This Week's Parasha Essay is dedicated in memory of RACHEL Bat SARAH The Torah in Parashat Teruma presents the laws for the construction of the Mishkan, which is where sacrifices were offered until the building of the Bet Ha'mikdash in Jerusalem. Later, in Parashat Vayakhel, we read of the fulfillment of these commands, how the Mishkan and its furnishings were built. Already the Gemara (Berachot 55a) notes the glaring discrepancy between the sequence of the commands presented here in Parashat Teruma, and the execution of these commands in Parashat Vayakhel. When G-d presented the instructions for building the Mishkan, He began with the furnishings, detailing the instructions regarding the ark, the table, the Menorah, and the altar, before proceeding to the instructions regarding the structure of the Mishkan. In Parashat Vayakhel, however, we read that the artisans first constructed the Mishkan, and only then built the furnishings. The Gemara tells that when Moshe relayed G-d's instructions – in the sequence they were given – to Besalel, the chief artisan, Besalel pointed out that the sequence was backward. He noted that the building must be constructed first, before the furnishings, as otherwise there will be nowhere to store the furnishings in the interim. Moshe confirmed to Besalel that he was correct. The question remains, however, why did Hashem present the commands regarding the furnishings before presenting the requirements for building the structure, if He in fact wanted the building to be constructed first? Rav Yehoshua Heller (1814-1880), in his Dibreh Yehoshua, offers an approach to answer this question (which also explains a number of other discrepancies between the commands in Parashat Teruma and the execution of these instructions in Parashat Vayakhel). He attributes the change in sequence to the event of Het Ha'egel – the sin of the golden calf – which transpired in between. Hashem presented these commands before the sin of the golden calf, and thus the instructions reflect the reality before Beneh Yisrael worshipped the calf, when they were still on the pristine spiritual level that they had attained at the time of Matan Torah. The building of the Mishkan, however, occurred after Het Ha'egel, when the people had fallen from that level. The structure of the Mishkan, Rav Heller explains, represents the human body, our limbs, the actions we perform, whereas the furnishings housed in the Mishkan symbolize our interior, our emotions, our feelings. Ideally, our feelings and our actions should be fully in synch with one another. We should always feel motivated to serve Hashem, to fulfill His will, to perform the Misvot, to live the way we are supposed to live, such that our actions – our Misva observance – are a natural outgrowth of our emotions. Indeed, the great Sadikim live with ongoing, consistent passion, and are constantly driven to perform Misvot. Most of us, however, often do not feel this passion. Sometimes we feel motivated and driven to achieve and excel, but sometimes we don't. And the Ramhal (Rav Moshe Haim Luzzato, Italy, 1707-1746), in his classic work Mesilat Yesharim, writes that when a person feels unmotivated, he should push himself to perform Misvot anyway – and his actions will then awaken his motivation. Once we get started, once we accustom ourselves to doing the right thing even when we don't feel like it, the feelings will come. Hence, Rav Heller explains, before Het Ha'egel, when Beneh Yisrael were on a high spiritual level, the furnishings preceded the structure. The people felt the strong drive and desire to serve Hashem, and this passion led them to action. After the sin of the golden calf, however, this passion was not always present. And so at this point, it was necessary for the structure to precede the interior. We often need to perform the actions even when we lack motivation and enthusiasm, and this will gradually ignite our passion for Misvot. This insight, I am certain, resonates with each and every one of us. We have all had occasions when we feel unmotivated, when we were simply "not in the mood," when we had little or no desire to get out of bed on time for shul, to attend a Shiur, to learn, to donate money to charity, or to do other Misvot. The important thing when this happens is to push ourselves do to it anyway, even without motivation, and trust that our efforts will, with time, arouse our emotion and kindle our enthusiasm for Misvot. Although ideally our passion for Misvot should lead us to perform Misvot, sometimes we need to reverse the sequence, to go "outside-in," by first performing the deeds which will have the effect of arousing our enthusiasm.

As part of the event of Matan Torah, when G-d revealed Himself to Beneh Yisrael and gave the Torah, Moshe constructed an altar and had sacrifices offered. We read that Moshe placed half the blood in basins, from which he later sprinkled blood on the people, and he poured the other half on the altar (Shemot 24:6). Rashi, surprisingly, comments that the division of the blood into two halves was done by an angel. It would be impossible for a human being to divide the blood in two precisely equal halves, and so an angel was sent from the heavens to do this. We must wonder, why did Hashem find it necessary to dispatch an angel for this purpose? Why was it so critical for the halves to be precisely equal? Would these sacrifices have been in any way deficient if one portion of blood was slightly larger than the other? Rav Yitzchak Hutner (1906-1980) answered this question by exploring the symbolism of the division of the blood at the time of Matan Torah. If we would ask most Jews to define the term "religious Jew," to describe the defining characteristics of people referred to with this term, most would likely mention things like Shabbat observance, modest dress, eating kosher, synagogue attendance and daily Tefilot. People generally tend to define "religious" as ritual observance. In truth, however, these rituals are only half the story. Ethical conduct, integrity, kindness and sensitivity to others are no less a part of Torah than praying three times a day, Shabbat, Kashrut, and Seniut (modesty). In fact, Rashi begins his comments to our Parasha, Parashat Mishpatim, by noting the significance of the first letter of this Parasha: "VE'eleh Ha'mishpatim" – "AND these are the statutes…" Rashi writes that this letter – the conjunction "Ve-" ("And") – indicates a connection between the end of the previous Parasha, which tells of the Revelation and the Ten Commandments, and the civil laws presented in Parashat Mishpatim. Just as the Ten Commandments were proclaimed at Mount Sinai, so were the laws of Parashat Mishpatim given at Mount Sinai. We can never draw a wedge between Torah and ethical interpersonal conduct. The laws of Parashat Mishpatim, which govern the way we treat our fellow, are no less a part of the Torah as any of the other Misvot. So crucial is this message, Rav Hutner explained, that Hashem sent an angel to divide the sacrificial blood at the time of Matan Torah into two precisely equal parts. It was critical to convey the message that neither half of Torah carries even slightly more weight than the other. The two areas of Torah life – our obligations to Hashem, and our obligations to other people – are of exactly the same level of importance, and we must never allow ourselves to prioritize or emphasize one over the other to even the slightest degree. It is likely no coincidence that Parashat Mishpatim, the section in which this point is expressed, is always read around the time of 25 Shevat, the Yahrtzeit of Rav Yisrael Salanter (1809-1883), founder of the Mussar movement. Rav Yisrael placed very strong emphasis on maintaining this balance, on not allowing our pursuit of spiritual excellence to result in compromises in our Middot (character traits). One famous example is the time when his students approached him before they went to bake Masot in preparation for Pesach, to ask which stringencies are proper for them to observe when baking Masot. "Be very careful not to yell at the woman in charge of cleaning the factory," Rav Yisrael replied. "She's a widow. Concern for her feelings is the most important stringency you should observe." Rav Yisrael feared that in the students' concern to maintain the strictest Halachic standards for the Masot, they might neglect the more basic religious obligation to speak to widows with sensitivity and respect. As we approach his Yahrtzeit, let us internalize this vitally important lesson, and ensure to ascribe the same degree importance to both parts of the Torah, because this is what being a complete Jew means.

Parashat Yitro recounts one of the most pivotal events, if not the most pivotal event, in Jewish history—the giving of the Torah at Har Sinai. The Midrash famously teaches that before giving the Torah to Beneh Yisrael, Hashem first offered it to the other nations. He approached the descendants of Esav, who inquired about its contents. When Hashem told them that the Torah includes the command, "Lo Tirsah"—"You shall not murder," they declined, as violence was ingrained in their way of life. Next, Hashem turned to Yishmael's descendants. Upon hearing that the Torah forbids theft—"Lo Tignob"—they, too, rejected it, unable to commit to such a moral standard, refraining from theft. Hashem then went to Amon and Moav. When they asked what the Torah commanded, Hashem told them, "Lo Tinaf"—"You shall not commit adultery." They, too, refused, unwilling to accept such a limitation, as they were accustomed to engaging freely in illicit relationships. Hashem then offered the Torah to Beneh Yisrael, who unlike the other nations, accepted the Torah unconditionally, without asking any questions. The Midrash's account requires explanation. The prohibitions of murder, theft, and adultery are not unique to the Torah. They are already included in the Sheva Misvot Beneh Noach – the seven "Noachide Laws," universal commandments given to all of humanity. Whether or not Esav, Yishmael, Amon, and Moav accepted the Torah, they were still bound by these prohibitions. If so, why does it matter that they rejected the Torah? The answer lies in the profound difference between observing these basic moral prohibitions and fully embracing the Torah's rigorous ethical and spiritual expectations. The command of "Lo Tirsah" does not only prohibit taking a life. It also forbids embarrassing someone in public, which is akin to murder. It means we must not "kill" our time by engaging in wasteful, vain activities. It even extends to preserving objects of value and not destroying them unnecessarily, because destruction is, in a sense, a form of "killing." Similarly, "Lo Tignob" is not just about theft of money or possessions. Wasting another person's time is a form of theft. Depriving someone of sleep by making noise at night is also stealing. Even redistributing wealth unjustly—such as in the story of Robin Hood, or in the style of communism—constitutes a violation of this prohibition in Torah law. Finally, "Lo Tinaf" likewise extends beyond the specific prohibition against forbidden intimate relationships. The Torah demands a higher level of modesty (Seniut), governing the way we dress, the way we speak, and even what we choose to see or expose ourselves to. This is what distinguished Beneh Yisrael from the other nations. Even if the other nations were willing to abide by basic moral codes, they would never commit to the all-encompassing ethical and spiritual framework that the Torah demands. Beneh Yisrael, however, accepted these lofty expectations without hesitation, embracing not just the specific prohibitions, but the especially high standards of sanctity and self-discipline that Torah life requires. As the Jewish people, we are held to a higher standard. Accepting the Torah means committing ourselves to a life of holiness and moral refinement. This is both a privilege and a responsibility. As Hashem's beloved nation, we must always remember that our actions reflect the divine mission entrusted to us. Whether in business, in speech, in dress, or in our treatment of others, we must uphold the elevated standards of Am Yisrael – and feel honored and privileged to conduct ourselves in a special manner befitting Hashem's beloved people.

Parashat Beshalah tells the famous story of Keri'at Yam Suf – the miraculous splitting of the sea. The Egyptians pursued Beneh Yisrael after they left Egypt, trapping them against the sea. G-d had the waters of the sea split, forming two walls on either side of the sea floor, allowing Beneh Yisrael to safely cross. When the Egyptians then ran after them into the sea, the water fell onto them, drowning the Egyptian warriors, their horsemen and their chariots. We find in the Midrash an astounding statement that underscores the centrality of this miracle in Jewish life. The Midrash teaches that the Jewish People are known as "Ibrim" ("Hebrews") to allude to the fact that "Abar Yam" – our nation "crossed the sea." This event is not simply something that our ancestors experienced, an extraordinary chapter in our history, but part of the very definition of our nation. Why? The answer can be understood in light of an insight by the Maharal of Prague (Rav Yehuda Loew, 1512-1609) regarding the name of Moshe Rabbenu. The Rabbis teach that Moshe had seven different names, each of which alludes to a different element of his character or his role as our leader and prophet. The name that we commonly use, of course, is "Moshe" – the name given to him by Pharaoh's daughter, commemorating that "Min Ha'mayim Mishitihu" – she "drew him from the water" (Shemot 2:10). The Maharal raises the question of why this name was chosen as the name with which we refer to Moshe. Of all of Moshe's names, why is this considered the most significant? The Maharal answers by examining the symbolism of water. Unlike solids, he notes, water has no independent shape. It flows naturally, assuming the shape of whichever receptacle is holding it at the present moment. We human beings, the Maharal writes, are expected to be the polar opposite of water. We are not to "go with the flow," blindly and randomly following our natural instincts and impulses. Instead, we are to consciously create a "shape" and "form" to our lives. We are to exercise discipline and self-restraint, molding for ourselves a life of meaning and purposefulness in the service of Hashem. Fittingly, the Mahara explains, Moshe Rabbenu – the greatest human being who ever lived – is named "Moshe," which means "drawn from the water." Moshe embodied the notion of going out of the water, creating a life of spirituality rather than "flowing" naturally like animals, which follow their instincts without exercising any restraint. This is also the symbolism of the miracle of Keri'at Yam Suf. The waters of the sea suddenly went against their natural flow, forming two walls on either side of Beneh Yisrael. This was not just a miracle performed for the purpose of rescuing Beneh Yisrael – it was also a timeless lesson about how we are expected to live our lives. We are to follow the example of the waters of the Yam Suf – creating a proper "shape" of our lives, lives of spiritual meaning, rather than just flowing naturally. This also explains the famous comment of the Midrash that the sea split when it saw Yosef's coffin, which Moshe brought with him out of Egypt. Yosef embodies the value of discipline and self-restraint, having resisted the advances of Potifar's wife as a seventeen-year-old slave in Egypt. He went against his natural instincts and impulses for the sake of spirituality. Rather than "go with the flow," following his instincts and impulses, he created for his life a "shape" of spiritual greatness. We are called "Ibrim" because "Abar Yam" – we have been shown the importance of living with discipline and self-restraint, conscientiously, following our religious principles and values rather than allow ourselves to be led and guided by our natural instincts and drives.

Parashat Bo tells of the final three plagues that Hashem brought upon Egypt, culminating with the final plague, the plague of the firstborn, which led Pharaoh to permit Beneh Yisrael to leave Egypt. Already before the eighth plague, the plague of locusts, Pharaoh's servants urged him to yield, to allow Beneh Yisrael to leave and thereby avoid further devastation in the country. Pharaoh summoned Moshe, and expressed his willingness to let the people leave. But when Moshe insisted that the entire nation leave, Pharaoh angrily sent him away, insisting that only the adult males would be permitted to go. Later, after the plague of darkness, Pharaoh summoned Moshe and said he would allow all Beneh Yisrael to leave – but demanded that the animals remain in Egypt. Moshe replied, "Even you will place in our hands sacrifices and offerings for us to prepare for Hashem our G-d, and also our own cattle with come with us, not a single hoof will remain, for we will take from it to serve Hashem our G-d" (10:25-26). In response to Pharaoh's demand that Beneh Yisrael leave behind their cattle, Moshe declared that "not a single hoof" would stay behind, and, moreover, Pharaoh would even give Beneh Yisrael his own animals for them to offer as sacrifices for Hashem. The Malbim (Rav Meir Leibush, 1809-1879) makes an insightful observation regarding the words chosen by Moshe in this response to Pharaoh. Moshe said about Beneh Yisrael's cattle, "Yelech Imenu" – that the animals "will go with us." The implication is that the animals would not need to be taken, but would rather join the people on their own. The Malbim explains this nuance by noting the story told in the Book of Melachim I (chapter 18) of the prophet Eliyahu. Eliyahu challenged the prophets of the pagan god Ba'al to a "contest" on Mount Carmel, whereby they would each offer a bull as a sacrifice – the prophets would sacrifice to Ba'al, and Eliyahu, of course, to G-d. The sacrifice that would receive a response would prove which of them is correct. G-d responded to Eliyahu's sacrifice with a fire that descended from the heavens, thus demonstrating the truth of Hashem and the fallacy of idol-worship. The Midrash teaches that at the beginning of this process, the prophets of Ba'al chose one of the two bulls as their sacrifice, but the bull did not want to go with them. It refused to be used as a sacrifice for idolatry. Eliyahu approached the animal and explained that it would be helping to create a Kiddush Hashem (glorification of Hashem's Name), as this sacrifice would receive no response, whereas Eliyahu's sacrifice would be responded to with a heavenly fire. The bull then agreed, assured that its role was indeed valuable and significant. The other bull, by contrast, needed no convincing, and went happily and enthusiastically to be sacrificed by Eliyahu for the purpose of bringing honor and glory to Hashem. Similarly, the Malbim explains, Moshe told Pharaoh that Beneh Yisrael's animals would go on their own out of Egypt, eager to be offered as sacrifices to Hashem. They would not need to be taken – they would just go, driven by the desire to serve G-d. The Malbim writes that this is indicated by the text for us to learn from the animals' example. Religious observance often demands sacrifices, requiring us to refrain from things which we want to do, and to give of our time, money and energy, for the sake of serving the Almighty. Moshe's description of Beneh Yisrael's cattle is meant to teach us to make these sacrifices enthusiastically, recognizing the great value of serving Hashem. There is no greater privilege than living as Hashem's servants, bringing Hashem honor and glory, and it is with this mindset, with this spirit and enthusiasm, that we are to make the sacrifices – however difficult – that Torah life often requires.

In the opening verses of Parashat Vaera, we find Hashem's pronouncement of the "Arba Leshonot Geula" – "four expressions of redemption." He told Moshe to convey to Beneh Yisrael His promise that He will "take you from the suffering of Egypt" ("Ve'hoseti"), He will "save you from their labor" ("Ve'hisalti"), He will "redeem you with an outstretched arm" ("Ve'ga'alti"), and He will "take you to Me as a nation" ("Ve'lakahti"). The Gemara famously teaches that the four cups of wine we drink at the Seder on the night of Pesach correspond to these four promises. One of the approaches taken to explain the significance of these four expressions was presented by the Shem Mi'Shmuel (Rav Shmuel Borenstein of Sochatchov, 1855-1926), who writes that Hashem here refers to the redemptions from the subsequent exiles. Already then, during the Egyptian exile, Hashem informed Beneh Yisrael that just as He was bringing them out of this exile, and extricating them from persecution and suffering, He would also deliver them from the exiles they would endure in the future. The first of the four expressions, "Ve'hoseti," which speaks of Hashem bringing the nation out of a foreign land, alludes to the Babylonian exile, at the conclusion of which Hashem brought the Jews back from exile to the Land of Israel. The second expression foresees Hashem rescuing Beneh Yisrael from danger – "Ve'histalti," and thus refers to the rule of Persia, when Beneh Yisrael were saved from Haman's decree of annihilation. The third of the subsequent exiles was the period of Greek persecution, when Beneh Yisrael faced a grave spiritual threat, as the Greeks forbade them from practicing their religion. Hashem thus promised, "Ve'ga'alti" – that He would redeem them from this spiritual danger. Finally, Hashem promises to deliver us from our current exile, the fourth and final exile, assuring us that He would take us as His nation for all eternity ("Ve'lakahti"). The question, however, arises, why do we commemorate these four promises through the drinking of four cups on the night of Pesach, as we celebrate the Exodus from Egypt? The answer emerges from a discussion in the work Torat Haim (Rav Abraham Haim Schorr, d. 1632) regarding a different question, relating to the duration of the Egyptian exile. The Torah in Parashat Bo (Shemot 12:40) states that the Egyptian exile lasted a total of 430 years. In truth, Beneh Yisrael spent just 210 years in Egypt. Many commentators explain that the 430-year period began from the time Abraham was informed that his descendants would be enslaved. The Torat Haim, however, advances a different theory. He claims that indeed, Hashem decreed a lengthy period of suffering, but He mercifully ended the exile earlier. Tradition teaches that the period of harsh labor began at the time of the birth of Miriam, Moshe Rabbenu's sister, who was 86 at the time of the Exodus. Thus, Beneh Yisrael endured only 86 years of slave labor – one-fifth of the 430 years of slavery that were decreed upon them. The remaining four-fifths were delayed to the future. The four subsequent exiles, the Torat Haim explains, took the place of the missing years of the Egyptian exile. The amount of suffering that would have been experienced in 86 years of grueling slavery and degradation in Egypt were transferred to each of these four periods, and this is how the period of 430 years was completed. The Torat Haim explains that this is why we drink four cups of wine on Pesach night. The word "Kos" in Gematria equals 86, and thus the four cups of wine signify the redemptions from the four subsequent exiles – consistent with the Shem Mi'Shmuel's understanding of the four promises made by Hashem in our Parasha. As we celebrate the redemption from Egypt, we reflect on the fact that Hashem shortened the period of bondage in Egypt, delaying them to the future. He then delivered us from the first three of those four exiles, and we eagerly anticipate the imminent redemption from our fourth and current exile, may it unfold speedily and in our times, Amen.

Parashat Shemot tells of the Egyptians' enslavement of Beneh Yisrael. We read that as Beneh Yisrael rapidly reproduced, and their population grew, Pharaoh feared that they would turn against the empire, and join with Egypt's enemies. He thus decided to enslave them, so they would not endanger the country. Pharaoh later decreed that all newborn boys among Beneh Yisrael should be murdered. The Gemara in Masechet Sota (11a) tells that Pharaoh actually consulted with his three advisors, all of whom are known to us from other contexts: Bilam, Yitro and Iyob. Bilam, the Gemara relates, made the suggestion to oppress Beneh Yisrael, and so he was killed in battle by Beneh Yisrael many years later. Iyob remained silent, without agreeing or objecting, and he was punished for his inaction by enduring harsh afflictions. Yitro fled, unwilling to take part in the inhumane treatment of Beneh Yisrael, and he was thus rewarded. If we think about it, the reactions of all three men are nothing short of baffling. Bilam, as the Mishna in Pirkeh Avot (5:19) describes, was exceedingly arrogant. He felt overly confident and secure. We would have expected him to dismiss Pharaoh's fears, to remind Pharaoh that Egypt was powerful enough not to feel threatened by Beneh Yisrael's rapid growth. Iyob, as we know, was an exceptionally righteous man. He is the last person we would expect to sit by idly as the panel of which he was part devised an evil plan to persecute an innocent sector of the population. And Yitro is described by the Rabbis as a profound thinker and philosopher, who studied and pondered all the different faiths in the world until arriving at the truth of monotheism. Surely a man with such brilliance could have shown Pharaoh the absurdity of his fears, that there was no reason to suspect that Beneh Yisrael, who had shown no signs of disloyalty, would turn against the country. Yet, Yitro did not speak up, and instead ran away. This shows us quite clearly how the Egyptian bondage unfolded in a way that nobody could have ever predicted. Beneh Yisrael lived peacefully in Egypt, without causing any trouble or inviting enmity, and yet, through a series of circumstances which they would never have foreseen, they found themselves brutally enslaved, and their infants put to death. However, this Parasha tells us also how the redemption from Egypt unfolded in no less an unpredictable fashion. A woman named Yochebed decided to hide her child from the Egyptian authorities, and placed him in a basket on the Nile River. The baby was discovered by none other than the princess – the daughter of the evil king who decreed that all infants among Beneh Yisrael should be put to death. We would have expected the princess – who immediately identified the child as a Jew – to comply with her father's edict, and kill the baby, or at least leave him to die on his own. But she not only saved the baby, in direct defiance of her father's decree – she brought him to the palace and raised him there, giving him the name "Moshe" which alluded to his having been drawn from the water ("Meshitihu") – loudly broadcasting the fact that she acted against her father! Remarkably, Pharaoh's own palace became the home in which the redeemer was raised. The Rabbis teach that Pharaoh decreed the murder of the infants because his astrologers warned that the one who would redeem Beneh Yisrael was about to be born. And yet, it turned out that Pharaoh himself raised this baby who would lead Beneh Yisrael to freedom. Just as the exile began as a result of a sequence of events that nobody could have possibly predicted, the redemption, too, unfolded in a likewise unpredictable manner. The Egyptian exile is viewed by our tradition as the prototype of all subsequent exiles, and the redemption from Egyptian bondage is viewed as the prototype for all subsequent redemptions. Just as the Egyptian exile began and ended in ways which nobody could have predicted – so will all our nation's exiles began and end in unpredictable ways. The current war being waged in Eretz Yisrael began in a way that no one could have possibly foreseen. No one could have imagined that a barbaric, primitive terror group could succeed in breaching Israel's state-of-the-art barrier, using the most advanced technology on earth, secured by what is likely the world's greatest intelligence apparatus. Hamas' success in attacking Israel on October 7, 2023 was something none of us could have predicted, and even now, it still boggles the mind how such a thing could have happened. It is clear beyond a doubt that this was Hashem's doing, that, just as Hashem brought about Beneh Yisrael's enslavement through a peculiar, mysterious sequence of events, He brought upon us the current crisis, as well. But we find comfort and encouragement in the knowledge that the resolution of this crisis, and our nation's redemption, will likewise occur in ways that we cannot possibly imagine. It is futile to try predicting what will happen and how this will end. And G-d certainly does not need our ideas. The only thing about the outcome that we know for certain is that it will be something which nobody can foresee right now. We must maintain our faith and fervently pray on behalf of our brothers and sisters in Israel, recognizing that the outcome will be determined solely by Hashem.

he Torah in Parashat Vayechi tells us of the special blessings that Yaakob Abinu pronounced to each of his sons just before his passing. In his blessing to Yosef, Yaakob declared, "Me'Kel Avicha Ve'yazreka" – literally, "From the G-d of your father, and He shall help you" (49:25). Rav Moshe Alshich (Safed, 1508-1593) noted two difficulties in the text of this phrase. First, instead of blessing Yosef simply that "the G-d of your father" should assist him, Yaakob said, "Me'Kel Avicha" – "FROM" the G-d of Yosef's father should help him. Secondly, Yaakob added the letter "Vav," which means "and," before the word "Yazreka," such that he said, "and He should help you," rather than just wishing that G-d should help Yosef. To explain Yaakob's intent, Rav Moshe Alshich cites the Gemara's teaching in Masechet Sukka (52) that a person's Yeser Ha'ra (evil inclination) rises against him each and every day, in an attempt to cause him to sin, as indicated by the verse (Tehillim 37:32), "Sofeh Rasha La'sadik U'mebakesh La'hamito" – "The evil one eyes the righteous person and seeks to have him killed." The "evil one" is the Yeser Ha'ra, that endeavors to bring about the righteous person's spiritual demise by luring him to sin. The Gemara then says that if not for Hashem's help, we would be unable to withstand the challenges posed by our evil inclination. This is inferred from the next verse, which states, "Hashem Lo Ya'azbenu Be'yado, Ve'lo Yarshi'enu Be'hushafeto" – "G-d does not leave him in its hands, and He will not convict him when he is judged." Rav Moshe Alshich raises the question as to the meaning of the end of this second verse – "He will not convict him when he is judged." Why does this need to be said? If the individual refrains from sin, and does not succumb to the lures of his evil inclination, then why would we have thought that he would be "convicted"? The answer, the Alshich explains, is that since the person abstains from wrongdoing only through G-d's help, we would think that he should be held responsible as though he committed the forbidden act. As it was G-d who gave him the strength and wherewithal to resist temptation, logic seems to dictate that he should receive no credit for abstaining. The verse therefore teaches that Hashem, in His infinite love and compassion, gives us all the credit for our spiritual successes, even though they were made possible only because of His gracious assistance. Despite the fact that we depend on His help to withstand our Yeser Ha'ra, Hashem rewards us as though we did it all ourselves. Rav Moshe Alshich explains Yaakob's blessing to Yosef on this basis. He writes that Yaakob was referring to the test that Yosef withstood – the test posed by Potifar's wife, who tried luring him to have an inappropriate relationship. The Gemara (Sota 36b) tells that Yosef nearly succumbed to her advances, but then his father, Yaakob, appeared to him and implored him to abstain. It thus emerges that Yosef refrained from sin only thanks to Yaakob's assistance. Rav Moshe Alshich explains that this is the meaning of the phrase, "Me'Kel Avicha" – that Yosef's success in resisting temptation came "from" Yaakob, who intervened to rescue him. Yaakob then added, "Ve'yazreka" – that G-d would nevertheless continue granting Yosef assistance. Yosef would not be punished, and would not be denied Hashem's love and grace, despite the fact that he needed his father's help to refrain from wrongdoing. Whenever we confront any sort of spiritual challenge, we must remember that religious life is fraught with such challenges, that we are supposed to confront these tests, and that Hashem is always helping us. Moreover, we must remember that Hashem values and cherishes the efforts we make to overcome these challenges and do the right thing. He is there to help us – but this does not in any way diminish from the greatness of the work we put in to stay on course and refrain from improper behavior.

When Yaakob's sons returned to Egypt and informed him that his beloved son, Yosef, was still alive, he at first didn't believe them (45:26). But Yaakob then saw the wagons that Yosef had sent with his brothers to use for carrying Yaakob to Egypt. At that point, Yaakob's "spirit was revived," and he realized that Yosef was, indeed, alive. The Midrash famously explains that the "wagons" contained a "coded message" of sorts to Yaakob. The Hebrew word "Agalot" ("wagons") reminded Yaakob of the last subject which he taught to Yosef, the law of "Egla Arufa." This law applies in a situation where a murder occurred near a city, and the killer was not found. The city's leaders must perform a special ceremony, killing a young calf – "Egla" – in an area which cannot be cultivated, and this atoned for the crime which was committed. Yosef wanted to show Yaakob that he still remembered the Torah which Yaakob had taught him. And so when Yaakob saw the wagons, which alluded to the Torah which he taught Yosef, and which Yosef remembered, Yaakob knew that his son was indeed alive. Why did Yaakob not initially believe his sons? And what changed once he saw the wagons? Some commentators answered these questions by taking a closer look at what Yaakob's sons told him. They said, "Yosef is still alive – and he is in fact ruler over the land of Egypt." True "life," for a Jew, is a life of Torah commitment. The brothers were telling Yaakob that Yosef was spiritually "alive," dedicated to Hashem, even as he served as leader over Egypt. This is what Yaakob could not believe. He found it inconceivable that Yosef retained his spirituality, his religious commitment, while serving in a powerful position in a pagan country. Once Yaakob saw Yosef's hidden message, that he still remembered and felt connected to the Torah that Yaakob had taught him, he realized that it was true, that against all odds, Yosef was still "alive" in the truest sense of the word, full of spiritual life. The same can be said of all of us, the entire Jewish People. Like Yosef, we were driven from our homeland, and were forced to live among foreign cultures. And, like Yosef, we endured a great number of hardships and difficulties. It would seem almost impossible for the Jewish Nation to remain "alive" through the centuries of exile and persecution, for us to retain our firm commitment to Torah and Misvot. And yet, to our nation's credit, we have remained spiritually "alive," we have persisted in our devotion to our faith and our traditions. There is no doubt that each day, our Father, Hashem, looks down from the heavens and jubilantly exclaims, as Yaakob Abinu did, "Od… Beni Hai" – "My child is still alive!" Hashem takes great pride in the fact that despite all we've been through, even with all the spiritual challenges we have faced and continue to face, with all the lures and temptations that we confront, we nevertheless remain fervently committed to Him. We, Hashem's children, are still "alive," and we must continue to steadfastly adhere to our sacred traditions until this exile finally ends and we are prepared for the final redemption, may it come speedily and in our time, Amen.

What is it about Yosef that made such an impression on Pharaoh? Yosef was brought to Egypt from a foreign country as a slave. He was then falsely accused of a heinous crime – assaulting his master's wife – for which he was cast into a dungeon, where he languished for years together with other convicted offenders. Suddenly, a former inmate in the prison recommended him as an interpreter to explain Pharaoh's dreams, and Yosef was then rushed to Pharaoh. His interpretation dazzled Pharaoh to such an extent that Pharaoh on the spot decided to not only free Yosef from the dungeon – but to appoint him as viceroy, the second-in-command over the kingdom. Just because Yosef gave a satisfactory interpretation of Pharaoh's dream, Pharaoh decided to entrust the country in Yosef's hands, and to put him in charge over the entire economy. Why? The answer lies in one word which Yosef spoke to Pharaoh. When Yosef was brought before the king, Pharaoh explained that he had heard of Yosef's abilities to interpret dreams. Yosef replied, "Bil'adai" – "It is not me" (41:16). Yosef emphatically denied any credit for his skills. He attributed this wisdom to Hashem. Several decades ago, a religious Jewish couple delivered Siamese twins, and the doctors determined that unless they were separated, both would die, but one would have to die for the other to live. The doctor who would perform the surgery, and who would later become the Surgeon General of the United States, consulted with Rav Moshe Feinstein (1895-1986), the leading Halachic authority in the United States at that time, to determine whether this procedure was permissible, as it necessitated taking a life to save another life. Leaving aside Rav Moshe's ruling and the halachic reasoning behind it, what is important for our purposes is the doctor's reaction after spending several hours with Rav Moshe Feinstein. He said that he had never before seen such a combination of brilliance and humility. Throughout his years of schooling and working in the field, anyone he encountered who had a brilliant mind had at least a tinge of arrogance. Rav Moshe, however, was unique both in the scope and depth of his scholarship, and in his humble character. This is what impressed Pharaoh, as well. He described Yosef as a "Nabon Ve'hacham" (41:39) – uniquely wise, but this was not all. Pharaoh marveled at the fact that as smart as Yosef was, his intellectual prowess did not go to his head, he did not let it inflate his ego. He humbly recognized that all his abilities were a gift from Hashem. Because of this humility, Pharaoh felt confident in Yosef. He realized that he could trust him, because he wasn't looking out for his own egotistical interests. Another example of this rare combination is King Shlomo. As we read in the Book of Melachim I (chapter 3), G-d appeared to Shlomo in a dream and told him that He was granting him unmatched wisdom. When Shlomo awoke in the morning, he was the wisest man who had ever lived and ever would live. And yet, the first thing he did was to go to the Bet Ha'mikdash to offer sacrifices to Hashem, and to host a lavish feast for his servants (Melachim I 3:15). He immediately acknowledged Hashem as the source of his great stature, that his talents were granted to him as a precious gift, such that he had no reason to gloat or to pride himself. G-d has granted every person different sets of talents and capabilities – and also different sets of limitations and struggles. If a person feels that he is brighter or more skilled than his fellow, even if his estimation is correct, it is entirely illogical for him to feel superior to that other individual. If he truly possesses special skills and abilities, this is only because Hashem has equipped him with these talents so he could use them constructively, for the service of G-d and for the benefit of the world. None of us should ever feel that we are better just because Hashem gave us certain capabilities that others lack. We are to use our skills for the right purposes, and respect other people who use the skills that Hashem granted them, regardless of how they compare with our skills. If we all live with this kind of humility, crediting Hashem – rather than ourselves – for our talents, we will find it mush easier to respect all people, and to thus build strong, stable relationships with the people around us.