim 2:4)

> “You are passing through the territory of your brothers, the sons of Esav… and they will fear you; be very careful.”

Rav Hirsch interprets this verse psychologically and morally.

The fear of Esav’s descendants was not rooted in military dread but in suspicion. They assumed that the Jews, having wandered the wilderness for forty years, would now be desperate and hungry — ready to seize whatever they could.

Hashem’s command, “וְנִשְׁמַרְתֶּם מְאֹד – be very careful,” is not about protecting ourselves but about restraining ourselves. We must not reinforce their fears. Instead, we must sanctify Hashem’s name through discipline and ethical conduct.

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Providence as National Testimony

The Torah describes how Hashem cared for the Jewish people in the wilderness — not just with manna and miracles, but in every detail: their clothes didn’t wear out, their steps were guided, their lives were preserved.

This is meant to impress even outsiders. The descendants of Esav should see that this people, though wandering and lacking land, were not lacking in provision. It was all supplied by God. The Jewish nation, then, is meant to be a walking testimony to Divine providence — not desperation.

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We Are Not Beggars – Final Reflection

This parashah teaches us that Hashem gives us both what we need to survive and what we need to fulfill our mission.

We are not beggars, not leeches on the nations. While we may live among them and benefit from their generosity, our survival does not and must not rely on them.

In reality, there is enough wealth within our own community to prevent hunger, homelessness, and reliance on non-Jewish systems. But that wealth is too often hoarded or withheld by those who believe their success is their own doing.

They forget that Hashem gives the opportunity to succeed — and expects that success to be channeled back to the nation, not worshipped as personal glory.

> If Torah values governed our financial systems, there would be no need for food stamps in frum communities.
There is enough money. It is just stuck in the wrong places.

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The Enduring Message

Moshe left no grave, no statue, no street named after him. He left only his words — and those words tell us:

> “You are not desperate. You are not dependent. You are not weak.
You are Hashem’s people — sustained by Him and answerable only to Him.
So act like it.”

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סיכום בעברית – Hebrew Quotation

> פן יִקָּנֵא בָכֶם – שלא יתקנא בכם. וזה הפך ממה שישראל עושים בגלות והולכים בארצות אורחיהם, כי מי שיש לו ממון הוא מראה את עצמו במלבושיו כבוד ובתים ספונים והיושבים באוהלים היו לו כמה אלפים, ומגרים האומות בעצמם, ועוברים על מה שנאמר פנו לכם צפונה. ומזה זה הוא בקראת בני שמינו ע״פ להלן (ד, כ) וזה המסובב את כל ההלקאה אשר מקצתו (במדבר כ״ד). והמשכילים יבינו לקח מוסר.

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Closing Insight – Translation

“Lest they become jealous of you” — This is a warning not to flaunt or act in ways that provoke jealousy. Sadly, this reflects behaviors seen in exile, where some Jews display wealth and honor as though it is their own doing.

Everything we have is from Hashem. When we show it off without gratitude, we arouse resentment. The Torah warns us not to turn our hearts toward materialism or dependence on foreign structures.

> This behavior, the Torah says, is the root of much of the punishment that has befallen us.

The wise will take this as a lesson in Mussar.

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