Noah is one of three people in the Humash who are described as having "found favor" – מצא חן . The final pasuk of Parashat Bereshit says that Noah מצא חן בעיני ה' – "found favor in G-d's eyes." Later in the Book of Bereshit, we read that Yosef "found favor" in the eyes of his master, Potifar, for whom he worked as a slave ( וימצא יוסף חן בעיניו ). And in the Book of Shemot, Hashem tells Moshe Rabbenu that he "found favor" in His eyes ( כי מצאת חן בעיני ). Some commentaries added that, in fact, Yosef and Moshe are subtly mentioned in the beginning of Parashat Noah. The first pasuk of this parashah describes Noah with two adjectives – צדיק ("righteous") and תמים ("complete"). The word צדיק is associated with Yosef, who is often referred to as יוסף הצדיק , and the word תמים alludes to Moshe Rabbenu, who lived with perfect faith and devotion to Hashem. What is the connection between these three figures – Noah, Yosef and Moshe? The answer is that Yosef and Moshe together corrected Noah's mistake. Noah was, on the one hand, a great man, thanks to whom the world was literally saved, but at the same time, he was guilty of a serious flaw. This is indicated by a pasuk in Yeshayahu which refers to the flood as מי נח – "Noah's waters," suggesting that Noah was somehow to blame for the flood. The Zohar explains that Noah was informed long before the flood of Hashem's intention to destroy the earth – and he did nothing to stop it. He just heeded Hashem's command to build an ark for himself and his family. He had 120 years' notice – but he did not pray for his generation. He did not try to come to their defense, and plead to Hashem to spare them. And so he was, in a certain sense, responsible for the catastrophic flood. Yosef and Moshe exhibited the precise opposite quality. Yosef was betrayed by his brothers, who threw him into a pit to kill him, and then sold him as a slave to a foreign country. But Yosef did not seek revenge. His response was not to get back at them. Instead, he forgave them and even took care of them, providing them food during a severe famine. Yosef, the great צדיק , looked for the good instead of focusing on the bad. He continued loving his brothers despite what they did to him. This quality was continued by Moshe Rabbenu, who repeatedly prayed to Hashem's on behalf of Beneh Yisrael , even when they committed very serious sins. When Hashem decided to annihilate the nation after they worshipped the golden calf, Moshe did not just say "ok" like Noah did. Instead, he petitioned Hashem on their behalf, going so far as to demand that if Hashem destroys the people, he should be destroyed with them. He declared that if Hashem did not forgive the people, then מחני נא – he wanted to be "erased." The word מחני contains the same letters as the phrase מי נח – alluding to the fact that Moshe here corrected Noah's grave mistake. Instead of accepting Hashem's decree against the people of his time, Moshe interceded and prayed that they be saved. The difference between these two attitudes – that of Noah, and that of Yosef and Moshe – is the difference between judging and reserving judgment. Noah looked at the people of his generation, saw everything they did wrong, and decided they deserved to be punished. But Yosef and Moshe didn't rush to judge. Yosef's brothers, and Beneh Yisrael in Moshe's time, acted wrongly, but Yosef and Moshe didn't right away condemn them. They understood that there's so much more than what meets the eye. There's so much going on beneath the surface. No one can ever understand what other people are going through, what kind of struggles they're dealing with, what kind of challenges they face, what kind of pressure they're under. So many things contribute to the way a person acts – and nobody knows any of it. So we cannot judge. And when we don't judge, we wish people well and pray for their wellbeing. We don't get angry and look down at them – we do just the opposite. We look at them the way Yosef looked at his brothers and the way Moshe looked at the people. We look at them kindly and lovingly, even though they did or do things wrong. I cannot tell you how many times it happened that a couple who seemed so happy together, who seemed to have such a wonderful marriage, ended up getting divorced, or turned out to be having a very hard time in marriage. None of us know what other couples are going through. None of us know what kind of struggles other parents are having with their kids. None of us know all the details of our fellow's background and upbringing that could have caused his wrong behaviors. In short, none of us know practically anything about other people, about why they do what they do. Everyone, without exception, is struggling with something that we know absolutely nothing about. So let's stop judging, and start loving. Let's learn from Noah's mistake, and follow the examples set by Yosef and Moshe. Let's give people the benefit of the doubt, try hard to see all the good they do instead of focusing on the bad, and show them lots of love, friendship, and support.

The Midrash tells us something fascinating about the snake that lured Adam and Havah to sin, encouraging Havah to eat fruit from the forbidden tree, after which she shared some of the fruit with Adam. This snake, the Midrash relates, was previously the greatest servant man ever had. It would go to distant lands, find beautiful gems, and bring them to Adam. Meaning, the same snake that enticed Adam and Havah to sin was also their greatest helper, who brought them precious diamonds! How do we explain these two sides of the snake – how on the one hand, it helped Adam and Havah, but on the other hand, it brought about their downfall? We might find the answer in another source that talks about snakes and diamonds. The Gemara, in Masechet Baba Batra (74b), tells the story of people traveling on a ship who saw a precious diamond surrounded by a snake. A diver brought the diamond onto the ship, but the snake then came to devour the entire ship. A bird flew down and bit the serpent's head. Then another snake came to devour the ship, but it, too, was killed. This repeated itself several times. The Malbim explains the symbolism of this story. We are created as "diamonds." We are created with a soul that is pure and pristine, with which we are to live a pure and pristine life. The problem is the "snake" that comes and ruins everything, by attacking our pure minds. And each time we manage to defeat the "snake," it comes again, and again. This "snake" is our imagination. As the Midrash tells us, the imagination is our most valuable asset, which brings us precious "gems." Nothing was ever built, created or innovated without imagination. Our imagination is what enables us to see what can be made, to see what we can become, to see what we can create, which is the first critical step toward achievement. Because of our imagination, we have dreams and ambitions that propel us forward and drive us to work and accomplish great things. But like the snake, our imagination can also bring about our downfall. Here's a simple example. We hear about a friend's son or daughter who is about to get engaged, and we feel overjoyed for that friend. But days and weeks go by, and we don't receive an invitation. Our imagination starts running wild. We start thinking that this friend is upset because of this or that, or just plain forgot about us, even though we made a point of inviting that friend to all our events. This invitation that doesn't arrive becomes like a serpent, a monster in our minds, that devours us and takes all the "diamonds," all our purity and goodness. We are consumed by resentment and hostility – all because of our imagination – for in truth, that young man or woman did not get engaged… The entire field of advertising is based on this realization of how the human imagination works. Colorful billboards put images in our minds that fester. We see a model wearing certain clothes – and we think of ourselves looking just as good. We see an advertisement for a blissful vacation spot – and we imagine ourselves experiencing that bliss. We see an advertisement for a car – and we imagine ourselves driving that car while our neighbors look on with envy. This is how the snake succeeded in luring Adam and Havah. It made them imagine unbridled bliss that they would experience if they ate the forbidden fruit. Most human vices work the same way. We are tempted not by the thing itself, but by our imagination, which deceives us into thinking that we will experience unparalleled joy and contentment if we do whatever it is we feel tempted to do. Our imagination can bring us precious diamonds – helping us rise to great heights and accomplish amazing things, but it can also ruin us by fooling us into looking for joy and satisfaction in the wrong places. The story of Adam and Havah teaches us that we need to keep our "snake" in check. Our imagination is both our best friend and our worst enemy. We must use it wisely – to dream, to aspire, to set bold and ambitious goals, to strive for greatness, but not to feel jealous, angry, embittered, or greedy. Let's imagine ourselves doing great things and becoming great – and then focus our attention on getting there.

Sukkot is called זמן שמחתנו – "the time of our joy," and indeed, the dominant theme of this holiday is simchah – joy. In the times of the Bet Ha'mikdash , a festive celebration called the שמחת בית השואבה was held each night of Sukkot in the courtyard of the Bet Ha'mikdash with music and dancing. Today, שמחה בית השואבה celebrations are held in many communities during Sukkot to commemorate the festivities in the Bet Ha'mikdash . There is a certain irony in the fact that specifically on this זמן שמחתנו , we are commanded to leave our comfortable homes and reside in a sukkah . The sukkah is a crude, temporary structure, and it is often cramped, chilly, and at times damp. How are these uncomfortable living quarters conducive to the experience of simchah ? The answer might be that this is precisely the point – to teach us that simchah does not depend on perfect circumstances. If we cannot experience joy under less-than-ideal conditions, then we will never experience simchah , because life is hardly ever ideal. And so specifically on זמן שמחתנו , on the holiday of the greatest joy, we leave our homes and reside in the sukkah . In the first pasuk of Tehillim, King David warns us about מושב ליצים – "the company of scoffers." The ליצים – scoffers – are exceedingly dangerous. They can destroy everything, and they can do it very quickly. These are the people who sit around the Shabbat table criticizing, mocking and ridiculing. It's usually the Rabbi, or the entire shul, or the school... They find fault in something, and then paint the whole thing as bad, igniting a flame of negativity that can spread like wildfire. ליצנות – mockery – is so destructive, and it is oh so easy. If I wanted to, I could in a split-second ruin the reputation of any rabbi, lay leader or institution in our community – including myself. I could find more than a couple of mistakes I made and then start talking about them to people to make myself look bad. And I could do this about anyone and anything. No person is perfect, and no institution is perfect. There is always what to complain about – and so many people love complaining, focusing on the flaws and making something or someone good look very bad. The scoffers appear to enjoy doing this, but, as the Sukkot celebration teaches us, joy is achieved by doing just the opposite. If we always focus on what's imperfect, we will be very unhappy. A happy life is a life when we can enjoy the sukkah , when we feel content and happy even with things that aren't perfect. A well-known story is told about a man who approached his Rabbi in anguish, asking him to speak to his son, who was going to marry a non-Jewish girl. Nothing the father said could convince the boy to change his mind, so he wanted the Rabbi to try. After meeting with the young man for an hour, the Rabbi soberly reported to the father that there was nothing he could do. "Sorry, but you made me useless," the Rabbi said. "You would sit around the table every Shabbat complaining about me, making fun of my speeches and the way I ran the shul. Your son has no respect for me." This is what negativity does. When we always focus on what's wrong, instead of appreciating and praising what's right, we make everything look miserable – and our children, understandably, are not going to want to have any part of it. Sukkot teaches us to find joy and satisfaction even in the imperfect, to direct our attention to all that is good about life and about the people around us, so we can live with genuine happiness under all circumstances, and thereby spread joy instead of negativity.

I once witnessed the following scene in a busy shul in Brookyln with lots of minyanim . A young man approached someone to ask for tzedakah , explaining that he was getting married and needed help. The man handed him his credit card and told him to charge $52. Just then, someone else passed by, and this fellow asked him if he could help. The guy pulled out a $1 bill and handed it to him. He said, "Thank you." He then turned to the first fellow, who had given him his card, and said, "Look, I need a pair of nice shoes for the wedding. Maybe you can give a little more?" At first I was astonished. That second guy gave him $1 and got a "thank you," but the first, who offered him $52, got a request for more. How could that be? Very quickly, though, I understood why this happened. The "$1 guy" isn't going to do much more, but the "$52 guy" is capable of more. Someone who gave just one dollar cannot be expected to give anything beyond that, but someone who is able and willing to give $52 is likely to be able and willing to give even more than that. Sure enough, the first guy told the fellow to charge the card for an additional $50. I believe this is the mistake that so many of us make – especially this time of year – which hinders our growth, which stops us from becoming better. We all see ourselves as pretty good people, or even very good people – and we are right. We are good people. The problem is that although we give $52, we want to be left alone like the guy who gave $1. Specifically because we feel good about who we are – as we certainly should!!! – we feel that it's enough, that we don't need to try any harder. I imagine that if I had accomplished by the age of 20 all that Rav Ovadia Yosef zt"l accomplished by that age, I would feel pretty content. He was already an outstanding scholar who had mastered pretty much all of Torah. But he was not content. Not at all. He went on to not only write dozens of important books of halachah and answer untold numbers of halachic questions, but to devote himself tirelessly to the Jewish People, uplifting the entirety of Sephardic Jewry. He didn't think what he accomplished was enough – because he knew how much more he could do, and he was prepared to work as hard as was necessary to do it. The story is told of a man who bought his son an antique car for his college graduation. He told him to go find out how much the car was worth. The son came back and told his father that he brought the car to a dealership, and they said that it could hardly drive. It was worth at most $500. "Bring it to a pawn shop," the father instructed. The boy came back and reported that the guy at the pawn shop said it might be worth as much as $1000. The father then told his son to bring the car to a classic car club. The owners of the club were so excited by the car. They offered the young man $100,000 for it. "This is the lesson I want you to learn," the father said. "Some people will see how much value you have, other people won't. Always know just how valuable you are." Our problem is that we don't know our value. We see ourselves as $52 people, and so this is all we give. We need to understand that we have so much more to give, so much more to contribute, and so much more to achieve. We were not brought to this world to be just ok. We were brought here to be everything we are capable of being. There is also a second obstacle that stops many of us from growing. In the Book of Devarim (10:12), Moshe turns to the people and says to them, ועתה ישראל מה ה' אלוקיך שואל מעמך, כי אם ליראה את ה' אלוקיך – "And now, Israel, what does Hashem your G-d ask of you, other than that you fear Hashem your G-d…" The Midrash teaches that the word ועתה is a reference to teshuvah , repentance. This means that the key to teshuvah is ועתה – "now," a sense of urgency, the decision to change right now, without delaying any more. Even when we realize that we can and should do better, we often delay change. We figure we'll work on it tomorrow, or next week, or next year, or after this happens or that happens. The key to change is to get started now. Even if it's just one small step – we cannot wait. ועתה . We need to start today, right now, with everything going on, with all the issues we're struggling with – because right now, today, is the time to start. As we head into Rosh Hashanah, let's not wait. Let's challenge ourselves right now to be more than we are, to be everything that we can be – because this, and nothing less, is what we need to be.

The "highlight," so-to-speak, of the Rosh Hashanah prayers is the sounding of the shofar. In all, 100 sounds are blown over the course of the prayer service on Rosh Hashanah. What is the meaning and significance of this mitzvah , and what should we be thinking and feeling when we hear the shofar sound? To introduce the answer, let's consider an analogy to a very common situation: a mother comes home and sees a big mess in the house. She turns to her kids and asks them to spend a few minutes straightening up. She goes upstairs to change. When she comes back down, she sees the exact same mess, and the kids sitting in the exact same places where they were beforehand. They completely ignored her request, as though she did not even exist. This simple scenario helps us understand the concept of teshuvah , repentance, which is what the shofar blowing is all about. Whenever we sin, whenever we do something wrong, we are, in effect, ignoring Hashem. We're acting as though Hashem is not here with us, as though He is not part of our lives. After all, if we made Him part of our lives, if we were aware of His presence, then we would never have dared to do something He told us not to do. So each time we commit a sin, we are pushing Hashem out of our lives a little more. Teshuvah is the desire to bring Hashem back into our lives. It is a fierce, desperate longing to restore that relationship, the feeling that we cannot live without Him, that we need Him with us. This explains the Gemara's famous teaching that when a person performs teshuvah sincerely, his sins are not just erased, but transformed into merits. This is astonishing – our sins can become mitzvot if we perform teshuvah properly. We actually receive reward for the sins! How does this work? The answer is that when we perform teshuvah , the distance created by the sin makes us long for closeness with Hashem even more. We feel disconnected from Him, and this makes our yearning much stronger. It thus turns out that the sin led to a strengthening of the person's bond with Hashem, and so it is transformed into a mitzvah . The sound of the shofar has no words. It is a cry from the innermost depths of our souls. We are crying out for closeness with Hashem. We are yearning for a stronger relationship. When we hear the shofar sound, we should be thinking about how much we want and need Hashem in our lives, and how much we regret driving Him out of our lives through our mistaken behavior. This isn't about being sad; it's about longing and yearning, a desperate feeling of needing someone whom we had pushed away. If we can experience this longing on Rosh Hashanah, then we will transform our misdeeds into great sources of merit, and, no less importantly, we will put ourselves in a position to make this coming year much better than the previous year, a year when we avoid many of the mistakes we've made in the past, and when we truly live with Hashem each and every day.

A member of the Jewish community in Minneapolis once brought me to give a speech in that community, and the man who picked me up at the airport was none other than the owner of the Mall of America, the largest mall in the United States, who is a wonderful Torah Jew. In the car, he told me a beautiful story. His wife had made a trip to Israel around Thanksgiving time, leaving him with the children. On Thanksgiving, all the kids had school except the youngest, who was getting restless at home, so the father brought her to the mall. They sat at the kosher eatery at the mall, and ate some fries. There they met a religious family from Los Angeles that was attending some event in the middle of the country. The father worked as a Rabbi in a school. They could not afford to fly, so the family decided to turn it into a road trip. They stopped off at the mall to eat. After speaking with the family for some time, the mall's owner asked the children if they wanted free passes for some of the rides at the mall. They of course emphatically said yes. He went downstairs and, as the owner, easily obtained several passes. He came back to where the family was waiting, and he placed the passes in the mother's hand. She looked at him in disbelief. She explained that during the whole trip, the children were complaining that they wouldn't be able to afford the amazing rides at the mall. "I learn from a book about bitahon [faith in Hashem] every day," she said, "and I told my kids that if Hashem decided that they should go on the rides, He can put the passes in my hand at any minute. And that's just what happened." The owner of the mall told me how at that moment, he genuinely felt how he was just a puppet in Hashem's show, just a pawn in His plan to help this beautiful family. He realized that he's not the owner of the country's largest mall, he's not a high-flying executive – he's just Hashem's agent, His messenger through which His will is carried out. Nothing more. This is an important message for us to internalize as we prepare for Rosh Hashanah. What we want on Rosh Hashanah is to arouse Hashem's compassion, that He judges us with mercy, and not on the strict level of the law. This means that we want Him to judge us not according to our actions, based on what we've actually done, but based on who we really are, who we try and aspire to be. A cop once ticketed for me for speeding. What mattered to him was only that I was driving above the speed limit. It didn't matter that I had flown back to the city that morning, was then driving home after delivering an inspiring speech, and was on the phone dealing with important community matters. We want Hashem to treat us differently, to take into account the bigger picture, how we are inherently good and want to do the right thing, even though the results aren't always what they should be. And the way we arouse Hashem's compassion is by seeing ourselves the way this mall owner saw himself – humbly, as dependent entirely on Hashem. If we take the credit for our achievements, then we will be held responsible for our failures. If we pride ourselves for the good results, then we are accountable for the bad results. But if we focus not on the end results, but on our intentions, recognizing that we make our effort and then Hashem brings the outcome, then we will be forgiven for the times when the outcome wasn't right. If we want Hashem to see the broader picture, who we really are, then we need to look at the broader picture – how Hashem controls everything – and at who we really are – just frail human beings who depend on Hashem for everything. May we all be worthy of Hashem's mercy and compassion, and be blessed with a wonderful year of joy, health and prosperity, amen .

Parashat Ki-Tetzeh presents the law regarding a בן סורר ומורה – "wayward child." This is a 13-year-old boy who not only disobeys his parents, but goes far beyond that – stealing their money to buy meat and wine to indulge in. The Torah writes that the parents should bring this child to the court, and he should be put to death. The consensus view among the Rabbis of the Talmud is that there has never been a youngster who met the criteria of a בן סורר ומורה , and there never will be. This not a halacha that will ever be practically observed. But the Torah issued this command for the purpose of דרוש וקבל שכר – so that we learn and apply the lessons that are relevant to our lives, and we will then be worthy of reward. Let us examine one of the critical lessons about education that we learn from the law of the בן סורר ומורה . The Gemara (Sanhedrin 72a) explains that the Torah commanded putting this child to death because it knows what this child would otherwise become. After he steals all his parents' money, he will be so desperate to continue his endless indulgence in meat and wine that he will go out to the roads and attack people, killing them and taking their money. The Torah determined that it is preferable for this child to be put to death rather than allow him to grow to become a violent criminal. The commentators raise the question of how to reconcile the Gemara's comment with the famous teaching that a person is judged באשר הוא שם , based on his current condition, irrespective of what he might become in the future. This is inferred from the story of Yishmael, whose sincere prayers were heeded when he was dying of thirst, and whom Hashem thus saved even though his descendants would inflict great harm on the Jewish Nation. How, then, can the בן סורר ומורה be punished because of what he is going to be? What happened to the rule that all people are judged strictly based on the present? The Rabbis of the Mussar movement answer that there is an obvious difference between Yishmael and the case of the בן סורר ומורה . When Yishmael prayed, he was sincere, genuine and pure. His state at that moment had no connection to the cruel, barbaric crimes that his descendants would commit generations later. The בן סורר ומורה , however, is on a downward spiral, he is clearly heading in the direction of violent crime, and so he needs to be stopped. I taught in high school for many years, and, sadly, I saw so many instances where a child was on the wrong trajectory, when all the signs were there, but by the time the parents noticed, it was too late. So often, when a great kid from a great family learning in a great school grows up and disappoints, the seeds were visible already earlier, much earlier, but nothing was done about it. It's not that the parents were bad parents. They were loving, caring, hard-working, devoted parents who raised a beautiful, happy family – but they didn't notice the early warning signs that the child was headed in the wrong direction. Parents are busy – busy with other children, busy with earning a living, busy with their friends and extended family, busy with communal events, and so on. These are all wonderful things. But the highest priority must always be our children. We need to be focused, attentive, attuned, and involved. We cannot leave the child's education solely to the school. In two weeks, we will read a pasuk in Parashat Nitzavim in which Moshe tells the people never to think that they need to "rise to the heavens" to observe the Torah. He says that they should never say, מי יעלה לנו השמימה – "Who will bring us up to the heavens?" (Devarim 30:12). Rav Yerucham Olshin, head of the Lakewood Yeshiva, pointed out that the first letters of these words spell the word מילה (circumcision). Moshe here is alluding to us that from the time of an infant's first mitzvah – the berit – the parents have the responsibility to bring him to the heavens, to help him soar. The parents' job isn't to just send their kid to school. They need to believe in their children's potential for greatness, in their ability to reach the stars, and help them get there. I mentioned earlier that I've seen many instances of problems that arose when it was too late. But I've also seen so many opposite examples – where a student who struggled in school ended up reaching the stars, achieving great things. With the parents' involvement, support and encouragement, all children can succeed. It is within our power as parents to recognize the signs, to nurture, and to believe. When we do, we give our children the chance to soar higher than we ever dreamed.

As we begin the month of Elul – the month when we are to introspect and make an effort to grow and improve – it is worth paying close attention to a pasuk which we say each morning as part of our tefillah . In the chapter of מזמור לתודה (Tehillim 100), we make the following mysterious pronouncement: דעו כי ה' הוא האלוקים, הוא עשנו ולא אנחנו . Literally, this means, "Know that Hashem – he is G-d; He has made us, and not us." What do we mean when we say that Hashem made us "but not us"? What didn't we do? Do we not realize that He created us and we didn't create ourselves? The answer is that Hashem, in a sense, finished His work of "making" us, but we haven't. We still have work to do. Hashem created us with a body and with strengths and talents – but the rest is up to us. So הוא עשנו – He is finished "making us." However, לא אנחנו – we are not finished making ourselves. As long as we are alive, as long as our heart is beating and we can breathe, we have work to do. We are never a finished product. It doesn't matter how old we are, how much we've accomplished, or how much we've tried to accomplish but have failed. We have work to do. We can still grow, and we need to grow. Many years ago, an outstanding Rabbi named Rav Nosson Wachtfogel spent a Shabbat in Deal. He was the esteemed mashgiah ruhani (spiritual advisor) of the Lakewood Yeshiva, a key figure in the yeshiva's development from a small outpost of Torah to the enormous empire that it has since become. He came to Deal in order to raise money for a new project – to start small kollels in various communities throughout the United States. My father was very inspired by this visit. Rav Wachtfogel was close to 90 years old at that time. He was already remarkably accomplished, having taught and touched the lives of thousands of students, and having played a key role in the building of Torah in America. At that age, with so many accomplishments on his record, he could have easily said, "I did enough." But here he was, an elderly man, working hard to start yet another important project. My father was inspired by this – because he was the same way. He was always working, always striving, always reaching higher, always trying to do more. Even when he was ill, and it was clear that he did not have much time left, he was starting new writing projects. His hunger for achievement was insatiable. This is what ולא אנחנו means. As long as we're still here, we're not done. We have much more to do. Interestingly, the word ולא this pasuk has two different spellings (called the קרי and the כתיב ). It is spelled ולא , but alternatively ולו . According to this alternative spelling, the phrase ולו אנחנו means "we are His," we belong to Hashem. These two spellings are very closely connected. When we live with an awareness of ולא אנחנו , that we are not complete, that we have much more to accomplish, then we become לו , connected to Hashem. We build and strengthen this bond by constantly striving to be better. In business, executives look to hire employees who are "hungry" for success, who are driven and motivated to achieve. In professional sports, too – teams want "hungry" players, who will do anything to win a championship year after year. Elul is a time for "hunger," to rekindle our passion for greatness. This is the time to wake ourselves out of complacency, to realize that we can and must be better. And when we come before Hashem on Rosh Hashanah with this "hunger," setting our sights on greatness, He will warmly accept our tefillot and give us the help we need to grow.

The first pasuk of Parashat Re'eh teaches us how to look at each day of our lives: ראה אנוכי נותן לפניכם היום ברכה וקללה. See that I am placing before you today a blessing and a curse. The Torah here urges us to see every day as an opportunity, as a path to either ברכה , blessing, or the opposite, Heaven forbid. Whatever situation we find ourselves in at any time, no matter how happy or difficult, is an opportunity, and it is up to us to seize this opportunity to grow, to draw closer to Hashem, and to make the most of the limited time we have been given here in this world. It is worth noting the particular significance of the word לפניהם – "before you" – in this pasuk . This word draws our focus onto what's in front of us, onto the future, onto the possibilities that are before us right now, at every moment. Too many people give up on themselves, figuring, "This is who I am"; "This is my life, there's nothing I can do about it at this point"; "This is the way I do things, and I'm not going to start changing now"; "I tried so many times already, I give up"; or "It's too late now." The Torah here is telling is that this is not true at all. As long as we are alive, every day that we wake up in the morning, we have a choice lying there in front of us, the opportunity to turn the future into a wonderful ברכה . It's never too late to change, to turn our lives around, to experience the ultimate ברכה of a happy, fulfilling life. I once saw the following saying: "It's never too late to become the person you could have been." We are all carrying around lots of baggage. We all live with regrets of one kind or another. We all wish we hadn't done this and had instead done that. We all carry around the angst of missed opportunities. And we all occasionally hear in our head that nagging voice of "What if" we had done things differently. The Torah's response to this voice is ראה אנוכי נותן לפניכם היום . Even today, we have a whole life before us. We have control over our future. We can still become the people we could have been. We begin each day by declaring מודה אני , by thanking Hashem for giving us another day – another day full of opportunities for greatness, for achievement, for meaningful contributions to the world. When we recite מודה אני , we are, essentially, saying, "It's not too late. The past doesn't matter. What happened or didn't happen yesterday doesn't have to stifle me today. My baggage does not have to weigh me down. There is still so much I can do, and so much that I can become." Let us never give up on ourselves, and instead always fully believe in the vast potential that lies before us.

Parashat Ekev begins by promising great reward for observing the mitzvot : והיה עקב תשמעון את המשפטים האלה...ושמר ה' אלוקיך לך את הברית ואת החסד אשר נשבע לאבותיך. It shall be that as a result of your heeding these laws…Hashem will keep for You the covenant and the kindness and He promised to your forefathers. Rashi's comment on this pasuk is among the most famous passages in his entire Torah commentary. He writes that the Torah uses here the word עקב (" ekev ") as an allusion to the akev – heel. Meaning, the Torah here speaks of those who observe מצוות שאדם דש בעקביו – the mitzvot which people tend to "tread on with their feet." There is special reward promised for those who ensure to observe these particular mitzvot . The common understanding of Rashi's comments is that he refers to mitzvot which, for whatever reason, are commonly neglected, that people often disregard entirely, or perform them casually, mindlessly, as though "trampling" them with their feet. We are urged to pay special attention specifically to the mitzvot that people generally tend to neglect. But there is also another explanation of Rashi's comment. There are three ways to perform mitzvot – with the head, with the heart, and with the "feet." Performing mitzvot with the head means that one fully understands the importance of serving Hashem and obeying His commands, and he lives with a clear perception of his goal and purpose in the world. This is, of course, a very high level, which not many people achieve. The second way is to serve with one's heart, with the emotions, because he feels inspired and driven. The problem with this approach is that our emotions are inconsistent and unpredictable. Sometimes we feel inspired and excited about mitzvot , but at other times we feel down and dispirited, and we lack the ambition and enthusiasm that we should ideally feel toward the mitzvot . The third way is to perform mitzvot out of habit, as our daily routine, like getting up and walking. The ideal, of course, is to fully understand that the purpose of life is to serve Hashem, and to always be filled with love and devotion to Hashem. Realistically, though, we cannot always expect this to happen. And so the Torah assures us that even if we serve Hashem with our "feet," as naturally as we walk, because this is what we're used to doing and what we've accustomed ourselves to doing – this has great value. Even for this we will be rewarded. What's true in our relationship with Hashem is true also in people's relationships with one another. In an ideal world, people would always speak to one another with their "mind" and with their 'heart," thinking very carefully about when to speak, what to say, and how to say it. In reality, though, people often speak with their "feet," without thinking carefully enough about whether, what, and how they should speak. For many different reasons, people often say things they shouldn't. It could be fatigue, it could be stress, it could be anxiety, it could be simply that they just have lots on their mind so they're not thinking carefully enough. The problem is that we take unwisely-spoken words too seriously, that we turn them into something much bigger than they really are. The thing so many people don't realize is that our minds – like our computers – have a "delete" button that just erases things that we don't want to keep. Words spoken from the "feet," without proper thought and consideration, should just be "deleted." When that parent, child, sibling, spouse, in-law, friend, or whoever says something they shouldn't have said, we don't have to respond . Actually, we don't even have to think about it . We can just press the "delete" button, and it's gone, forever. So-called "hurtful comments" only hurt if we allow them to. They hurt only if we keep them in our minds instead of just "deleting" them. Let's remember – if someone says something we don't like, it's not so terrible. They didn't really mean it. They're speaking from their "feet," mindlessly, without thinking. It's not a big deal unless we make the decision to make it a big deal. And the wise decision is to just "delete" it and move on.