**This Week's Essay is in Memory of RACHEL Bat SARAH** Parashat Terumah tells of the construction of the Mishkan , the place where Beneh Yisrael offered sacrifices to Hashem in the desert and until the Bet Ha'mikdash was built. The commentaries explain that the Mishkan is symbolic of the way we are to bring Hashem's presence into our lives. The Mishkan was the place where Hashem resided among the people, but it represents the work that we need to do to have Hashem reside with us each and every day of our lives. Therefore, when we study the details of the Mishkan , we should expect these details to instruct us about the proper way to live. The parashah begins with Hashem listing all the materials that Beneh Yisrael needed to donate for this project. The list includes things like precious metals – gold, silver and copper – wood, and fabrics. Surprisingly, this list also mentions שמן למאור – oil for the kindling of the menorah . The reason why this is surprising is that the oil was not needed for the construction of the Mishkan – it was needed only after the Mishkan was built. The Torah did not include in this list animals for the various sacrifices, or flour for baking the bread that was placed on the shulhan (table) in the Mishkan . But for some reason, it did include here the oil for the menorah . Apparently, as one of the commentaries explains, the lighting of the menorah was not just something done in the Mishkan , but was part of the building process . Even after the entire structure and all its furnishings were fully built, it was not really finished until the menorah was lit. Therefore, the oil for the lighting is considered one of the building materials – because without it, without the light of the menorah , the Mishkan was not actually completed. The reason is that a house is not a house without light. It can have plenty of otherwise comfortable rooms, lots of furniture, and all the usual appliances, but without light, it's not really a home. The house is not considered "built" if there are no lights. The same is true about life. There are many things that go into "building" a happy, meaningful life. Most people would say that a fulfilling life should include marriage, children, a home, income, Torah study and observance, and perhaps some hobbies. However, even if all these are present, a person's life is not complete without "light." There is one thing that we all need and that without which, we are living "in the dark." What is this "light" that we're referring to? The story is told of a woman named Leah Teitelbaum, who lived in Hungary during World War II. When the Nazis came, she and thousands of other Jews were packed onto cattle cars that made their way to the concentration camps. Along the way, the train made a few stops. During one stop, after the people got off the train, a group of men decided to make a minyan for minchah , realizing that this might likely be their last opportunity to pray. A group of women, including Mrs. Teitelbaum, gathered to the side to pray with them. When the Nazi officers saw the Jews praying, they became very angry, and they shouted at them furiously. The group quickly dispersed in a panic – except Mrs. Teitelbaum. She continued praying, her eyes closed, as though nothing was happening around her. The guards surrounded her, shouted, and pointed their guns at her, but she just continued praying. When she finished praying, she opened her eyes, and saw guards pointing their guns at her. She immediately fainted. Later, someone who witnessed the scene asked her about what happened. Why did she continue praying instead of running away? Mrs. Teitelbaum explained that she didn't hear anything. "When we pray," she said, "we pray." She was fully present and focused on her tefillah . She was oblivious to everything going on around her. Miraculously, she survived the war. This is the "light" that so many of us are missing. We have everything that life is supposed to have – a family, a home, a livelihood, a community, friends, Torah and mitzvot , and so much more. But we aren't present. We aren't focused on what we're doing. We aren't experiencing all the goodness, we aren't enjoying all that we have. There are different reasons why. Some are too busy, constantly running from thing to the next. Some have one problem that overwhelms them so they can't think of anything else. Some overthink things, creating problems or turning small problems into big problems. Some are consumed by jealousy. Some are afflicted with anxiety. Some have an addiction to technology or to something else. Whatever the cause, too many of us aren't present in our lives. We live in the "dark," without joy and without fulfillment, because we're either too distracted or too busy to enjoy all that we have. I remember once meeting with a couple about a problem they had with a certain relative. After discussing the problem with them and offering some advice, as we were wrapping up, I turned to them and I said, "I just want you to realize what an amazing life you have." They had a beautiful marriage, wonderful children, and a comfortable livelihood. Without minimizing for a minute the challenge that they were dealing with, which was a real problem, I wanted to make sure that they were still able to enjoy the blessings in their lives. We need to recognize that there is no such thing as a perfect life. There is not one person I have ever met whose life is perfect, who does not struggle with some problem, or with several problems. If we cannot enjoy life until life is perfect, then we will never enjoy life. We need to embrace our life even with the challenges we face, even with the struggles that we have. If we don't, then we'll be living in the dark. So let's turn on the "light" by always being present and enjoying life the way it is at every moment.

Parashat Mishpatim begins with the subject of עבד עברי – the Jewish servant. In ancient times, there were certain situations in which a person who fell into financial straits would sell himself as a servant. The Torah commands that the master must release the servant after six years. However, if the servant says that he likes the arrangement, and he is happy with his master, then he may remain. In such a case, the Torah says, the master must drill a hole through the servant's ear. Rashi (21:6), based on the Gemara, explains that this act is intended as a punishment for the servant. His ear heard Hashem proclaim at Har Sinai , כי לי בני ישראל עבדים – that Beneh Yisrael are servants only of Hashem, and not of other human beings. And yet, despite hearing this pronouncement, the servant decided he wanted to remain in servitude when he was allowed to go free – and so the ear that heard this proclamation is pierced. Rashi here is teaching us something exceptionally profound, and exceedingly relevant to each and every one of us. He is telling us that we are not allowed to become "slaves" to anyone or anything else but Hashem. Nobody and nothing is ever allowed to take control of us. To develop this point further, let us examine a fascinating comment by the Midrash regarding the creation of Adam. The Midrash states that when Adam was first created, he had the ability to see מסוף העולם ועד סופו – from one end of the world to the other. This means that the human is created with vast capabilities. Our potential is far greater than we can ever imagine. When we look at the remarkable creations and inventions that human beings have come up with, we need to realize that people are actually capable of far more than that. We are many times more powerful and capable than we think. The thing that limits us, that holds us back from maximizing this vast potential, is our "slavery" to nonsense. We become subservient to things which are worthless, which have zero value, but which somehow hold us in their grip and prevent us from achieving all that we're capable of achieving. And never has this been truer than today. In order for the entertainment industry to sustain itself, it needs to bring in trillions of dollars. And the only way it can bring in trillions of dollars is by "enslaving" us. The industry invests enormous amounts of time, money, personnel and ingenuity to make nonsense seem important. We need only to look at the estimates of how many millions of Americans watch the Superbowl, and how many millions bet significant sums of money on this game. Whether it's sports, movies, television series, or celebrity culture – there is a concentrated effort to draw us in, to grab our attention, to get interested in utter nonsense. A person picks up his phone to send an important message – and then ends up spending an hour – or more – looking at all kinds of video clips, memes, and other media that do absolutely nothing for him. He has become a slave to the industries that need his attention in order to make money. We need to remind ourselves that we are so much greater than this. We are human beings, endowed with the divine image, and we are Jews, members of Hashem's special nation, whom He charged with a special mission. Can we imagine any distinguished Rabbi or leading communal figure spending hours watching funny videos on his phone? Well, we, too, are distinguished and important. We are capable of greatness, we can achieve extraordinary things – but we don't because we are pulled away from what matters by things that do not matter at all. Of course, we all need a little entertainment in our lives. There's nothing wrong with some amusement, some laughs, and some distractions. But, as our parashah teaches us, the problem is when we become slaves to the entertainment, when it takes over our lives, and pulls us away from the greatness that we are capable of achieving, and which we are meant to achieve. The Gemara in Masechet Sukkah teaches that in the next world, the sinners will see the yetzer ha'ra – the evil inclination that led them to sin – and it will appear to them as a tiny thread of hair. They will then be overcome by shame and regret, wondering how they were defeated by something so tiny and so minuscule. This is precisely the yetzer ha'ra 's strategy – making a "thread of hair" seem big, important, formidable, worthy of our time and our attention. In the next world, we will see how so many things that we were subservient to, that we allowed to consume our time and our minds, were really just a "thread," so meaningless, so unimportant, so bereft of value. Let's not wait till the next world. Let's already now have the clarity to identify meaninglessness, to recognize the nonsense around us, and not let it take us away from our pursuit of greatness.

Parashat Yitro describes a situation that is quite common – a father-in-law giving his son-in-law unsolicited advice. Yitro – the father of Moshe Rabbenu's wife, Tzippora – observed how Moshe sat all day as the people lined up to consult with him, specifically, to resolve their disputes. This worried Yitro, who warned Moshe that such an arrangement could be harmful to Moshe. He therefore advised Moshe to appoint judges who would help him shoulder this burden of responsibility. They – not him – would advise the people, and only the more difficult questions would come to Moshe for him to decide. Notably, Moshe accepted Yitro's advice, and appointed a network of judges. Seeking advice is critically important. Somebody who doesn't seek advice, who always acts upon his own thoughts and decisions, is living in an island in his own head. If a person thinks he's smarter and knows better than everyone else is, in all likelihood, a fool. However, we must be very careful when seeking advice. For one thing, we need to exercise discretion, and not allow ourselves to take advice from everybody and anybody. Too many people offer "drive-thru" advice, just blurting out recommendations and suggestions without knowing anything about us, or about the situation. Telling someone to get married at a young age because "the finances will work out, don't worry," without knowing anything about the person's situation, is not necessarily great advice. The same goes for advice about what career to pursue, what schools to enroll one's children in, and so on. "Off-the-cuff" advice given by somebody who doesn't have much knowledge about the person he or she is advising should be taken with a healthy dose of skepticism. But there is also a more fundamental concern when it comes to advice, one which is developed by Rav Shlomo Wolbe, in a fascinating passage in Aleh Shur . Rav Wolbe laments the practice that many people have to immediately turn to a friend whenever they encounter any sort of question, whenever they are uncertain about how to proceed. This habit, Rav Wolbe writes, prevents a person from becoming wise. The proper approach is to first analyze both sides of the question, weigh the pros and cons of each option, and then reach a decision. Afterward, one should bring his question, and his decision, to his fellow to receive his advice. If a person never develops the skill of decision-making, of reaching his own conclusions, then he will never live an authentic life. He will instead be living the life that other people tell him to live, without actualizing his unique potential and being the unique person that he's supposed to be. Significantly, Yitro began his advice to Moshe by telling him the following: והזהרתה אתהם את החוקים ואת התורות, והודעת להם את הדרך ילכו בה, ואת המעשה אשר יעשון. You shall warn them of the statutes and the laws, and you shall inform them of the path they should follow, and the actions that they should perform. (18:20) Yitro was concerned not only about Moshe's wellbeing, but also about the nation asking him for too much advice. He was worried about Moshe working too hard – but also that the people were coming to him right away with their problems, without first trying to work it out themselves. Therefore, his advice to Moshe was not only to appoint others to assist him – but also to instruct the people, to impart to them knowledge and wisdom, to explain to them how Hashem wants us to live our lives. This will encourage them to first look for the answers themselves before seeking advice. As we mentioned earlier, it is vitally important to get advice, to be open-minded, to recognize that we don't have all the answers, and that we can often benefit from other people's experience and perspectives. At the same time, however, we need to be careful not to outsource our lives, not to leave all our decisions in the hands of people who don't really know us and what we're going through. In a famous pasuk in the Book of Mishleh (19:21), King Shlomo teaches, רבות מחשבות בלב איש, ועצת ה' היא תקום – "There are many thoughts in a man's heart, but it is the counsel of G-d that will prevail." The common understanding of this pasuk is that as much as we plan and strive to do certain things, ultimately, it is the will of Hashem that materializes. Rav Wolbe, however, offers a deeper explanation of this pasuk. He explains that we have many "thoughts," many different ideas, questions about whether we should do X or Y. But more often than not, we know what עצת ה' is, what it is that Hashem wants of us. When we sort through the various מחשבות , the many different thoughts and ideas, it is not difficult to determine עצת ה' , the right decision to make, the right thing to do. Very often, when we face some uncertainty, we actually know the answer. It's just a matter of being honest with ourselves and recognizing what Hashem wants of us. As important as it is to be open to advice – it is no less important to know when we don't need advice, and when we need instead to listen to the עצת ה' , to have the strength and conviction to do what we know we should do.

In the beginning of Parashat Beshalah, we are told that as Beneh Yisrael left Egypt, Moshe made a point of bringing with him Yosef's remains. Many years earlier, before Yosef died, he made his brothers promise that they would bring his remains with them out of Egypt, so he could be buried in the Land of Israel. This promise was fulfilled through Moshe Rabbenu, who retrieved Yosef's remains at the time of Yetziat Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt). The Gemara in Masechet Sotah (13a) applies to Moshe Rabbenu the pasuk in the Book of Mishleh (10:8), חכם לב יקח מצוות – "The wise-hearted takes mitzvot ." Whereas the rest of the nation was busy collecting the riches of the Egyptians to bring with them out of Egypt, Moshe was preoccupied with the mitzvah of tending to Yosef's remains. Many commentators ask the question of why the Gemara speaks in such praise of Moshe for retrieving Yosef's remains. After all, Hashem had explicitly commanded the people before Yetziat Mitzrayim to take the Egyptians' belongings with them. Collecting the spoils of Egypt was also a mitzvah . Why, then, was Moshe deserving of special praise for tending to the mitzvah of retrieving Moshe's remains – if all Beneh Yisrael were also involved in a mitzvah ? To answer this question, let us take an honest – and uncomfortable – look at something that many of us are occasionally guilty of. And that is – failing to sufficiently concern ourselves with other people. Why is it that sometimes, when we hear of somebody going through a hard time, we just forget about it, and go back to our own affairs? Worse, why do we sometimes find ourselves feeling a bit of satisfaction hearing about other people's struggles, especially if this is somebody who always seemed to have the "perfect" life (as if such a thing exists)? Why is it sometimes so hard to feel genuine empathy, and share in the pain or grief of others? The answer is not that we're bad people, or even that we're selfish people. We all of course understand the value of empathy and concern for our fellow, of hesed , of lending a helping hand, of extending beyond ourselves to help people. But doing so is a challenge for the simple reason that we are, legitimately, busy and stressed with our own needs and our own concerns. We all have pressures, we all have stress, we all have things that we're worried about, that we're upset about, that are weighing heavily on our minds. And so it's hard for us to allocate some of our headspace for the needs of the people around us. This might explain the Gemara's comment about Moshe Rabbenu. The rest of the nation was busy collecting the riches of Egypt, as they were supposed to, but Moshe went beyond that. He had the wisdom – חכם לב – to at the same time look out for what other people needed. Even amid the tumult and hustle-and-bustle of Yetziat Mitzrayim , his mind was thinking not only of himself, but also of others, and about Am Yisrael generally. A pasuk in Tehillim (114:3) – which is included in the text of Hallel – describes, הים ראה וינוס – "The sea saw and fled." Before the sea split for Beneh Yisrael to cross, it "saw" something. The Midrash comments that the sea "saw" Yosef's bones. It was in the merit of Moshe's care and concern, his ability to look beyond his own needs and concerns, and to take in consideration the greater good and the needs of the Jewish People, that this great miracle occurred. When we wake up in the morning and begin our day, we are usually thinking about the things we need to get done that day, or the things that we are worried about. This is perfectly legitimate – but imagine what our lives would be like if we also asked ourselves every morning, "What does Am Yisrael need from me today? In what way can I make the world better today? What can I do for other people today? Where might I be needed today?" Perhaps there's a friend or relative who could use a friendly phone call or visit. Perhaps there's an organization or project that can use some volunteer work, an extra pair of hands. Perhaps it's a single parent who can use a favor, or an invitation. Just imagine what our lives – and our community and our nation – would look like if we started our day asking ourselves these questions. Let us learn from the "wisdom" of Moshe Rabbenu – and find the time, despite our busy schedule, to look out for other people!

Parashat Bo begins with Hashem commanding Moshe to return to Pharoah to warn him about the eighth plague, the plague of locusts. Moshe, as we know, had already been to Pharaoh many times, warning about the plagues that would befall him if he continued refusing to let Beneh Yisrael leave. Pharaoh repeatedly agreed to let the people leave, but then changed his mind each time after the plague ended. The commentaries note something unusual about the command in the beginning of our parashah : בא אל פרעה . Literally, this means, "Come to Pharaoh." Naturally, we would expect Hashem to tell Moshe to go to Pharaoh. What is the meaning of the command בא אל פרעה – " Come to Pharaoh"? The Rabbis give a very powerful, and relevant, answer to this question. Moshe was now about the begin the final stage of the process of Yetziat Mitzrayim (the Exodus from Egypt). He was going to warn of the final three plagues, which were the most devastating: the locusts, which destroyed all the remaining food; darkness, which prevented the Egyptians from even just moving about; and the plague of the firstborn, whereby every single family in Egypt suffered a casualty. Moshe was, understandably, reluctant. He felt intimidated, having to confront Pharaoh and warn of nationwide catastrophes. Hashem therefore told Moshe not to go to Pharaoh, but rather to come with Him to Pharaoh. This pasuk should be read to mean, "Come with Me, Moshe… You're not going alone. I'm coming with you. I'll be there the whole time. Don't be afraid." Many of us have likely considered undertaking some bold, ambitious project, but decided that it was too difficult. Perhaps it was a personal learning project, like joining Daf Yomi. Perhaps it was launching a new hesed initiative, or a meaningful community event or program. Perhaps it was a decision to enhance something at home within the family. When we feel intimidated, or fear that we might not be capable, we need to hear Hashem calling us and saying, בא – to come with Him. We need to remember that we are not doing this alone – He will be there helping us at every step of the way. Later in the Humash, we read about the spies whom Moshe sent to survey the Land of Israel, and who came back with a frightening report. They told the people about the large, powerful armies of the land's inhabitants, and the people were very scared. They felt they could not possibly capture the land, and so they thought they should return to Egypt. At that point, one of the two dissenting spies, Kalev, stood up and said, עלה נעלה וירשנו אותה, כי יכול נוכל לה – "Let us go up and take possession of it, because we can surely take it!" (Bamidbar 13:30). Rashi explains that Kalev was telling the people, "Even if Moshe tells us to climb to the heavens, and to make ladders to get there – we will do it!" Sometimes it seems that our goals and aspirations are in the "heavens," they're just too much for us, beyond our reach. Rashi here teaches us to just get started, to go ahead and bring the first ladder, and the next, and then the next – and let Hashem figure out the rest. One of the most fascinating Rabbis in Israel today is Rav Yitzchak Grossman. He grew up in the Meah Shearim neighborhood of Yerushalayim, and after Israel's astounding victory in 1967, during which the Israeli army captured Yerushalayim's Old City, he went to pray at the Kotel for the first time. He was a young yeshiva boy, and he was overcome by joy and excitement over the great gift Hashem had just given the Jewish People. He decided as he was there that he needed to give something back, to do something for Hashem in gratitude for this victory. He had the idea of opening a yeshiva in a place that needed it the most, an area plagued by poverty, crime, drugs and alcohol. He left Meah Shearim and went to a poor town in northern Israel called Migdal Ha'eimek. When he arrived, he was told that the local youth spend their evenings in the disco. So this young Rabbi, who grew up in what is probably the most sheltered religious Jewish neighborhood on earth, who never learned anything about outreach, went to the disco fully dressed in his Rabbinic garb. The only skill he had was his heart, his genuine desire to reach out and inspire Jewish youth. He would eventually be given the nickname "the Disco Rabbi," and some 40,000 students have learned in his yeshiva and emerged as Torah-committed adults. Rav Grossman at the time had no idea how he would do this. But he had a plan, and he brought the "ladders" to put the plan into action. Hashem did the rest, and made his project wildly successful. Whenever we feel that we can't, we need to remember that this would be true only if we were going at it alone – which we aren't. We are working together with Hashem, and He is helping us succeed. We need to just get started, and He'll then step in to make it work.

Parashat Vaera begins with Hashem's response to Moshe Rabbenu, who, in the final pesukim of last week's parashah , expressed his angst over the plight of Beneh Yisrael in Egypt. Hashem had sent him to Pharoah to demand that he allow Beneh Yisrael to leave, but Pharaoh not only refused, but made things much worse – ordering that Beneh Yisrael would now have to find their own straw for bricks, but produce the same number of bricks every day. Moshe cried to Hashem, and Hashem replied: וארא אל אברהם אל יצחק ואל יעקב בקל שד-י, ושמי ה' לא נודעתי להם. Hashem told Moshe that he had appeared to the avot (patriarchs) – Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaakov – with the Name קל שד-י , but not with the Name Havayah (the Name spelled yud , heh , vav and heh ). Most of the commentators explain that Havayah is the Name of Hashem that signifies His mercy and compassion, and this was not shown to the avot . Hashem made promises to each of the avot , assuring them that a great nation would emerge from them, which would reside in the Land of Israel. But none of the avot ever saw this happen; each of them died well before there was an Am Yisrael residing in Eretz Yisrael . Nevertheless, they did not question or challenge Hashem. They lived with firm belief that these promises would eventually be fulfilled. The secret to this faith can be found in a pasuk in last week's parashah , Parashat Shemot. When Hashem first appeared to Moshe in the burning bush, and commanded him to return to Egypt and inform Beneh Yisrael that they would soon be leaving, He told Moshe to convey to them that His Name was אהיה אשר אהיה – "I shall be that which I shall be" (3:14). What is the meaning if this Name – אהיה אשר אהיה ? The word אהיה is in the future tense. It means that whatever is happening now, things will be better in the future. This Name holds the secret of Jewish optimism. Hashem was telling Moshe that even in the darkest periods, the Jewish People must continue holding onto this belief – that things can and will turn around for the better. We have always lived with this spirit of hope and positivity, knowing that no matter what we're going through, Hashem is holding our hand and will get us through it. We don't break or give up. We hold our heads high, and handle whatever life throws our way with the confidence that a brighter future awaits. This is the secret to the faith of the avot . They did not see the fulfillment of Hashem's promises, but they believed with all their hearts that these promises would eventually be fulfilled. I saw this optimism on full display when I visited Israel in the midst of the war, several months after October 7 th . I visited, among other places, the ruins of Be'eri, the site of the Nova festival massacre, and the ward of Tel Hashomer hospital where wounded soldiers are treated – many of whom are missing limbs. Wherever I went, I was amazed by the spirit of the Israeli people, by their hope and optimism. Despite all they had gone through, they were smiling. I spoke with a wounded IDF soldier who had lost a leg and who told me with a big smile that he was so grateful to be alive, and that he wished he could return to battle to continue the fight. This is the meaning of אהיה אשר אהיה – the unwavering belief that no matter how bad things seem now, no matter what we're struggling with, Hashem is with us, and He will get us through this and turn things around for the better. Let us try to cling to this faith, to always believe in the future even when today is challenging, and to trust that Hashem is always holding our hand and helping us at every step along the way.

Hashem's first prophecy to Moshe Rabbenu occurred at the "burning bush." While tending to his father-in-law's flocks, Moshe came across an unusual sight – a bush that was on fire, but was not being consumed. He stepped toward the bush to get a closer look, and then Hashem spoke to him. He commanded Moshe, אל תקרב הלום – not to step any closer, and to take off his shoes, because the ground he was standing on was sacred. Hashem proceeded to instruct Moshe to return to Egypt and begin the process of leading Beneh Yisrael out of bondage. What is the significance of this vision – a burning bush – and why was Moshe told to remove his shoes? Moshe lived in Midyan, but was well aware of the suffering endured by his people back in Egypt. And in his mind, they had no hope of being saved. They were enslaved by the most powerful empire on earth, and they had no merits through which they could earn Hashem's salvation. During their years in Egypt, they became assimilated and even worshipped idols. How could they possibly be worthy of Hashem performing a miracle to rescue them from bondage? Moshe saw the burning bush, and realized that this was a symbol of Beneh Yisrael . They were "on fire," in grave crisis, but yet, they could not be "consumed," they could not be destroyed. No matter what their enemies try doing to them, they somehow survive. This is why Moshe was so surprised. He did not understand how this was possible. How could Beneh Yisrael miraculously survive the efforts made by powerful nations to destroy it, if they had no merits through which to earn Hashem's salvation? Hashem responded to Moshe's questions by saying אל תקרב הלום – "Don't come any closer." He was telling Moshe to stop thinking such thoughts, to stop asking such questions, to do an about-face, to change the way he thought about the people. He told Moshe to remove his "shoes" – meaning, to stop looking down on the people, to stop "stepping" on them, thinking that they were lowly and unworthy of being helped. Because in truth, המקום אשר אתה עומד עליו, אדמת-קודש הוא – "the place upon which you are standing, it is sacred ground." The people he was looking down on were, in fact, sacred people. They may have fallen to low spiritual levels, but they were full of kedushah , full of vast spiritual potential. They were, in fact, worthy of being saved, because they had the potential to rise to greatness. The first words we are to utter when we wake up in the morning are מודה אני לפניך מלך חי וקיים שהחזרת בי נשמתי – "I thank you, the living, eternal G-d, for Your having restored to me my soul." During the night, we experience a temporary "death," as our soul departs our body, and it is returned to us in the morning. To appreciate what this means, let us consider the analogy of someone who borrows his friend's car. When he returns it at the end of the day, there's a noticeable scratch on the side. Several days later, he needs to borrow it again, and the friend unhesitatingly agrees. At the end of the day, he brings it back – and there's an even larger scratch, on the other side. Nevertheless, when the fellow asks his friend to borrow the car again a couple of days later, the friend happily agrees. This time, he gets it back with a dent in the front fender. Two days later, the man asks to borrow the car again – and the friend agrees… No matter what the guy does to his friend's car, the friend continually lends it to him, over and over, without complaint, no matter how many dents and scratches the car has… The same is true of our souls. Hashem graciously "lends" us our soul each morning, and we return it with "scratches" and "dents." Invariably, we make mistakes during the day. We might not pray properly, we might forget to recite a berachah or birkat ha'mazon , we might say something hurtful to our spouse, child, or friend, we might turn down a request to help someone who needs us, or we might do something else wrong. When we turn in at night and return to Hashem the soul which he had entrusted to us, we give it back "damaged." And yet, Hashem returns it to us the next morning, and the next morning, and the next morning, and every single morning. Why does He do that? Why does He keep entrusting us with something that we keep "damaging"? The answer is found in the last two words of the brief מודה אני prayer that we recite right when we wake up: רבה אמונתך – "abundant is Your faith." Some explain this to mean that Hashem has great faith in us. He gives us back our souls because He believes in us. He knows that no matter what we did the day before, or the day before that, or the day before that, or at any point in the past, we have the capacity to attain greatness. He knows better than we do how much potential we have. He believes in our abilities, and so He gives us back our soul each morning. Our past mistakes don't say anything about how much potential we have. The very fact that we opened our eyes this morning and got out of bed means that Hashem believes that we can be great, regardless of what happened in the past. We need to believe this, too, and work each day to maximize our potential and pursue greatness.

We read in Parashat Vayehi the special berachot that Yaakov gave to his sons just before his passing. He addressed each son individually, and delivered a specific blessing that was appropriate for each one. After telling us of all the berachot , the Torah summarizes this event by stating, ויברך אותם, איש אשר כברכתו ברך אותם – "He blessed them; each one according to his [appropriate] blessing did he bless them" (49:28). The Or Ha'haim takes note of the last word in this pasuk – אותם . Rather than say, ברך אותו – that Yaakov blessed each son with the blessing that was appropriate for him , the Torah instead says that ברך אותם – Yaakov blessed them with the blessing that was appropriate for each of the sons. The Or Ha'hahim 's explanation of this nuance is exceedingly powerful, and so relevant to us. He writes that each son's blessing was a blessing for all the other sons, as well. When the tribe of Gad is blessed, this is a blessing for the entire Jewish Nation. When the tribe of Asher is blessed, this is a blessing for the entire Jewish Nation. And the same is true of every other tribe. When any of the tribes succeeds and prospers, the entire nation benefits. A blessing for one group is a blessing for all the others, because, at the end of the day, we are a single nation. This is so crucial for us to remember today, when Am Yisrael is fragmented into so many different groups and subgroups. We often make the terrible mistake of assigning labels and names to different groups of Jews, regarding them as lower and less significant. Each group within the Jewish Nation, understandably, sees itself as exceptional, and as the most correct group. There is nothing wrong with this kind of pride, but this does not mean that we can or should assign derogatory labels to other groups. We are all in this together. And in case we may have forgotten that we're all in this together, our enemies have given us a very stark reminder of this fact over the past year. Our adversaries really don't care about our different customs, different prayer texts, different positions on important religious issues, different levels of observance, different countries of origin, different modes of dress, or the many other differences between the various groups of Jews. They see us as all the same – and this is how we must see ourselves, as well. Instead of looking down on other groups, or dismissing them as inferior, we need be helping and looking out for them – with the understanding that one group's success is a win for our entire nation. This is true also within our community. Our community has numerous different groups and subgroups, all of whom must be committed to one another. Each group has what to contribute to all of us, and can be a blessing to all of us and to all Am Yisrael . Too often, shidduch suggestions are turned down because the young man or young woman is from "the wrong kind of family," which is "not like us." This is a terrible mistake. We all know people who come from difficult backgrounds but grew to become the most wonderful people. The labels we given to a group within our community, or to certain families in our community, are so damaging. The Gemara in Masechet Baba Metzia (58b) teaches that people who refer to someone by a nickname, even if the person is not embarrassed by that nickname, are sentenced to Gehinam , and never rise from there. The Maharsha explains that assigning someone a nickname is akin to מוציא שם רע – slander. When we label a person or a group, we are basically announcing to the world that the person or group is bad, and irredeemable. That person or group is then dismissed and rejected. And this should never happen. We need to stop labelling, and to start respecting. We need to remember that we're all in this together, that every group bring our nation great blessing, and we must therefore all help one another achieve and succeed – realizing that every group's achievement is our achievement, and their success is our success.

Parashat Vayigash tells of how Yaakov and his sons moved from Eretz Yisrael to Egypt. A terrible famine struck the region, and the only country which had food was Egypt, where Yosef was the ruler. After Yosef revealed himself to his brothers, who had come to Egypt to buy food, he told them to go back home and bring Yaakov and their families to live with him in Egypt, where he would support them. The Torah (46:28) tells that as Yaakov made his way to Egypt, he sent his son Yehuda ahead to "show the way before him." Rashi explains this to mean that Yehuda was sent ahead to establish a yeshiva in Egypt, so it would be ready for Yaakov and his family when they arrive. Others explain that this refers to basic needs like housing and the like. Regardless, we might ask why specifically Yehuda was chosen for this role. What was special about Yehuda that made him the right person for this job, instead of any of Yaakov's other sons? Rav Moshe Sternbuch explains that Yehuda possessed a certain quality that is essential in order to successfully build. And that quality is the willingness to sacrifice. We see this quality in several instances. For example, we read in last week's parashah , Parashat Miketz, that the brothers found themselves in a very difficult position when the ruler of Egypt – who they did not realize was actually Yosef – ordered them to return home and bring their youngest brother, Binyamin, to Egypt. Yaakov adamantly refused to allow Binyamin, his youngest and most beloved son, to go to Egypt, but the family had no food, and they could not go to Egypt to buy food without Binyamin. At that point, Yehuda stepped up and took personal responsibility for Binyamin. He told his father that if he would not bring Binyamin back to him, then "I will have sinned against you for all the days" (43:9). The Rabbis explained that Yehuda here declared that he would forfeit his entire share in the next world if he failed to bring Binyamin back safely to his father. This is how far Yehuda was willing to go in sacrificing for the sake of his family. In the beginning of our parashah , Yosef wanted to keep Binyamin in Egypt as his slave, but Yehuda stepped forward and begged Yosef to allow him to remain in Egypt forever as Yosef's slave in Binyamin's stead. Yehuda was prepared to spend the rest of his life as a slave in a foreign country so that his younger brother could return safely home to Yaakov. This is why specifically Yehuda was chosen to go ahead of the family as they made their way to Egypt. Building requires sacrifice. If a person wants to build anything, he needs to be willing to sacrifice, to let go of things he wants, for the sake of the goal that he is pursuing. This is especially true when it comes to building a relationship. The Gemara teaches in Masechet Bava Metzia (59a): איתתך גוצא גחין ותלחוש לה – "If your wife is short, then bend down and whisper to her." Clearly, the Gemara cannot simply be giving this simple piece of advice, to lean down when necessary to talk to one's wife. Rather, the Gemara is teaching us that in order to build a happy marriage, we need to be able to "bend," to yield, to give in, to go to the other spouse's place to understand him or her. A person cannot expect to have a great relationship without "bending," without sacrificing. Sacrificing is a great challenge in today's day and age. Growing up in our society, youngsters are not conditioned to sacrifice, to give of themselves, to "bend." But this is something we need to teach them and to model for them. Sacrifice is such a crucial quality. The ability to restrain ourselves, to tell ourselves "no," to give up something that we want, is indispensable for achievement. If a person wants to build a successful career or business, he needs to sacrifice. If a person wants to build a great marriage, he needs to sacrifice. If a person wants to be a great parent, he needs to sacrifice. The more we learn how to bend, to give of ourselves, the more we will achieve and succeed in everything we do.

Yosef's brothers arrived in Egypt to purchase grain, as they faced a harsh famine in the Land of Israel, leaving them and their families without food. They stood before the ruler of Egypt, the second-in-command to Pharaoh, not realizing that this was their brother, Yosef, whom they had sold to merchants as a slave many years earlier. Yosef proceeded to accuse them of coming to Egypt as spies, and demanded that they bring their youngest brother, Binyamin, to prove their claim, that they were brothers who had come to purchase grain for the family. The brothers, reflecting on this unexpected turmoil, recognized that they were being punished for what they had done to Yosef many years earlier: אבל אשמים אנחנו על אחינו, אשר ראינו צרת נפשו בהתחננו אלינו ולא שמענו. Alas, we are guilty in regard to our brother, that we saw his distress when he was pleading with us, but we did not listen . (42:21) Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch writes that the word אשמים stems from the word שממה – "desolation." When a person recognizes that he had made a terrible mistake, that he chose a course that was entirely wrong, he feels a devastating sense of emptiness within him. The letter א at the beginning of אשמים , Rav Hirsch explains, signifies אני – "I," such that אשמים means, "I caused myself desolation." When we regret something, when we realize that we've made a serious mistake that had terrible consequences, we often feel unrelenting pain over the fact that we brought about our own ruin. The brothers were certain that getting rid of Yosef was the right thing to do. At the time, it seemed clear to them that this was the necessary and just course of action. They saw him as a threat to the family. But now, as they faced a grave crisis in Egypt, they realized that they had been wrong. And so they cried, אשמים אנחנו , feeling devastated by the mistake they had made. The question becomes, how should we handle these devastating feelings? We all experience regret over the course of life. As we grow older, we come to realize that some of the decisions we had made in the past were wrong, or even very wrong, and, in some cases, ended up causing a lot of anguish either to ourselves or to others. How can we deal with the "empty" feeling that we experience when we think about mistakes which we've made that had terrible consequences? Perhaps the most important thing we need to understand in order to handle regret is that right now, at this point, no matter what we've done or didn't do, no matter what terrible mistakes we've made in the past, Hashem is with us. He hasn't given up on us. He is holding our hand and helping us to correct our past mistakes and make the very most of our current situation. Nobody exemplifies this more than Yosef. As Yosef languished in an Egyptian dungeon for thirteen years, we can easily imagine him asking himself, "If only I hadn't worn that special coat that my father made for me!" "If only I hadn't reported to my father about the bad things my brothers were doing!" "If only I hadn't told my brothers about my dreams!" "If only I hadn't gone to check on my brothers alone!" In hindsight, each of those things he did appear very foolish. And they led to his life being completely ruined. Yosef was in a dungeon, serving a life sentence without any possibility of parole, with – as far as he knew – absolutely nobody caring about him. But Yosef did not despair. He never forgot that Hashem was with him, even in the dungeon. Even at our lowest points, and even at our low points which we ourselves caused, Hashem is helping us. As long as we are still alive, Hashem can help us attain happiness and set our lives back on track. Yosef maintained his optimism and his faith in Hashem, and, sure enough, through the unlikeliest series of circumstances, he was brought out of the dungeon and made the second-in-command over Egypt. Whatever mistakes we've made, we shouldn't allow them to imprison us forever. We should not spend our lives saddled by a heavy burden of regret. We should instead trust in Hashem's unending love for us, and firmly believe that He is holding our hand and helping us get our lives back in the right direction.