Parashat Terumah begins with Hashem commanding that donations should be collected for the construction of the Mishkan . He tells Moshe, מאת כל איש אשר ידבנו לבו תקחו את תרומתי – the donations should be taken "from every person whose heart stirs him." Hashem wanted the donations to be received only from specific kinds of people – from those אשר ידבנו לבו , who were driven to donate by sincere motivations. Many centuries later, when the Bet Ha'mikdash was to be built, we find a similar emphasis on pristine sincerity. The pasuk (Divrei Hayamim I 22:8) says that Hashem did not allow David Ha'melech to build the Bet Ha'mikdash because he fought many wars, during which he killed many people. The Mikdash was built by his son, Shlomo, during whose reign there was peace, and who thus never fought any wars. The Malbim offers a fascinating explanation for why David's fighting wars disqualified him from building the Bet Ha'mikdash . He writes that David knew that the Bet Ha'mikdash could be built only in a time of peace, when no more wars would be fought. Therefore, if he would have built the Bet Ha'mikdash , he might have been motivated to do so by a desire to once and for all end the wars. He might have thought that the presence of the Bet Ha'mikdash would itself bring an end to the wars – and this would be part of the reason why he would want to build it. When Shlomo built the Bet Ha'mikdash , he had no agenda. His intentions were purely לשם שמיים , for Hashem's sake. If David would have built it, his motives would not have been entirely agenda-free. There would have been a tinge of self-interest involved. Whenever we embark on any significant project, the most important thing we need to help us succeed, to help us overcome the challenges that will invariably stand in our way, is לשם שמיים – sincerity, pure motivations, a genuine drive to do something valuable and meaningful for Hashem. So many people underperform and underachieve. All the accumulated baggage of the past – all their disappointments, failures and painful experiences – discourage them and hold them back. This baggage is deflating, so people don't proceed with the energy, determination, passion and conviction that they need to succeed. The key to solving this problem – which plagues so many people, and which prevents so many people from building and achieving – is לשם שמיים . A person starting a business should think about all the good he could do with a successful business – how he can help people, provide jobs, make a קידוש ה' through his interaction with different kinds of people, support his family, give tzedakah , and donate to religious institutions. A person who is looking for a marriage partner should be driven by a genuine desire to build a beautiful Torah home, a home of hesed , a home where children will be raised according to our Torah values. This is true of any ambitious project that a person wishes to start. The emotional fuel he needs to succeed is לשם שמיים – a passionate desire to do what Hashem brought him into the world to do, to accomplish what Hashem brought him into the world to accomplish, to contribute what Hashem brought him into the world to contribute. If we bring this feeling with us, then we become unstoppable, and no amount of baggage can hold us back from succeeding.

Parashat Mishpatim begins with the law of the עבד עברי . This refers to someone who, due to financial straits, resorted to theft, and was caught, but could not repay his victim. In order to obtain the money he needed, he would sell himself as a servant. After six years, his master was required to release him. If, however, the servant preferred staying with his master, he was allowed to do so, but only after the master pierced his ear as a sign of his servitude. Rashi explains that the servant's ear would be pierced as a punishment. His ear heard Hashem proclaim at Mount Sinai, עבדי הם – that the Jewish People are Hashem's servants, and not the servants of their fellow human beings. This servant was now betraying this pronouncement, and so his ear would be pierced. Many Rabbis addressed the question of why the servant's ear would be pierced only at that point, when he chose to remain with his master, and not right when he was caught stealing. After all, at Mount Sinai we heard the command of לא תגנוב , that it is forbidden to steal, and he violated this command. Why, then, was the ear pierced for transgressing עבדי הם but not for transgressing לא תגנוב ? The answer is that ear doesn't represent simply obedience and compliance. It symbolizes something deeper – the "listening" to understand and internalize what was being said. The עבד עברי understood that it is forbidden to steal. He stole out of desperation, not because he thought it was moral. But when he chose to remain in his master's service, he showed a lack of understanding of what עבדי הם means. The servant decided to remain with his master because he looked to his master as the one responsible for his rehabilitation, for his recovery, for his getting back on his feet – thus losing sight of Hashem. Of course, he owed a debt of gratitude to his master who took him in, treated him well, and helped him regain his footing. But he made the mistake of feeling dependent entirely on the master, feeling that he needed to continue this arrangement and couldn't live without it. He forgot that עבדי הם , that even the master was just a human, a servant of Hashem, that Hashem controls everything, that we are dependent on Him and on nobody else. This is a mistake that we must ensure to avoid. We must not become fully dependent on any human being, to the point where we feel we cannot manage without that person. Not on an employer, not on a client, not on a customer, not on a friend, and not even on a Rabbi. Perhaps most of all, we must not feel fully dependent on any political figure. Every human being is just a human being, and thus is, by definition, limited and flawed. Only Hashem is perfect, and only Hashem has complete power and control. And just as we cannot place our trust in any other human being, neither can we feel fully confident in ourselves and our own abilities. Toward the end of our parashah , we read of our ancestors' famous proclamation at Mount Sinai, נעשה ונשמע – "We will do and we will hear." This might mean that they committed to hearing the "sound" that goes forth from Mount Sinai to this very day. The Torah (Devarim 5:18) says about the sound of Matan Torah , קול גדול ולא יסף – it was a great sound that never ended. Rashi explains that since the day the Torah was given, Hashem is calling to us from Mount Sinai, as it were, continuing to command us to observe the Torah. נעשה ונשמע might be understood to mean that even when נעשה , when we are acting and doing, as we go about our affairs, נשמע – we will continue to hear the sound of Sinai, we will be aware of the message of Matan Torah , that everything depends on Hashem and not on our own efforts. The עבד עברי failed to hear this sound, and so he pinned all his hopes for his future and his success on his master. We must ensure never to make this mistake, to always hear this sound, and never place too must trust in any human being, including ourselves.

Parashat Yitro begins by telling us that Yitro, Moshe's father-in-law, came to join Beneh Yisrael at Mount Sinai. Yitro converted and became a full-fledged Jew. Rashi makes a famous comment explaining what drove Yitro to make this decision to join Beneh Yisrael . He writes that Yitro heard about two events – keri'at Yam Suf (the splitting of the sea) and the war against Amalek. What is it about these particular events that inspired Yitro? After the miracle of the sea, the people sang the שירת הים , the song of praise to Hashem that we include in our morning prayers each day. This song includes a description of how the entire world heard about the miracle and was overcome by fear of Beneh Yisrael . שמעו עמים ירגזון – all the nations heard and were frightened. Yitro was struck by the fact that just several weeks later, Amalek came along and launched an attack on Beneh Yisrael , the nation that they were terrified of. Amalek's attack showed Yitro how quickly people can change, how people can be so inspired and motivated to do the right thing, and then just a few weeks later do just the opposite. This led Yitro to decide to join Beneh Yisrael so he would be together with good people whose influence would keep him on the right path. The Gemara in Masechet Zevahim brings a second opinion as to what led Yitro to join Beneh Yisrael . This opinion says that Yitro came to Mount Sinai after Matan Torah , as it was this event – Hashem giving Beneh Yisrael the Torah – that inspired him. According to this opinion, Yitro was struck by the opposite phenomenon – by how people can grow so quickly. When Beneh Yisrael were slaves in Egypt, they had fallen to the lowest spiritual depths. And then, just seven weeks later, they were at the level where they could behold Hashem's revelation and receive the Torah. Yitro wanted to be part of a people that could undergo this kind of process of spiritual growth. Both opinions are rooted in reality – people have the capacity to change quickly and drastically, in both directions. Never has this been as true as in today's day and age. Technology exposes people to the worst and the best that humanity has to offer. A person can be pulled down to the lowest depths by what he sees, reads and watches online. But he can also grow. I have heard many stories of people who became religiously observant after being inspired by Torah material accessed online. This reality accounts for the diversity that we see in our community, even within families. So many families today have members on drastically different levels of observance. This is because today, more than ever, it is so easy to change in every which direction. In one of the most famous passages in Rashi's commentary to the Humash, he observes that the Torah in our parashah speaks of Beneh Yisrael encamping at Mount Sinai in the singular form – ויחן שם ישראל (19:2). Instead of saying, "They encamped" ( ויחנו ), the Torah says, ויחן , as though speaking of one person. Rashi explains that the people came to Mount Sinai כאיש בלב אחד – "as one person, with one heart." In order to receive the Torah, they needed to be unified and together. The diversity in our community challenges us to find unity despite our differences. Nobody should feel the need to change who he is or how he lives for the sake of family members or other people in the community who are very different from him. At the same time, however, we must find a way to make it work, a way to be together כאיש אחד בלב אחד , to care for, love and respect others even though they are drastically different than us. Each of us is on a journey, and no two people's journeys are identical. When we realize this, we will find it easier to relate to and connect with people who are different – because we will see that we really aren't that different, as we're all on a journey of discovering who we want to be and determining how we want to live. Let us each commit firmly to adhere to our beliefs, values and principles, without compromising at all, while committing also to love and respect those who are different, so we become a strong, unified nation that is worthy of the Torah and of Hashem's ongoing presence.

Two of the fundamental tenets of Judaism are known by the terms emunah (faith, or belief) and bitahon (trust). Much has been written about the precise meanings of these two words, and the difference between them. For our purposes, it suffices to say that the story we read in the Torah over the last two weeks – the story of the ten plagues and Yetziat Mitzrayim – establishes the tenet of emunah , and the story told in this week's parashah – the splitting of the sea – establishes the tenet of bitahon . The miraculous plagues in Egypt showed Hashem's exclusive and unlimited control over the universe. It demonstrated that He governs the world without any constraints, without any other force being able to stop Him, and that He is constantly involved. This is emunah – the core belief in Hashem as the Creator who exerts unlimited control over the earth. At the sea, Beneh Yisrael were taught about bitahon – living with the trust that Hashem can solve problems that appear to have no solution. Emunah is the theoretical belief in Hashem's power, and bitahon is the practical application of that belief, remaining calm and composed during difficult situations, trusting that Hashem is handling it for us. Let us take a closer look at what happened at the shores of the Yam Suf to learn what living with bitahon means. When Beneh Yisrael saw the Egyptians chasing after them, and they realized that they were trapped against the sea, ויצעקו בני ישראל אל ה' – they cried out to Hashem (14:10). Rashi comments that this was the proper response, that Benei Yisrael were following the example of the avot (patriarchs), who likewise cried to Hashem during times of crisis. But then Moshe Rabbenu turned to them and said, ה' ילחם לכם ואתם תחרישון – that they should remain silent while Hashem handles this for them (14:14). After that, Hashem told Moshe to tell the people ויסעו – to move forward into the sea (14:15). This is the prescription for us during times of hardship. First, ויצעקו – we should cry out. It is ok to feel upset, to feel anxious, to feel frustrated, to feel pained. We are supposed to feel these emotions, and not to try to suppress them. And it's ok to cry – certainly to Hashem, but also to those whom we feel comfortable sharing our feelings with, or with a therapist if need be. At a certain point, however, תחרישון – we have to stop crying out, recognizing that ה' ילחם לכם – Hashem is handling this crisis for us, that we are in His hands. We need to stay calm and place our trust in Hashem. And then, most importantly, ויסעו – we need to move forward. No matter what we're dealing with, we can't just give up, wallowing in our bitterness and resentment. We need to go forward and do the best we can under the circumstances Hashem put us in. Three days after Beneh Yisrael crossed the sea, they arrived in a place where they found a water source, but they could not drink the water כי מרים הם – "because they were bitter," and so they called the place מרה – "bitter" (15:23). The Rebbe of Kotzk suggested a fascinating reading of this pasuk . He explained that it wasn't the waters that were bitter, but rather the people. When people are "bitter," when they are angry and resentful, they can never quench their thirst, they can never find satisfaction, because everything they "taste" is bitter. We are all going to experience things that make us upset and get us down. But bitterness never helped anyone. The only way we help ourselves when things happen is ויסעו – by moving forward with the faith that Hashem is handling the problem. We have to move on, doing the best we can, and trust that Hashem will do the rest.

We read in Parashat Bo of how Hashem told Moshe and Aharon the detailed laws of the korban pesach (Pesach sacrifice) which they were to teach Beneh Yisrael in preparation for Yetziat Mitzrayim . The people were to prepare a sheep for the sacrifice already several days before, and then sacrifice it on the 14th of Nissan, the afternoon before Hashem brought the plague of the firstborn which led to the people's departure from Egypt. The Torah concludes this section by saying: וילכו ויעשו בני ישראל כאשר ציווה ה' את משה ואהרון כן עשו – " Beneh Yisrael went ahead and did as G-d commanded Moshe and Aharon; so they did" (12:28). Rashi points out that the last two words of this pasuk – כן עשו ("so they did") – seem unnecessary. After telling us that the people did as they instructed, why did the Torah then repeat, "so they did"? Rashi writes that this refers to Moshe and Aharon. They, too, fulfilled Hashem's commands and prepared the sheep for the korban pesach . We must wonder, does this really answer the question? Would any of us have thought that Moshe and Aharon, who received these instructions from Hashem and conveyed them to the people, would not have obeyed them? Did this need to be said? The Brisker Rav explained that often, people who are involved in things excuse themselves from other things. When a person runs an organization or project, he thinks that this is enough to discharge his duties, and he does not have to do the "little things" that everyone else has to do. People involved in fundraising for a yeshiva, for example, might feel exempt from learning Torah, since they are doing very important work helping other people learn Torah. People who donate money to a synagogue, or who volunteer on one of the shul's committees, might feel that they don't have to actually show up to the tefillot on a regular basis, since they are making sure that other people can come to pray. This is why the Torah needed to emphasize כן עשו – that Moshe and Aharon prepared their own sheep for the korban pesach . They didn't exempt themselves, figuring that since they were responsible for getting the people to perform the mitzvah they did not need to perform it themselves. They understood that just like everyone else needed to prepare a sacrifice, so did they. Many adults find it difficult to feel inspired, to feel religiously motivated. When they were young, especially if they learned in yeshiva or seminary, it was relatively easy to get fired up, to be excited about Torah and to want to connect to Hashem. But when people get older and have families that they need to take care of and support, this becomes much more difficult. But we can't make excuses. We need to do the best we can at all stages of life. Even when we're doing very important things, such as raising a family and getting involved in all kinds of programs and projects, we can't forget about our own religious growth. Even when we're busy with other people, we have to be busy also with ourselves. Moshe and Aharon weren't too important to prepare their own korban pesach . None of us are too important to worry about our own mitzvah obligations and our relationship with Hashem.

Three times every weekday, we recite in the Amidah prayer the berachah of ראה נא בענינו . We begin by asking Hashem to "see our torment," and to "wage our battles" ( וריבה ריבנו ). We then conclude, מהר לגאלנו גאולה שלמה – to quickly bring us our final redemption. At first glance, it seems that this berachah is a prayer for our final redemption. This is also the implication of the Gemara (Megilah 17b), which explains that this is the seventh berachah of the Amidah prayer because the redemption will arrive with the onset of the seventh millennium after creation. Interestingly, however, Rashi understood this berachah differently. Commenting to this Gemara, Rashi writes that this berachah is actually a prayer to Hashem to "redeem" us from our day-to-day problems, from the hardships and challenges that we face in our lives. Rashi proves this approach by noting that there are other blessings in the Amidah in which we pray for the final redemption, and so this berachah cannot be a prayer for the final redemption. The question becomes how to reconcile Rashi's comments with the simple reading of the Gemara, which indicates that this berachah prays for the final redemption. And, the text of this berachah states explicitly מהר לגאלנו גאולה שלמה – praying for the ultimate redemption, and not just for the resolution of our day-to-day problems. To answer this question, let's go back to a well-known piece of trivia about New York City. The island of Manhattan, as we were all taught, was purchased from the Indians in 1626 for $24. Today, Manhattan is worth countless trillions of dollars. How did that happen? How did this land go in 400 years from being worth $24 to being worth many trillions? The answer is, very simply, one brick at a time. One piece of pavement at a time. One sidewalk at a time. One window at a time. One subway car at a time. Every small act of construction contributed to the city's growth. Day by day, hour by hour, one little bit of effort after another – this is how a $24 piece of land becomes worth trillions upon trillions of dollars. The same is true of redemption. We pray and yearn for the final redemption, but each small "redemption" that we experience brings us closer to that day. There is no contradiction at all between the Gemara's indication that ראה נא בענינו speaks of our final redemption, and Rashi's understanding that it refers to the solving of our everyday problems. These are one and the same. Redemption happens on a small scale every single day, with every problem we solve, every obstacle we overcome, every bit of success we achieve. Eventually, all these will combine to form the ultimate redemption for which we pray and yearn. Which brings us to our parashah , which tells about the unfolding of Yetziat Mitzrayim , the Exodus from Egypt. The Zohar teaches that the redemption from Egypt was not a one-time event. It was the beginning of a process of redemption – a process that is still continuing, even today. The process will be completed only at the time of our final redemption. We might say that Yetziat Mitzrayim was the $24 purchase, and ever since then, we've been building, one "brick" at a time, working towards our final redemption, when the world will reach its state of perfection. This is a very empowering message. It reminds us that every small accomplishment is significant, and contributes toward the world's ultimate redemption. We can either sit around and complain about all the problems in the world, or we can go ahead and make things better. And the way we make things better is by doing good things – one act at a time. Every tefillah . Every mitzvah . Every kind word. Every compliment and word of encouragement. Every favor we do for someone. Everything we do for one of our children or grandchildren. Everyone we positively influence is some way. A guy who laid a few bricks for a building in Manhattan 200 years ago might not have realized he was doing something significant – but he was part of the process of transforming a $24 piece of land into a multi-trillion-dollar piece of land. This is how we need to look at our mitzvot . Every small act is vitally important and extremely valuable. Let's stay focused and stay determined to use our time and our capabilities to build our redemption – one good deed at a time.

In Parashat Shemot, Hashem speaks to Moshe for the very first time. As we know, Moshe's initial prophecy takes place at a unique site – in a burning bush in the desert. Moshe saw that a bush was on fire, but it wasn't being consumed. And it was from there that Hashem spoke to him. His first words to Moshe were, "Take off your shoes." Hashem informed Moshe that the place where he was standing was אדמת קודש , sacred ground, and so he needed to remove his shoes. He then proceeded to command Moshe to return to Egypt and lead Beneh Yisrael out of bondage. What is this all about? What is the meaning of the burning bush? And why was it important for Moshe to remove his shoes to show deference to this "sacred ground"? For years, Moshe Rabbenu did not believe that there was any chance of Beneh Yisrael leaving Egypt. For two reasons. The more obvious reason is that they were enslaved and oppressed by the powerful Egyptian empire. They had no power at all. There seemed to be no hope at all of leaving. But secondly, Moshe did not think the people could ever be worthy of redemption. As we quote each year at the seder , the prophet Yehezkel (16:7) described how Beneh Yisrael in Egypt were ערום ועריה – "bare," bereft of merit. They were not performing mitzvot . They fought with one another. They were in spiritual decline. Moshe did not see how they could ever reach the point where they deserved to be brought out of Egypt. Hashem's initial prophecy to Moshe addressed both these mistaken assumptions. First, he showed Moshe that a bush on fire could survive. Even though Beneh Yisrael were "ablaze," subjected to oppression and persecution, they would still remain intact. They would never be "consumed," no matter how many times their enemies try to destroy them. Secondly, Hashem drew Moshe's attention to the אדמת קודש , the "sacred ground" on which Beneh Yisrael tread. They were the descendants of Avraham Yitzhak and Yaakov. They were bound to Hashem by an eternal covenant. Their capacity for kedushah cannot ever be lost. Moshe didn't see this potential for spiritual greatness, but Hashem did. And so Hashem assured Moshe that Beneh Yisrael were still sacred, even though they seemed "bare" without any merits and without any kedushah . Each morning, as soon as we open our eyes, we recite the famous prayer of מודה אני , thanking Hashem for restoring our souls. Every night when we go to bed, we entrust our soul to Hashem, and each morning, He returns it to us. He returns it to us despite the fact that, very often, we give it back to Him "damaged," tainted by our sins. If a fellow borrows his friend's car and returns it to him with a scratch – and then he borrows it again and returns it the next day with a huge dent – the friend is not likely to continue lending him the car. Yet, Hashem continues "lending" us soul every morning, without fail, no matter how many times we "dented" it, no matter how many mistakes we've made. We make many mistakes – but Hashem keeps giving us another day, then another, and another, and another. The reason is that, as the מודה אני prayer concludes, רבה אמונתך – Hashem has great faith. He has faith in us. He believes in us. He sees our potential for greatness, even if we don't. He restores our soul every morning because He knows how great we can be, how much we can achieve, how much we can contribute, how much we can give to the world. Sometimes we forget that we are standing on אדמת קודש , on sacred ground, at every moment of our lives. If we are alive, this means that Hashem believes in our potential for kedushah , for spiritual greatness. Having this awareness should change the way we live. It should change the way we see ourselves, and it should change the way we look at our day. No matter what is happening, and no matter what happened yesterday or the day before, we are standing on "sacred ground," we have the potential to do something great. If we didn't, then Hashem would not have restored our souls this morning. Hashem sees what we don't. He sees our potential. He sees our abilities. He sees the holiness inside us. He sees how much we can give. We should never doubt ourselves – because Hashem never doubts us, not for a moment, ever.

The Gemara (Eruvin 65b) teaches that a person's true nature can be determined בכוסו ובכיסו ובכעסו – "through his cup, his pocket, and his anger." This means that a person's essence comes to the fore when he drinks a little too much, or when he is tested – either in his "pocket," when he loses money, or when his angered. It is easy to be a nice, good-natured, kind person when things are going well. But when a person is challenged, when he is out of his element, when something goes wrong, when he encounters some unexpected bump in the road, when something in his life goes a little out-of-a-whack – we see who he really is. I recall once speaking on the phone with a wonderful, refined, and conscientiously-religious individual, while he was in the airport. He suddenly realized that something went wrong – if I recall correctly, he suddenly noticed that one of his documents was missing. He blurted out a word that should never be used – and that this man would never even imagine using under normal circumstances. When people are traveling, they out of their element. They're not comfortable. They're anxious, they're uptight, and so they're more vulnerable. This is true spiritually, as well. When we're home, we have our framework and routine. It is relatively easy to keep kosher, to properly observe Shabbat, and to attend minyan . Maintaining our religious standards is not complicated under normal conditions because our lives are – to our credit – set up that way. But when we travel, when we leave, when we're out of our element, we are tested. Out of our familiar environment, out of our routine – we are more vulnerable. This might explain Yaakov Avinu's timeless pronouncement in Parashat Vayehi about the way parents bless their children. He declared that forever more, parents will bless their children that they should be like Yosef's sons, Efrayim and Menashe – ישימך אלוקים כאפרים וכמנשה (48:20). Why? Efrayim and Menashe were born and raised "out of their element," in Egypt, in a foreign society, away from Eretz Yisrael and the rest of the family. The greatest wish we have for our children is that they should maintain their values and adhere to their faith and principles even in "Egypt," on the road, when they are tested, when circumstances thrust them out of their routine. And so parents bless their children that they should be like Efrayim and Menashe, who remained loyal to Hashem even in Egypt, in a foreign environment. How do we do this? What is our strategy to strictly maintaining our standards even when we travel, when we're out of our routine? The answer is taught to us by the person who embodied this ideal better than anyone – Yosef. As a teenager, Yosef was cruelly torn away from his family and his country, and brought to Egypt as a slave. Even while working as a slave, and even after being sent to prison due to a false accusation, he remained steadfastly devoted to Hashem and to his father's values. There is one word that the Torah says about Yosef which reveals to us the secret of how he did this. When Yosef was tempted by his master's wife, the Torah tells, וימאן – Yosef refused (39:8). A young man thrust far out of his element, Yosef was vulnerable – but there were things which were non-negotiable, that he would firmly refuse to do no matter how great the challenge was. And this is what we need to do when we're on the road – וימאן . We need to set our inviolable red lines. We have to draw very clear boundaries, and remind ourselves of what is absolutely non-negotiable, of which lines we are never crossing, not under any circumstances. We have to make the decision in our minds that there are things which we just refuse to do. וימאן . When we are out of our routine, out of our familiar framework, we have a precious opportunity to make a clear, resounding statement of who we are, where our loyalties lie. This is our chance to show our essence, to show that our commitment the rest of the time is not just a matter of habit or convenience, but a matter of conviction, the result of our firm belief in Hashem and our genuine desire to obey Him.

I have never met anyone who likes being told what to do, who likes when his behavior is critiqued and is told to change. Yet, this is something we all do to others. Spouses are often telling each other what they should and shouldn't do. And of course parents have the responsibility to educate their children so they can learn the right way to live. The problem becomes how we can expect the behavior to change if they – like us! – don't like to be corrected or criticized. If a child's instinct when hearing criticism is to defend himself or herself, then what should a parent do? Perhaps we can learn the answer from an example of effective communication found in the beginning of Parashat Vayigash. The parashah begins with Yehuda's famous plea to Yosef, the vizier of Egypt. Binyamin, the youngest of the brothers was framed as a thief, and when Yosef's royal goblet was found in his bag, Yosef ordered that he remain in Egypt as his slave, while the other brothers return home. Yehuda, however, had made a solemn promise to their father, Yaakov, that he would personally guarantee Binyamin's safe return home. And so Yehuda came before Yosef and made an impassioned speech, begging Yosef to allow him to remain in Binyamin's stead. In this speech, Yehuda reviewed all the events that led to the current crisis, recalling how he and his brothers came to purchase grain, how Yosef demanded that they bring their youngest brother, how their father at first refused, due to his fear that something might happen to Binyamin, and how Yehuda had personally assured Yaakov that he would bring Binyamin home. Finally, the Torah says, at the end of Yehuda's speech, Yosef could no longer control himself – לא יכול יוסף להתאפק – and he revealed his identity to his brothers. He then told them to go back and bring their father and their families to Egypt where he would support them during the harsh famine. What changed Yosef's heart? What was the "trigger" that led him to relent? The answer, it seems, is that he was affected mainly by Yehuda's final words: כי איך אעלה אבי והנער איננו אתי – "For how can I go back to my father if the youngster is not with me?" Yehuda made a lengthy speech, but this had no effect. He was effective in changing Yosef's heart only when he asked a pointed question: "What should I do? What options do I have?" Let us try to apply this to a typical parent/child conflict. A girl wants to go out with her friends, but she has a test the next day and needs to study. Her parents want her to stay home and prepare for the exam. They could give a long speech about how irresponsible it is to go out the night before a test, how she needs to be more organized, how she should have studied days earlier but didn't, how she'll have other opportunities to get together with her friends, and so on. But a speech is not going to work. A far more effective approach would be to ask the pointed question, "What do you want?" They could acknowledge her predicament, express understanding of her legitimate desire to be with her friends, validate her feelings of disappointment, and then ask, "So what do you suggest? Do you want to fail the test? Do you want to study first and then go to spend a few minutes with them? What do you want to do?" Lecturing is not effective. Posing simple questions often can be. The mistake so many parents make is that they think they can give speeches, or they can harshly criticize bad behavior at the heat of the moment, and this will somehow have an effect on the child's behavior. Parents need to remember that angry rants make things worse, not better. They only lead to more defiance. Yehuda's lengthy speech didn't help. He succeeded only when he framed the situation in clear, concise and practical terms. כי איך אעלה אל אבי והנער איננו איתי . As we said, nobody likes to be reprimanded or told what to do. So instead of criticizing and expressing anger, let's keep it short, to the point, and with practicality, so that our children, or whoever it is we're speaking to, will react the way we want them to.

One of the famous questions asked about the holiday of Hanukah involves a passage that appears right in the middle of the Gemara's discussion of the laws of the Hanukah candles. The Gemara suddenly interjects with what appears to be a totally unrelated comment about the story of Yosef. The Torah says about the pit into which Yosef's brothers threw him: והבור רק אין בו מים – "and the pit was empty; there was no water in it" (37:24). The Gemara explains this to mean that the pit was "empty" only in the sense that it contained no water. It did, however, contain נחשים ועקרבים – snakes and scorpions. Miraculously, Yosef survived. Many Rabbis asked the question of why this comment is introduced amidst the Gemara's discussion of Hanukah. The simple answer, seemingly, is that the same Rabbi who made this comment taught the halacha which the Gemara quoted previously. The Gemara will often tangentially quote other teachings of a Rabbi after bringing his statement about the topic under discussion, so it could be that here, too, the Gemara just happened to bring a second teaching by the same Rabbi. It seems reasonable to assume, however, that there is a deeper connection between Hanukah and the pit that Yosef was thrown into. Let's take a closer look at the Gemara's statement: מים אין בו, אבל נחשים ועקרבים יש בו – "There was no water in it, but there were snakes and scorpions in it." The Gemara here is making a profound observation about human beings. Every person is a "pit" that needs to be filled. People do not remain "empty." Their time, their minds, and their souls will be filled with something. And if it is not filled with "water" – with Torah, with holiness, with spirituality, with meaning and purpose – then it will be filled with "snakes and scorpions" – with destructive activities. This is especially true about youngsters. There is hardly any young man or woman who is just average, who is "neutral," who is "empty." Either they are "filled" with Torah, with a yearning for meaning and a connection to Hashem, or they are "filled" with נחשים ועקרבים , with harmful or destructive behaviors. And this might be the connection between the statement about Yosef's pit and the mitzvah of Hanukah candles. Hanukah is the celebration of the triumph of the "light" of Torah over the "darkness." Torah life is sometimes difficult, but it is filled with "light," with joy, with beauty, with meaningfulness. The alternative to Torah life, as appealing as it may seem, is "dark," a place of נחשים ועקרבים , snakes and scorpions – because if a person does not "fill" himself with Torah, he will fill himself with other things which are "dark" and harmful. Our job on Hanukah when lighting the candles is to reflect on, and rejoice over, the privilege we have to live joyous Torah lives, lives of meaning and purpose, lives of yearning and striving for a relationship with Hashem. We should celebrate our choosing light over darkness, the beauty of Torah life over the "darkness" of other lifestyles. And we should recommit to constantly radiate joy and enthusiasm in our Torah observance so our children will see the "light" and beauty of Torah, and will not look to "fill" their lives with anything else.