Small tidbits and Sparks of wisdom

A.
The verse uses the expression תרומה לה׳ — a contribution to God — meaning an offering whose amount is not fixed. The Sanctuary was not designed primarily as an arena for children or youthful inspiration. Judaism does not say that once a person reaches adulthood he should devote himself entirely to his own livelihood and ambitions while religion remains something from childhood.
Rather, the Sanctuary calls upon adults. It summons a person precisely at the stage when he begins to take life seriously, when he starts earning a living and directing his own affairs. At the moment when a person’s independence and strength awaken, the Torah calls him to place that vitality in the service of God.
A Jewish man therefore reaches true maturity not simply by becoming economically independent, but by dedicating his efforts, ambitions, and thoughts to the service of God’s Torah. His work and pursuits are no longer merely personal—they become instruments for a higher purpose.
B. The Meaning of the Half-Shekel
The commandment of the מחצית השקל explains that this contribution is given “לכפר על נפשותיכם”—for the spiritual standing of the community. The donation is therefore not about the honor of the individual giver but about sustaining the collective service of the Jewish people.
Unlike a ransom payment connected to a census, this contribution established a permanent communal obligation. Every year each member of the nation contributed a fixed half-shekel to support the communal offerings in the Temple, as described in Shekalim 1:1.
Through this system the daily offerings represented the entire nation equally. The Temple service was not financed by a few wealthy benefactors but by the participation of every member of the people.
C. Equality Before God
The Torah states clearly: “העשיר לא ירבה והדל לא ימעיט”—the rich shall not give more and the poor shall not give less.
This rule establishes the symbolic meaning of the half-shekel. In this contribution, wealth does not grant a person greater standing. The richest individual is not permitted to increase the amount, and the poorest person is not required to give less.
When each person fulfills his obligation, the thousands of coins of the rich carry no greater weight before God than the small coins of the poor. Spiritual worth is not determined by wealth but by the faithful fulfillment of duty.
Before God, the rich and the poor stand equal when they fulfill their obligation.
D. Measuring Contribution by Ability
God and His Sanctuary do not measure the absolute size of a donation but its relative meaning to the giver. The value of a contribution is judged in relation to the person’s abilities and resources.
When someone gives according to his capacity—placing his effort and resources toward the service of God’s purposes—he has effectively offered his symbolic half-shekel upon the altar. The true weight of a gift lies not in its size but in the devotion and commitment behind it.
E. The Principle of Proportion
The half-shekel therefore teaches a broader principle about responsibility and giving. The Torah addresses adults who control resources and directs them to use those resources for the service of God and the community.
The fixed half-shekel shows that what matters is proportion, not impressive numbers. In the divine accounting, large amounts alone do not determine value.
If someone possesses billions and gives millions, the size of the number itself is not what is counted. What matters is how much of the person’s capacity stands behind the gift.
God does not measure generosity by large figures but by the relationship between the giver and his means. A small sum given in true proportion to one’s resources can outweigh enormous donations given without sacrifice.
The half-shekel teaches that before God the real measure of giving is not the amount itself, but how fully a person places his resources and life in service of a higher purpose.

The Ames Window Effect demonstrates a simple but profound truth about human perception: a person does not see reality directly. What the eyes deliver is only partial information. The brain then fills in the rest based on habit, expectation, and prior experience.
The illusion works because the window used in the demonstration is not actually rectangular. It is a trapezoid. Yet the human brain insists on interpreting it as a normal rectangular window because that is what it has learned to expect from experience. When the window rotates, the mind refuses to accept what the eyes are actually seeing. Instead, it forces the image into its familiar framework. As a result, the window appears to swing back and forth rather than rotate fully.
The lesson is uncomfortable but important: human perception is not neutral. It is guided by internal assumptions.
This principle extends far beyond visual illusions. It applies to how people interpret events, morality, history, and even religion.
When a person views the world without the framework of Torah, the mind still constructs meaning — but it constructs it from whatever ideas and ideologies it has absorbed from society, culture, education, and personal desire. Those assumptions then shape what the person believes to be “obvious reality.”
But just as the brain misinterprets the Ames window because it assumes all windows are rectangular, a mind that is trained entirely by secular assumptions will interpret the world through those assumptions. What appears obvious or self-evident may simply be the brain forcing reality into a familiar ideological shape.
Torah learning functions differently. It is not merely another belief system added to the mind. It is a discipline that retrains perception itself. Over time it reshapes how a person interprets existence, responsibility, purpose, and morality.
Without that framework, the mind can easily become trapped in its own illusions — not because the person lacks intelligence, but because the mind is interpreting reality through an incomplete set of assumptions.
The danger of illusion is not that people see nothing. The danger is that they believe with confidence that they are seeing clearly.
The Ames Window Effect is therefore more than a clever demonstration in psychology. It is a reminder of a deeper truth: the human mind constantly interprets reality, and the framework through which it interprets determines what it believes it sees

1. Anti-Semitism is not random, nor is it a simple reaction to Jewish behavior. Its roots run deep in both psychology and history, and understanding it requires tracing the archetypes that form its foundation. The earliest model comes from Amalek, the eternal adversary of the Jewish people. Amalek’s hostility is tribal, not personal; it targets the Jew as part of a collective covenant, not as an individual. Like a king whose enemies must always surround him with bodyguards, the Jewish people are inherently “on top” in a spiritual sense, which makes them a target for those who cannot tolerate excellence or divine purpose.
2. The origin story begins with Timna, a royal non-Jewish princess who sought to join the household of Avraham Avinu. She was refused—not because she lacked character, but because she did not meet the spiritual and moral standard necessary for inclusion in a lineage destined to carry the covenant. That rejection festered. From it arose Amalek, whose descendants would harbor enduring hatred toward the Jewish people. The psychological pattern is clear: “If I cannot be part of this, I will oppose it completely.” This archetype of envy and destructive resentment recurs in history, over and over.
3. A historical parallel appears in Adolf Hitler. In his youth, Hitler aspired to be an artist, and a Jewish gallery owner offered support. His failure—whether personal or circumstantial—triggered a deep resentment. Although he personally knew few Jews, this frustration became generalized into a desire to destroy the Jewish people. The same psychological mechanism is at work: rejection, real or perceived, creates a hatred that targets the group itself. Anti-Semitism is not about the individual Jew’s behavior; it is about their existence as a visible, cohesive, and enduring people.
4. This dynamic extended into modern economic history. After World War I, Germany faced hyperinflation and catastrophic economic collapse. Many bankers and financiers of Jewish descent—some secular, some converted to Christianity, some intermarried—were highly visible in finance and commerce. Public resentment focused on them, blaming them for the economic crisis, even though currency collapse, reparations, and supply-and-demand dynamics were impersonal forces. The Jewish identity of these individuals, not their actions, became the symbol of the problem. Anti-Semitism, again, is triggered by the visibility and distinctiveness of the group, not fairness or moral conduct.
5. The infection of anti-Semitism is further perpetuated across generations. Often it begins with parents or grandparents who felt personally frustrated—passed over for a promotion, denied a career, or financially harmed—and identified a Jew as the cause. These attitudes are latent, passed to children and grandchildren, who may otherwise be focused, successful, and non-anti-Semitic. Yet when they encounter competition or loss involving Jewish individuals, the dormant resentment awakens, fusing inherited bias with present circumstances. Even among the wealthy and educated, anti-Semitism can surface under stress or perceived injustice, showing that it is structural and generational, not merely individual.
6. A key paradox emerges for secular Jews. Many do not live observant Torah lives, intermarry, or fully engage with Jewish practice. Yet anti-Semitism does not target their behavior; it targets their identity by birth, the covenantal “membership” they carry. Outsiders see the Jewish people as an exclusive, enduring group. Those who cannot enter or emulate it often respond with hostility: if they cannot be part of the “club,” they want to destroy it. This mirrors the archetype of Amalek, which is motivated by envy, rejection, and an urge to destroy the exceptional, not by religion, prophecy, or logic.
7. Even today, movements and ideologies that attempt to oppose or mimic Judaism—whether secular philosophies, confused religious systems, or newly invented religions like Scientology—cannot reproduce the depth of Amalekite resentment. They lack coherence, divine foundation, and the symbolic weight of the covenantal Jewish people. Anti-Semitism, in essence, is an enduring psychological and historical pattern: a combination of envy, rejection, and recognition of an enduring, visible, and exceptional people that the world cannot absorb or accept.
8. In short, from Timna’s rejection to Amalek, from Hitler to modern economic scapegoating, and through generations of latent resentment, anti-Semitism is tribal, inherited, and symbolic. It does not require personal experience or direct affront—it is activated simply by the existence of Jews as a chosen, visible, and cohesive people. Understanding this is essential: anti-Semitism is never about fairness, morality, or individual conduct; it is about identity, excellence, and the envy and fear that accompany them.
9. The cycle is compounded by the reality that many Jews today lack any education in Orthodox Judaism, Torah, or Jewish history. They grow up secular, disconnected from the knowledge of what makes a Jew unique and covenantally distinct. When confronted with anti-Semitism, either personally or against friends who have no affiliation with practice, they are perplexed and hurt, unable to comprehend why they are targeted. This confusion was starkly revealed on October 7th, when Hamas attacked primarily the most secular Israeli Jews on the holy Sabbath, while religious Jews were largely spared. The secular Israeli society was left head-scratching, wondering why 40–50% of the population sympathizes with or favors Arabs in such circumstances. The misunderstanding stems from a failure to grasp the purpose of Judaism: it is not defined by the state, language, appearance, or external markers, but by the representation of a higher being, Hashem, in the world. Running away from this covenant, whether by secularism or assimilation, leads to loss of identity and purpose. A Jew who does not participate in the religious activities of Judaism—whether liberal, conservative, socialist, Democrat, or otherwise—is inherently confused, and it is no surprise that anti-Semitism targets them and their environment. This is historically consistent; there is precedent for the fact that rejection or distancing from the covenant brings existential vulnerability.
10. Both secular and religious anti-Semitism operate on a similar pattern: resentment toward a distinct, chosen people. Religious anti-Semitism often takes the form of replacement theory, the claim that Jews are no longer special or chosen. This is inherently contradictory: historically, only a few individuals—prophets, kings, or a select covenantal people—were chosen, not billions of people. Religious systems that claim universal inclusion or replace Jewish chosenness dilute the concept, reducing the idea of a covenantal family to nothing more than numbers. Secular anti-Semitism operates similarly: those outside the covenant reject the group itself because they cannot belong. In both cases, the lack of authentic, grounded membership—whether spiritual, moral, or ideological—creates a cycle of envy and hatred. Generationally, those closer to the past, wiser, or connected to the Creator are seen as superior, while those from later generations or without knowledge are perceived as inferior, perpetuating cycles of rejection, misunderstanding, and hostility toward Jews.

1. When a person considers a serious business investment—such as purchasing hundreds of millions of dollars’ worth of real estate—he does not act blindly. He performs due diligence. He studies the history of the property, analyzes the financial records, and attempts to project the future. Lawyers review contracts, accountants examine the numbers, and investigators study the background of the people involved.
2. A responsible investor asks difficult questions. Who runs the company? What is their track record? Why has the business succeeded or failed in the past? Are the reports consistent with one another? Do the numbers match the reality on the ground?
3. If contradictions appear in the records, if one report says one thing while another says something else, the investor becomes cautious. If management cannot explain the past or cannot present a credible future, a rational person simply walks away. No one commits serious capital without careful investigation.
4. The same principle applies when someone considers buying shares in a company. Before investing, he studies the leadership, the history of the enterprise, its methods of operation, and its long-term direction. Trust alone is never enough. Evidence and consistency matter.
5. Strangely, many people do not apply this same standard when choosing their religion. Yet religion is far more important than any business investment. A business may affect a person’s finances, but religion shapes a person’s entire life—his beliefs, his moral obligations, and his understanding of truth.
6. Many people accept their religion simply because their parents or grandparents told them it was correct. Tradition deserves respect, but respect alone does not answer the question of truth. Just as an investor examines a business in his own time, a person should examine religious claims with the same seriousness.
7. Such an examination requires basic questions. What are the historical sources of this religion? Who founded it? Were the events described witnessed publicly by many people, or are they based on the claims of a single individual? Has the message remained consistent over time, or has it fragmented into numerous competing interpretations?
8. In the world of business, inconsistent reports immediately raise suspicion. If a company presents many conflicting versions of its story, investors lose confidence. The same logic should apply when examining religions that have produced hundreds of competing sects and interpretations.
9. Likewise, when a religion depends entirely on the claim of a single founder without independent verification, a careful observer must examine those claims very carefully before accepting them as the foundation for life.
10. Some people argue that the number of followers proves the truth of a religion. Yet popularity proves very little. Throughout history, millions of investors have poured money into ventures that later collapsed. Large crowds can be mistaken. Truth is not determined by majority vote.
11. If people invested their money the way many people adopt religion, the financial world would be chaos. Imagine someone placing millions of dollars into a company simply because a friend recommended it, without reviewing records, examining history, or questioning the leadership.
12. In business this behavior would be considered reckless. Every serious investor studies the morality of the enterprise itself. If a company were discovered to rely on slave labor, exploitation, or violence, most honorable investors would refuse to participate regardless of profit.
13. The same moral examination should apply to religion. A thoughtful person must look honestly at the history of a religious movement and ask how it spread. Was it accepted voluntarily, or was it advanced through coercion, political power, or violence carried out in the name of God?
14. History shows that some religious movements were promoted through force or domination rather than persuasion alone. When leaders claim divine authority while using power or violence to impose belief, serious moral questions arise about the authenticity of that message.
15. Another issue that requires careful scrutiny is the doctrine of religious replacement. Some religions claim that God abandoned His earlier covenant and transferred His favor to a new group. According to this view, those once described as chosen have been rejected and replaced.
16. Such a claim raises an obvious question. If a covenant described as eternal and publicly witnessed by a nation could later be replaced, what does that say about the reliability of divine promises? Would a just and unchanging God revoke such a covenant and replace it through later movements with conflicting accounts?
17. A thoughtful person cannot ignore these questions. If religion shapes one’s understanding of truth, morality, and purpose, then choosing a religion deserves at least the same level of investigation that a careful investor applies to a major financial decision.
18. The conclusion is simple. Before committing one’s life to any belief system, one must examine its history, its sources, its moral record, and the consistency of its claims. Blind acceptance may be common, but serious commitment requires honest inquiry.
19. In business, responsible people perform due diligence before investing their money. When it comes to religion, the stakes are far higher. A decision that shapes an entire life deserves investigation, evidence, and the courage to ask difficult questions before accepting any claim about truth.

Chapter 1: The World Was Not Created Incomplete
1. The Torah in Book of Genesis presents a world that is already complete. Trees bear fruit. Animals are fully mature. Rivers, seas, and ecosystems function perfectly. Everything necessary exists. It is called “very good.”
2. Yet perfection in structure is not the same as perfection in purpose. Human beings, though created last, were not complete in their mission. Their purpose — connection to Hashem — had yet to begin.
Chapter 2: One Being, Not One Male
3. “Male and female He created them” describes a single human organism containing both male and female elements. Chazal in Talmud explain that the first human was a unified being and only later separated.
4. So when the Torah says, “It is not good for man to be alone,” it does not mean Adam lacked companionship. It means he was undivided, containing both male and female elements. Unity existed — effortless and untested. But effort is essential for growth.
Chapter 3: Separation as the Beginning of Greatness
5. Hashem separates the human being into man and woman. Now there are two bodies, two perspectives, two wills. Each feels incompleteness. Each must move toward the other, restrain ego, and give.
6. Originally, unity was natural. After separation, unity must be chosen. That choice is the higher form of unity. Marriage is not companionship alone; it is the deliberate rebuilding of the original oneness through effort, discipline, and shared purpose.
Chapter 4: The Tree, Love, and the Order of Giving
7. A. The command regarding the Tree was absolute: it was forbidden.
8. B. The Torah emphasizes the sequence: she took for herself first, then gave to Adam. The first movement was toward self, revealing the fracture at the root — self before covenant.
9. C. As Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler teaches, love is giving, not taking. Attachment grows from what one gives; taking feeds desire and separation.
10. D. Even if she thought engagement with the Tree would bring elevation, the act should have been outward first — toward Adam — not inward toward herself.
11. E. The mistake was not only disobedience but inversion of priorities: self before relationship, autonomy before submission, taking before giving. Unity — marital or spiritual — is built through giving first. The first movement toward the other strengthens bond; self-prioritization fractures it.
Chapter 5: The Work of Rebuilding Unity
12. Marriage is the arena where the fracture is repaired. Unity now requires: giving before taking, restraining impulse, thinking in terms of “we” instead of “me,” and submitting both wills to a higher purpose.
13. A house built around Torah creates a shared orbit. Two strong individuals do not merge by losing identity but by harmonizing direction. The secret of lasting union is disciplined generosity and placing the other first.
Chapter 6: Children as the Fruit of Unity
14. Children are the natural extension of union. They embody shared life and shared future, and they strengthen responsibility and vision.
15. But children are fruit, not foundation. The root of unity lies in covenantal alignment — two people deliberately orienting themselves together under Hashem. Children deepen unity; they do not create it.
Chapter 7: When There Are No Children
16. Even without children, the purpose of marriage remains. Two people can achieve unity in direction, vision, and moral discipline. They restore the original unity of the first human being spiritually, if not biologically.
17. Perfection is not fusion of bodies but fusion of purpose. Loyalty, restraint, gratitude, and shared avodah allow two distinct individuals to walk in one direction, fulfilling the human design.
Chapter 8: The Purpose of Creation
18. Creation began with unity. Separation introduced distance. Marriage rebuilds unity through effort. Children extend it. Torah directs it.
19. The ultimate goal is not merely reunion but alignment with Hashem. Two wills disciplined into one shared will, under Divine command. Remaining separate yet bonded, walking as one, connecting upward — that is the purpose for which the world was created.
20. The separation itself serves a higher purpose: it is the framework for reward in the world to come. When man fulfills the dictates of the Torah and follows the guidelines Hashem gave the Jewish people — through Moshe, the commandments, and tradition — children are a blessing. Yet even when children are not granted, a person’s task is not diminished. The work of perfecting oneself and achieving unity with one’s spouse remains central. Unity is built through giving, through restraint, and through shared alignment toward Hashem.
21. This union is not merely personal. It models something universal: it points to the One Creator. The world may appear divided — races, nations, trees, elements, and creatures seem distinct — but all originate from a single source. The unity of husband and wife, disciplined, purposeful, and oriented toward Hashem, is a microcosm of the unity of all creation.
22. Through conscious unity and giving, human beings demonstrate and reveal that ultimate truth: that everything — diversity and structure alike — flows from one Creator, and the purpose of life is to align with that singular source through love, covenant, and effort.

Rabbi Hirsch explains that the cherubim atop the Ark were not decorative figures or abstract symbols. They conveyed a concrete truth about Torah, protection, responsibility, and Jewish survival.
From their first appearance in Bereishis, cherubim serve as guardians, standing at the entrance to the Tree of Life. In the Prophets and Tehillim, they are described as bearers of God’s glory. They protect, and they carry. Rabbi Hirsch shows that in the Mishkan these two roles are combined.
The Torah describes the cherubim spreading their wings upward while shielding the kapores, the Ark-cover. Their wings form a protective covering. Their faces are turned toward one another, yet directed toward the cover. At the same time, their wings are raised upward — suggesting that they bear something resting above them: the unseen presence of God’s glory. The guarding can be seen. What they carry cannot. God’s presence is not visible, yet it rests there.
Notably, the cherubim do not guard the Tablets directly. They guard the kapores. The cover protects the Testimony, and the cherubim emerge from that very cover. Rabbi Hirsch draws a demanding conclusion: when a person safeguards and fulfills the Torah, that very commitment becomes his protection. The one who guards the Torah becomes, in effect, his own cherub. Through loyalty to Torah, a Jew both shields himself and becomes a bearer of God’s presence in the world.
Rabbi Hirsch is making a practical claim. Torah observance is not symbolic loyalty; it shapes reality. Each act of study, discipline, and obedience strengthens Israel’s survival and welfare. The intellectual and moral effort invested in Torah becomes the force that preserves the nation and allows God’s nearness to dwell among them.
Why, then, are there two cherubim?
Because Torah life is never one-dimensional. The Tablets were two. The Ark was built from two materials. Safeguarding Torah has two essential aspects: understanding and action. And the cherubim face one another while guarding the Ark. Rabbi Hirsch explains that this teaches mutual responsibility. Commitment to God cannot be separated from responsibility toward fellow Jews. While guarding the Torah, they look at each other.
The Ark and its cherubim deliver a clear message: strength, firmness, and unwavering dedication to Torah bring protection, blessing, and God’s nearness. Survival is secured not merely through strategy or power, but through fidelity to Torah — in thought, in action, and in unity.

The Gemara (בבא בתרא ט:) tells us, “Tzedakah is greater than all of the Korbanos (offerings), and through it one merits righteous children.” The Rambam (הלכות מתנות עניים, פרק י’) writes that one must be more careful with the mitzvah of tzedakah than any other positive commandment.
Hashem promises that whoever gives maaser will merit great wealth and eternal blessings. The Mishnah (אבות ד:א) teaches: “Who is rich? One who is happy with his lot.” The mitzvah of giving maaser is conducive to raising the person to a level where he is satisfied with what he has.
However, by giving maaser, one definitely can become wealthy in the literal sense as well. The Rebbe Reb Zusha explains (עיין מאור עינים סוף פ’ ואתחנן) that when a person gives maaser, he demonstrates that he believes that it is Hashem Who is supporting him, and not his wealth. On the other hand, when a person does not give maaser, he makes a statement that he believes that it is his money that supports him and that is why it is hard for him to part with his money. When a person trusts in Hashem to support him, he definitely is blessed with the opportunity to earn endless wealth, whereas when a person places his trust in his money, his wealth and livelihood will be limited.
The Kedushas Levi (פרשת ראה) says similarly that when a person separates part of his wealth and designates it for tzedakah, he not only sanctifies the actual funds earmarked for tzedakah, but he also elevates the status of the money left over for himself. Before taking maaser, the money was merely his money, the product of his toil and effort. By separating a charitable portion for Hashem, he demonstrates that everything is a present from Hashem, and that even the money which remains for his personal use is truly a gift from Hashem.
Although there are many situations in which one is exempt from giving maaser, the Steipler Gaon taught that he is still advised to give maaser, for three reasons. First, it will train the entire family in the importance of giving maaser. Second, tithing his money will spare him from having to spend on other areas, such as doctors. As the Midrash says, “A door which does not open for the poor opens for doctors.” Third, one never loses from giving maaser in any event. The Shulchan Aruch (Yoreh Deah 331:146) teaches: “No one ever became poor from giving tzedakah. Nothing bad has ever occurred as a result.”
Rav Chaim Volozhiner zt”l was careful to give a tenth (perhaps even a fifth) of his money to charity. Once, he was uncertain whether he had fulfilled his obligation. He decided to be lenient with himself at that time and not give again immediately.
Shortly afterward, the family’s bucket fell into the well. When they attempted to retrieve it with an axe, the axe also fell in. Rav Chaim calculated the total loss and realized that it was exactly the amount about which he had been in doubt regarding maaser. He immediately gave that amount to tzedakah. Shortly afterward, the bucket and the axe were retrieved from the well.
We see that refraining from giving maaser only results in money being lost in other ways.

First, it will train the entire family in the importance of giving maaser.

Second, tithing his money will spare him from having to spend on other areas, such as doctors. As the Midrash says, “A door which does not open for the poor opens for doctors.”

Third, one never loses from giving maaser in any event.

*The Shulchan Aruch (Yoreh Deah 331:146) teaches: “No one ever became poor from giving tzedakah. Nothing bad has ever occurred as a result.”

Rav Chaim Volozhiner zt”l was careful to give a tenth (perhaps even a fifth) of his money to charity. Once, he was uncertain whether he had fulfilled his obligation. He decided to be lenient with himself at that time and not give again immediately.
Shortly afterward, the family’s bucket fell into the well. When they attempted to retrieve it with an axe, the axe also fell in. Rav Chaim calculated the total loss and realized that it was exactly the amount about which he had been in doubt regarding maaser. He immediately gave that amount to tzedakah. Shortly afterward, the bucket and the axe were retrieved from the well.
We see that refraining from giving maaser only results in money being lost in other ways.

Rema ( Yore Deah 331:146) is puzzled by the fact that Shulchan Aruch makes no mention of the halachos of separating master. Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach zt’l  commented that since there is no section of the Shulchan Aruch exclusively devoted to these, it’s difficult to render clear ruling on the subject.

The relationship between God and Israel, established through the giving of the Law by God and its acceptance by Israel — is the context within which the significance of the Tabernacle as a whole and in its parts is to be sought and found. This significance explains why the chapters on the construction of the Tabernacle follow the chapters containing the fundamental principles of the Law and the covenant established on the basis of the Law.
If the construction of the מקדש־משכן is considered from this perspective, the materials to be donated for this construction signify the factors through which the consecration of life is to be realized, and the factors by which God’s sanctifying and blessed closeness is to be recognized. For it is from God that we first received these materials, with which we are to demonstrate our devotion to God, and by donating them we will get them back with a twofold blessing. As Yaakov said, when he laid the cornerstone and first foundation for the first House of God: וכל אשר תתן לי עשר אעשרנו לך (Bereshis 28:22). King David, when preparing for the building of the First Temple, expressed the same idea even more explicitly: כי ממך הכל ומידך נתנו לך (Divrei Ha-Yamim I, 29:14).
And just now the people were made aware of this idea — most succinctly but comprehensively — by the throwing of half of the blood of the covenant onto the altar and half toward the people (above, 24:6 and 8).
In Collected Writings, vol. III, pp. 169–173, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch zt”l showed that metals, because of their hardness, appear in תנ״ך as metaphors for firmness and strength (e.g., Yirmeyahu 1:18; Iyov 6:12; Yeshayahu 48:4). Because of their value, they appear as symbols of the value attached to spiritual assets (e.g., Mishlei 2:4; Tehillim 19:11; Iyov 28). But especially because of their metallurgical properties, they appear as symbols of all that is good and true in “alloys” containing various degrees of evil and falsehood, and as metaphors for the process of testing and refinement associated with truth and morality (e.g., Iyov 23:10; Zecharyah 13:9; Malachi 3:3; Mishlei 17:3; Yeshayahu 48:10; Mishlei 25:4; 10:20; 26:23; Yirmeyahu 6:29–30; Tehillim 119:119; Yechezkel 22:18; Yeshayahu 1:22; Daniyel 2:32–33). In all these passages, metals symbolize various degrees of moral purity and truth. Copper represents an ignoble nature, not yet refined. Silver signifies the stage of requiring purification and being amenable to refinement. Gold, which is usually found in unalloyed form and which can withstand the most rigorous tests, is a symbol of the purest and most refined moral nobility and of true and unfailing constancy.

This is the model for life.
Giving something back to Hashem from what He first gave you is not charity in the ordinary sense. It is recognition of reality. Nothing is truly yours. Your life was given to you. You did not purchase yourself. You did not create yourself. You did not design your mind, your talents, your health, your family, or the opportunities placed before you. Someone placed you on the trajectory that allowed you to receive what you now possess.
Whether a person is blessed with a brilliant mind, significant wealth, inherited assets, strong health, or even just the simple daily necessities that sustain ordinary life — all of it is a gift from God.
Truma and tzedakah are not losses. They are acknowledgments. They declare: “This was never mine to begin with.”
And that is why Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch zt”l speaks of a twofold blessing. When a person gives from what was entrusted to him, he receives it back refined. Elevated. Strengthened. Just as metals are purified through fire, so too a person’s possessions and abilities become purified through proper giving.
כי ממך הכל ומידך נתנו לך.
From You is everything, and from Your hand we give back to You.

וגר לא תונה וגר לא תלחצנו כי גרים הייתם בארץ מצרים
is closely connected with the thought expressed in the preceding verse. There it says that even a native-born Jew of the purest descent forfeits his life amidst the Jewish national community as soon as he departs, in the slightest degree, from the pure basic principle of Jewish worship of God. By contrast, here it says that one who was born a heathen is entitled to complete equality and full rights among Jews under Jewish law from the moment he joins the Jewish fold by accepting the basic principles of Judaism and Jewish worship.
The connection between these two verses marks the great principle, frequently reiterated in Scripture, that personal and civil rights, and personal worth, do not depend on descent, place of birth, or property ownership, nor do they depend on any external, incidental factor that bears no relationship to the individual’s true character. Rather, they depend solely on the individual’s moral and spiritual qualities.
The distinctive rationale כי גרים הייתם בארץ מצרים serves to safeguard this principle against any violation. For the meaning of this rationale is not the same as that of וזכרת כי עבד היית (below, 23:9). Rather, here it says simply and absolutely: כי גרים הייתם. Your whole misfortune in Egypt was that you were גרים there, and that as such, in the view of the other nations, you were not entitled to land, homeland, or existence there, and they could do with you as they pleased. As גרים you were without any rights in Egypt; this led to your עבדות (enslavement) and to your עינוי (affliction). Therefore we are warned: When you have a state of your own, do not make human rights dependent on anything other than the pure humanity inherent in every person. Any deprivation of human rights will open the door to all the abominations of tyranny and abuse that were practiced in Egypt.
גר stems from the root גרה, which is phonetically related to ינה (“to humble,” “to humiliate”), to כנה (“to call something by an incorrect name”), to the Rabbinic term גנה (“to vilify”), and perhaps also to קנה (“to bring under one’s control,” “to acquire”). The root גרה, then, means to illegally deprive of material or spiritual possessions. Thus (a) to defraud in commerce, in purchase or sale, וכי תמכרו ממכר לעמיתך או קנה מיד עמיתך אל תונו איש את אחיו (Vayikra 25:14); (b) to hurt with words in social intercourse, אונאת דברים.
Accordingly, וגר לא תונה would seem to mean: Do not wrong the stranger — neither by words nor by deeds. In Bava Metzia 58b, however, our verse is taken to refer to אונאת דברים. Below, on verses 21–22, which are closely related to our verse, we shall have to focus on the fluctuation between the singular and the plural form of address.

Pleasure and Asceticism
People who don’t understand Chovos Halevavos interpret this as an encouragement of strict asceticism and total rejection of the world. They find that difficult to deal with. But their interpretation is mistaken. What Chovos Halevavos wants you to do is reject becoming intoxicated by the pleasures of This World. However, these pleasures serve a very important purpose in your life, as long as you place them within the context of your service to Hashem. Always remember your priorities.
For example, Chovos Halevavos doesn’t want a person to feel that the bread he eats is tasteless, without pleasure. When he walks in the street and he sees the sunlight, he should not think it’s nothing. On the contrary, as was explained in Shaar Habechinah, the true servant of Hashem sees the kindness in everything. He sees how Hashem has put wisdom and kindness into all forms of material existence. As it says, *His greatness and His goodness fill the world.*³²³
So when he eats whatever he eats, he certainly enjoys it and he thanks Hashem that it’s so pleasant to eat food. There is no question about that. So what is Chovos Halevavos trying to tell us with his discussion of abstinence?
Chovos Halevavos is teaching that a person should never become overly enthusiastic about any material aspect of his existence. For example, he should never go overboard about the function of eating. He should not fall in love with nature. True, he should see in nature and in the bread that he eats all the kindness of Hashem, but he shouldn’t become enthusiastic about anything that is only a means to an end.
Similarly, David Hamelech fought for the people of Yisrael, but it wasn’t because he loved war or he wanted to conquer other nations. He was a servant of Hashem. When people get into the spirit of military activities and become enthusiastic about the martial arts, it’s not called the service of Hashem. If people want to be authors and writers for the purpose of gaining renown, it’s not called the service of Hashem.
If a person has a family and becomes so enthusiastic about them that they are the center of his life, he ceases to be a servant of Hashem.
Hashem wants him to have a family and raise children devoted to His service, as it says, *I have acquired a man for Hashem.*³²⁴ But He doesn’t want a man’s family to be his whole life. Certainly a person should enjoy his children. That attitude is part of enjoying the kindness of Hashem, but he shouldn’t become like somesome people who live for their children. There are people who can’t live without their children. They are always traveling to see their children and be with them. That becomes their life.
Growth With Action
Family and Other Pleasures of Life
If you hear good news from your children out of town, you should be very happy and have nachas. But stay where you are; don’t travel back and forth and waste part of your life as if that’s your whole interest.
As much as you love your family, you should have other interests. You should be interested in your life as a servant of Hashem.
Now, where to draw the line is not so simple. You will need wisdom for that. There is certainly a clear-cut understanding that everyone should enjoy what Hashem gives him and appreciate it. However, nobody should become so enthusiastic that he loses himself in that pleasure and causes himself to forget that his purpose in life is to serve Hashem — even in the matter of nachas from children.
This is true even in the matter of eating. The more you enjoy your food, the more you should thank Hashem for it.
Growth With Action
Making Money
In light of the above, what should your attitude be to making money? As with your other interests, it should not be the central focus of your life.
However, you may put significant effort into making money if it is for the purpose of supporting yourself and fulfilling your obligations to your family and others who are dependent on you.
You are also justified in putting in effort to maintain your property and your wealth, even adding to it. The important thing is that you are doing it as a servant of Hashem. If Hashem gave you wealth, He was saying to you, “You’re My treasurer. I gave you so much wealth; see to it that it doesn’t get lost or dissipated.”
As a loyal treasurer, you are busy investing Hashem’s money and making more and more. That’s fine, as long as you remember it’s not yours. Don’t become overenthusiastic with what you have gained.
This is an important principle, and many people misunderstand it. When the author says “reject This World,” he means, reject all the things that people become intoxicated about.
Understanding Chovos Halevavos — Love of the World
Chovos Halevavos said above that a person “should remove his love of the world and his desire for it from his heart, and he should exchange it for the love of Hashem.”
What does this mean in light of what we have said here? All the pleasures and enthusiasms that people invest their energies in should be exchanged for a nobler version. They should use the same things as a tool to love Hashem, Who gave all this to you out of kindness.
So let’s say a man walks in the street and he sees it is a beautiful day, the wind is blowing, the sun is shining, all of nature is pleasant and happy — certainly he should enjoy it and thank Hashem for it.
He should thank Hashem for the pleasure that sunlight gives him. This means he should remember the blessing,³²⁵ Blessed are You, Hashem, Who fashions the luminaries.
He should thank Hashem for the pleasure of the wind while thinking of the words,³²⁶ He makes the wind blow and He makes the rain fall.
You have to appreciate everything that Hashem created. But there are people who get lost in their enthusiasm for nature. They yearn to go out in the woods and explore the mountains. They love nature so much, they spend days or sometimes weeks traveling.
These people are not servants of Hashem; they are slaves of gashmius (materialism).