Vekol ha’am ro’im es hakolos. When the Torah was given to man on Har Sinai, we are told, the Jewish people gathered around the mountain and not only heard the sounds of nesinas haTorah, but also saw them.

The obvious difficulty is that sight and sound are separate senses. Sound is heard and not seen. Sights are experienced visually, not aurally.

Last week, I was in Eretz Yisroel for the Yom Tov of Shavuos and had the occasion to experience the answer to this question three separate times during my three visits to the Kosel Hama’arovi.

Shavuos, the Yom Tov that commemorates our raison d’etre, the deliverance of the Torah to us on Har Sinai, is most unique in the calendar of Jewish celebrations. It is basically a one - and in golus two - day Yom Tov, the chag that marks the apex of creation. It is the shortest of all the chagim and has the fewest commandments specific to that day.

Hashem offered the Torah to all the nations of the world. Following their rejection of the gift, it was presented to us. When the Jewish people were asked if they wished to subject themselves to the strictures and blessings of Hashem’s written word, they responded as one, “Na’aseh venishma.” With those two immortal words, they rose beyond the level of angels and became Hashem’s eternal people.

With Lag Ba’omer behind us, we know that Shavuos is rapidly approaching. The Pesach celebration of geulas Mitzrayim is fresh in our memories. The smell of the fire and the poetic strains sung on Lag Ba’omer are still flashing in our senses as we learn the parshiyos of Behar and Bechukosai this week.

All manage to fit in together around the Seder table, all sorts of sons and family members, from the chochom to the one who is a she’eino yodei’a lishol. On Lag Ba’omer, Jews of all types held hands in circles the world over, singing, “Ashreichem Yisroel.” On Shavuos, we celebrate the day 3,325 years ago when, ke’ish echod beleiv echod, all the Bnei Yisroel stood together and proclaimed, “Na’aseh venishma.”

Yet, today, we wonder: Why can’t we all get along? What happened to that achdus? Where has it gone? Why can’t it be recreated on a daily basis, everywhere, all the time?

Last week, the eyes of the world were firmly focused on a Boston neighborhood where a single nineteen-year-old monster kept a city at bay, shutting down one of the most powerful and sophisticated metropolises on the globe. Policemen and politicians, all the way up to the president, were focused on the machinations and maneuverings of this lost and misguided soul. His actions and those of his brother reminded us once again about the horrible capacities of man.

We all possess the capacity for tremendous greatness, as well as, regrettably, the potential to sink to awful lows. The Shalah Hakadosh says that this is the reason that the Torahuses the word “odom” when referring to man.

A forgotten chapter of the modern Jewish experience in Eretz Yisroel relates to the vicious clashes that took place regarding tefillah at the Kosel. The Arabs, with the encouragement of the British overseers of what was known then as Palestine, did all they could to restrict Jewish access and prayer at our holiest site.

The issue led to periodic Arab violence. Following one such flagellation during the period of the British Mandate, one of the Englishmen hit upon an idea. He sought to forge a compromise to quell the disturbance. He approached the Jewish Agency, the organized Zionist leadership body prior to the establishment of the state, and told its functionaries that if the Jews would agree to formally relinquish ownership of the Kosel, Arab resistance to their presence in Palestine would significantly simmer down and the Jews would be able to look forward to a peaceful co-existence.

Some years ago, I was in a small, idyllic, mountain town often favorably compared to the famous Swiss towns. While visiting there, I met a young man from Switzerland. I asked him for his opinion as to how the area compared to his native land.

“It’s very hard for me to answer the question,” he responded, “but I would have to say that it is nicer here. You see, in Switzerland, you are in the Alps, so you don’t really appreciate the splendor. Here, you are in a valley surrounded by the mountain ranges. As you look up and around, you are surrounded by the mountains and are better able to appreciate their beauty.”

This, in fact, is a metaphor for so much in our lives. Too often, we don’t appreciate what we have, because we are so close to it. Because we are involved in it, we don’t value the experience. It takes stepping back and viewing something from the outside to have the proper respect for it.

Some of the most dramatic and compelling stories of the Second World War period revolve around the awful parting moments, when parents were being separated from their beloved children, roshei yeshiva from their talmidim, and rabbonim from their kehillos. Then the shots rang out.

During those heightened moments, the older generation passed on to the younger one a final message. They took advantage of their final moments to transmit a legacy. Baalei batim led from their homes by cruel soldiers, merchants ripped away from their sons at concentration camp entrances, and rabbonim torn sadistically from their flocks all passed on the very same message. Whether they were Hungarian, Polish or Lithuanian, the message was identical.

“You’re a Yid. The Ribbono Shel Olam loves you and He always will, despite the darkness all around. Happier, brighter times will come. There have always been resho’im and always will be, but Hashem’s love for us endures while they fade. It isn’t always easy to be a Yid, but it is always fulfilling and real. Be strong, my child.”

It has been said that Jewish history is quite simple.

There is an old fable which depicts the Jewish condition. The drinking water all the animals depended upon was being contaminated. Nobody was able to identify the culprit. Finally, the animal leaders met, examined the facts, and sentenced a poor, hapless goat to death for the crime.

The goat protested that it was unfair to blame him for something he could not have done. He had a perfect alibi: He had never even been near the water.

“You’re right,” replied the wolf. “Maybe it’s not your fault. but we have to kill you.”

Everybody has special talents with which they have been blessed. Properly utilized, they can improve the world. If we would recognize and appreciate the gifts with which we have been endowed, we could make a difference in our community and the world.

Many excuse themselves for not aspiring for greatness because they aren’t blessed with a lighting fast mind or a photographic memory they think that they obviously were destined to be followers and not leaders. Others are insecure and don’t appreciate their potential. They therefore don’t apply themselves to accomplish what is within their grasp.

In the center of Yerushalayimsits Botei Rand, a small oasis where the rising sun sets the red rooftops ablaze with a golden hue. Inside the tiny enclave, unassuming tzaddikim and tzidkoniyos and their families live lives devoted to Hashem and Torah.

In Parshas Ki Sisa, we read of the tragic downfall of the Bnei Yisroel in the incident with the Eigel. Moshe Rabbeinu went up to Har Sinai to receive the Torah. When he did not return when they expected him to, the people who had ascended to such exalted levels descended to worshiping a calf which they had made out of their own jewelry.

We wonder how the people who stood at Har Sinai and proclaimed, “Na’aseh venishma,” gave it all up for a little getchkeh. How was it possible for this noble people to fall so far, so fast? What caused them to be led astray? How could they think that they can elevate an inanimate object to the lofty position of G-d’s emissary?

Rashi (32:1) explains that Moshe told his people that he would be back in forty days and they erred in their calculation. Rashi quotes the Gemara in Maseches Shabbos (89a) which explains that the Soton “confused the natural order,” creating a mirage of Moshe’s body being carried in heaven as if in a casket.

Dovid Hamelech says in Tehillim, “Rabbim machovim lerasha, vehaboteiach baHashem, chessed yisovevenu - There is much pain along the path for the wicked, but one who trusts in Hashem is surrounded by kindness” (Tehillim 32:10).

An explanation of this posuk is given by the darshonim. They pound on the bimah and proclaim, “Rabbim,when there are many needs and obligations weighing on a person; when individuals and institutions turn to him for help and it seems as if the requests are coming from all over, all at once, and he can’t handle them; at a time like that, a wicked person sees what’s happening to him as a machov, a wound.

“However, a person who trusts inHashem knows that at a time like that, ‘chessed yisovevenu,’ he is being blessed with so much kindness. A good person knows that he is being gifted with so many opportunities to help. A person who perceives people appealing to him for assistance as an opportunity, merits to be the recipient of Divine kindness.”

My wife is originally from the Bayit Vegan neighborhood of Yerushalayim. For the past several decades, whenever I have visited there for Shabbos, I have davened at Yeshiva Ateres Yisroel, a makom Torah known for its illustrious rosh yeshiva, Rav Boruch Mordechai Ezrachi. Rav Ezrachi is a gifted maggid shiur, a compelling and dynamic orator, whose deep, penetratinglomdus fuses with his natural energy and enthusiasm to make it a particular joy to hear him speak. He is also a genuinely nice and fine person.

Now Rav Boruch Mordechai ben Hinda Malka, a man who so personifieschiyus and vibrancy, needs our tefillos, after his heart stopped beating last week.

I thought it would be a zechus to learn some of his Torah over Shabbos. Providentially, perhaps, I opened his sefer on Chumash, Birkas Mordechai, to a piece on this week’s parsha, where Rav Boruch Mordechai quotes the words of the Ohr Hachaim Hakadosh.

The calendar says that this Shabbos is Parshas Shekolim and Sunday will be Rosh Chodesh Adar, yet outside it is freezing, there is snow on the ground, and everything around us indicates that it is winter. When Adar arrives, we are told to increase our happiness, yet there is so much sadness that we wonder how we can possibly do that.

How can we be happy when there are so many sick people? How can we be happy when there are so many people who cannot make ends meet, having lost their jobs and money in the economic downturn and in failed investments? How can we be happy when there are so many people who need shidduchim and can’t seem to find the one they are looking for? How can we be happy when there is no one to lead, no one to follow, and no one to rally around?

The most dramatic and meaningful bond between Hashem and man is demonstrated in this week’s parsha with the account of a people gathered at the foot of the mountain, a faithful leader ascending the mountain and descending with the most precious gift of all time, theTorah.

We all stood there at that glorious moment encountering our Creator Who addressed us in His Voice. He charged us with keeping His mitzvos, learning His Torah, and safeguarding a sacred trust. He entrusted us with the DNA of creation, the keys to forces of nature, and provided us with the ability to transcend what is normally thought to be human limitations.

This week’s parsha of Beshalach opens with what was a high point for man, the freeing of the Jews from bondage, enabling the formation of Am Yisroel. Tragically, however, a few pesukim later, we read about how the Bnei Yisroel complained, “Hamibli ein kevorim b’Mitzrayim,” once again doubting Moshe Rabbeinu and expressing their wish to return to a state of servitude.

After overcoming that low point, they returned to their position of greatness and recited Oz Yoshir, indicating that they had attained a most lofty moment for man. After seeing all that Hashem had done, they finally recognized His greatness and sang shirah.

Election fever is spreading across Eretz Yisroel. Their campaign season lasts but a few weeks, the people vote, and then the parties try to cobble together a coalition. The resulting government lasts until the next scheduled election or until the prime minster calls for new ones, whichever comes first.

The current election was called by Prime Minister Binyomin Netanyahu, whose popularity was at a high point and sought to capitalize on it to keep himself in power for another four years. The calculation was a correct one, but due to hubris and missteps, he is not likely to emerge half as powerful as he thought he would.

We are all no doubt familiar with the Chazal that among the catalysts of the Bnei Yisroel’s redemption from Mitzrayim was that “lo shinu es shemom, lo shinu es leshonam, and lo shinu es malbushom,” they didn’t change their names, language or mode of dress.

Throughout tens of centuries of golus, Medroshim such as this one have served to remind us of who we are, where we come from as children of Avrohom, Yitzchok and Yaakov, and our mandate to stand taller and prouder than those who surround us.

This Chazal can be understood on its most basic level as conveying that man’s name, style of dress and language form his personality. Every nation prides itself on these outward displays of their national identity. Though beaten down in servitude, the Bnei Yisroel realized that they had their own destiny to fulfill. They didn’t permit their inhuman travails and hardships to cause them to lose sight of their own destiny.

The sefer of Shemos, which we begin this week, is often referred to as the Sefer Hageulah, because it charts the course of our nation from the bitterness of bondage through the thrill of redemption. Sefer Shemos traces our progress from the lowest depths to the greatest heights, from the harrowing dangers of drowning in the Red Sea to the climax of creation at Har Sinai.

After scaling the heights of Sinai, we quickly sunk back to the depths of idol worship with the Eigel. We did teshuvah for that shameful incident and Hakadosh Boruch Hu gifted us with an earthly home, a dirah betachtonim. The promise of “veshochanti besocham” was realized and a new level of holiness was created with the construction of the Mishkon.

Rashi in this week’s parsha (50:5) tells of a strange financial discussion. Yaakov Avinu yearned to be buried next to his parents and grandparents in the Me’oras Hamachpeilah. To ensure that his children wouldn’t have any difficulties realizing his desire, he met with his brother, Eisov, to negotiate a clear purchase of the plot.

Rashi relates that Yaakov took the gold and silver he had amassed in the house of Lovon and piled it on the table. He offered it to Eisov in exchange for the plot in theMe’orah.

Meforshim are bothered by this encounter. Many ask why, if Yaakov was coming to negotiate, he would immediately offer all of his money. Why did he not begin the discussion with a low offer and proceed to raise it as necessary to make the deal?

On the Yomim Noraim, as the baal Mussaf solemnly intones the words, “Ve’al hamedinos bo yei’omer,” we contemplate the fate of those countries that are being judged. “Eizo loro’ov ve’eizo lasova.” Each one faces its unique challenges and opportunities. As we hear those words, we imagine hunger being meted out for underdeveloped African nations with no infrastructure, floods and typhoons for distant islands in the path of treacherous weather patterns, pestilence for war-ravaged republics where despots rule, and hurricanes for backward Caribbean fiefdoms.

Very few of us imagined the possibility that the strongest nation that ever existed could be crippled by a calamitous natural disaster, and that just as the rebuilding would begin, the country would again be confronted by a new enemy, which we are seeing with increasing frequency: horrific, inexplicable violence, the product of a monster which seems to reside within the hearts of too many of the country’s young people raised on a diet of moral and spiritual deprivation.

I was in a mall on Motzoei Shabbos, when an Israeli man who operates a stand there came over to me. He was very sad.

“I need your help,” he said to me.

I was sure he was going to unload upon me a hard luck story and hit me up for a loan. But I was wrong.

“Every year, there is a man dressed like you who comes to the mall and brings a menorah for all us Israelis working here. He didn’t come tonight. Maybe you know who he is and can call him and tell him we are waiting for him here.”

There are various terms used in Hebrew to refer to our nation. The one that is used most often is the singular “Yehudi,” or the plural “Yehudim.” In fact, the Nazis chose the German variation of the name, Jude, pronounced Yoodeh, for placement on the infamous yellow star that Yehudim living in that country were obligated to wear.

In last week’s parsha of Vayishlach (36:2-5), the names of Eisov’s wives are listed. However, Yehudis bas Beiri, who had previously been mentioned as the woman Eisov married when he was 40 years old (Toldos 26:34), is not listed in Vayishlach. Rashi (36:2) explains that the wife referred to in Parshas Vayishlach as Oholivama, is Yehudis. Rashi says that Eisov changed her name to Yehudis in an attempt to fool his father, Yitzchok, into thinking that she was not a believer in avodah zorah. The name Yehudis was the best connotation that she was kofer in avodah zorah and someone whom Yitzchok could accept into his family.

A collective sigh of relief was heard when the cease-fire was announced last week, bringing an end to the most recent Palestinian attack on Eretz Yisroel, without a full-fledged war. The tension for acheinu bais Yisroel in Eretz Yisroel dissipated as life began returning to normal for Israel’s citizens.

Keeping the peace and stopping the rain of missiles was a definite immediate accomplishment, but on another level, many were wondering what Israel’s prime minister was thinking when he set up a major confrontation, massing tens of thousands of soldiers and preparing his country for war, only to back down and hand Hamas a moral, if not a real, victory. Once again, terror paid off.

When we were children, there were decorative signs that hung in classrooms. They depicted the chodshei hashanah, the months of the Jewish year, through illustrations.

Each month was illustrated with a mitzvah or a Yom Tov connected to it, to create a warm feeling and association in our young minds. Tishrei had the shofar, lulav, esrog and sukkah. Kislev had the menorah.

There was one month for which there was no specific illustration: Cheshvan. Some signs had a picture of Kever Rochel, in tribute to the mother whose yahrtzeit falls during Cheshvan. Others had a picture of driving rain, remembering theMabul that wiped out a world during that month.

Like a clear, refreshing well whose waters appeal to everyone, the Torah and insight of the Chofetz Chaim have become the property of an entire nation, providing hope and clarity, meaning and depth. Bitachon and Hashgocha Protis shine through each word of his seforim and the biographies that describe his life.

In a story that took place nearly a century ago, the words of the rabbon shel Yisroel help us make sense of things. The tale was related by the renowned maggid, Rav Yankel Galinsky.

There was a Jewish merchant from China whose travels led him to Europe to seek out new avenues of distribution and sources of goods. Before heading home, he made a detour to the hamlet of Radin to seek a brochah from the Chofetz Chaim. He introduced himself to the Chofetz Chaim.

The past week was a most difficult one for many of our readers and their neighbors. A storm thrust millions into the pre-electric era, leaving entire cities and neighborhoods in the dark, without basic necessities.

There was no heat and no light. Many people didn’t have water. There was no gas for cars and no fuel for the lucky few who have generators. Life was turned on its head. Worst fears were realized as we were thrown back to the pre-Thomas Edison age. Emotions and nerves were frazzled and tossed about like an old tree in a hurricane.

Homes were flooded, leaving their owners with little more than the clothes they were wearing. Bridges swayed and tunnels were impassible; filled with water. Traffic slowed to a crawl and you just couldn’t get there from here. Yeshivos were shut, schools closed and proud people, young and old, became refugees seeking shelter.

Surveying the damage, many felt like Noach peering out of the teivah after the water of the Mabul receded.

Four years ago, a first-term US Senator blazed a trail. Promising hope and change, he declared himself to be post-partisan and promised an end to usual Washington gridlock and malaise, economic and political. To gain his party’s nomination, he defeated the Clintons, and he then sent the Republican candidate crashing and burning to defeat.

Senator John McCain ran a very imperfect campaign and was inept at pointing out his opponent’s flaws or giving people a good reason to vote for him.

In the blink of an eye, a year has passed. This Shabbos will mark the first yahrtzeit of the Mirrer rosh yeshiva, Rav Nosson Tzvi Finkel zt”l.

It seems like only yesterday that we saw ads announcing the rosh yeshiva’s next visit to America. This week, we see ads with pictures of his glowing countenance, announcing commemorations of his first yahrtzeit.

Over the past twelve months, we have read and heard stories and insights relating to the life of the great rosh yeshiva. Through them all, there is a thread of two middos that define Rav Nosson Tzvi and his life. Most of what we hear about him can be classified within those two categories. One is ameilus, meaning hard work, toil and exertion, and the second is ahavah, the love that he felt for each word of Torah, for all Jews in general, and for his talmidim in particular. This love was reciprocated in double measure.

We read in Koheles on Shabbos Chol Hamoed, “Lakol zeman vo’eis tachas hashomoyim,” for every thing, there is a season.

The Chiddushei Harim points out that each of the various periods and situations listed in the posuk, such as “eis le’ehov ve’eis lisno,” begins with the letter lamed. There are two exceptions: when the posuk refers to “eis sefod, ve’eis rekod.” The verb doesn’t include the letter lamed. Rather than saying that there is a time to mourn, the posuk refers to “a time of mourning.” Rather than saying that there is a time to dance, the posuk mentions “a time of dancing.”

Sukkos is a Yom Tov of complete joy. We expend so much effort in finding proper Dalet Minim and in building and decorating our sukkos. When the sun goes down on the fourteenth day of Tishrei, happiness descends upon the Jewish people wherever they are. There are few things that can dampen the enthusiasm that takes over young and old alike. The first would be something affecting the kashrus of your much sought-after esrog.

The Mishnah in Maseches Yoma (85b) says, “Ha’omer echtah v’oshuv, echtah v’oshuv, ein maspikin beyado la’asos teshuvah, echtah v’Yom Hakippurim mechaper, ein Yom Hakippurim mechaper - A person who says, ‘I will sin and I will do teshuvah, I will sin and I will do teshuvah,’ does not merit that Hashem helps him to do teshuvah. If a person says, ‘I will sin and Yom Kippur will forgive my aveiros anyway,’ Yom Kippur doesn’t atone for him.”

The drama and hype of the current United States election process provide an opportunity to observe and draw lessons that contain implications for our everyday lives about the power we possess to influence others, to make a good impression, and to curry favor.

Last week, the Republican Party hosted its convention, where delegates from across the country gathered to nominate their candidate for president. As the country watched, the party offered a program that was designed to showcase their presidential candidate - his leadership abilities, positive attributes, life experiences, and ideas to improve the country’s situation - and generally present his overall suitability for the position he covets.

Referring to the month of Elul, the Mishnah Berurah (Orach Chaim 581) in his introduction to the halachos of this month uses a reference to the mitzvah of milah, “Umol Hashem Elokecha es levovcha v’es levav zarecha - Hashem will remove the blockages and obstructions surrounding our hearts, allowing the mutual love, Ani LeDodi VeDodi Li, to flow unimpeded.”

This chodesh Elul, the words of that posuk are more than just a call to teshuvah. The fact that the posuk chose the word “Umol,” which hints to the mitzvah of milah, as an example for the process of coming closer to Hashem, has an added connotation this year.

At a bris, a newborn infant, still a baby but with the potential of a great life ahead of him, is welcomed into Am Yisroel.

We have all heard of Oorah and are most familiar with its jingles and mascot. We see their ads, but we have to admit that we really aren’t all that familiar with what they do.

For the past couple of years, Oorah has asked me to spend a Shabbos in The Zone, their summer camp for kids. To tell you the truth, it didn’t really interest me. What am I going to do in a camp overrun with public school kids? Besides, they probably have Fiveishes posted at every corner and their jingles are likely playing everywhere. What type of Shabbos could it be?

Shabbos Nachamu I went to see for myself what goes on in that camp. And, once again, I drank the Kool-Aid. What a nechomah it was.

He was larger than life. He literally changed the world. His heart was larger than his personae. His name became intrinsically linked with his thematic mission in life.

His name was Zev Wolfson.

Mr. Wolfson was not a person who let opportunity pass him by. He was not one to watch history slowly fade in front of him. He seized opportunities. He created innovations. And he altered history with his vision, encouragement and support.

If there was a financial father and relentless initiator and advocate of the global teshuvah movement, it was Zev Wolfson.

Last week, Jews the world over celebrated a massive accomplishment and their hearts swelled with pride. All too often, we take what we have for granted and don’t appreciate it. But not last week. The scene was played out in so many different venues in major capitals and small cities around the world. In each, the people who attended were singing the same songs, proclaiming in every way they know, that we are a people on the rise. The Torah defines us. It is eternal and vibrant, and to the extent that we acknowledge and internalize it, so are we.

All who attended the massive Siyum Hashas at MetLife Stadium, or any of the other smaller celebrations, wish to remain on the high. No one wants to let go of the heightened emotions and the injection of chiyus and energy that the celebrations brought about in all sectors of the globe. Speaking in the distinctive languages of the Jewish people and in the various dialects of the Diaspora, the message of simchas haTorah was one. Whatever the accent, venue, or dress of the participants, the joyous chant of “mah ahavti Sorasecha” rose up to the heavens through the open air stadiums and caused the hearts of all present to beat faster.

Shabbos Nachamu. On Shabbos, we read the haftorah from which Shabbos Nachamu derives its name and we are consoled. Hearing the baal kriah intone the words “Nachamu, nachamu ami” with the melodious trop is apparently enough to comfort us.

The novi calls out to us and proclaims, “Nachamu, the torture will soon end. Nachamu, the golus is almost over. Nachamu, consider yourselves consoled over what has transpired in the past. Nachamu, a bright new day is dawning.”

What is the consolation? What is there about this Shabbos that rings happiness throughout the Jewish world?

In the midst of the worst period in the recent history of our people, Klal Yisroel lost its captain. On the 5th day of Av in 1940, Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzensky zt”l was niftar. His distraught followers weren’t sure if they should make the levaya that day, Erev Shabbos, or if they should wait for Sunday and increase the kavod hameis. They had a shailah, but Rav Chaim Ozer was gone, and they did not know whom to ask.

At that moment, they understood what mourning meant. They grasped what they were lacking. In that moment of doubt, they gained a new appreciation for the immensity of the tragedy of the churban Bais Hamikdosh. They understood then that the calamity of the churban did not only mean that they were lacking. They were also stripped of the tools to cope with their loss.

The tower which had given strength and meaning to their lives was gone, and when they needed it most, they had nowhere to turn.

Every year, as we bentch Rosh Chodesh Menachem Av, the cheerful blessing generates bittersweet emotion.The idea of an impending Rosh Chodesh brings with it hopes for a fresh start in a new month, but this past Shabbos, as we recognized that a new moon is about to dawn, the fact that it was to be that ofMenachem Av, with its hints of melancholy, caused our hearts to sink.

We are in the period of national sadness, which began last Sunday on the 17th day of Tammuz, ramps up on Friday with the commencement of Chodesh Av, and continues to increase in our level of mourning until Tisha B’Av is observed a week from Sunday.

Throughout our history, the first week of Av has seen some of the most wrenching, catastrophic events for the Jewish people. That legacy of sorrow and disaster continues.

On Sunday, we entered the period commonly known as The Three Weeks, when we mourn the destruction of the Botei Mikdosh and, by extension, the long golus and all we have suffered in the exile. We lament events that took place in the past and seek to improve in the future.

Reb Chaim Soloveitchik was a son of Rav Yitzchok Zev Soloveitchik, the Brisker Rov. Though he suffered greatly, he was able to echo timeless truths he had absorbed in his father’s home. He often shared divrei Torah and insights that were both interesting and refreshing.

In the hesped that Rav Moshe Mordechai Shulsinger of Bnei Brak delivered following Reb Chaim’s passing, he spoke about how Reb Chaim’s proximity to the Brisker Rov had elevated his thought process.

The parshiyos that we lain during the summer months contain lengthy descriptions of the travels and travails of Klal Yisroel in the midbar. Stop after stop, they camped, they rested and they continued.

The accounts of the masa’os contain lessons relevant to us at this time of year.

These weeks, wherever you happen to find yourself in the Jewish world, you see minivans and Suburbans loaded down with families heading off to the country. You peer inside and find duffel bags labeled for camp, hardworking rabbeim and moros smiling at the ability to take a breather, and regular good people looking forward to the rarified air and slower pace ahead of them.

We learn this week’s parsha and are struck by how odd it seems that someone would challenge Moshe after all he had done for the Bnei Yisroel altruistically. This is compounded by the number of times Hashem defended Moshe. How could someone as smart as Korach do something so foolish and how could so many people be taken in by him and join the rebellion?

Miriam spoke against Moshe Rabbeinu and was promptly punished. The meraglim doubted the veracity of Moshe Rabbeinu’s promise and, again, their punishment was swift and harsh. In this week’s parsha, we are again presented with an account of rebellion against Moshe Rabbeinu.

Korach is Exhibit A in the teaching of Chazal that “hakinah, hataavah vehakavod motziim es ho’odom min ho’olam.” His ambition and lust fueled him in a way that totally altered his perception of reality and truth.

We tend to think of the mitzvos of the Torah as actions and deeds, which we perform with our hands, legs, and sometimes even our mouths. The mitzvah of tzitzis is unique, as it is a mitzvah that we also fulfill with our eyes and minds.

Let us take a moment to closely examine this mitzvah.

Each morning, in shuls across the globe, you can witness a similar scene. Yidden pause upon the dawn of a new day, before the frantic pace of the day’s work overtakes them, and freeze themselves in time as they wrap theirtallis around their heads, ensconcing themselves in a cocoon of love and peace.

In the media business, one of the most dreaded occurrences is a slow news day. What will the talking heads pontificate about if there is nothing going on? What will the media giants write about to fill the pages of their slumping newspapers? How will CNN pick up its slumping ratings if there is no news?

Eager to keep the focus off the flailing economy, the incumbent and his allies in the media will be working overtime to churn out stories that arouse viewer emotions and distract their intellect. They will be slamming anything the challenger ever did in his life, painting success as failure and intellectual growth as flip-flopping.

For the next few months, they have nothing to worry about. With an election in November, there will be no shortage of stories. Long-forgotten high school enemies are waiting to be interviewed. Eagle-eyed reporters are on the lookout for the inevitable mistakes and blunders, which then spawn denials and counter-attacks.

One of the blessings of our generation is the gifted kiruv professionals who staff and conduct seminars and conferences, articulating sophisticated proofs that Torah is min hashomayim. They prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Torah is our Divine gift and that we are the Chosen People. Regrettably, in our day, such lessons appear to be necessary for people who live Torah lives much the same as for those who are far fromTorah.

For many of us, the feeling we experienced with the break of dawn on Shavuos morning as we sought out someone to be motzie us with the brachos, along with the sublime sense of being connected, the pounding of our hearts as the Aseres Hadibros were read, and the joy we felt as Akdamus was chanted, combined to make those same points. The happiness we experience as we make Kiddush, as we recite Shehecheyonu, and as we sing niggunim associated with the chag kindle something special in our souls and prove to us that Yisroel ve’Oraisah veKudsha Brich Hu chad hu. We are one with Hashem.

In the Torah, there are several references to mountains that are central to Yiddishkeit. The first is Har Hamoriah, which Avrohom saw from the distance as he approached it to offer his son Yitzchok as an akeidah, following the word of Hashem. Although he saw the mountain and recognized it as his destination, those who had journeyed with him did not see it. Those belonging to the am hadomeh lechamor were blind to the hallowed peak destined to play a leading role in Yahadus until this very day.

It was on this very mountain that the angels appeared to Avrohom Avinu and that Yitzchok almost became an olah temimah. It was at this spot that Yaakov Avinu experienced kedushah and, ultimately, theBais Hamikdosh was built.

Meron on Lag Ba’omer is like a magnet, drawing in Jews from across the planet. An ancient, dusty hilltop in the town’s heart pulls close hundreds of thousands of Jewish neshamos, uniting them with nothing other than that spark within.

Against the rhythmic rolling of the busses’ wheels as they struggle up the mountain, there is song. From the hillsides on high and from the valleys below, a song rises. Across oceans, from faraway countries, comes song. And on the hilltop, that song is sung louder and louder, a symphony of disparate voices chanting together, “Omar Rabi Akiva, Ashreichem Yisroel. Ashreichem, ashreichem, ashreichem Yisroel.”

What is the song and what are they singing about?

The Yerushalmi in Yoma (1:1) derives from this week’s parsha that the passing of tzaddikim atones for the sins of those left behind. “Rav Chiya bar Abba asks, the sons of Aharon died on the first day of Nissan, so why does the Torah mention their passing together with the laws of Yom Kippur? To teach that just as Yom Kippur atones for the sins of the Jewish people, so is the passing of tzaddikim a kapporah for [Klal] Yisroel.”

Last week, with the passing of the great gaon and tzaddik, Rav Simcha Schustal zt”l, we received another kapporah. His loss is just the latest in a chain of losses we have suffered over the past year with the petiros of so many senior, venerated gedolim and manhigim, talmidei chachomim and anshei maaseh.

As night settled and Yidden across America ushered in the seventeenth day of Sefiras Ha’omer, the dark news was passed around in hushed tones.

Rav Simcha is gone.

Klal Yisroel intoned the tefillos, focusing on the special Sefirah of the day, the unique spiritual energy - tiferes shebetiferes - and the pain was acute.

We lost the splendor against which splendor is measured, the tiferes shebetiferes of the American Torah world.

My office chair had worn out a long time ago. Its stuffing was gone and it had become increasingly uncomfortable to sit in all day. But there was never time to find a suitable replacement. Finally, when the Pesach edition of this newspaper was done, probably inspired by the sparkle and shine all around me, I decided that the time had come for a new chair. The old one served me well, it was loyal and steadfast, but its time had come.

With my sons joining me for abein hazemanim outing, we headed to an office furniture store in search of a new chair.

We found much more than that.

The Bnei Yisroel in Mitzrayim witnessed ten makkos, a process of becoming acquainted with the Oneness of Hashemand His infinite power. They witnessed the strength and power of His Presence, the potency of His might.

Contemplate, for a moment, that the underpinning of our emunah is thatHakadosh Boruch Hu, bechvodo uve’atzmo, took us out of Mitzrayim in fulfillment of His promises to the avos, to Moshe, and to the Bnei Yisroel.

Why then was it necessary forParohto agree that the Jewish people leave their bondage under him? Why did the bnei Avrohom, Yitzchok and Yaakov requireParoh’spermission to leave Mitzrayim?

Our people have a tortured history. We have been buffeted about, chased from place to place. We have known deprivation and tragedy. The flow ebbs and increases. Some times are better than others. For a while, we were living in what has to be classified as one of the better periods in our history. We were living comfortably, blessed with economic and social success and peace.

It appears, though, that things have taken a turn for the worse, chas veshalom. War seems to be just over the horizon. An increasing number of people can’t make ends meet. Children can’t find suitable schools, too many kids are at risk, and tragedies abound. People are sick, bewildered, abused and lost. They become anonymous globs in masses of groups desperate to stand out and secure a future in which they can feel that they are contributing to the common betterment.

The sudden passing of Reb Shloimy Gross z”l this past Erev Shabbos shook up many thousands of people.

He was the most normal fellow, beloved by all, the toughest yet the softest, the one who lit up a room, always had a nice word for everyone; was so full of life and charm.

If you would have asked anyone in Flatbush, “Who is the go-to person for someone in need? Who is the person who will help anyone, anytime, without asking questions?” the answer would have been, “Shloimy Gross.”

The way he lived his life offers a demonstration on how a Jew should live and how much good every one can do and accomplish.

The Rama writes that Lag Ba'omer falls out on the same day of the week as Purim. If Purim was on a Thursday, Lag Ba'omer will be on a Thursday as well. What is the significance of that connection?

Rav Yitzchok Hutner suggests that the connection of the two days is that Lag Ba'omer is the day on which we celebrate the revelation of the inner dimension of the Torah, the penimiyus of Torah, as revealed by Rabi Shimon bar Yochai. On Purim, he says, we celebrate the revelation of the penimiyus of the Jew.

Purim teaches that even the people whom we don't consider to be especially great are also great. It is the day that demonstrates that every neshomah is filled with limitless light and power.

We can possibly add that this is also a reason for the special joy exhibited on Purim. On this day, when the outer shell is peeled off and the layers which cover the essence of the Yid are removed, we get to see the pnim, the core of good, which lies under the surface.

The battle for the Republican presidential nomination and other such soon-to-be-forgotten news dominate the headlines. Even in the Jewish world, the current AIPAC conference in Washington and Binyomin Netanyahu’s meeting with Barack Obama are the stuff of headlines, fodder for pontificating pundits, and focus for page one.

The media and talking heads are abuzz about the various speeches and meetings which took place this week in Washington. However so much of it appears to be superficial and mostly about posturing. We are so wrapped up in our small problems that the magnitude of the real threat hanging over the world is not given much serious thought. We all but ignore the threat from Iran and its dire implications for Eretz Yisroel and beyond.

It’s the time of year when something marvelous happens, when we merit to see clearly, with our own eyes, that the nishmas Yisroel is something real and something sublime, plugged in to a higher source.

No matter what challengers or trials surround us, when Purim approaches, our hearts beat a bit faster, our smiles stretch a bit wider, and we look at things differently. Despite the fact that not all is going well, as we are deeply mired in the mud of golus and sometimes we feel as if our senses have become dulled, the simcha of the day is felt universally.

“Eidus hee leba’ei ha’olam.” The increase in simcha experienced by all sorts of Yidden, from wherever they might come, is an enduring testimony to the reality of the greatness of the day.

The world around us pursues happiness, yet like an animal trying to catch its own tail it eludes them. People spin about dizzily, going in circles, as they seek to make themselves feel happy by escaping reality with artificial stimulants. In an attempt to find joy and fulfillment people become addicted to artifice to escape the sad reality of a vacuous life. Their goal eludes them and all they achieve is a lethal habit.

The concept is so simple, the pursuit is so universal, yet, for so many, it is so unattainable.

We recognize that fact as we note the Shulchan Aruch, the guide of our lives, obligates us to be joyous during the month we usher in this week. When Chazal make a statement of fact, “Mishenichnas Adar marbin besimcha” (Taanis 29a), they are saying that simcha, that elusive destination, is not a utopian dream attainable only by the elite and very rich. Happiness is within the reach of every Jew, and thus they instruct us to increase our joy during the month of Adar.

His talmidim often recall how the famed Philadelphia rosh mesivta, Rav Mendel Kaplan, made each day an experience. Like the moshol given by Chazal in this week’s parsha, he prepared a shulchan aruch for his talmidim filled with a variety of dishes so that everybody had something to taste.

This week’s parsha begin with the words, “Ve’eileh hamishpotim asher tasim lifneihem - These are the rules and laws to place before the Jewish people.”

Chazal see hints from the way the Torah expresses the words of Hashem to Moshe as a lesson for the proper methodology of teaching. They explain that the term “tasim lifneihem” is used to instruct those who transmit our heritage and mishpotim to place timeless ideals, values and lessons before their students as a shulchan aruch, a prepared table.

We live in very precarious times. There is so much good in our community. There is so much Torah being studied and such high standards being set in chinuch, kashrus, tznius and many other areas. More people than ever dedicate their lives to the study and dissemination of Torah. Chessed organizations abound. People seek self-improvement in so many areas.

Nothing is completely good in this world. It will never be all good until the coming of Moshiach. We concentrate on the good, seek to improve what is not so good, and prepare the world for Moshiach’s arrival. We learn. We give tzedakah. We care about others. We seek to stem machlokes and prevent petty rivalries from afflicting us. We seek to create achdus, unity and love. We try to help those who have been abused and those who have drifted. We reach out to the unaffiliated. We daven better. We say Tehillim for the sick and visit them and care for them.

In last week’s column, we provided an explanation for the custom to say “shalom aleichem” to each other when we recite Kiddush Levanah. We go outside and greet the new moon, perceiving in its reflected light our ability to rise and the levels we can attain if we exert ourselves and dedicate ourselves to Torah. Beholding the new moon generates thoughts of teshuvah, growth, and a new beginning. As we begin the journey towards a new beginning, down a path which will lead to personal growth, we wish each other “shalom aleichem.”

I was reminded of a story that took place with the Ponovezher Rov which provides a different explanation and lesson derived from saying “shalom aleichem.”

As is well known, the Ponovezher Rov, Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman, traveled the world seeking donations to keep his dream yeshiva alive.

Many months ago, we began the study of the Torah anew and learned the first Rashi on the Chumash. Rashi famously quotes from his father, Rav Yitzchok, that the Torah should have begun with the mitzvah of hachodesh hazeh lochem. He explains that the reason it doesn’t is so that if nations of the world will ever allege that the Jews stole Eretz Yisroel, the Jews will be able to respond to them that Hashem created the world and it all belongs to Him. He chose to give it to us and thus it is ours.

Others answer that the reason the Torah doesn’t begin with Parshas Hachodesh is because the stories of Sefer Bereishis are a necessary backdrop, a hakdamah of sorts, to the mitzvos.

“Velo shamu el Moshe mikotzer ruach umei’avodah kashah.” This posuk in this week’s parsha is almost haunting in its implications.

Just try to imagine the scene. Moshe Rabbeinu was tending to his flock in the wilderness, when he beheld the extraordinary sight of a bush aflame. He stopped what he was doing to consider what was taking place in front of him, as he wondered how it could be that the fire was burning but the bush wasn’t being consumed.

Like his ancestor, Avrohom Avinu, who studied the world and concluded that it could not have come into being by itself, as the Medrash (Bereishis Rabbah 39:1) relates, Moshe perceived that the Creator was announcing His Presence. He recognized that this was a defining moment in his life.

Rashi, whose every word is laden with meaning and relevance, quotes the words of Chazal in this week’s parsha, and they seem to shine a brilliant light on current events.

The posuk states, “Vayokom melech chodosh al Mitzrayim asher lo yoda ess Yosef - A new Paroh arose over Mitzrayim who did not know Yosef.” Rashi quotes a machlokes between Rav and Shmuel. One explains that the posuk is saying that there was, in fact, a new king. The old Paroh had died and the new one did not know Yosef. The other opinion maintains that the Paroh of Shemos was the very same Paroh with whom we became familiar in Sefer Bereishis. He knew very well who Yosef was - after all, he had saved his kingdom - but he acted as if he had forgotten him.

Why, according to the second explanation, is he called a melech chodosh? Because he pretended to have forgotten who Yosef was. He stared Yosef in the face. He looked in the eyes of the talented, reliable, efficient young man who’d stepped out of the obscurity of prison to save the entire country. He listened as Yosef spoke to him and followed his every word of advice. And then, he abruptly erased the many accomplishments of the Jew who had made Mitzrayim into a world superpower and established a system that filled Paroh’scoffers.

The story is told of a woman who was married for sixteen years and had not been blessed with children. Pain and loneliness were her daily companions. She begged her father, a great tzaddik, and her husband, an illustrioustalmid chochom, to daven along with her, but the wait continued.

One day, a little over one hundred years ago, before the advent of washing machines and dryers, she spent several hours washing the family’s clothing. When that task was finally completed, as was her habit every week, she hung up the freshly-cleaned laundry in the courtyard she shared with other families. A neighbor, for some unknown reason, became upset at the sight of the hanging clothing, flew into a rage, and ran inside her home to get a scissors. She returned and cut both ends of the rope, sending all the clean clothing into the mud, ruining hours of hard work.

The housewife was upset and burst into tears. She hurried into the privacy of her home and gave vent to her distress there, weeping in solitude. Then she went and engaged in the long process all over again, this time hanging her laundry to dry in a neighboring courtyard.

Formed in a cauldron of pain and suffering, a special relationship developed between the Amshinover Rebbe, Rav Shima’le Kalish, and the talmidim of theMirrer Yeshiva in Europe. Joined together by Hashgachah as they escaped from war-torn Poland, the relationship was reinforced by shared struggles, challenges and remarkable salvation.

On Motzoei Simchas Torah in Shanghai, with the echoes of the spirited Hakafah niggunim still ringing in the ears of the Mirrer talmidim, the Rebbe studied the faces of the Litvishe bochurim. He sensed their unspoken anxiety about the long, cold winter ahead, stretching before them like the train tracks they’d traveled on through the frozen Russian landscape.

The Rebbe saw the winter months as an opportunity, not an obstacle, and searched for a way to convey that point. “Mir hubben yetzt ge’endikt mit di groisse teg, we have concluded the great days,” remarked the Rebbe. “Yetzt kummen di groisse necht, now come the ‘great nights.’”

A story is told about an American tourist who went to visit a Yerushalmi Yid. Upon entering the humble apartment, the tourist found him in an exalted state. The visitor asked him why he was so full of joy. The Yerushalmi answered him with a twinkle in his eye. “Didn’t you hear?” he asked. “Moshiach is here in Yerushalayim. Of course I’m besimcha.”

The visitor was a real tourist type. He left the oldYerushalmi’s apartment and ran to the Kosel. He thought that if Moshiach was in Yerushalayim, the best place to find him would be at the Kosel. He got there and looked around, but was stunned when everything seemed regular. He looked at everyone there. No one impressed him as being the Moshiach whom Klal Yisroel has been awaiting for centuries. Quite upset, he returned to the Yerushalmi and told him that he went to the Kosel looking for Moshiach and couldn’t find him.

“Where is he?” asked the tourist. “Where would he be if not at the place that the Shechinah hasn’t departed from?”

You have to feel bad for Mitt Romney.

He did everything right, working assiduously for half a decade, with scores of handlers, pollsters, wordsmiths, schedulers and volunteers behind him. His campaign is well-equipped and expertly managed, and he has looked on comfortably as a long stream of Republican candidate wannabes rose and then fell. Victory seemed inevitable for the well-spoken, immaculate former governor. All he was waiting for was the coronation, which would begin January 3rd in Iowa and culminate at the Republican National Convention in sweltering Tampa at the end of August.

But at the very last minute, just as he began to feel Iowa and New Hampshire victories fall into his lap and the nomination within touching distance, Romney was suddenly upended. By whom? The fellow derided by every single mainstream publication and pundit as unsuited for leadership, and by some as mean and vindictive. They gave him zero chance of winning anything, or climbing out of the single digits in poll popularity. Newt Gingrich’s rise happened so fast, and so unexpectedly, that the commentariat is tripping over itself in its haste to decry his personal shortcomings and lack of qualifications, reminding us all that he was driven out of his position as Speaker of the House.

We read the news and fret. Seeing what is going on in the world, we cannot blame the pessimists who see wide-ranging conspiracies. We cannot laugh at those who feel as if the world is about to blow up. They fear that the euro will become worthless, economic malaise will overwhelm Europe, and it will spread to the rest of the world. America will become awash in a sea of red ink, unemployment will increase, taxes will rise, health insurance will become unaffordable, the Postal Service will close, and, worst of all, Barack Obama will be reelected and get even with Israel and the Jews for Binyomin Netanyahu’s arrogant intransigence in refusing to accept his plan for the division of Eretz Yisroel.

They are afraid that America will never be the same. It will sink into a quagmire from which no one will be able to rescue it. The bulwark of democracy and capitalism will become a beachhead of socialism as it descends into finality as a failed state. They see radical Islam on a victorious crusade across Northern Africa and worry about what it will mean for Israel in particular and for Jews and freedom-lovers the world over.

In actuality, it’s nothing new. Shlomo Hamelech, the wisest man, proclaimed many centuries ago, “Ein kol chodosh tachas hashomesh - There is nothing new under the sun.”

Parshas Vayeitzei, Rav Moshe Shapiro once remarked, is a parsha “filled with stones.”

It opens with the account of Yaakov Avinu’s first rest in fourteen years, as the stones he selected negotiated with each other for the right to serve the tzaddik.

The single stone they became was turned into a matzeivah, enduring testimony to the awesomeness of the place.

As the parsha continues, Yaakov journeys on, using every bit of strength to lift the weighty stone from atop the well, allowing the shepherds and their sheep to drink.

The parsha closes with Yaakov Avinu facing Lavan, with a collection of stones between them. The pile would serve as a monument, an agreement of sorts between two men representing two different worlds.

The stone symbolizes strength, firmness and solidity in aparsha where those traits were necessary for our father’s survival in the face of much opposition and forces determined to destroy him.

So often, we read books about people who made it big, and it seems as if they led a charmed life, were born as geniuses with silver spoons in their mouths, were brought up surrounded by splendor, and then went on to become famous intellectuals, literati, scholars, politicians or artists whose fame and accomplishments captured the world’s imagination.

There is little for simple common folk, such as us, to learn from such people. We don’t have the gift of genius, the enormous wealth or the pedigree to compare with them. We read the stories and we say, “If only we had been smarter, richer and more handsome, we could have accomplished so much more with our lives. But since we are not, we can excuse ourselves for our apathy, lack of initiative or action to help others, to lead people desperate for guidance, or to provide succor for those in need of help and salvation.”

In fact, many of our leaders were born into poverty and suffered through childhood. They rose from humble backgrounds to occupy positions of authority and leadership, gaining the respect of the masses by dint of their hard work and long days and nights laboriously spent assisting others and bent over tomes.

Listen to the speech of a man behind a podium, his words rehearsed and well-prepared, and you know nothing of him or his essence.

It’s later, when the crowds are gone; when no one is paying attention that you can see what he’s about.

A person is defined by his sicha, his conversation.

Sicha, says the Vilna Gaon, refers to the rustling of leaves, the siach hasadeh. The Gaon explains that “small talk,” or mundane conversation, is also referred to as sicha, since it is the cover for the real fruits, the essence of a person, his Torah, just as leaves cover physical fruits.

Rav Yitzchok Hutner explains this as the idea behind “sichas chulin shel talmidei chachomim tzrichim limud.” The speech of a talmid chochom is laden with significance, because it reflects his essence, his deeper self, which is all Torah.

It’s that time of year when Jews struggle to hold on, to grasp what was, to incorporate the stirrings of our souls into something practical that can accompany us on a journey into the long, cold winter.

You look at your place in shul and you recall that first night of Selichos. You remember the awe you felt as the chazzan intoned “Bemotzoei Menuchah.” It was an awe that only increased over the days that followed. You remember how you stood straight, your ear tilted towards the baal tokeia as the shofar’s strains filled the room, and you wonder if you can recapture what you felt then.

Somewhere in the shul, the echoes of Ne’ilah’s “Hashem Hu Ha’Elokim” still reverberate and the esrog’s sublime scent still lingers. Green dots line the floor, fallen leaves of the aravos and hadassim that circled the bimah seven days, while a child’s flag proclaiming “Nagil Venasis Bezos HaTorah” droops off a table.

It’s the last Mishnah of a masechta that is replete with depictions of the day’s glory, immersions and offerings. It describes twenty-four hours of a nation, led by the kohein gadol, performing the avodah on the holiest day of the year in the holiest place on earth, returning as one to Hashem, Who comes closest to His people on this day.

Maseches Yoma concludes with the rousing words of Rabi Akiva:“Ashreichem Yisroel, lifnei mi atem metaharin umi metaher es’chem, Avichem shebaShomayim” (Yoma, 8:9). Rabi Akiva is responding to the preceding drasha of Rabi Elazar ben Azarya, who derives from the posuk of “Lifnei Hashem titharu” that the day of Yom Kippur only cleanses aveiros that are “lifnei Hashem,” between man and G-d. Yom Kippur doesn’t absolve one of aveiros that are bein adam lachaveiro, between man and his fellow man, until the person who has been wronged forgives the one who harmed him.

Commentators suggest that Rabi Akiva is addressing the posuk of“lifnei Hashem titharu,” from whichRabi Elazar ben Azarya derived his lesson. Rabi Akiva learns another lesson from those same words pertaining to the purification afforded by being lifnei Hashem on this day. Hashem Himself serves as the agent of purification, as the posuk states,“mikvei Yisroel Hashem.”

At the time of the technological revolution, during the beginning of the twentieth century, when the world suddenly began exploding with innovative inventions, the Chofetz Chaim wrote in his sefer Shem Olam that the inventions serve to strengthen our emunah. Pertaining to the camera he wrote, it serves to demonstrate that the Mishnah’s admonition of “ayin ro’eh” is not just an allegory, but is real, much the same as the telephone hammers home the fact that there is an “ozen shoma’as” that hears at all times.

If there is a technical gizmo that symbolizes our present situation this week, perhaps it is the reset button, allowing us the ability to shut the system down and begin again. We can extricate ourselves from the mire we’re in by taking advantage of this Divine gift. “Zeh hayom techilas ma’asecha.”Rosh Hashanah is not just the commemoration of the first day of creation, but an opportunity to experience creation anew, and in the process renew our own personal circumstances.

Friday morning of Parshas Ki Savo.

Women added potatoes to their cholent. Men lingered a few moments after Shacharis and looked at the weekly parsha. Some headed to work, others to yeshiva. All looked forward to sunset, and with it, some blessed peace.

Mrs. Leah Rubashkin turned the keys in her car and set out on her familiar trip to Otisville, New York, where her husband, Reb Sholom Mordechai, is incarcerated. Unlike so many previous trips when she arrived bearing hopeful news or an encouraging development, this Friday she came with a report that a federal court had resoundingly rejected the Rubashkin appeal. Not a very pleasant gut Shabbos visit to have to make.

The nation grieved this week for the losses of 9/11. Everyone was solemn, tuned in to remembrances that took place at the three terror-pocked sites where, all together, almost 3,000 people lost their lives to the cause of Islamic radicalism on that fateful day ten years ago.

It was a sunny day on September 11 ten years ago when airplanes were turned into missiles and innocent people were killed. It was said then that the world had been changed forever. Americans, we were told, were altered for eternity, having been confronted with the reality of evil and what it can cause.

Until that day, people here were naïve and thought that it couldn’t happen to them, but happen it did. We found out that we were and are not in control. We discovered what happens when you ignore evil and rationalize its underpinnings and ramifications. Americans believed that tragedy of such magnitude only transpires in the Middle East. They thought that it was an Israeli thing, and perhaps Israelis deserve it because their country dominates the poor Palestinians. They didn’t realize the barbarism of Israel’s - and now America’s - enemies.

9/11 was a colossal wake-up call. It was an alarm ringing to awaken us to realize the power of ra, evil, in the briyah. It showed us the importance of identifying the ra and seeking to overcome it with tov, as well as with conventional measures.

There is a similarity in the diaries of Jewish immigrants to America during the first part of the twentieth century. They contain parallel emotions; feelings of overwhelming gratitude as the overcrowded ship they were on approached the Statue of Liberty, her arm held high welcoming them to the shores of America.

Despite the challenges of acclimating, finding work, maintaining spiritual standards, that first generation confronted America and its inherent difficulties, yet never lost their inherent respect for the American system. They tasted democracy, a new fruit not available back in Europe, and they delighted in its sweetness. America, as expressed in the writings of so many gedolim, became the malchus shel chessed, a government founded on kindness.

There is an oft-repeated concept that tzaros transpire so that we should learn a lesson. This is rooted in the Gemara (Yevamos 63a) which states, “Rabi Elazar ben Avina says: Ein puraniyos bah le’olam elah bishvil Yisroel - Calamities only come to the world because of the Jewish people.”

Rashi (ibid.) explains that catastrophes occur so that the Jews will become fearful of what sin causes, and will repent and do teshuvah.

It is worth noting that it was during the month of Elul ten years ago that one of the greatest tragedies to ever befall this country transpired on 9/11. Four years later, one of the greatest natural disasters took place during the month of Elul, when Hurricane Katrina slammed into New Orleans. It is not for nothing that Hurricane Irene blew in as we were bentching Rosh Chodesh Elul.

This Shabbos we are mevoreich the new chodesh and herald the onset of the month of Elul. As we repeat after the chazzan, “Rosh Chodesh Elul yihiyeh beyom…,” we know that in short shrift, the summer will draw to a close and serious days will once again be upon us. We look for inspiration. We seek to be inspired, to rise to the occasion of Elul.

Where can we find inspiration? Why do we so often fall short when seeking to be inspired?

Perhaps we are looking for inspiration in all the wrong places. We look at things, people and ideas far from us, and we expect that, as we approach them, we will be inspired. We look for esoteric seforim, ideas, thoughts and speakers, and we are upset when they fail to work their magic on us, leaving us in the same stale and insipid state we found ourselves prior to our search. And we wonder why.

It seems as if the words were written especially for us. Nachamu, nachamu, Ami. A healing balm for a suffering people. While the novi speaks about a people that had been hit twice, we weren’t only lakah bekiflayim. We have been hit a lot more. As a people, we have been slammed so badly and so often that any other nation sustaining what we have would have long withered away by now.

Since the churbanos the novi spoke of, we have been beaten, stoned, burnt, locked in awful ghettos, deprived of every human need, and driven from country after country. The Holocaust took a terrible toll. Since then, bechasdei Hashem, we have bounced back and built burgeoning Torah communities around the world.

There have been ups and downs, victories and defeats, heroes and anti-heroes, but, by and large, we have been wildly successful. Lately, however, we have suffered a steady series of blows that makes us reach for words ofnechomah as if reaching for oxygen.

The ominous messages have been coming fast and furious over the past few weeks. We have received Divine hints, shocking, stunning warnings, that all is not as should be.

The gezeiros have targeted those we hold most dear, tzaddikim and children. In frighteningly rapid succession, we lost senior roshei yeshiva. We then experienced the frantic search for a young Boro Park boy and the awful news of his fate at the hands of a fellow Yid. And now we have experienced something unseen since the time of Gedaliah ben Achikam, with the cold-blooded murder of an internationally renowned tzaddik, to whom thousands turned for advice, support and brachos, at the hands of a Jew.

Once again, we are numb and at a loss for words.