What was Adam thinking? Of course, eating the fruit from the forbidden tree was wrong, and he – along with all humankind – was punished as a result. But we would certainly expect that he had some rationale, some thgouht process that justified this action in his mind. What might have led him to eat fruit which G-d had explicitly commanded him not to eat? The Arizal explains the spiritual effects of Adam's sin, how it fundamentally transformed the human being. Before his sin, the Yeser Ha'ra (evil inclination) was external to the person, not part and parcel of his being. Adam was pure and pristine, with a natural inclination to act the right way and do the right thing. Although temptation existed, it could be avoided. A person could keep a distance from sources of temptation, and serve G-d easily, without any inner resistance or inner struggle. After the sin, however, everything became a struggle. As we all know, virtually every good deed we do requires some degree of effort, a "tug-of-war" between our desire to do the right thing and the desire to do the wrong thing. This ongoing struggle was introduced once Adam and Havah partook of the forbidden fruit. This explains Adam's rationale when he decided to eat the fruit that Havah brought him. Imagine a baseball team that shows up ready to play a game, but after the pregame workouts and batting practice, just before the first pitch, the other team decides to forfeit the game. The first team will of course be happy to be credited with a win, but it won't feel very proud of this victory. But if the game is played, and it goes into extra innings, with both teams playing hard, and the game is won in dramatic fashion in the 14 th inning – the team will go home feeling very gratified over its hard-fought win. Adam reasoned that he could draw closer to G-d by inviting the Yeser Ha'ra into his being, by accepting the challenge of perpetual spiritual struggle. Serving G-d without this inner conflict would be like winning via a forfeit, without a fight, whereas serving G-d by constantly resisting lures and temptations would be a hard-fought triumph each and every day of his life. This is what Adam wanted. He strove for greatness, and he understood that greatness is achieved only through hard work and struggle. He thus decided to subject himself to the difficult challenges of the Yeser Ha'ra so he would have to wage a lifelong battle against them. Nevertheless, Adam was wrong. This decision was sinful – so sinful, in fact, that it brought to the world numerous curses, including death itself. The reason why Adam was wrong is very simple – because Hashem told him not to eat the fruit. No human being can ever try to "outsmart" G-d, or think that he has a better idea than G-d had. And no human being can ever think that he can draw close to G-d by disobeying G-d's command. No matter how certain a person is that a certain action will propel him to great spiritual heights and enhance his relationship with Hashem – he must not commit that act if Hashem Himself proscribed it. It is impossible to serve G-d by disobeying G-d. The Gemara teaches that the "Zuhama" ("filth") of Adam's sin remained until the time of Matan Torah, when Beneh Yisrael stood at Mount Sinai and accepted the Torah. They proclaimed, "Na'aseh Ve'nishma" ("We will do and we will hear" – Shemot 24:7), committing themselves unconditionally to G-d's will. They declared their unbridled obedience, that they would observe every command without any hesitation and without rationalization. This corrected the ill that plagued mankind since the time of Adam's sin, the tendency to arrogantly subject G-d's commands to human logic and reasoning. Tragically, however, Beneh Yisrael fell once again just 40 days later, when they worshipped the golden calf. The Ramban and others explain that Beneh Yisrael did not worship they golden calf as a deity. They made a graven image not to replace the Almighty, but rather to replace Moshe, their leader and prophet through whom they served G-d – and whom they had assumed was never returning. Their intentions may have been noble – but they erred by directly disobeying the explicit command not to build an idol for religious worship. Religious observance cannot be diluted or altered to suit our own ideas, our own preferences, or our own perceptions of right and wrong. No matter how convinced we might be that a certain course action is "spiritual" or religiously beneficial, and serves to advance our relationship with G-d, it must not be followed if it violates Hashem's word, if it transgresses the Torah that He gave us. Adam's mistake reminds us that even the noblest intentions cannot justify disobedience. Real Abodat Hashem (service of Gd) begins when we humbly trust His wisdom more than our own.

The Gemara (Yoma 87a) tells that the great sage Rav was once insulted by the local butcher. Over the next several months, Rav waited for the butcher to apologize, but he never did. Finally, on Erev Yom Kippur, Rav decided to go and stand right outside the butcher shop so the butcher would see him. He hoped that if he would stand there, and make it very easy and convenient for the butcher to request forgiveness, he would. The butcher saw Rav standing outside his shop, and he shouted angrily, "I have nothing to say to you!" Not only did he refuse to ask forgiveness, he doubled down, insisting that he had nothing to apologize for. At that moment, a bone from the animal the butcherwas carving darted from the counter into his neck, killing him. The Rabbis of Mussar explain that although the butcher had offended Rav many months earlier, he was punished only now because he squandered the opportunity to apologize and make amends. All people make mistakes, and it is not easy to admit we were wrong and initiate a process of reconciliation. But what's inexcusable is avoiding reconciliation when the opportunity comes right to our doorstep. The butcher was wrong to offend Rav, and he was wrong for not going to request forgiveness – but what sealed his fate was failing to approach Rav when Rav made himself available. This story sheds light on a pronouncement by the prophet Yeshayahu about the Aseret Yemeh Teshuba – the ten-day period from Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur. Yeshayahu (55:6) turns to the people and exclaims, "Dirshu Hashem Be'himase'o, Kera'uhu Bi'hyoto Karob" – "Seek out G-d when He is accessible, call upon Him when He is near." Of course, G-d is always "accessible," and He is always "near." In all seasons, at all times of year, and at any time of day, in any circumstance, we can turn to Hashem for help, we can ask Him for forgiveness, and we can ask for whatever it is we need. However, the Gemara (Rosh Hashanah 18a) explains, during the Aseret Yemeh Teshuba, Hashem is especially close, and is especially receptive to our sincere prayers. During this period, the prayers recited by an individual have the same power as prayers recited together with a Minyan during the rest of the year. We can only imagine how powerful congregational prayer is during the Aseret Yemeh Teshuba! Indeed, Rav Chaim Brim of Jerusalem (1922-2002) would say that spiritual achievements which normally take weeks to attain can be reached in just a few moments during the Aseret Yemeh Teshuba. This is a special time, when our prayers and our efforts to repent and improve are particularly effective, many times more than at other times of the year. At first glance, it seems that Yeshayahu is encouraging us and advising us by calling upon us to turn to Hashem during this period of Aseret Yemeh Teshuba. As Hashem is close, it is recommended that we seize this opportunity for prayer and repentance. But in light of the Gemara's story about Rav and the butcher, we might conclude that Yeshayahu isn't just giving advice – he's issuing a stern warning. If Hashem is close, then we must initiate a process of "reconciliation," a process of Teshuba. It's not just a good idea – it's an obligation. We are flawed human beings, and so it is understandable that we will make mistakes. We are not expected to be perfect. And, it is understandable that we will find it difficult to acknowledge our mistakes, to admit wrongdoing, to confess that we've acted improperly and have made bad choices. This is embarrassing and uncomfortable. And, change is always challenging. But even if we could be excused the rest of the year for not making an effort to improve and ask Hashem for forgiveness, we have no excuse during this week, when Hashem specifically comes to us and invites us back. During the Aseret Yemeh Teshuba, Hashem is right here next to us with His arms open. He is ready to forgive us as long as we take the first step by admitting we were wrong and committing to try harder. If we don't seize this opportunity, this period when Teshuba is especially accessible, then we have no more excuses. Let's ensure not to make the butcher's mistake. Let's take full advantage of this special opportunity, and sincerely turn to Hashem in heartfelt prayer and with a firm resolve to improve, to correct our mistakes, and to enhance our relationship with our Father in heaven.

The Gemara (Rosh Hashanah 11a) lists several events that occurred on the date of Rosh Hashanah, the first of Tishreh. These include Sara conceiving with a child at the age of 90, after decades of infertility and desperate longing for a child. For this reason, we read on the first day of Rosh Hashanah the story of the birth of Sara's son, Yishak Abinu. The Gemara also mentions that Rosh Hashanah was the day when Yosef was released from prison in Egypt. He had been imprisoned when Potifar's wife falsely charged that he assaulted her, and Yosef spent 12 years in the dungeon, until he was brought before Pharaoh to interpret the king's mysterious dreams. This led to his being named Pharaoh's vizier. It was on Rosh Hashanah, the Gemara teaches, that Yosef was brought out of prison and taken before Pharaoh. This event is alluded to in the 81 st chapter of Tehillim, which – for good reason – is the chapter we read as the "Shir Shel Yom" (daily Psalm) on Rosh Hashanah. We find in this chapter references to both the sounding of the Shofar on Rosh Hashanah ("Tik'u Ba'hodesh Shofar" – verse 4), and Yosef's emergence as the leader of Egypt ("Edut Bi'Yehosef Samo Be'seto Al Eretz Misrayim" – verse 6) – clearly indicating that Yosef left prison on Rosh Hashanah. The Maharsha (Rav Shmuel Eidels, 1555-1631), in his commentary to Masechet Rosh Hashanah, draws a curious connection between these two events – Sara's conception, and Yosef's rise to power in Egypt. In the aforementioned chapter in Tehillim, Yosef's name appears with an extra letter Heh, such that it is written "Yehosef" instead of "Yosef." The Maharsha writes that this extra letter came from Sara, whose name ended with a Heh. Additionally, the Maharsha adds, according to the wisdom of Kabbalah, the letter Heh at the end of G-d's Name (the Name of "Havaya") signifies the concept of Malchut, kingship, and it was thus added to Yosef's name when he ascended to a position of royalty in Egypt. The commentators explain further that Sara's name, as we know, was originally "Sarai," which ended with the letter Yod, and it was later changed to "Sara," which ends with Heh. The letter Yod in Gematria equals 10, and it was divided into two Hehs, as the letter Heh in Gematria equals 5. One was given to Sara, and the other was given to Yosef. The question then becomes, why did specifically these two figures receive the letter Heh? What is their particular connection to this letter, which expresses the theme of Malchut? The answer lies in the fact that both Sara and Yosef faced numerous hardships over the course of many years, and nevertheless maintained pristine faith in Hashem. Sara was childless for many years, was twice abducted by ruthless kings, and wandered from place to place for much of her life. Yosef was cruelly banished from his home, brought as a slave to Egypt, where he was tempted by his master's wife – and when he refused, she had him imprisoned. As mentioned, he remained in prison for 12 years. Neither Sara nor Yosef ever questioned or challenged G-d's judgment. They fully and wholeheartedly accepted His rule over the world without complaint. And this is the greatest expression of Malchut – unconditional and unreserved submission to, and acceptance of, Hashem's will as the ultimate good. This is why Sara and Yosef are associated with the letter Heh – which signifies Hashem's kingship – and why they are associated with Rosh Hashanah, the day we celebrate Hashem's kingship. This teaches us a crucial lesson about how we must approach Rosh Hashanah. Many people approach this day focused solely on what went wrong during the previous year, and on their hopes and aspirations for the coming year, everything they want to be better during the new year. But they forget about all that went right during the past year, all the wonderful blessings that Hashem had granted them. The Tiferet Shlomo (Rav Shlomo of Radomsk, Poland, 1801-1866) taught that if we want our prayers to be answered, we must first thank Hashem for all the good in our lives before proceeding to ask for what we want. We cannot enter Rosh Hashanah ungratefully, complaining about all that is wrong with our lives, without first acknowledging, appreciating and being thankful for all that is currently right with our lives. After all, Rosh Hashanah is the day when Hashem is crowned anew as king over the universe, an event to which only "VIP members" are invited – and we, Am Yisrael, are the "VIP members." Imagine someone receiving an invitation to attend the Presidential inauguration, and he shows up with a frown, angry and agitated. When he gets a turn to greet the President, he doesn't smile, because he's so upset about whatever it is that's bothering him. He would likely be thrown out of the party, and he certainly would not be invited the next time around... On Rosh Hashanah, we are the special guests at Hashem's "inauguration." And thus Ezra Ha'sofer told the people on Rosh Hashanah, "Hedvat Hashem Hi Ma'uzchem" – that their source of strength and success was their joy and festivity on this day (Nehemia 8:10). We must show up on Rosh Hashanah smiling, celebrating Hashem's kingship, grateful for all He had done for us. Each and every year throughout her years of infertility, Sara joyously celebrated Hashem's kingship on Rosh Hashanah – just as Yosef did each and every year he spent in the dungeon. Of course, they also prayed for what they needed – but not before they felt genuine gratitude for all that they had. Let us enter Rosh Hashanah not only with a "laundry list" of everything we want Hashem to give us, but also with sincere gratitude for all that He has already given us, and we will then be worthy of His continued grace, kindness and blessing, Amen.

Parashat Ki-Tabo begins with the Misva of Bikkkurim – the obligation upon a farmer to bring the first fruits that ripen to the Bet Ha'mikdash and present them to a Kohen. The farmer then makes a special declaration praising and expressing gratitude to Hashem for bringing our nation out of Egypt into the Land of Israel, where he was able to till the land and produce delicious, nourishing fruit. The unique significance and importance of this Misva is expressed in the special fanfare that characterized the process of bringing Bikkurim. The farmers would assemble and march with song and festivity through the roads, and the shopkeepers in Jerusalem would close their stores and come out to welcome and celebrate the visitors who were bringing their fruits to the Bet Ha'mikdash. The importance of Bikkurim is also articulated by the Midrash, which teaches that this Misva is mentioned in the very first word of the Torah: "Bereshit." The Midrash interprets this word to mean that the world was created for the sake of Bikkurim, which is called "Reshit" ("Reshit Bikkureh Admatecha" – "the first of the fruits of your land that ripen" – Shemot 23:19). Remarkably, the Midrash is telling us that the entire world was created so we can fulfill the Misva of Bikkurim! The reason is that G-d created the world so that He could shower us with goodness which we would then appreciate and be grateful for. The most elementary of all Torah values is gratitude, acknowledging and appreciating what was done for us. Hence, the Misva of Bikkurim, which revolves around the concept of gratitude, thanking Hashem for providing us with food, can be seen as the purpose of all creation. Our Sages teach that gratitude toward Hashem begins with feeling and showing appreciation for other people. The Midrash states: "Whoever denies his fellow's goodness will ultimately deny the Almighty's goodness." The classic example demonstrating this principle is Pharaoh, who is said to have "not known Yosef" (Shemot 1:8). It is inconceivable, the Rabbis explain, that a king who ascended the throne soon after Yosef's lifetime had not heard of Yosef. He was the one who saved Egypt from the devastating famine that struck the rest of the region, and thereby enriched the kingdom, as all the surrounding peoples came to purchase grain which Yosef had stored in anticipation of the looming drought. Rather, this means that the new Pharaoh did not acknowledge Yosef's role in saving the kingdom and bringing it to great heights of wealth and prestige. Because Pharaoh denied all the good that Yosef brought to the kingdom, he ultimately denied G-d Himself, brazenly and outrageously telling Moshe many years later, "Lo Yadati Et Hashem" – "I do not know G-d!" (Shemot 5:2). Translating this message into practical terms – one cannot be considered "religious" if he recites Birkat Ha'mazon after every meal with intense concentration, thanking Hashem for his food, and says "Modim" in the Amida prayer three times a day with great emotion, expressing gratitude to Hashem for all He does – but he does not show gratitude to the people in his life. Gratitude begins at home, with the people who do the most for us – first and foremost our parents, who gave us life and exerted so much hard work and made so many sacrifices for us, and then our spouse, the one closest to us, with whom we build and run our families. If we are not grateful to them and to everyone who helps us and does things for us, we will ultimately feel ungrateful also toward G-d. And, yes, this applies also to those who are paid to do things for us. Many years ago, I was hired as a private tutor for a teenage boy in the community. While we were learning, he called the family's housekeeper on the intercom system, and told her to bring him soda and some snacks. I was startled by the way he spoke, not even using the word "please." She came a minute later with the soda and snacks, and he said, "Close the door on your way out." I turned to the boy and asked, "You don't say 'thank you'??" "Rabbi," the boy replied, "she works for us. We're paying her to do this." "Now you're making me very nervous," I said. "Why?" "Because I also work for you. Your parents pay me, too. Are you going to treat me that way because I'm getting paid?" Whether it's the secretary, the cashier, the uber driver, the coworker, the delivery guy – feeling and expressing gratitude is not just required, but it is the ABC's of the Torah, our most basic obligation as Jews and as human beings. The more we appreciate all the people in our lives and all that they do for us, the more we will appreciate all that Hashem does for us – and this will, in turn, make us worthy of even more of His unlimited blessings and goodness.

The Torah in Parashat Ki-Teseh introduces the subject of the Ben Sorer U'moreh – the "wayward son." This is a delinquent 13-year-old child, whose delinquency manifests itself parituclarly in addictive indulgence. He eats and drinks so compulsively that he steals his parents' money to buy wine and meat. The Torah states that this child should be put to death, and the Gemara explains that this is because this child is set along a path to violent crime. Once he has reached this point, where he steals his parents' money to satisfy his lust for food and wine, we are certain that he will eventually mug people to steal their money, and will end up murdering. He should therefore be killed so he never grows to be a violent criminal. The Gemara further states that there has never been a child that qualified as a Ben Sorer U'moreh, and there never will be such a case. There are so many conditions that must be met for this law to take effect that it can never actually apply as a practical matter. The Torah nevertheless taught us this theoretical Halacha so we can earn reward by studying this subject. The Gemara then cites Rabbi Yochanan as testifying, "I saw him, and I sat on his grave." At first glance, it appears that there are two views in the Gemara as to whether there was a case of a Ben Sorer U'moreh. The first opinion said that it never happened, whereas Rabbi Yochanan said that it did. However, this sounds peculiar. Could the Sages have really been arguing about a historical point? Normally, debates among the Rabbis involve different rationales and different ways of understanding Torah laws. We are not accustomed to Rabbis arguing over historical facts. Perhaps we can advance a novel reading of the Gemara's discussion. We mentioned earlier that the Torah commands executing a Ben Sorer Ve'moreh because it is certain that he will grow to become a violent criminal. We must ask, why are we so certain? Do we not all know of juvenile delinquents who grew to become wonderful adults? Has there never been a child who caused a great deal of trouble as a young teenager but then put his life together and excelled? I know many outstanding Rabbis who were once troubled youths. Why are we so sure that this "wayward son" will turn out to be a criminal? The answer is that we aren't – and this is precisely why the Gemara tells us that there never was and never will be a case of a Ben Sorer U'moreh. The Torah speaks of a theoretical situation of a child who must be put to death because he will otherwise for certain become a violent killer as an adult – and the Sages tell us that this will always remain a theoretical possibility, because in actuality, every single person has the capacity to change, and to change drastically. No matter where a person is, no matter how low he has fallen, he always has the potential to achieve greatness. There are no exceptions. Rabbi Yochanan says that he saw a Ben Sorer U'moreh and went to his grave. Why do people visit graves? Mostly, people visit the graves of righteous Sadikim to pray to Hashem at the site. And this might have been what Rabbi Yohanan was doing at this grave – he was praying, because this wayward child, whom he saw in his state of rebelliousness and unbridled sinfulness, ended up becoming an outstanding Sadik, a pious and holy Jew at whose gravesite people should want to pray. Rabbi Yohanan is proving the point made earlier, that there never was and never will be a child determined to be a Ben Sorer U'moreh who must be put to death – because in reality, every child, no matter where he is currently, has the ability to turn his life around and rise to great spiritual heights. We must never give up on any Jew, because we are all the descendants of Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob, we all contain within our souls a divine spark, and we all have the potential for greatness. And just as we must never give up on another Jew, we must also never give up on ourselves. What we've done in the past does not determine who we are in the present, or who we will be in the future. We need to trust in our ability to change and in our potential to not only improve, but to achieve greatness and be worthy members of Hashem's special nation.

The Torah in Parashat Shoftim (18:15) introduces the command to obey the instructions of a prophet. Once someone has been confirmed as an authentic prophet, the Torah commands, "Elav Tishma'un" – we must heed everything he tells us to do. The Rambam discusses this command in Hilchot Yesodeh Ha'Torah (9:3), and he explains that it includes an obligation to obey a prophet in the exceptional case where he instructs doing something that the Torah forbids. Even when the prophet tells the people to transgress a Torah law – we are required to comply. However, the Rambam adds, this depends on several conditions. Firstly, and most obviously, the prophet must have previously established his credentials and been recognized as an authentic prophet of G-d. Secondly, this requirement applies only if the prophet calls for a temporary suspension of a Torah command. If, the Rambam writes, a prophet announces the permanent abolition of a Torah law, then not only should he be disobeyed – he is determined to be a false prophet, and must be put to death. The final condition is that the prophet calls for suspending a Torah law other than the prohibition against idol-worship. A prophet who calls upon the people to worship a foreign deity, even as a temporary measure, must not be obeyed. The Rambam draws our attention to a classic example of a prophet who called for a temporary suspension of a Torah command – the story of Eliyahu's confrontation with the prophets of the idol Ba'al. As we read in the Book of Melachim I (chapter 18), Eliyahu assembled the people at Mount Carmel for a "showdown" with the pagan prophets. He invited the prophets of Ba'al to offer a sacrifice to Ba'al, after which he would offer a sacrifice to Hashem, so that the sacrifice which received a response would prove who the true Deity is. The prophets of Ba'al offered their sacrifice, which of course elicited no response, whereupon Eliyahu offered a sacrifice which was miraculously consumed by a fire that descended from the heavens. The people then realized the fallacy of paganism, and the truth of Hashem's existence. Now offering a sacrifice outside the Bet Ha'mikdash constitutes a grave Torah violation, punishable by "Karet." Nevertheless, the people were required to accept Eliyahu's decision to offer a sacrifice on Mount Carmel as a temporary measure necessary for the purpose of opposing the pagan prophets. Rav Meir Simha Ha'kohen of Dvinsk (1843-1926), in his Meshech Hochma (Parashat Re'eh), offers an insight into why the Rambam pointed to this specific incident as an example of a prophet calling for the suspension of a Torah law. He notes that when the Torah introduces the prohibition against offering sacrifices outside the Bet Ha'mikdash, it explains the reason for this command – so that people will not sacrifice to foreign deities ("Ve'lo Yizbehu Od Et Zivhehem La'se'iriim Asher Hem Zonim Aharehem" – Vayikra 17:7). By requiring that all sacrifices must be brought to the Bet Ha'mikdash, the Torah helps ensure that people will not offer sacrifices to false gods. It thus emerges that this prohibition – which Eliyahu temporarily suspended at Mount Carmel – is associated with the prohibition against idolatry, as it is intended as a safeguard against foreign worship. Hence, the Meshech Hochma writes, a prophet does not actually have the authority to suspend this command. As we saw earlier, a prophet must be disobeyed if he orders the people to worship foreign deities – and presumably, this should extend also to commands intended to distance the people from idol worship, such as the prohibition against sacrificing outside the Bet Ha'mikdash. Nevertheless, the Meshech Hochma explains, Eliyahu was allowed to suspend this prohibition, because he did so for the specific purpose of leading the people away from idolatry. Seeing how the worship of Ba'al had become rampant among the nation, Eliyahu realized he needed to resort to drastic measures to convince the people to worship G-d, instead – and this necessitated offering a sacrifice outside the Bet Ha'mikdash. Therefore, although a prophet may not suspend a prohibition associated with the prohibition of idolatry, this is allowed when it serves to distance the people from idolatry. The Meshech Hochma explains on this basis why the Rambam chose specifically this example of a prophet temporarily suspending a Torah law – because this is the most extreme case of a prophet's legitimate suspension of a Torah command, a situation that we would have assumed would require the people's disobedience. Specifically this story exemplifies the extent of the prophet's authority, how he must be obeyed even when he calls for the temporary suspension of a law associated with the prohibition of idolatry when he deems this necessary to lead the people away from idolatry.

The Torah in Parashat Re'eh commands us to give charity. It instructs that when there is a person in need, "you shall surely give to him, and your heart shall not feel bad when you give to him, because on account of this matter G-d shall bless you…" (15:10). The plain meaning of the word "Biglal" ("on account of") in this verse is that Hashem rewards those who generously give charity with great material blessings. The Gemara (Shabbat 151b), however, teaches that this word can be read as an allusion to a "Galgal" – "wheel." The "wheel of fortune," the Gemara states, is always turning. Those who enjoy financial success today can lose their fortunes in an instant, and those who currently struggle can suddenly see great blessing. The Torah therefore urges us to show compassion to the needy and lend them the assistance that they so desperately need, because we never know when the tables might be turned and we will come to them for assistance. The Kabbalists add yet another interpretation of this verse, reading the word "Biglal" as an allusion to "Gilgul" – the reincarnation of souls. As we saw, this verse begins by urging us to not only give charity, but to do so wholeheartedly, with pure intentions – "and your heart shall not feel bad when you give to him." We should give not begrudgingly, because of pressure, or for the sake of our reputations, but rather because we sincerely wish to help our fellow Jew in need. The Torah thus warns that if we give with the wrong intentions, then "Biglal Ha'dabar Ha'zeh" – we will be forced to return to the world in a different "Gilgul." The Kabbalists develop this concept further based on the Mishna's teaching in Pirkeh Abot (4:11) that each Misva that a person performs creates for him a "Praklit" – an angel that advocates for him before the Heavenly Tribunal. The best thing we can do to earn G-d's protection is perform more Misvot. However, just as a human being has both a body and a soul, angels likewise have two components – a physical component and an inner, spiritual component. Kabbalah teaches that the Misva act that we perform creates the angel's physical being, whereas our pure intentions when performing the Misva create its "soul." In order for our Misva to have the effect of creating a "Praklit," it must be complete; the action must be performed properly, and with the right intention. When we perform a Misva for ulterior motives, although we are credited with the fulfillment of a Misva, it does not create a "Praklit" that can advocate on our behalf. The Kabbalists thus teach that if a person gives charity for the wrong reasons, he will return to the world in another life as a pauper. Poor people genuinely wish they had the ability to give charity and help those in need. And thus in this second "Gilgul," the person will have the thought and the desire to give Sedaka. This yearning to give charity will supply the sincere intention that was lacking during his first sojourn in this world, and will combine with the charity he gave to comprise a complete Misva that will create a complete angel who will advocate on his behalf. We now begin the month of Elul, when we prepare for the judgment of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. As we know, charity is one of the most effective means we have to ensure a favorable judgment, and it is therefore customary to increase our charitable contributions during Elul and during the days in between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. This is among the best things we can do to bring "Praklitim" – "defense lawyers" – with us to the "trial" so they could plead on our behalf. However, in order for this to work, our motives must be sincere. We need to put aside our ego, our preoccupation with fame and prestige, our concern for our reputation, our obsession with the way other people see us – and do the right thing precisely because it is the right thing. When we give Sedaka for impure motives, we fulfill a Misva – but a deficient Misva. For our charity to be whole, we need to give with sincerity, without trying to impress or be noticed. Our Sedaka will then create perfect angels who will stand before G-d and plead our case, so that we will be blessed with a year filled with joy, happiness, peace and good fortune, Amen.

Parashat Ekeb includes the second paragraph of our daily Shema recitation ("Ve'haya Im Shamo'a"), in which the Torah promises that G-d would reward our observance of the Misvot with material prosperity. Hashem says that if we observe His commands, "I will provide the rain of your land in its time" ("Ve'natati Metar Arsechem Be'ito" – 11:14). Rashi comments: "You did what is incumbent upon you, so I, too, will do what is incumbent upon Me." The question arises as to what prompted Rashi to make this remark, and how this enhances our understanding of the verse. Is it not obvious that Hashem here is promising adequate rainfall as a reward for our compliance with His commands? What does Rashi seek to clarify? A brilliant explanation of Rashi's comment was offered by the late Rebbe of Lubavitch. He suggested that Rashi was addressing a question that arises from a comparison between this verse and an earlier verse which similarly promises rainfall as a reward for Misva observance. In the beginning of Parashat Behukotai (Vayikra 26:4), G-d pronounces that if we obey His commands, "I shall grant your rainfall in its time" ("Ve'natati Gishmechem Be'ito"). There, Hashem promises to provide "Gishmechem" – "your rainfall," whereas here, in Parashat Ekeb, He promises "Metar Arsechem" – "the rain of your land." In other words, Parashat Behukotai speaks of "our rainfall," as though we are given some kind of special rain, while Parashat Ekeb speaks of the land's rain, the rain that the land naturally requires. The clue to understanding this discrepancy, the Rebbe explains, is found in Rashi's opening comments to Parashat Behukotai. There Rashi writes that the blessings described in that section are promised if "Tiheyu Amelim Ba'Torah" – the people "toil" and invest intensive efforts in Torah study. Here in Parashat Ekeb, by contrast, the Torah speaks of a time when Beneh Yisrael simply obey the Torah, but are not necessarily striving for more, applying themselves diligently to Torah learning. In Parashat Behukotai, then, the Torah refers to an exceptionally high spiritual level, in reward for which G-d promises not just rainfall, but "your rain" – a supernatural rain that is especially catered to our needs, that falls at precisely the right time and precisely the right manner that works the best for us. The rainfall promised in Parashat Ekeb, however, is a natural rainfall that will suffice to provide the food we need, but not beyond that. The Rebbe explained that this is Rashi's intent in making the comment, "You did what is incumbent upon you, so I, too, will do what is incumbent upon Me." Rashi anticipates the question of why this verse uses the expression "Metar Arsechem," as opposed to the verse in Parashat Behukotai, which uses the verse "Gishmechem." The answer, Rashi is telling us, is that the Torah speaks here of Beneh Yisrael doing "what is incumbent" upon them – without striving for more. In Parashat Behukotai, the Torah promises the special, supernatural rain that Beneh Yisrael deserve when they not only fulfill their basic obligations, but passionately pursue spiritual greatness by devoting their time and efforts to the intensive study of Torah. In Parashat Ekeb, Beneh Yisrael are described as merely satisfying their requirements, and so although they are of course worthy of significant rewards, they do not earn the special reward of "Gishmechem." In this brief remark, then, Rashi teaches us to always strive for more, to reach beyond the simple fulfillment of our religious obligations, and to pursue excellence in our service of Hashem.

The Torah in Parashat Vaet'hanan (4:2) introduces the prohibitions known as "Bal Tosif" and "Bal Tigra" – adding onto the Torah's laws, and detracting from the Torah's laws. Rashi explains that this refers to adding onto or detracting from a particular Misva. He gives the examples of wearing Tefillin with parchment containing more or fewer Parashiyot (sections of text) than the Torah requires. There are four Parashiyot which are to be inserted in the Tefillin, and if a person adds a fifth Parasha, then he transgresses the prohibition of "Bal Tosif," and if he includes only three Parashiyot, then he violates "Bal Tigra." Another example given by Rashi is waving more than four species on Sukkot, or fewer than four. The Ramban comments that the prohibition of "Bal Tosif" includes also introducing a new Misva to the Torah. If a person comes along and makes up a new law, claiming that this should be part of the Torah, he violates the prohibition of "Bal Tosif." Conversely, one who decides that a certain Biblical command is no longer part of the Torah transgresses "Bal Tigra." The Ramban clarifies that this applies only to one who introduces a new law and claims that it is obligatory as a Biblical imperative. The Sages enacted numerous obligations and prohibitions, but they made it very clear that these are not included in Torah, but are rather provisions that they saw fit to legislate to meet a particular need. And, they stipulated that the laws they enacted are treated differently than the laws of the Torah, with greater leniency. Thus, they do not violate the prohibition of "Bal Tosif." The Gaon of Vilna (1720-1797) brilliantly noted that both interpretations are correct, and rooted in the text of the Torah. The prohibition of "Bal Tosif" appears not only here, in Parashat Vaet'hanan, but also later, in Parashat Re'eh (13:1). However, the contexts of these verses reveals that they address two different commands. Here in Parashat Vaet'hanan, the command of "Bal Tosif" appears after Moshe tells the people, "Listen to the statutes and laws which I am teaching you to observe" (4:1). Moshe is telling Beneh Yisrael that he was going to present to them the Misvot, and he then warns them not to add more laws or to reject any of the laws that he was teaching them. In Parashat Re'eh, however, Moshe says, "Each thing that I am commanding you – you shall ensure to observe; do not add onto it, and do not detract from it." It seems clear that in this verse, Moshe speaks of each particular Misva, urging the people to observe every Misva precisely as he commands, without adding onto the Misva or taking anything away from it. The Ha'ketab Ve'ha'kabbala (Rav Yaakov Tzvi Mecklenberg, 1785-1865) follows this general approach of the Vilna Gaon, but he notes a different distinction between the two verses. The command here in Parashat Vaet'hanan is formulated in the plural form – "Lo Tosifu…Ve'lo Tigre'u" – whereas the command in Parashat Re'ei appears in the singular form – "Lo Tosef…Ve'lo Tigra." The Ha'ketab Ve'ha'kabbala thus suggests that here in Parashat Vaet'hanan, the Torah is addressing not an individual, but rather the Sanhedrin, the highest rabbinic body, which represents the entire nation. These scholars, the leading Sages of Israel, are the ones who need the warning not to change the Torah by introducing new laws or doing away with existing laws. In Parashat Re'eh, by contrast, the Torah is addressing the individual, who has no authority and would thus never think to introduce a new Misva, or eliminate a Misva. He needs the warning not to add onto or detract from specific Misvot, such as by adding an additional Parasha to the Tefillin or removing a Parasha. This command reminds us of the timelessness of the Torah, that at no point does it become "outdated" or in need of modification. Already from the outset, when the Torah was given, we are told that it and all its commands are eternal and eternally binding. Today's world is, of course, very different from the world at the time of Matan Torah, and the changing circumstances may affect the practical application of certain Misvot, based on the details of each Misva's requirements as determined by our oral halachic tradition. But never can we say that a Misva is no longer binding simply by virtue of the fact that many centuries have passed since the Torah was given. Each and every Misva is eternally relevant, and we are bound to all the Misvot no less now than our ancestors were millennia ago.

In the beginning of the second chapter of Megilat Echa (2:1), the prophet Yirmiyahu bemoans, "Hishlich Mi'shamayim Eretz Tiferet Yisrael" – "He cast the glory of Israel down from the heavens to the ground." The plain meaning of this verse is that the Hurban (destruction) had the effect of lowering the Jewish People from glory to ruin. They had been in the "heavens"; they were favored, cherished and blessed by the Almighty, who resided among them in the Bet Ha'mikdash. With the Hurban, this lofty stature came crashing down to the ground, and they were now lowly and shattered. Perhaps, however, this verse could be read differently, as describing not what G-d did, but what the Jews did. The "Tiferet Yisrael," the Jews' source of glory and pride, was lowered from the "heavens" to the "ground." Our source of glory is supposed to be the Torah, the Misvot, spirituality, our service of Hashem. This is what we are to regard as our "Tiferet," our greatest source of pride, and our highest priority. But the Jews of the time lowered their "Tiferet" to the "ground" – to the realm of materialism and vanity. The "Tiferet Yisrael" – our source of pride – had been our intensive Torah learning, our devotion to Misvot, our faith and our religious commitment. But it was lowered to the "ground." People no longer took pride in spiritual commitment, and instead glorified wealth, material assets, beautiful homes, fancy clothes, luxury vacations, and their portfolios. Indeed, the Gemara (Nedarim 81a) teaches that the Bet Ha'mikdash was destroyed "She'lo Berchu Ba'Torah Tehila" – because the people of that time did not recite Birkat Ha'Torah, the Beracha before Torah learning. This means that they did not regard their Torah learning as sufficiently important to warrant a Beracha. They learned Torah, but they did not prioritize it, they didn't value it, they didn't accord it the importance it deserves. They directed their focus and the bulk of their attention toward their pursuit of wealth and material luxuries, rather than toward the service of Hashem. We find an allusion to this concept in the Torah, as well. Twice in the Torah we read harsh warnings of "Kelalot" – devastating curses that would befall Am Yisrael because of their misdeeds – once at the end of the Book of Vayikra, in Parashat Behukotai, and once toward the very end of the Torah, in Parashat Ki-Tabo. The Ramban (Rav Moshe Nahmanides, Spain, 1194-1270) posited that the first of these sections – the one in Parashat Behukotai – predicts the destruction of the first Bet Ha'mikdash, whereas the second section – in Parashat Ki-Tabo – predicts the fall of the Second Commonwealth. In Parashat Ki-Tabo, the Torah tells us the reason why G-d would bring these tragedies: "Because you did not serve Hashem your G-d with joy and with a good heart, out of an abundance of everything" (28:47). The final two words of this verse – "Me'rob Kol" ("out of an abundance of everything") – indicates that the people of the Second Temple period were plagued by excessive indulgence, by the pursuit of "an abundance of everything." This was their passion and their primary ambition, and this had the effect of compromising their service of Hashem. As we know, the Gemara (Yoma 9b) attributes the destruction of the second Bet Ha'mikdash to the sin of Sin'at Hinam – baseless hatred among the people. When we prioritize Torah and Misvot, when our attention is directed primarily at serving Hashem properly, we are less prone to jealousy, competition, and pettiness. If our priority is serving Hashem to the best of our ability, then we have relatively few reasons to fight with other people. But when our focus is on the pursuit of wealth, we are far more vulnerable to envy and hostility. We are more triggered by what other people say to us and about us, and we are more embittered by even trivial things. One of the root causes of Sin'at Hinam is "Me'rob Kol," the frantic and obsessive pursuit of wealth. Of course, the Torah does not frown upon making money and enjoying one's money. There is nothing wrong with the desire to live comfortably, or with working hard so one can afford to live comfortably. The Torah does not encourage poverty. The problem is when we turn this pursuit into "Tiferet Yisrael," our source of pride and glory, our highest priority, our primary goal in life, our ultimate objective. We must live every day with the goal of serving Hashem. Even if we devote the majority of our day to our careers or enterprises – which, as mentioned, is perfectly legitimate – our primary ambition must be Abodat Hashem, the devoted service of the Almighty. If we ensure to make this our priority, we will find ourselves living with far less jealousy, far less hostility and resentment toward other people, and far less negativity. And we will then, please G-d, become worthy of the arrival of our final redemption and the rebuilding of the Bet Ha'mikdash, speedily and in our times, Amen.