Small tidbits and Sparks of wisdom

1.
For many, Tisha B’Av is a day of profound struggle—emotionally, spiritually, and physically. The discomfort often arises not from the intensity of the day itself, but from a lack of meaningful preparation during the Three Weeks. Without a clear understanding of what has been lost, mourning becomes hollow and performative. The Beis Hamikdash was not merely a historic building—it was the soul-center of Jewish life, the tangible presence of the Shechinah in our midst. Through engaging with seforim and immersing ourselves in Chazal and Midrashim that describe the Temple and its role, this sense of loss can become deeply personal. When approached with awareness, Tisha B’Av becomes not just a ritual, but a transformative moment of national and individual introspection.

2. Rebuilding Through Emunah and Bitachon
A potent antidote to the destructive emotions of jealousy, anger, and resentment is the cultivation of Emunah (faith) and Bitachon (trust in Hashem). These are not abstract concepts—they are the spiritual muscle that allows a Jew to walk through life with serenity and strength. While they are not acquired overnight, they are accessible through consistent learning, especially seforim such as Chovos HaLevavos, and by listening to daily shiurim or inspiration hotlines. As Emunah and Bitachon take root, the mind is rewired and the soul becomes steadier. A person anchored in trust in Hashem no longer views others as threats or competitors. Instead, he becomes grounded in a reality where everything is from Above, and therefore, peace replaces envy and frustration.

3. Cultivating Positivity and Love
A fundamental dimension of spiritual refinement is the development of ahavah—genuine love for Hashem and for fellow Jews. This doesn’t come naturally; it requires disciplined thought and intentional rewiring of how we perceive others. Positivity must replace judgment. This is especially challenging when those around us do not fit into our particular “box”—whether they are more religious, more modern, follow different minhagim, or come from backgrounds and towns unlike our own. Even when sharing the same Torah ideals, social barriers and communal distinctions can create emotional distance. Just as there were twelve unique tribes in Klal Yisrael, each with its own path in Avodas Hashem, so too today, our diverse expressions of Judaism require extra effort to cultivate unity. Sadly, we sometimes witness a lack of connection—especially when leaders of different communities remain divided. The Three Weeks is precisely the time to confront this reality and begin healing it. Loving every Jew—not in theory but in action—is not optional; it is the foundation of Geula.

4. Yearning for Malchus Shamayim
According to the Chofetz Chaim and other Gedolei Yisrael, the true key to hastening the arrival of Moshiach lies not merely in awaiting redemption, but in yearning for Malchus Shamayim—the full revelation of Hashem’s sovereignty in the world. Rav Shach once explained that although many of us daven daily, we often fail to direct our prayers toward kavod Shamayim—we are asking for comfort, but not necessarily for Hashem’s glory. Chazal’s wording reflects this: they emphasized awaiting Malchuscha—Your Kingship. This is not a mystical idea meant only for the great tzaddikim; it is a call for every Jew to reorient their goals, their tefillos, and their mindset. The redemption begins when our deepest longing is not for personal salvation, but for Hashem’s name to be sanctified and His presence to return to Zion.

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I. The Prayer of the Kohen Gadol

On Yom Kippur, at the holiest moment of the year, the holiest man of the generation — the Kohen Gadol — would exit the Kodesh HaKodashim, having pleaded for the forgiveness of the Jewish people. Among his concluding prayers, he would offer a simple but profound request:

> “שלא יצטרכו ישראל זה לזה ולא לעם אחר, אלא פרנסם מן ידך המלאה הפתוחה הקדושה והרחבה.”
“That Your people Israel should not need to rely on one another nor on foreign nations, but that their sustenance come directly from Your full, open, holy, and generous hand.”

This wasn’t a socialist dream or an entrepreneurial fantasy. It was a plea for dignity. That no Jew should become a beggar. That no person should have to degrade himself — not before his neighbor, not before a stranger, and certainly not before foreign powers or corrupted systems.

This prayer cries out across generations: let the Jewish people be sustained with honor.

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II. Proverbs 30: A Royal Wisdom of Restraint

Centuries earlier, King Shlomo, in his divine wisdom, offered a parallel plea:

> “רֵאשׁ וָעֹשֶׁר אַל תִּתֶּן לִי; הַטְרִיפֵנִי לֶחֶם חֻקִּי.”
“Give me neither poverty nor riches; provide me with my daily bread.” (Mishlei 30:8)

He warns of three spiritual dangers, each corrosive in its own way:

1. Excess wealth can cause a person to feel independent, insulated from divine Providence:

> “Lest I be sated and deny, saying: Who is Hashem?”
The illusion of self-sufficiency hardens the heart and clouds spiritual clarity.

2. Crushing poverty can push a person to violate the Torah’s laws out of survival:

> “Lest I steal and profane the Name of my God.”
Hunger drives sin, and shame silences the soul.

3. Craving wealth while not poor — a particularly dangerous middle ground:
A man who lives with basic sufficiency but lusts for riches beyond his reach.
He is not starving, but he is jealous. He cuts corners, gambles with his integrity, and games the system for a shortcut to luxury. He sins not out of necessity, but out of impatience and spiritual emptiness.

This third category, though less visible, is arguably the most widespread in our generation. It is neither desperation nor arrogance, but ambition corrupted by fantasy.

Shlomo does not idealize simplicity for its own sake, nor does he glorify hardship. He prays for a portion, not a fortune — enough to live with dignity and focus the heart on Hashem.

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III. Classical Voices: Alshich and Ibn Ezra

 Ibn Ezra:

The verse calls out for balance: not to be a slave to poverty nor to the illusion of self-sufficiency that wealth brings.

“לחם חקי” — daily bread — is that which “הראוי לי להעמיד בו הנפש” — is fitting to sustain the soul.

 Alshich HaKadosh:

He stresses that this verse is a moral warning: one who becomes too wealthy is at risk of saying “מי ה’?” — not out of atheism, but arrogance.

The danger of poverty is not only theft but loss of faith and dignity.

Hashem desires a society where every individual retains emunah and self-respect, regardless of material station.

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IV. Torah and Dignity in Economic Life

The common thread between the Kohen Gadol and Shlomo HaMelech is the sacred value of balance and dignity.

Wealth is not inherently evil, but it carries dangers of pride and disconnection.

Poverty is not noble, especially when it breaks a person’s confidence or leads to sin.

Dependency — on government, neighbors, or nations — is not ideal. It is tolerated in the short term, but the Torah model is that each person receives from Hashem’s hand, not man’s.

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V. The Brooklyn–Jerusalem–Monsey Reflection: A Modern Midrash

In today’s world — whether in Brooklyn, Jerusalem, or Monsey — the prayer of the Kohen Gadol is more needed than ever.

Too many live paycheck to paycheck, waiting for the next stimulus, kupat tzedakah, or bridge loan from a gemach. On the other hand, the ultra-wealthy fly business class to Zurich, build vacation villas in Ramat Beit Shemesh or the Catskills, and host extravagant events that blur the line between hakaras hatov and hedonism.

Walk into a kosher grocery in Flatbush or Geula, and you’ll see it: a mother standing at the shelf, doing mental math between yogurt, Shabbos chicken, and next month’s rent. This isn’t theory. It’s the daily reality of Am Yisrael, trying to balance kedushah and cost.

And when people turn to maos chittim, food programs, or overwhelming credit card debt — we must ask: are we still living out the Kohen Gadol’s prayer? Or have we, in our pursuit of frum appearances and communal norms, strayed from the simple plea for “לחם חקי” — daily bread?

The challenge isn’t just about affording food — it’s about preserving dignity, refusing to turn Yiddishkeit into a pressure-cooker of financial anxiety or a pageant of wealth. Both extremes distort what Hashem asks from us.

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VI. Toward a Torah Economy

We must return to a Torah-based philosophy of economic life:

Personal Responsibility — Work is not shameful. “Six days you shall labor…” is part of the Ten Commandments.

Communal Support Without Shame — Tzedakah is not welfare; it’s an act of restoration, not control.

National Independence — The Jewish people must not be dependent on foreign money or political favors to survive.

Daily Bread with Emunah — We strive for enough, not for endless accumulation.

Resisting the Illusion of the Shortcut — Wealth without merit is a trap. Torah does not bless those who chase fantasies at the cost of integrity.

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VII. A Final Prayer

> “Master of the World, give us not riches that lead us astray, nor poverty that breaks us. Sustain us with enough, from Your hand, that we may walk humbly, give freely, and never forget Who provides.”

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I. The Changing Nature of Rabbinic Leadership

Historically, a rav was the central authority of a town or kehillah. Appointed through formal process and backed by communal structure, he served not only as a spiritual guide but also as dayan, administrator, posek, and community overseer. In towns across Europe, especially from the 11th century onward, a rabbi was hired to represent the entire Jewish population of the city, usually supported by taxes or communal dues. His responsibilities were broad, and his authority was respected — because it was defined and backed.

Today, especially in the Orthodox world, the picture has drastically changed. The modern rav often operates in a fragmented ecosystem, surrounded by multiple shuls on a single block, each with different customs, expectations, and patrons. His authority may be respected, but it’s rarely formalized. His responsibilities may be assumed, but they’re not always matched by infrastructure, funding, or clarity.

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II. Two Models of the Modern Shul Rabbi

In the contemporary Orthodox landscape, we witness two dominant models of rabbinic leadership — both profoundly different from the centralized kehilla structures of pre-war Europe.

1. Kehilla-Hired Rabbi

This model attempts to mirror the classical community structure — a shul board or kehilla organization formally hires a rabbi. He receives a contract, salary, and clear expectations. He functions as the communal representative, delivering derashos, answering shailos, offering pastoral care, and performing life-cycle events. The boundaries are clearer, the roles better defined — but the Rav must answer to the board, to donors, to a governing body that may or may not understand Torah priorities.

This model is common in smaller cities or older shuls with a long-standing governance model. The Rav is a respected employee — empowered, yes, but always under review.

2. The Self-Starter or Private Rav

Far more common today is the independent model, where the Rav is not hired by anyone, but instead builds his own beis medrash or shul from scratch. This is especially prevalent in Lakewood, Monsey, Brooklyn, Beit Shemesh, and other dense Torah centers.

Often, this Rav is backed by a few loyal friends or patrons. He may be financially independent or semi-independent, and is motivated to create his own Torah hub, with a unique style, spiritual flavor, or personal brand.

This isn’t a job — it’s a mission. The Rav is not submitting a résumé or being vetted by a board. He plants his flag, opens the doors, and people begin to gather — drawn by the personality, the energy, the warmth, or the Torah.

But people don’t always come for strict halachic leadership. They come for a relationship, a chevrah, or a space that reflects their values. And in this sense, the private Rav operates like the owner of a private home. He sets the tone. He decides the decorum. He picks the nusach, the schedule, and the structure.

He is responsible for everything — from the garbage removal to kiddush sponsorships. But he answers to no one, because there is no formal board, no legal contract, and no defined communal authority above him.

If you don’t like how he runs the place, you can leave.

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The Turning Point: When Membership Is Introduced

However, there is a critical turning point that often transforms the nature of this model.

Once the private Rav begins asking for formal membership dues, and people begin contributing regularly as members, the dynamic changes.

If the Rav makes it clear from the outset: “Your money is welcome, but decisions are mine — I do not want your input,” then he retains full autonomy. He remains the sole authority, with donors functioning like supporters of a personal kollel or private shtiebel.

But if this boundary is not made explicit — if the Rav starts collecting dues, inviting people to take roles, or letting members believe they’re stakeholders — then the Rav has, by default, created a partnership.

At that point, the members are no longer just daveners or donors — they become baalei batim, and the Rav can no longer ignore them. Now, decisions about expansions, programming, schedule, and even hashkafa may require discussion. Tensions over ownership, vision, and authority can emerge. The Rav may be unintentionally boxed into a leadership structure he never formally agreed to — but which took root simply by virtue of shared financing and participation.

Money without boundaries becomes influence. And influence, left unchecked, becomes control.

So long as the Rav is clear and transparent — defining exactly what participation means — he can preserve his independence. But once he opens the door to shared ownership, he must expect shared expectations.

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III. Who Is a “Member”?

In the Reform and Conservative worlds, membership is everything. You don’t pay, you don’t enter. The entire system is built around dues and benefits, structured like a religious country club.

In Orthodox communities, the opposite is true. Shuls are open to all. You can walk in, get an aliyah, hear a shiur, and walk out — and no one will ask for a check.

So what does “membership” mean?

Is it the man who shows up daily?
The family who davens on Yamim Noraim?
The donor who writes a check once a year?
The learner who attends shiurim but never gives?

Often, there is no answer — and that’s the problem.

The Rav may be pouring his life into 100 people, only to find that when the rent is due, only 5 support the shul. The rest assume “someone else is taking care of it.”

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IV. What Is the Rabbi Responsible For?

Without a defined structure, people often assume a Rav should be responsible for:

Shalom bayis interventions

Tuition assistance

Medical referrals

Mental health guidance

Crisis management

Employment help

Marriage or parenting issues

But the Rav is often hired (if at all) without resources, without staff, and without authority.

Halachically, unless a Rav is contractually obligated or explicitly empowered by the kehilla, he is not responsible for communal welfare like a father is for his children. He is primarily responsible to teach Torah, to answer halachic questions, and to provide moral and spiritual guidance — not to function as a catch-all social worker.

Responsibility without empowerment is slavery.
And a Rav without budget, staff, or backup is not a melech — he’s a melamed on call 24/7.

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V. The Bank Behind the Bimah: The Donor Class

In almost every Orthodox shul or beis medrash, the true financial engine is not the general membership, but two or three wealthy individuals who keep the place afloat. These donors fund:

Construction projects

Sefer Torah dedications

Weekly kiddushes

Shul expansions

Repairs, HVAC, yom tov costs

They become the unofficial board of directors, even if they never speak publicly. Sometimes they act quietly, with true humility and l’shem Shamayim motives. Other times, their funding becomes leverage — influencing:

Who gets aliyos

Who speaks

Who gets kavod

Who gets shut out

When it works: It’s beautiful.
When it doesn’t: It’s a war zone in a tallis bag.

The Rav walks a tightrope. On one side is gratitude for support. On the other, fear of becoming a puppet. If he pushes too hard, he risks losing his donor. If he doesn’t lead, he loses his kehilla.

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VI. Reform/Conservative vs. Orthodox: Inversion of Structure

Let’s say it plainly:

Feature Reform/Conservative Orthodox

Membership Strictly defined Undefined or voluntary
Dues Required Optional or nonexistent
Access Pay-to-enter Open to all
Rabbi’s Role Contracted employee Undefined; often overburdened
Structure Corporate Organic, fluid, and messy
Spirituality Often minimal Rich, but unregulated

In short, the Reform world has structure but little soul, while the Orthodox world has soul but little structure.

One runs like a bank. The other runs like a yeshiva dorm kitchen — everyone eats, no one pays, and somehow it keeps going.

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VII. Conclusion: A New Path Forward?

The Orthodox world must wake up to the reality that a Rav cannot bear unlimited burden without:

Clear support

Formal structure

Defined expectations

Sustainable funding

A Rav is not a father to 100 adult men. He’s not obligated to carry every issue. Unless empowered and backed by his kehilla — financially, emotionally, and halachically — his role becomes unsustainable.

Likewise, communities should reconsider what “membership” means. If you benefit from a shul, you should support it. If you seek Torah from a Rav, you should honor him — not just with words, but with deeds.

This is especially true in the case of the self-starting Rav — the one who didn’t wait to be appointed, but instead opened a shul to serve a population that was spiritually underserved. These are the people who didn’t fit into the mold — those who couldn’t find a minyan before 9:00, or those who felt spiritually overlooked in their neighborhood’s established batei midrash. One Rav once said bluntly, “We opened this place because none of my chevrah could find a place to daven early, and when they did, no one even said hello.”

So they created their own. Their own style. Their own voice. Their own atmosphere. Their own business — in the holy sense of the word.

These Rabbanim may introduce their own flavor, their father’s derech, or a certain hashkafa that fills a gap in the current landscape. That’s not ego. That’s responsibility. That’s leadership.

And if you are davening there, growing there, learning there — even if there are no membership dues or formal obligations — you should support the Rav financially.

Whether or not you get to vote.
Whether or not you get to control.

Because he’s not doing it for honor or position. He’s doing it because he saw a need — and he filled it. For you. For your family. For your neighbor who didn’t fit in elsewhere.

In today’s fractured world, people are out of the box. And they need out-of-the-box Torah.
They need a Rav who sees them.

The least we can do is see him back.

And yes — not every Rav is called by his title. Some are called by their first names. Some are still just “Yossi” or “Chaim” or “Reb Shmuel” to their old friends. That doesn’t diminish them — it reminds us that they’re real people who took real risks.

Regardless of how he’s addressed, he should be respected as much as the gedolim and talmidei chachamim of old — because he did what they did: he stepped up. Whether or not he’s a Torah scholar, he is an askan, a builder, and a leader. He took the responsibility no one else was willing to carry.

And that’s what makes him a Rav — in the truest sense of the word.

 Tehillim 147:11 – Who Does Hashem Truly Desire?

“רוצה ה’ את יראיו, את המייחלים לחסדו”
“Hashem desires those who fear Him, those who wait for His kindness.”

This verse in Tehillim 147:11 speaks volumes about who truly merits Divine favor. When we explore the explanations of the Malbim and Ibn Ezra, we discover something uncomfortable but necessary: Hashem doesn’t “want” the strong, the wealthy, or the most accomplished. He desires those who wait. Who rely. Who surrender. Who hope with nothing in hand.

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 A Tale of Two Men

Let’s examine two individuals who both fear Hashem and keep His mitzvot. Outwardly, they are equal. But their internal world of emunah separates them.

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留 Man A – A humble, God-fearing Jew with no money
(Set in Courier New or visibly styled as simple/blue)

Must marry off a child but has zero savings.

His only recourse is prayer, trust, and hope in Hashem.

He does not manipulate or demand. He waits.

His emunah is not a philosophy — it’s his only option.

This is the person the pasuk directly refers to: “המייחלים לחסדו.”

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 Man B – A wealthy, respected, and generous giver, God- fearing
(Styled in Georgia or visibly marked as sophisticated/red)

Gives 20%/50% plus even more to tzedakah an Amazing supporter of correct Shulcha Oruch plus Tzadakah. BUT does he fit above into this posuk??!!

Supports many relatives, yeshivas, communal institutions.

Has a large household and real financial overhead.

Keeps a substantial reserve: “I can’t go to zero.”

Says: “If everyone comes to me, I’ll have nothing left.”

He fears depletion more than he trusts replenishment.

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易 Malbim: The One Who Waits in Powerlessness

The Malbim explains that Hashem desires those who do not rely on effort, calculation, or self-sufficiency — only those who wait for His kindness. Man A fits this exactly. He lives in a space of total dependence, humility, and yearning.

Man B, though faithful and generous, has built a “safe zone.” He gives, but never past the red line. That red line is the wall between him and true bitachon.

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 Ibn Ezra: Not Because of Strength

Ibn Ezra adds that Hashem gives sustenance not due to merit or strength, but due to need. Hashem feeds the helpless baby raven — not because it earns it, but because it has no one else.

Man A is that raven. Powerless, but blessed. Man B is not unloved — but he is not waiting for chesed. He’s preloaded with it. That’s not the kind of person this pasuk is praising.

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⚖️ The Rich Man’s Greater Test

Man A is tested by deprivation. Man B is tested by abundance.

And Man B’s test is greater.

He’s not being asked to survive — he’s being asked to imitate Hashem. To give, not just from comfort, but from courage. To risk depletion, trusting Hashem will refill the well.

If he clutches his reserve, saying “What if too many come to me?” — then he may be good, but he is not great. That hesitation is the ceiling on his spiritual growth.

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 Summary Table

Man A – Needy Jew

Has nothing, trusts fully

Waits and hopes without strategy

Perfect fit for “המייחלים לחסדו”

Man B – Wealthy Giver

Gives generously but holds back

Fears depletion

Trusts Hashem — but only up to a point

May miss the pasuk’s category unless he dares to fully trust

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 What Hashem Truly Wants

1. The Hidden Strength of the Mourning Jew

Many Yidden who left Mitzrayim were also in mourning. As it states (Shemos 13:18):
וַחֲמֻשִׁים עָלוּ בְנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם, and Rashi explains that only one-fifth — or even just one-fiftieth or one five-hundredth according to other views — left Egypt. The rest perished during makas choshech. That means there were mass levayos, and many Jews were in mourning.

Yet, Chazal say טְרוּדִים בְּאֲבֵלָם, they were engaged in aveilus, but not consumed by it. They followed the halachos, but didn’t lose their yishuv hadaas — their peace of mind.

The Yismach Yisrael asks: why does the Torah even need to command us to mourn? Everyone mourns naturally. Even non-Jews, l’havdil, feel pain when they lose a loved one. Why then does the Torah codify aveilus?

He answers that Hashem wants us to be happy at all times. So He made mourning a mitzvah. That way, even our sadness is elevated through connection to Him. As it says in Tehillim (19:9),
פִּקּוּדֵי ה׳ יְשָׁרִים מְשַׂמְּחֵי לֵב — “The mitzvos of Hashem are upright, causing the heart to rejoice.”

The Avnei Nezer once said at a nichum aveilim that the word אָבֵל (mourner) is an acronym:
אֵין בִּי לְשִׂמְחָה — “I am happy.”
People asked for a source, and he pointed to Rashi in Succah 25a, where Rashi says:

> “Although one must observe the outward halachos of aveilus, like not wearing shoes or washing, one is not obligated to feel inner distress.”

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2. Prophecy, Simchah, and National Resilience

The Chazon Ish quoted the Brisker Rav zt”l with a deep insight: prophecy only comes when a person is in a state of simchah. So how could Yirmiyahu HaNavi utter the devastating words of Megillas Eichah and still be in a state fit for prophecy?

The answer: mourning is not a contradiction to simchah when it’s done with the understanding that we are serving Hashem. The outer sadness can coexist with inner joy, because it’s framed by purpose and emunah.

The Baal Shem Tov HaKadosh taught that just as Klal Yisrael traveled 42 journeys in the midbar, each Jew undergoes 42 spiritual journeys in life. The Torah warns us (Vayikra 18:3):
כְּמַעֲשֵׂה אֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם… לֹא תַעֲשׂוּ — “Do not follow the ways of Egypt.”
Don’t be like the goyim, who are טְרוּדִים בְּאֲבֵלָם, lost in their grief.

The Jewish way is different: we go through every test with emunah, bitachon, and yishuv hadaas — and even with joy. Not because life is always happy, but because we know Who runs the world, and that we are part of His plan.

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3. The Meaning of Mourning on Tisha B’Av

This brings us to Tisha B’Av.

We do not mourn just out of sadness or nostalgia. Tisha B’Av is meant to awaken us to the purpose of our existence — to serve Hashem with clarity and devotion. The mourning is not defeat; it is a call to rebuild — spiritually, morally, and nationally.

It’s like reading a powerful novel: the pain draws us in and makes us confront truth. But unlike a story, this isn’t fiction. We are the characters, and Hashem is the Author.

That’s why even on Tisha B’Av, we don’t sink into despair. We don’t call it a “happy day,” but we don’t surrender to hopelessness either. We know that Tisha B’Av will become a Yom Simchah. As the Navi says:

> צום החמישי… יהיה לבית יהודה לששון ולשמחה — “The fast of the fifth [month] will become for the house of Yehudah a day of joy and gladness” (Zechariah 8:19).

A person who loves mitzvos can find joy even in mourning — because he knows it’s all from Hashem, and all leading somewhere.

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Conclusion: Aveilus with Joy, Mourning with Meaning

We are not a nation that escapes pain — we elevate it. We don’t ignore suffering — we sanctify it. Our aveilus is not depression — it is service.

And in that service, we find the deepest joy: the joy of knowing we belong to Hashem, that every chapter has meaning, and that even tears can lead to redemption.

Chapter 1: Ten Expressions of Tefillah – Foundations from Sifrei Devarim

> דבר אחר ואתחנן אל ה’ – עשרה לשונות נקראת תפלה:
זעקה, שועה, נאקה, רנה, פגיעה, ניפול, פלול, עתירה, חיל, תחנונים.

Prayer (tefillah) is not one-dimensional. According to Sifrei Devarim 26, there are ten distinct expressions of prayer, each capturing a different emotional tone and posture of connecting to Hashem.

The ten names are:

זעקה – Ze’akah (crying out from distress)

שועה – Shav’ah (pleading or desperate crying)

נאקה – Ne’akah (groaning)

רנה – Rinah (singing or wailing with emotion)

פגיעה – Pegiah (bumping, confrontation, bold asking)

ניפול – Nipul (falling, surrendering)

פלול – Pilul (reasoned appeal, like legal pleading)

עתירה – Atirah (pleading, repeated supplication)

חיל – Chilui (writhing or trembling in fear or pain)

תחנונים – Techinunim (begging, mercy-driven requests)

These expressions show us that prayer is not robotic. It’s not a fixed script. It’s emotional, human, and raw. There are many ways to approach Hashem—and you don’t need to be perfect, but you must be real.

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Chapter 2: The Diamond Cutter’s Tefillah – Learning from Moshe Rabbeinu

It’s well known that Moshe Rabbeinu begged Hashem many times to enter Eretz Yisrael. Chazal say he prayed 515 times. Why tell us this? What lesson is there for the generations?

Moshe was the greatest of prophets. His level of communication with Hashem is far beyond ours. So what’s the Torah teaching us by highlighting his relentless tefillah?

Because Even Moshe Prayed Like a Human Being

Yes, he was Moshe. But he still pleaded like a simple man. He didn’t rely only on prophecy—he relied on his voice. His speech. His connection.

And that’s the lesson: we, too, can connect to Hashem—not as prophets, but as people. You don’t need to hear voices or see visions. You need kavanah, sincerity, and a willingness to keep going even after you’ve been told “no.”

Prayer Is Work. Tefillah Requires Repetition.

Flying through Shemoneh Esrei without focus is like having a conversation in your sleep. If you don’t know what you’re saying, you’re not asking, you’re not praising, and you’re not serving.

Each berachah is a world. Each word is a diamond that must be cut and polished—over and over.

Real tefillah is like the work of a diamond cutter. You sharpen, you shape, you polish. And even when the diamond doesn’t yet shine, you keep cutting—because you know what’s hidden inside.

Sometimes the Answer Is “No”—And That’s Still a Response

Even after 515 prayers, Hashem told Moshe no. But that “no” wasn’t a punishment. It was part of the plan.

Sometimes the answer is “no” not because you don’t deserve it, but because it’s not beneficial for your soul, for your tafkid (purpose), or for the world’s greater design.

Every Jew is a piece of the puzzle of creation. Your job is not to control outcomes. Your job is to:

Connect to Hashem

Keep His Torah

Speak to Him with truth

Everything else—wealth, health, marriage, children, where you live, what you eat—is up to Him.

Your One Tool: The Power of Speech

We were given the gift of dibbur—speech. Not to sell or flatter or perform. But to connect.

Tefillah is the highest use of human speech. It’s the direct line to the Creator.

So whether the answer is yes or no, keep praying. Not because you’re guaranteed results—but because you’re guaranteed a relationship.

Being answered isn’t the goal.
Being connected is.

> אֵיכָה יוּעַם זָהָב, יִשְׁנֶא הַכֶּתֶם הַטּוֹב; תִּשְׁתַּפֵּכְנָה אַבְנֵי קֹדֶשׁ, בְּרֹאשׁ כָּל-חוּצוֹת.
“How the gold is dulled, the fine gold dimmed! Sacred stones are spilled at every street corner.”
— Eicha (Lamentations) 4:1

The Gold Has Not Disappeared — It’s Just Dirty

Yirmiyahu is not lamenting the disappearance of gold — he’s mourning its loss of shine. The Jewish people, once polished by Torah, mitzvot, and divine mission, are now spiritually dulled. The material remains, but the radiance is gone.

A Jew is not valuable because of what he owns, how intelligent he is, or how high he climbs. He shines when he reflects Hashem — when his life is a vessel for Torah, for truth, for kedushah. But when a person turns inward and downward — serving self, serving society’s idols, ignoring Hashem — then he becomes like dirty gold and uncut stones.

Gold that isn’t cleaned becomes dull. A diamond that isn’t cut is just a rock. And a Jew who doesn’t polish his neshama through Torah and avodah is just another body walking the street.

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The Metaphor Continues: Children as Sacred Stones

> בְּנֵי צִיּוֹן הַיְקָרִים, הַמְסֻלָּאִים בַּפָּז — אֵיכָה נֶחְשְׁבוּ, לְנִבְלֵי חֶרֶשׂ, מַעֲשֵׂה יְדֵי יוֹצֵר.
“The precious children of Zion, once valued as pure gold—how they are now thought of as earthen pots, the work of a potter’s hands.”
— Eicha 4:2

Not only have the adults turned from Hashem — the youth, our future, are being treated like clay. Disposable. Replaceable. Stripped of holiness and identity. The sacred stones are no longer in the Beis HaMikdash — they are in the street, kicked and abandoned.

When Torah is no longer the center of Jewish life, our own children suffer. We are raising golden vessels but treating them like broken pottery. And the tragedy is not their fault — it’s ours.

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Takeaways — Real, Raw, and Uncomfortable:

1. Polish Your Soul Like You Polish Gold

No one is born holy. Every neshama needs avodah — real work. Torah, mitzvot, tefillah, mussar, humility. That’s the polish. Ignore it, and your shine fades. You’ll still be gold — but no one will see it, not even you.

2. Don’t Settle for “Raw Material”

Rough diamonds are worthless until cut. Unformed potential means nothing until it’s shaped by Torah. The purpose of life is not to be “good” — it’s to be Godly. That takes work.

3. Idols Come in Many Forms

Today’s avodah zarah isn’t always statues — it’s fame, comfort, intellect, success, even philanthropy when it’s ego-driven. If you justify avoiding mitzvos by replacing them with your own definitions of “meaning,” you’re serving yourself — not Hashem.

4. You Can Be a Sacred Stone Again

Even scattered, gold can be recovered. Even soiled stones can be polished. No Jew is too far. No soul is too dirty. But the work begins with honesty: you must admit you’ve dulled, and decide to shine again.

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Final Thought

Hashem never said we must be perfect. But He demands that we polish, refine, and rise. The saddest thing is not a broken Jew — it’s a dull one who doesn’t care to shine again.

Return. Reflect. Reconnect. Become gold again.

דֶּרֶךְ יְשָׁרָה – The Upright Path

רַבִּי אוֹמֵר:
אֵיזוֹ הִיא דֶּרֶךְ יְשָׁרָה שֶׁיָּבוֹר לוֹ הָאָדָם?
כָּל שֶׁהִיא תִפְאֶרֶת לְעוֹשֶׂיהָ וְתִפְאֶרֶת לוֹ מִן הָאָדָם.
(Ethics of the Fathers 2:1)

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 Summary Teaching

> “Choose the path that brings honor to yourself and earns the respect of others — not just what is allowed, but what is truly good in God’s eyes. Serve Hashem using your own personality and gifts, and respect others who do the same. True greatness walks humbly and wisely — with balance, dignity, and kindness.”

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 Key Points in Brief:

Balance is the key. Rambam teaches the “golden mean” — avoid extremes, walk the middle path of wisdom, generosity, humility, and control.

Not all good paths look the same. Every person is created differently. As Chassidic masters taught: כְּשֵׁם שֶׁפָּנִים שׁוֹנוֹת – דֵּעוֹת שׁוֹנוֹת. Just as faces differ, so do life paths. Respect legitimate differences in Avodas Hashem.

More than what’s permitted — ask what is fitting. Like Aharon HaKohen, even if something is technically allowed, the deeper question is: “הֲיִיטַב בְּעֵינֵי ה׳?” – Will it be good in Hashem’s eyes?

The ultimate derech yesharah: A path that is refined inwardly and admired outwardly — one that reflects both personal sincerity and communal dignity.

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爵 Reflection

This Mishnah doesn’t just teach halacha — it teaches how to live.

It’s not enough to “follow the rules.” You must also ask:

> ❓ Is this who I want to be?
❓ Is this the kind of Yid Hashem wants me to be?
❓ Would someone else say: That’s a person I respect — and that’s a Torah Jew?

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 Live Upright. Walk with Dignity. Serve with Truth.

> “כָּל שֶׁהִיא תִפְאֶרֶת לְעוֹשֶׂיהָ וְתִפְאֶרֶת לוֹ מִן הָאָדָם.”
A path that brings inner beauty and earns outer respect.

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 Pirkei Avos – timeless truths in a few words. Let it guide your day.

The claim of Klal Yisrael to Eretz Yisrael is not subject to the approval of the world, international courts, or even internal consensus. It is not about politics, diplomacy, or public relations. It is rooted in one eternal reality: Hashem is the Creator and Owner of the world, and He gave Eretz Yisrael to His people.

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1. Why the Torah Begins with Creation

The Torah begins with:

> בְּרֵאשִׁית בָּרָא אֱלֹקִים אֵת הַשָּׁמַיִם וְאֵת הָאָרֶץ

Rashi, quoting R’ Yitzchak, asks: Why not begin the Torah with the first mitzvah, which is:

> הַחֹדֶשׁ הַזֶּה לָכֶם (שמות י״ב:ב׳)

Instead, it begins with Creation to teach the pasuk:

> כֹּחַ מַעֲשָׂיו הִגִּיד לְעַמּוֹ לָתֵת לָהֶם נַחֲלַת גּוֹיִם (תהילים קי״א:ו׳)

So that if the nations of the world say to Israel:
“You are thieves, you conquered the land of the seven nations!”,
Israel will answer:

> כָּל הָאָרֶץ שֶׁל הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא; הוּא בְּרָאָהּ וּנְתָנָהּ לַאֲשֶׁר יָשָׁר בְּעֵינָיו. בִּרְצוֹנוֹ נְתָנָהּ לָהֶם, וּבִרְצוֹנוֹ נְטָלָהּ מֵהֶם וּנְתָנָהּ לָנוּ.

This is not emotional. It’s not political. It’s not historical.
It’s truth — because Hashem said so.

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2. Ibn Ezra: Moshe’s Yearning Was a Teaching Tool

Ibn Ezra (on דברים ג׳:כ״ד) explains that Moshe’s heartfelt tefillah to enter Eretz Yisrael was not only personal. He wanted to teach the nation how deeply one must love the Land. His longing was meant to inspire חיבת הארץ in the people before they entered.

He understood that the success of their mitzvah observance depended on their emotional bond to the Land. Without that love, they would lose their foothold.

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3. Sefer HaChareidim: Chavivus Is Part of the Mitzvah

Sefer HaChareidim (ch. 59) teaches that the mitzvah of יישוב ארץ ישראל includes חביבות ארץ ישראל — to actively cherish and yearn for the Land. It is not enough to live there passively. One must desire it, feel connected to it, and recognize its spiritual elevation.

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4. Al HaRishonim: Not for Scenery, but for Shechinah

> “Not a love for the physical beauty of Eretz Yisrael, but rather a love for the spirituality and special closeness with Hashem that exists in Eretz Yisrael more than in any other place.”

That’s why the Torah says:

> אֶרֶץ אֲשֶׁר עֵינֵי ה׳ אֱלֹקֶיךָ בָּהּ, מֵרֵשִׁית הַשָּׁנָה וְעַד אַחֲרִית שָׁנָה (דברים י״א:י״ב)

Eretz Yisrael is unique not because of its climate or landscape — but because it is the place where Hashem’s Presence and supervision are most revealed.

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5. Why Moshe Was Not Allowed to Enter

Had Moshe Rabbeinu led Bnei Yisrael into the Land and established its foundation, then any future sin would have demanded complete destruction — not exile. There would be no allowance for failure. A nation brought in by Moshe would be held to an absolute standard.

Hashem, in His mercy, denied Moshe entry so that Klal Yisrael could survive even when it fails.
Exile would remain an option. Annihilation would not.
Better to lose the Land temporarily than to lose the nation eternally.

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6. We Are Not in Israel for Safety or Utility

And that is why the spiritual life in Eretz Yisrael is the primary purpose.

We are not there because we were refugees after the war. We are not there because no one else would take us. That is not the reason. There are plenty of places in the world Jews can live — the U.S., Canada, Australia. Those who think Israel is just another Western democracy — a place to build, work, manufacture, and “live like everyone else” — are mistaken.

To live in Eretz Yisrael correctly requires Torah, emunah, and hashkafah yesharah. Not just tefillin and Shabbos — but a clear understanding that this land is different, and we are different.

Sadly, many living in Israel today — including even some religious Jews — are confused about why they’re there. They think it’s about security, nationalism, or cultural pride. That warped, modern Zionistic idea is empty and false.

We are in Eretz Yisrael only because Hashem allows us to be there, and only to serve as a shining example of what a true life in His service looks like. The Jewish people in Eretz Yisrael are meant to reflect קדושה, משפט, and דרך ה׳ — to live as the model that brings the world toward Geulah and Olam Haba.

That is why we want to be there — when Hashem says so, and under His guidance — not to feel “safe,” but to live meaningfully, truthfully, and spiritually aligned with our mission.

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Conclusion: We Don’t Need Permission — Except From Hashem

Our right to Eretz Yisrael is not subject to permission from the U.N., the European Union, or the world. But neither is it subject to our own choice. We don’t go when we want. We don’t stay because we decide. We are there — or not — only if Hashem allows it.

If He allows us to live there — it is because He permits it.
If He throws us out — that too is by His decree.

Those who believe that our presence in Eretz Yisrael today is based on secular legality or political sovereignty are deeply mistaken. That is not the permission Rashi refers to. The permission to live in Eretz Yisrael is from the Creator alone. Everything else is an illusion.

Living there in a secular, nationalistic way — governed by Western ideologies and stripped of Torah values — is not a return to the Land of our forefathers. It is not גאולה. It is not the redemption we were promised.

It is no different than Jews settling in the Netherlands, Australia, or Taiwan — places where Hashem may let us live for a time. But once the Torah disappears from our lives, and mitzvot become optional, and chilul Hashem becomes normalized — Eretz Yisrael becomes just another polluted land.

To insist that we belong there no matter what, even when Hashem is ignored, Torah is violated, and morality is redefined — is not a zechut. It is a chilul Eretz Yisrael.

We Are Guests of the King

We do not own the Land.
We are guests — and the Host is watching.

Let no one misunderstand:

> הוּא נָתַן. הוּא נוֹטֵל. וְרַק הוּא מַחְזִיר.

Until we fulfill the Torah’s vision — until we are what Hashem intended us to be —
we are still in galut, even inside the Land.

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פרשת דברים is always read on the שבת before תשע באב, and there is a well-established מנהג to chant the verse:

אֵיכָה אֶשָּׂא לְבַדִּי טָרְחֲכֶם וּמַשָּׂאֲכֶם וְרִיבְכֶם
Eichah essa levadi torchachem u-masa’achem v’rivchem
How can I alone bear your troubles, your burdens, and your disputes?
— דברים א:יב

This פסוק is read to the mournful tune of מגילת איכה, evoking national mourning and deep reflection.

At first glance, it’s puzzling. Why is משה רבינו‘s complaint considered negative? Aren’t we meant to bring our issues to a רב, a דיין, or a בית דין? Isn’t that the right thing?

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The Insight of the ספורנו

The ספורנו explains that the problem wasn’t bringing disputes to Moshe. It was the constant stream of complaints and the trivial nature of those complaints. Their preoccupation with petty matters reflected a distorted outlook. Rather than preparing spiritually to enter ארץ ישראל, they fixated on their discomforts in the מדבר.

Instead of focusing on their miraculous journey and the upcoming entry into the Land, they lost themselves in negativity. משה רבינו felt overwhelmed — not because of the workload, but because of their lack of spiritual perspective and the burden of their small-mindedness.

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A Message for בין המצרים

As we live through the שלושת השבועות — the Three Weeks of בין המצרים — we are reminded of the same root issue: pettiness, distraction, and losing sight of the bigger goal.

The רמח”ל, in the opening of מסילת ישרים, writes that our entire purpose in this world is to earn our share in the עולם הבא. With that perspective, we must reconsider what truly matters and where our efforts belong.

In these days of בין המצרים, we must recognize that no matter how much we possess, we are still in גלות. We are without the בית המקדש, without clarity, and too often without unity.

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Staying Focused on Redemption

Let us not fall into the same trap as that generation in the מדבר. Let us not become consumed by personal grievances or entitlements. Let us refocus on the mission of גאולה — spiritual refinement, national unity, and rebuilding our relationship with השם.

Our goal is not comfort, ego, or worldly success. Our goal is the גאולה שלמה and the rebuilding of the בית המקדש השלישי.

May we be זוכים to transition from אֵיכָה — the cry of “how could this be?” — to כה — the presence and word of השם, as the מדרש says: when we merit, אֵיכָה will be transformed into כה.

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