Tiny Hope-y People

The Torah presents the Jewish people in a way that seems almost contradictory.

On the one hand, in Devarim 4, Moshe describes Israel as a “goy gadol - great nation” admired by other peoples for its wisdom, its closeness to God, and its laws. The nations will declare about the Jews: “Surely this great nation is a wise and discerning people!” Put in contemporary terms: “Look at how smart, successful, and accomplished the Jews are!”

This is an image of grandeur, of a people whose moral and spiritual stature commands respect on the world stage. We rock!

And yet, just a few chapters later in Devarim 7, Moshe reminds the people: “It is not because you are more numerous than all the other nations… indeed, you are the smallest of all nations.”

How can we be both a great nation and the smallest of nations? This paradox is central to the Jewish story. Our greatness has never been about numbers or physical might. It has been about meaning, about carrying a mission larger than ourselves.

Rashi notes that part of our distinction lies in humility. Like Abraham, who called himself “dust and ashes,” the Jewish people do not measure themselves by their own grandeur but by their service to God. This humility does not diminish us; it empowers us. Our role in history is not dependent on demographic advantage, but on the values we embody, the actions we perform, and impact we make.

Great nation, smallest of nations. Humility, accomplishment. These ideals do not compete. They complement and reinforce.

Rabbi Simcha Bunim of Peshischa taught that every person should have two pockets. In one pocket there should be a piece of paper saying: “I am only dust and ashes.” When one is feeling too proud, reach into this pocket and take out this paper and read it. In the other pocket there should be a piece of paper saying: "For my sake was the world created." When one is feeling disheartened and lowly, reach into this pocket and take this paper out and read it.

We can be great while we are small. Being small is no impediment to being great. History bears out the Torah’s vision.

Mark Twain famously observed that although Jews constitute a mere fraction of one percent of the world’s population, they have been heard of everywhere and have contributed far beyond their numbers—to literature, science, art, music, finance, medicine, and philosophy. In his words, “All things are mortal but the Jew; all other forces pass, but he remains.”

Anthropologist Margaret Mead expressed a similar truth that small size is no obstacle to making an impact. She noted, “A few people can’t change the world? Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

The Jewish people have been such a people time and time again. Whether in times of peace and prosperity or in the shadow of oppression and devastation, we have brought moral ideals into public life: the sanctity of human dignity, the rule of law, the imperative of justice, the responsibility to care for the stranger.

Jewish tradition values the power of numbers - but not for political clout, military might, or as a prerequisite to making a difference. Rabbi Avraham Danzig (Chayei Adam 68:11) teaches that any mitzvah done in a group is greater than when done alone, for “b’rov am hadrat Melech - in the strength of numbers is the grandeur of the king.” Greatness in Jewish life comes from collective purpose, from people working together for God’s service and the betterment of the world. This is why Jewish continuity has never relied on sheer population growth. It has relied on community, on Jews gathering together to learn, to pray, to celebrate, to grieve, and to build.

What sustains this tiny nation through centuries of exile, persecution, and challenge? What keeps the Jewish engine running like such a great nation?

Hope.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks distinguished between optimism and hope. Optimism is the belief that things will get better; hope is the belief that we can make them better. Optimism is passive; it depends on circumstances. Hope is active; it depends on us. It takes courage to hope, especially in a world that has often been cruel to the Jewish people. He writes:

“To be a Jew is to be an agent of hope. Every ritual, every command, every syllable of the Jewish story is a protest against escapism, resignation, and the blind acceptance of fate… The name of the Jewish future is hope.” (Future Tense, p. 250)

Hope is not just an emotion in Judaism. It is a way of life. It is what carried our ancestors out of Egypt, sustained us in the wilderness, rebuilt us after the destruction of the Temple, and gave us the courage to return to our land in modern times. Hope is what keeps Jews going in difficult times today. We are, in Rabbi Sacks’ words, “a tiny treasured people” who defy the normal rules of history. Empires rise and fall, but the Jewish people endure.

The paradox remains: we are small, yet great; humble, yet bold; realistic about the world’s dangers yet relentlessly committed to building a better one. Our influence has never come from dominating the world’s stage, but from shaping its conscience.

The Torah’s message is that you don’t have to be large to be great. You must be connected - to God, to one another, and to a vision of the future. That vision is carried by hope, and hope is renewed every time we choose to live as Jews: by studying Torah, doing mitzvot, and working together to make the world more just and compassionate. It, therefore, makes perfect sense for Israel’s anthem to be Hatikvah – The Hope.

We are, and always have been, a tiny hope-y people - fewer in number, greater in purpose, alive with the faith that tomorrow can be better than today. That is not a contradiction. It is our calling.

What Do We See?

This Shabbat, we read Chazon Yishayahu, the Vision of Isaiah. What did he see? What do we see?

The text is not very encouraging. It describes a desolate land and a wayward people. That is why we read it before Tisha B’Av, to get a taste of pur’anut, tragedy, in time for the fast day. Even our religious activities are rejected if we lack the basic compassion for those in need.

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev has a different take of the vision. He explains that this Shabbat is called Shabbat Chazon because on this day every Jew is granted a vision of the future Beit Hamikdash.

 

Huh?!? Rabbi Levi Yitzchak was known for his positive spin on even the direst situation, but how can destruction evoke expectations for redemption? He explains with a parable.

 

A father once prepared a beautiful suit of clothes for his son. But the child neglected his father’s gift, and soon the suit was in tatters. The father gave the child a second suit of clothes; this one, too, was ruined by the child’s carelessness. So, the father made a third suit, but his time, he withholds it from his son. Every once in a while, on special occasions, he shows the suit to the child, explaining that when the child learns to appreciate and properly care for the gift, it will be given to him. This encourages the child to improve his behavior, until it gradually becomes second nature to him - at which time he will be worthy of his father’s gift.

 

Despite the disappointment over our loss, we can see – literally - the positive outcome that is waiting for us

 

Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the late Lubavitcher Rebbe, explains this “vision thing” in a most creative way. Weaving together Jewish law, Midrash, and mysticism, he concludes that the only way God could be “allowed” to destroy the Beit Hamikdash was to fix it or build another one. It is similar to the laws of a Shul. One may only damage or destroy a synagogue structure when the purpose is to repair or renovate it. Accordingly, the destruction of the second Temple is part of the construction of the third Temple. Destruction is part of rebuilding. Exile is part of redemption. 

 

Glimpsing Isaiah’s vision of destruction is not contradictory to a vision of the third Temple. The Talmud teaches that Moshiach was born on Tisha B’Av. Similarly, we can glimpse redemption even as we encounter pain, hatred, and exile before our eyes. Shabbat Chazon is the time to catch a glimpse of the third Temple. It is a time to realize that the destruction and hardships we face are paving the way for a better tomorrow.

 

What do we see?

 

These last 22 months have been a time of increased darkness. At times, the situation seems to darken by the day. Nevertheless, we need to look for the rays of sunshine behind the clouds and the light within the darkness. We have seen so much strength, resilience, courage, and kindness.

 

Sometimes, a painful past yields resolve for the present and hope for the future.

 

Ro’i Klein is an Israeli hero. He was a commander in the Golani Brigade and one of Israel’s most decorated soldiers. On July 26, 2006, Ro’i, 31-years-old, was commanding his troops during the Battle of Bint Jbeil in the Second Lebanon War. A Hezbollah terrorist threw a grenade at his unit, and Ro’i jumped on the grenade to save his soldiers. He was killed instantly. Nineteen years later, Yoav, Ro’i’s son, who was an infant when his father was killed, has now drafted intro the Golani Brigade following in his father’s footsteps.

Rabbi Kalonymous Kalman Shapira, the Piaseczna, was Rebbe of the Warsaw Ghetto. His teachings from that period, Aish Kodesh, were hidden and discovered after the war. The very last entry is from Shabbat Chazon 1944. In that sermon, Rav Shapira explained that Isaiah received a chazon, a vision, because the Jewish people had lost their vision. He wrote: “We lost the vision of our true goals in life, and we lost our sight of the truth.”

King Solomon stated, “Without vision, the people will perish” (Mishlei 29:18). The Rebbe’s very last teaching from the depths of destruction and darkness was the need to maintain a vision of the future.

We cannot ignore the tragedies of Jewish history as we persevere through the difficulties and pain that are right in front of us. At the same time, we have a chance to seek a glimpse of the third Temple and for those sparks of light and redemption that exist all around us. On Shabbat Chazon, we seek a vision of redemption. We hope it arrives soon and commit ourselves to act in ways that will make it a reality.

Jews, Druze & a Lesson in Loyalty

The Druze are in the news.

Until last week, most people hadn’t heard of the Druze or given them much thought. That is until Israel attacked Syrian forces on behalf of the Druze, who were being attacked by Bedouin Islamists. While we regularly see Israel attack Syrian targets to protect itself, this was something different. Israel attacked Syrian targets out of a sense of responsibility toward the Druze.

Who are the Druze? What might we learn from the Jews and the Druze?

The Druze religion, founded in the 11^th century, is rooted in monotheism, communal loyalty, spiritual secrecy, and high moral values. Its doctrine includes belief in one God, reincarnation, the pursuit of moral wisdom, and a commitment to truth, honor, and internal brotherhood. They live mainly in Syria, Lebanon, and Israel. Around 150,000 Druze live in the Galilee, Carmel, and Golan Heights.

Upon Israel’s founding, the Druze, whose religion dictates being loyal to the ruling government, chose full partnership with the new country. By the 1950s, they began volunteering for the IDF, and in 1956, conscription became mandatory – not by force, but by a sincere desire to take part in shaping the nation’s future and defending its existence. Jewish and Druze soldiers say they are bound by a “covenant of blood.”

The covenant is on display in the extraordinary statements of support for the Druze in the face of the violence against them. Israel’s actions were more than military strategy. Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu issued a statement to the Druze: “We are working to save our Druze brothers.”

Numerous Israeli rabbis expressed support for the defense of the Druze and put Israel’s actions in religious and moral terms. Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi Kalman Ber issued an open call to Israel and the world to help the Druze in Syria, citing the biblical commandment “Do not stand by the blood of your neighbor” (Leviticus 19:16). He wrote:

“We are witnessing a brutal campaign of murder against the Druze people, an assault on the image of God in humanity. These are acts that we and all religious leaders around the world must not ignore or remain silent in the face of. We have seen savage beasts descend in a fury upon innocent civilians, without distinguishing between man and woman, elder and child. We are reminded of the dark days of history, when bloodthirsty nations committed similar atrocities - and the world was silent!!!”

What is so special about the Druze? Why do Israel’s actions and declarations in this particular case strike a unique chord?

It all goes back to Yitro. For the Druze, Yitro (Jethro) is an ancestor as well as a chief prophet and spiritual founder. His traditional tomb in Tiberias is the holiest site for Druze. 

We all know Yitro was Moshe’s father-in-law. The Talmud (Sotah 11a) describes Yitro as something more. Pharaoh consulted three individuals on what to do with the Jews: Balaam, and Iyov, and Yitro. Balaam, who advised Pharaoh to kill all sons born to the Jewish people, was punished by being killed in the war with Midian. Iyov, who was silent and neither advised nor protested, was punished by suffering. Yitro, who ran away as a sign of protest, merited Jewish descendants.

Yitro was loyal, and the Druze have incorporated that loyalty into their own identity. Jews also have a special place in our spiritual DNA for loyalty.

Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik describes two components of Jewish belonging: Brit Goral, the covenant of fate, and Brit Ye’ud, the covenant of destiny. The covenant of fate is what binds Jews together in the face of shared history - persecution, exile, antisemitism. It is the feeling, regardless of religious differences, of loyalty towards each other, that “we are in this together.” The covenant of destiny is different. It is the active choice to live a Jewish life - Torah, mitzvot, spiritual purpose. Fate is what happens to us. Destiny is what we do.

Jews don’t always agree, but there has always been an expectation of loyalty. We might choose diverse paths for belief, behavior, or politics, but, when push comes to shove, we will be there for each other.

This week, we read about the Bnei Gad and Bnei Reuvain. Due to their abundant cattle, these tribes (along with half of the tribe of Menashe) wanted to remain on the eastern side of the Jordan River. Moshe challenged them for dividing the nation and questions their loyalty. “You’ll let your brothers fight while you settle peacefully elsewhere!?!” They agree to fight alongside their fellow tribes to conquer the land but would then settle outside of it.

Some tribes chose a different destiny, but they cast their fate with the rest of the nation.

For a long time, Jews, despite all their differences, could rely on having a strong shared sense of loyalty. As Yogi Berra said, “The future ain’t what it used to be.”

This week, Unted Torah Judaism Member of Knesset Yitzchak Goldknopf rejected any attempt to draft the ultra-Orthodox. Asked about others having to pay a price for the refusal of the Haredim to serve, he replied, “Don’t bring me your pains and pass them on to me. Let’s decide that everybody has their own burden.”

Can there be any greater expression of detachment or alienation? Where is the loyalty towards the Jewish people?

We encounter similar disloyalty from the growing numbers of Jews supporting movements like Jewish Voice for Peace, IfNotNow, and others that support BDS, deny Israel’s legitimacy, or ally with antisemites. How can there be so many Jews proudly supporting Zohran Mamdani?

Considering the weakening of loyalty and the fraying of the Rav’s covenant of fate, it is no surprise to see such strong support for the Druze. Israeli support for the Druze against Syria may have strategic implications. The strong statements of support and brotherhood for the Druze from political and religious leaders can also be heard as a rallying cry to our fellow Jews to remain as loyal as the Druze.

This Shabbat marks the start of the Nine Days leading to Tisha B’Av. We are all too familiar with the “baseless hatred” that tops the list of causes for the Temple’s destruction. The way forward is to repair the breaches that exist. Be a little more helpful, more forgiving, or more tolerant of differences. Above all, be more loyal. Recent events have reminded us of the need to wear our Jewish loyalty on our sleeves to bring us closer together, to stand together, and to never forget we are stronger together.

Leadership Means Listening to the Cries of Babies and Chicks

Who is a leader?
What does leadership look like?
When you think of a leader, who do you picture?

There is no one answer. That is why Moshe asks God for help in identifying his successor.

“Let God, the God who knows that the spirits of all flesh – that is, their dispositions – are different, appoint a man over the community who can relate to each individual personally.” (Bamidbar 27:16)

With so many different people with different personalities, preferences, and predispositions, how do we define leadership?

Jewish leadership is especially difficult because Jews are a notoriously tough people to lead.

David Ben-Gurion made a memorable and humorous comment regarding Jewish leadership in his meeting John F. Kennedy. President Kennedy said, “It’s really hard to be president of the United States. I’m the president of 190 million citizens!” Ben-Gurion replied, “It’s much harder to be the prime minister of Israel. I’m the prime minister of 2.3 million prime ministers!”

While much has been written and said about leadership, I think Moshe provides a very clear and succinct definition. Jewish leadership require a person:

“Who will go out before the people, and who may go in before them; who may lead them out and may bring them in; [who will ensure] that the congregation of the Lord be not as sheep that have no shepherd.” (Bamidbar 27:17)

Leadership means being with the people. Leadership means acting – going and coming. Leadership means concern. Leadership means responding to the call of the hour.

Once, in the middle of the night, one of Reb Dov Ber’s children fell out of bed. Entirely engrossed in his studies, he did not hear the child’s cries. However, Reb Dov Ber’s father, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi known as the Alter Rebbe, heard the cries, closed his Torah books, and went to comfort the child.

The Alter Rebbe later said to his son: “No matter how deeply immersed you are in holy pursuits, when a child cries you must hear it; you must stop what you’re doing and soothe their pain.”

“The Crying Baby” story was famously told by Rabbi Yehuda Amital as capturing what he felt made Yeshivat Har Etzion unique.

Jewish leadership means being responsive, and we must all listen for the cry of what is needed.

Rabbi Moshe Taragin relates another story of Rav Amital that takes Jewish leadership one step further, “The Cry of the Chicks.”

There was once a terrible snowstorm in Gush Etzion, leaving its residents without heat. A kibbutznik arrived on Shabbat and told Rav Amital that the electricity in the hothouse where baby chicks were being raised had failed. If they did not restore the heat, the chicks would die. Rav Amital immediately put on his coat and walked through the storm to the kibbutz to offer his ruling. When he returned, people asked why he went, instead of simply asking more questions and then giving a ruling. He explained that Torah is to be lived in the real world and is not simply book knowledge. He wanted to hear the cry of the chicks himself before issuing his ruling (To Be Holy but Human, 28-29).

It is not enough to hear the cry. Leadership must be personal. One must be connected with the needs of the people. One must have “skin in the game.”

At times, it seems Jewish “leaders” have a lot to say even if they are not immersed in the issue or with the people. They are not listening to the cries of the baby or of the chicks. This is especially true when it comes to IDF service. Everyone must serve. It is insulting when Charedi politicians criticize the Religious Zionists and accuse them of hating Torah! They are not leaders if they are not with the people, hearing the cries and serving on the battlefront with the people. That is not leadership.

Like the IDF commanders, who lead from the front, being a Jewish leader means more than just making statements – whether supportive or critical. It means talking with people and not just at or past them. It means being with people and not just praising or condemning from afar. Leadership means that the primary concern is for the betterment of the Jewish people, so they thrive and not be lost like sheep without a shepherd.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks wrote:

“Leaders lead because there is work to do, there are people in need, there is injustice to be fought, there is wrong to be righted, there are problems to be solved and challenges ahead. Leaders hear this as a call to light a candle instead of cursing the darkness. They lead because they know that to stand idly by and expect others to do the work is the too-easy option. The responsible life is the best life there is, and is worth all the pain and frustration. To lead is to serve - the highest accolade Moses ever received was to be called eved Hashem, “God’s servant,” and there is no higher honour.”

We can all be leaders. Each of us can listen more attentively for the cry of the baby and respond in whatever we can. We can lift the child and uplift those in need. We can give charity, offer a soothing word, or just be a comforting presence. We need to also go out to hear the cry of the chicks and be sure to stand with those in need and not remain apart or aloof to their specific difficulties.

This is leadership. If we rise to these calls, we will know what leadership looks like when we look in the mirror.

A Nation That Dwells Alone

What kind of nation are we?

In 1964, Look magazine ran a cover story entitled “The Vanishing American Jew.” The article explained why in all certainty no Jews would be left in the United States in the 21^st century. It’s not the first or last prediction about us to be wrong. More recently, there was an article entitled, “Jews: The Ever Dying, Ever Renewing, People.”

Many of us are proud of another designation: “Start-up Nation.” Despite catching on after the popular 2009 book authored by Dan Senor and Saul Singer, the phrase first appeared in a November 2000 article about Israel by Stacy Perman titled “Startup Nation.”

I say we – Jews and Israel – are all the above and more. Just like Judaism is more than a religion, Jews are more than just one variety of nation or people. It is impossible to quantify our eternality. In Innocents Abroad, Mark Twain wrote:

“If the statistics are right, the Jews constitute but one quarter of one percent of the human race…Properly, the Jew ought hardly to be heard of, but he is heard of, has always been heard of. He is as prominent on the planet as any other people, and his importance is extravagantly out of proportion to the smallness of his bulk. His contributions to the world’s list of great names in literature, science, art, music, finance, medicine and abstruse learning are also very out of proportion to the weakness of his numbers…All things are mortal but the Jews; all other forces pass, but he remains. What is the secret of his immortality?”

Mark Twain left the question unanswered, but I have a suggestion. The secret to Jewish immortality is that we are a Lonely Nation.

This week, I heard a new suggestion for the Jews: Pariah Nation. It wasn’t an epithet hurled at us by enemies. It’s the title of a podcast by Donniel Hartman and Yossi Klein Halevi, two men I know and admire – even if I don’t always agree with them. They were discusiing how Israelis and Jews are being condemned, harassed, and even attacked since October 7. Even staunch allies are beginning to turn on us. Can Israel restore its moral credibility?

The very question rubbed me the wrong way. Why do we have to be so concerned with what others think of us? As Balaam declared, our lot as Jews is to remain apart.

“Hein am levadad yishkon u-va’goyim lo yitchashav - It is a nation that dwells alone, not reckoned among the nations.” (Bamidbar 23:9)

We are a lonely nation.

At first glance, this sounds more like an indictment than a compliment. In a world that increasingly celebrates inclusion and blending in, the idea of being “apart” can feel isolating. But the Torah presents this separation not as a flaw, but as a feature - a spiritual and existential strength essential to Jewish survival and flourishing.

The Jewish people have always been different. From the moment Avraham was called “ivri,” the one who stands on the other side, we have been defined by distinction. We eat differently. We pray differently. We sanctify time differently. Jewish law, values, and worldview often run counter to prevailing norms. While this separation has, at times, made Jewish life more difficult - subjecting our people to discrimination, persecution, and exile, it has also served as the very glue that holds us together

Jewish history offers a powerful paradox: the times and places where Jews tried hardest to assimilate were often the places where Jewish identity declined. In contrast, when we embraced our uniqueness - whether under oppression or in freedom - we not only endured, we thrived.

Being alone or different is not a burden; it’s a mission.

As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks wrote, “Judaism is the counter-voice in the conversation of humankind. As Jews, we do not follow the majority merely because it is the majority. In age after age, century after century, Jews were prepared to [take the road less travelled]. It is what makes a nation of leaders.”

There is a deep beauty and strength in “Jewish loneliness.” It means living with a heightened awareness of time, food, speech, and action. It means belonging to a story that stretches across millennia and uniquely connects us to Jews in every corner of the world. And it can mean being a lone voice against all the other voices that will never understand that we are a nation that dwells apart.

On June 22, 1982, Joe Biden was a Senator from Delaware and confronted then Israeli Prime Minister Menachem Begin during his Senate Foreign Relations committee testimony, threatening to cut off aid to Israel. Begin famously retorted:

“I am not a Jew with trembling knees. I am a proud Jew with 3,700 years of civilized history. Nobody came to our aid when we were dying in the gas chambers and ovens. Nobody came to our aid when we were striving to create our country. We paid for it. We fought for it. We died for it. We will stand by our principles. We will defend them. And, when necessary, we will die for them again, with or without your aid.”

Being Jewish requires no explanation or justification. Israel’s first prime minister, David Ben-Gurion, famously quipped: “It does matters not what the goyim say, but what the Jews do.”

In today’s world, many Jews feel pressure to blend in culturally, politically, or spiritually. The unlikely voice of Balaam reminds us that being alone isn’t something to be discouraged about; it’s something to be fortified by. Jewish distinctiveness is not a wall; it’s a foundation. It allows us to contribute meaningfully to the broader world without losing who we are.

Jews are many things and defy categorization. We are proud of being a Start-up Nation. We are most certainly not the Pariah Nation. We should revel in being the Lonely Nation. Let us never forget that no matter what our detractors say, it is through our sacred aloneness that we continue to play our part in the unfolding drama of redemption.

Serenity Now!

What was so terrible about Moshe hitting the rock?

Miriam dies. Everyone is sad and distressed, but there’s another problem: Now water. Our Sages teach the Jews had water in the merit of Miriam, and now she and the water are gone. The people confront Moshe and Aharon. “Why did you bring us to the desert to die? We should have stayed in Egypt!” Moshe and Aharon are, understandably, flabbergasted. They literally fall on their faces. Imagine, it’s now 40 years after the Exodus. The Jews have seen miracle after miracle, and they STILL would rather be back in Egypt!

Moshe and Aharon turn to God, Who seems to have a little more patience and doesn’t punish the Jews for their impunity.

“You and your brother Aharon take the staff and assemble the community. Before their very eyes speak to the rock to yield its water. Thus, you shall produce water for them from the rock and provide drink for the congregation and their beasts.” (Bamidbar 20:8)

Seems easy enough. And yet…

“Moses took the rod from before God, as he had been commanded. Moshe and Aharon assembled the congregation in front of the rock; and he said to them, ‘Listen, you rebels, shall we get water for you out of this rock?’ And Moshe raised his hand and struck the rock twice with his rod. Out came copious water, and the community and their beasts drank.” (9-11)

Not EXACTLY as God commanded, but problem solved, right? Wrong.

“But God said to Moshe and Aharon, ‘Because you did not trust Me enough to affirm My sanctity in the sight of the Israelite people, therefore you shall not lead this congregation into the land that I have given them.’” (12)

Moshe and Aharon are condemned to die in the desert. Why? The verse says it was a lack of trust in God, which minimized the kiddush Hashem, God being sanctified in the eyes of Israel. But the Jews saw water come from a rock! Moshe showed them God could take care of their needs. They were wrong to question God’s support for them. That’s got to count for something!

Obviously not. Moshe and Aharon are being held to a higher standard (than even Hebrew National 😊). God commanded one thing, and they did something else. They’re out!

If we look closely at Moshe’s words, we can find another fatal flaw in how he and Aharon handled the situation. “Shimu na ha-morim – Listen up, you rebels!” Moshe had been disappointed and frustrated by the Jews on previous occasions. He went so far as to as God to kill him in exasperation at these people. But, here, Moshe gets angry.

Anger is destructive and toxic. The Talmud (Shabbat 105b) equates it with idolatry. Are they really the same thing? One who gets angry displays an extremely self-centered worldview in being unable to tolerate the other. It is as if others don’t exist, and the individual worships themselves.

Rambam, in Shemoneh Perakim, explains that Moshe’s hitting of the rock was not the root sin, but rather a symptom of a greater transgression of anger. He notes that Moshe failed to maintain the proper emotional equilibrium required of a Jewish leader and, instead, lost his temper. For this, he was unable to enter Israel.

Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook elaborates on the nature of this anger. According to Rav Kook, all religious rage, all intolerance for moral failings, is rooted in this display of anger by Moshe. Instead of words of reconciliation, he shouted, "Listen up, you rebels!" Instead of speaking to the hearts of the Jews, he got angry at them. And then, he hit the rock. While righteous indignation can stem from sincere and pure intentions, the highest goals of holiness will only be achieved through calm spirits and mutual respect.

The world around us is loud, brash and full of discord. There is certainly space for legitimate disagreement. We believe in machloket l’sheim shamayim. Frequently, though, we disagree simply to disagree and do so with anger. The argument is destructive and not constructive. We listen to someone with whom we disagree, thinking how we will retort with the “right” comeback. We should listen instead to learn what others think and feel and not worry so much about the need to respond.

We need to try and calm down and not let anger rise within us. I know I do. It is hard. There’s a classic suggestion to count to ten before responding to settle down first. In the end, it is really something to work at. Remaining calm and not getting angry is a beracha.

Next Shabbat, we will read about Pinchas being rewarded for his zealotry with a “brit shalom,” a covenant of peace. What is this? Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin of Volozhin, the Netziv, understands the brit shalom as a calming influence. While we need to try to calm ourselves, it is truly a blessing we hope to receive. I call this the blessing of “Serenity now!”

The phrase is from Seinfeld, Episode 159 . It is a self-help mantra recited aloud to calm down in stressful situations. The plot was inspired by the real-life events of one of the writers, whose father was advised by his doctor to shout “Serenity now!” at the top of his lungs as part of a rage controlling exercise.

Now, Moshe’s sin seems much more about disobedience than anger. It is clear, however, that our tradition (as explained by Rambam and Rav Kook) is reading in between the lines to highlight the corrosive effect of anger, the need for more self-control and de-escalation.

In a loud, hyper-partisan, divided world in which everyone thinks being loudest means winning, we can all use more of the blessing of “Serenity now!”

Korach's Commencement Address

If Kermit the Frog can give a commencement address, why not Korach?

This year, members of the University of Maryland Class of 2025 received their diplomas along with a dose of sage advice from the famous Muppet ringing in their ears. As you can imagine, there was a lot of talking about leaping.

If we can take advice from a talking frog, we can use our creativity to find insights from the Korach story to share with the graduates of 2025 – and maybe teach all of us a lesson.

Korach gets a bad rap because he deserves a bad rap. He is divisive, arrogant, entitled, and dismissive. He thinks he knows it all. But…he makes a good point.

“Ki kol ha-eidah kulam kedoshim – The whole nation is holy.” (Bamidbar 16:3)

This statement is valid. Every Jew IS holy. Yet, when Korach made this claim, he was using it as a subtext to rebel against Moshe’s leadership. It as if he was saying: “All Jews are holy. That means, we’re all qualified to be leaders. So, I am going to lead.” Korach spoke about all Jews being holy, but he was really interested only in Korach.

And yet…

There is something to be said for each of us living up to the simple truth: We are holy! We can do it. We can accomplish what we set out to do. We need to act within the confines of tradition and community, but we should aim high and believe in ourselves.

If Korach were giving a commencement address, we can imagine he might say something like this:

My dear graduates, fellow future leaders, and soon-to-be questioners of authority, let me begin with a quote from a very wise man: Me. “The entire nation is holy! So why does he get to be in charge?”

You are not here today because you followed. You are here because you thought, questioned, and challenged. You asked – no, you demanded: Why not me? Why not now?

Let me tell you something they don’t often teach: Greatness does not come from titles. Greatness comes from believing in yourself and acting. Sometimes, like Kermit the Frog might say, you need to take the leap. You need to just believe in yourself and do it. (Nike took that one from me.) Do not let anyone tell you that you must wait your turn, that you must stay in your lane, that leadership belongs only to the few. Leadership is not inherited. It is earned. It is claimed.

There will be voices – sometimes loud voices - who say you are stirring up trouble. Good! History is shaped by those who refuse to accept things as they are. If you never push boundaries, you’ll never know what lies beyond them.

Don’t wait to be chosen. Choose yourself. At your new job, when they ask if you have experience, say yes. Then go figure it out on YouTube. If someone tells you, “That’s above your pay grade,” tell them, “That’s why I’m aiming for your pay grade.”

Be brave. Be bold. Don’t do it exactly as I did. Challenge with responsibility, not arrogance. And never forget that true leadership is not taking power but lifting others with it.

This is what Korach could have said – but he never did.

Instead, he let his arrogance, lust for power, and dismissiveness towards tradition guide his actions. Korach was incapable of such positive sentiments. His traits, however, can be redeemed into a call to believe in ourselves and take the initiative to accomplish great things.

One person who DID inspire so many to do this was Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the late Lubavitcher Rebbe, whose yahrzeit is on Sunday.

Rabbi Dr. Tzvi Hersh Weinreb, Executive Vice President Emeritus of the OU, tells of a crisis in confidence he faced as a young rabbi and psychologist early on in his career. He spoke to various close friends, and one of them suggested that he call the Rebbe. And so, in February 1971, Rabbi Weinreb did, and he recounted what happened on the call:

The Rebbe’s secretary answered the phone in English, with a simple “Hello, who’s this?” Now, as I was talking to the secretary, in the background I recognized the Rebbe’s voice asking in Yiddish, “Who’s calling?”

I replied, “A yid fun Maryland - A Jew from Maryland.” I told the secretary that I have many questions which I would like to discuss with the Rebbe - questions about what direction my life should take, questions regarding my career, questions of faith…I spoke in English and, as I was talking, the Rebbe’s secretary was repeating and paraphrasing my words in Yiddish…

And then I heard the Rebbe say in the background, in Yiddish: “Tell him that there is a Jew who lives in Maryland that he can speak to. Der yid hayst Veinreb—his name is Weinreb.”

The secretary asked me, “Did you hear what the Rebbe said?”

Now, I couldn’t believe my ears. I knew for sure I had not given the secretary my name, but the Rebbe had just said my name! I was taken aback, and I wanted to hear it again. So when the secretary asked whether I heard, I said no.

The secretary repeated the Rebbe’s words to me: “There’s a Jew in Maryland whom he should talk to. His name is Weinreb.”

I replied, “But my name is Weinreb!”

And then I heard the Rebbe say, “If that’s the case, then he should know that, sometimes, one needs to speak to himself.”

The secretary said to me, “The Rebbe said that sometimes it’s best to talk to yourself. Isn’t your name Weinreb?”

“Yes, my name is Weinreb, but maybe the Rebbe means a different Weinreb.”

“No, the Rebbe’s saying, ‘Talk to Weinreb,’ and he explained that you must to talk to yourself.”

I thanked him very much, and the call ended with that.”

Sometimes, we need to talk to ourselves, to look within ourselves to find the encouragement, the motivation, and the confidence to move forward.

So, my dear graduates and everyone else, take it from what Korach might have said and what the Lubavitcher Rebbe did say and don’t hold back. Graduations are about advancing and moving forward. We can do it! Look within, listen to your inner voice and just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

And be sure to give thanks to all who help you along the way.