Parashat Teruma begins with G-d's command, "Ve'yikhu Li Teruma" – that Beneh Yisrael should donate materials toward the construction of the Mishkan. Surprisingly, Hashem here commands that the people donate toward this project with the word "Ve'yikhu," which means "They shall take." Instead of saying that the people should give, that they should donate, Hashem commands them to "take" a donation. This highlights a basic truism about charity – that by giving, we receive. When we give charity, when we donate toward a worthy cause, we receive far more than we give. We lose nothing, and we gain an incalculable amount. The merits earned through charitable donations are worth far more, and are infinitely more secure, than any financial asset. The rewards are both inestimable and guaranteed. But this understanding of the word "Ve'yikhu" actually runs even deeper. The Gemara in Masechet Kiddushin speaks of an exceptional case where a bride can be betrothed by giving, instead of receiving. The Halachic mechanism of Kiddushin, whereby a woman becomes formally betrothed to a man, requires the man to give the woman something of value. Of course, this is commonly done by giving the bride a ring. Normally, Kiddushin cannot be effectuated in the opposite manner, through the bride giving something to the groom. If the bride wishes to give the groom a gift, this must not be done as part of the Huppa ceremony, because it must be perfectly clear that the betrothal takes effect through the groom giving the ring to the bride. However, the Gemara establishes that if the groom is a distinguished person, such as a member of the royal court, then his bride can become betrothed to him through her giving him a gift. The reason, the Gemara explains, is that when an ordinary person gives a gift to a person of distinction, the giver derives great benefit by the recipient's acceptance of the gift. The satisfaction that comes from the distinguished person's consent to receive the gift outweighs the value of the gift. Therefore, if the groom is a man of distinction, the bride can become betrothed through the benefit she receives by the groom's acceptance of her gift, because by giving, the bride is actually receiving. This Halacha sheds new light on the command "Ve'yikhu Li Teruma." When we donate for a Misva purpose, we are, in essence, donating to Hashem, as it were. We are so-to-speak giving something to Hashem. Whether it's assisting a family in need, contributing to a charity fund, or supporting a synagogue of yeshiva, we are giving a gift to Hashem – who is, quite obviously, far more "distinguished" than any dignitary or prominent figure. And in this sense, we receive when we give. Anytime we have the opportunity to donate, we are given the privilege of giving a gift to Hashem. This is a privilege we should celebrate – and an opportunity that we should eagerly and enthusiastically seize as often as we can.

Parashat Mishpatim is well known for its presentation of a series of civil laws. These laws govern interpersonal relations, mainly matters related to conflicts over money or property. Speaking to Moshe, Hashem introduces this series of laws by saying, "Ve'eleh Ha'mishpatim Asher Tasim Lifnehem" – "And these are the statutes that you shall place before them." Rashi, citing the Gemara, comments that the word "Lifnehem" ("before them") implies "Lifnehem Ve'lo Lifneh Goyim" – these laws were to be presented specifically to Beneh Yisrael, and not to other peoples. Of course, we know that all the Torah's laws were given specifically to Beneh Yisrael, and not to the other nations. It seems that Rashi seeks to emphasize the fundamental difference between the Torah's system of civil law and that of the other nations. Although all civilized societies devise and implement an effective judicial system, there is something distinct about our system of law, and this is the implication of the word "Lifnehem" – that the special code of law presented in this Parasha is unique to the Jewish People. Among the unique features of the Torah legal system is the standardization and uniformity of its penal code. In other systems, the judge is authorized to determine the punishment for a convicted offender, and to take into account the offender's condition and the circumstances surrounding his crime. Thus, for example, if an impoverished man who had been out of work for years was caught stealing, the judge will issue a much lighter sentence than he would if a multimillionaire stole the same amount. When a person commits an offense, there might be mitigating circumstances that lessen its severity, or circumstances that make the act especially cruel. Most legal systems empower the judge to take all these factors into account when deciding the appropriate punishment. The Torah, however, establishes punishments that must be administered equally to all people convicted of the given crime. The financial condition of neither the perpetrator nor the victim affects the sentencing. The punishments assigned by the Torah for particular crimes are applied without considering the broader context of the act. The reason is that no human being can truly determine the severity of another person's behavior. Even if we know the background, the context, and the circumstances surrounding the incident, there is so much more that we do not know. We will never know what kind of pressures and lures contributed to an offender's decision to commit the act, nor can we know the full scope of a criminal's malicious intent. Only Hashem can determine the true extent of a crime, and the precise punishment that the offender deserves. For this reason, the verse says in Tehillim (82:1), "Elokim Nisav Ba'adat Kel, Be'kereb Elohim Yishpot" – Hashem is present in the courtroom when the judges try a case. Hashem is present because He is needed to determine what the judges are incapable of determining. The Torah establishes guidelines for the judges to follow, but we know that their decision will not necessarily result in the defendant receiving precisely what he deserves. Hashem's presence assures that He will make this happen, that He will do what the judges cannot do, that after the judges rule in accordance with Torah law, Hashem will see to it that justice is flawlessly and perfectly served. We must always remember how limited our vision and knowledge are, how little we know about other people. We might think we have the "whole story," but the truth is that we always know a very small part of the story. It is therefore foolish – not to mention unproductive – to cast judgment and reach conclusions about other people's conduct. This should be left to G-d, while we devote our attention to our own behavior, constantly striving to grow and improve.

The opening verses of Parashat Yitro tell of Yitro's arrival at Beneh Yisrael's camp. Yitro, Moshe's father-in-law, had been a pagan priest, but then recognized the truth of monotheism. He now took the next step, and joined Beneh Yisrael as they encamped at the foot of Mount Sinai. Rashi comments that Yitro was motivated to join the nation upon hearing of two events: Keri'at Yam Suf (the splitting of the sea), and the war against Amalek. It seems difficult to understand why the war with Amalek contributed to Yitro's decision. The splitting of the sea was, of course, an extraordinary miracle, an event that was heard throughout the ancient world and led all the nations to look at Beneh Yisrael with awe. It is understandable that this miracle inspired Yitro to come and join Beneh Yisrael. But how did the war against Amalek have this kind of effect? What about this event inspired Yitro? One answer is that Yitro was struck by the drastic decline that Beneh Yisrael experienced from the event of Keri'at Yan Suf to the war against Amalek. The Sages teach that at the time of Keri'a Yam Suf, every member of the nation, even the most unlearned among them, reached a certain level of prophecy. The nation at that moment rose to the greatest heights. Just several weeks later, however, when they found themselves without water, their faith was shaken, and they started asking, "Is G-d in our midst or not?" (Shemot 17:7). It was in response to this lack of faith that Hashem led Amalek to attack Beneh Yisrael. Yitro saw how the people so quickly fell from the stature of prophets to the point where they could actually question whether Hashem was with them. This rapid decline is what prompted Yitro to join Beneh Yisrael. The Gemara teaches that Torah is the "antidote" to the Yeser Ha'ra (evil inclination). Sinful tendencies are part of the human condition; as long as a person is alive, he is going to tempted by some lure, by some human weakness, by one or several of the many negative traits with which people are created. And in order to withstand these inclinations, we need to immerse ourselves in Torah. Therefore, when Yitro saw how fast people are capable of falling, he made the decision to join Beneh Yisrael, so he can access the Torah, the "antidote" to the Yeser Ha'ra and protect himself from spiritual decline. Rav Yosef Salant (Jerusalem, 1885-1981) offers a different explanation of Rashi's comment. He writes that after the miracle of the sea, many people throughout the world attributed this event to Moshe Rabbenu. Rather than recognize the existence of a single, omnipotent Creator, they instead concluded that Moshe was a superior sorcerer who succeeded in defeating the Egyptians through his magical prowess. Yitro, who was well-versed in all the various forms of ancient paganism, including sorcery, likewise suspected that it was Moshe who split the sea by lifting his staff over the water. Beneh Yisrael's miraculous victory against Amalek, however, was clearly not brought about by Moshe. At the time of the battle, Moshe stood at a distance, on a hill overlooking the battlefield. And when the people looked heavenward, they received Hashem's assistance and defeated the Amalekites. This event showed that the splitting of the sea was wrought not by Moshe, but by an all-powerful G-d, and this motivated Yitro to come join Beneh Yisrael. There might also be a third interpretation. In the Book of Debarim (25:18), Moshe describes Amalek's attack with the word "Karecha." The Sages explained this term as a derivative of the word "Kar" – "cool." After the miracle of the sea, Beneh Yisrael were feared throughout the world. The Rabbis drew a comparison to a tub filled with scalding hot water, that nobody dared touch. When Amalek launched their attack, they were like a person who jumped into the tub of boiling hot water – he suffered bad burns, but cooled the water for anyone else who wished to bathe afterward. Amalek was defeated, but this battle had the effect of "cooling" Beneh Yisrael, of exposing their vulnerability. Beneh Yisrael now appeared far less fearsome, and no longer seemed invincible. Yitro saw the grave Hillul Hashem – defamation of Hashem's Name – caused by Amalek's attack. The awe and admiration that the world felt toward Beneh Yisrael after the splitting of the sea were now gone. And Yitro understood that the only way to rectify a Hillul Hashem is by creating a Kiddush Hashem – a glorification of Hashem's Name. He therefore decided to join Beneh Yisrael. As a respected and wealthy public figure, his arrival would "make the news," and become widely known. People all over would hear that a prominent former pagan cleric had recognized the truth of the Jewish faith and decided to join Beneh Yisrael's ranks. This would repair, at least somewhat, the damage caused by Amalek's attack. And thus Yitro's decision was driven by these two events – the splitting of the sea and Amalek's attack, as he sought to restore the respect for Beneh Yisrael that was achieved by the miracle of Keri'at Yam Suf.

REM-SS85-08 The Torah tells that as Beneh Yisrael stood at the shores of the sea, and they saw the Egyptian army pursuing them, they cried out to G-d – "Va'yis'aku Beneh Yisrael El Hashem" (14:10). Rashi comments: "Tafesu Umanut Abotam" – "They took hold of their forefathers' craft." Meaning, Beneh Yisrael here followed the example set for them by the patriarchs, who likewise prayed to G-d. Rashi then proceeds to cite verses from the Book of Bereshit showing that the three patriarchs – Abraham, Yishak and Yaakob – prayed. When reading Rashi's brief remark, we must wonder what point he wishes to make, which difficulty in the text he is trying to resolve. Why must we be informed that Beneh Yisrael's prayers at the shores of the sea followed the patriarchs' example? How does this enhance our understanding of the text? Probing a bit deeper, Rashi's comments become even more perplexing. As mentioned, Rashi cites verses that speak of the patriarchs praying. Surprisingly, however, Rashi specifically does not cite the more obvious sources of the patriarchs' prayers. Instead of pointing to Abraham's prayer on behalf of the city of Sedom, Rashi instead brings the verse that tells of Abraham returning the next day to the spot where he had prayed for Sedom (Bereshit 19:27). Instead of noting Yishak's prayer for a child, Rashi instead cites the Torah's vague description of Yishak "conversing" in the field (Bereshit 24:63), which the Sages interpret as a reference to prayer. And instead of mentioning Yaakob's plea for help when Esav was approaching with an army, Rashi brings the verse that tells of Yaakob's evening "encounter" ("Va'yifga" – 28:11), which is understood to mean that he prayed. Why did Rashi not cite the clearest references to the patriarchs' prayers? More generally, why did Rashi need to bring textual proof to the fact that our righteous Abot (patriarchs) prayed? Do we not already know this? The Lubavitcher Rebbe (Rav Menachem Mendel Schneerson, 1902-1994) answered all these questions by establishing that Beneh Yisrael's cries were not actual cries for help. We must remember that these events transpired after G-d had brought the powerful Egyptian Empire to its knees with ten miraculous plagues, after Moshe had informed the people that G-d was bringing them to their homeland, and after they had taken the Egyptians' possessions with them to bring to the Holy Land. They knew that G-d would help them and save them from the pursuing Egyptian army. They did not have a doubt. (Although the Torah relates that the people turned to Moshe in panic, asking why he had taken them out of Egypt to perish, Rashi explains that this was a different group than the group who responded by praying.) They had complete faith in G-d. This was the point that Rashi wished to clarify – that the people prayed even though they were confident that they would be saved. These prayers were not a prayer for help, for rather "Umanut Abotam" – the "craft" taught to them by their forebears. A person with a profession goes to work every day. He doesn't show up only when he runs out of money; he knows that he needs to tend to his profession consistently. The same is true of our connection to Hashem. We cannot build this connection only by turning to him when we face some kind of problem. We need to practice the "craft," or "profession," of prayer each and every day, even when we have no particular, pressing issue that concerns us. This is what Rashi is teaching us. Beneh Yisrael turned to Hashem in prayer not because they were frightened, but rather because prayer was an "Umanut" – a "profession," something that they knew they must consistently do. And they learned this "profession" from the patriarchs. Abraham prayed even after Sedom was destroyed, when he could no longer save the city. Yishak prayed in the field regularly. And Yaakob prayed before going to sleep. These weren't prayers for help, but rather part of the Abot's ongoing, persistent efforts to build their relationship with Hashem. This is the "profession" that they taught us, and that we must follow. The Lubavitcher Rebbe applied this idea to the Misva of Torah study. This obligation is not limited to practical knowledge. It goes without saying that in order to practice Judaism properly, we must learn and familiarize ourselves with Halacha, and practical Halacha must certainly take priority in our Torah curricula. However, this is not the sole objective of Torah study. We are required to learn as much as we can even about subjects that are not practically applicable. Torah learning is not only about knowledge, but also about our connection to Hashem who gave us the Torah. When we pray and learn Torah not only in moments of need, but with constancy and devotion, we cultivate a living, daily bond with Hashem – and this is the lifelong, sacred "profession" which we've inherited from our righteous forebears.

The Torah in Parashat Bo (12:40) states that Beneh Yisrael spent a total of 430 years in Egypt. Already Rashi notes the seeming contradiction between this verse and G-d's prophecy to Abraham Abinu that his descendants would endure a 400-year period of exile and oppression (Bereshit 15:13). Why did G-d predict a period of 400 years, if Beneh Yisrael were going to spend 430 years in exile? Rashi explains that the number depends on the starting point. The period from the birth of Yishak until the Exodus was 400 years, but Abraham received this prophecy thirty years prior to Yishak's birth, for a total of 430 years. The Shela Ha'kadosh (Rav Yeshaya Horowitz, d. 1630) offered a different answer, boldly asserting that G-d added thirty years to the period of exile. G-d informed Abraham that his descendants would live as foreigners for 400 years – but as a result of Mechirat Yosef, the sale of Yosef as a slave by his brothers, thirty years were added. The Shela explains that Yosef was brought out of the dungeon in Egypt and appointed the country's vizier at the age of thirty (Bereshit 41:46). In a sense, then, his first thirty years were stolen from him because of his brothers' cruelty. Therefore, it was decreed that Beneh Yisrael would endure an additional thirty years of oppression. The Shela's theory sheds light on the Gemara's comments in Masechet Sanhedrin (92) regarding the mistake made by the tribe of Efrayim. The Gemara says about the people of Efrayim, "Manu Le'ketz Ve'ta'u" – they miscalculated the end of the Egyptian exile. When they erroneously thought that the time for redemption had arrived, they left Egypt. But when they reached the Philistine region of Gat, they were attacked by the Philistines, and many were killed, while some managed to escape back to Egypt. The Gemara says that the remains of those people from Efrayim were the "dry bones" that were miraculously brought back to life in Yehezkel's famous prophecy. On the basis of the Shela's analysis, we can understand more clearly why the tribe of Efrayim made this mistake. If, indeed, an extra thirty years were added on account of the sin of Mechirat Yosef, then it stands to reason that the tribe of Efrayim – who descended from Yosef – assumed that they did not need to wait the additional thirty years. Since this period was a punishment for the crime committed against Yosef, they figured, it did not affect them, the descendants of Yosef. They therefore left Egypt thirty years early, at the end of the period of exile that was initially decreed. The question then becomes, why were the people of Efrayim wrong? Why were they killed for leaving Egypt early? The answer emerges from a passage in the Zohar regarding another consequence of Mechirat Yosef. Each year, on Tisha B'Ab, we recite a special Kinna (dirge) about the "Asara Harugeh Malchut" – the ten great Rabbis who were brutally murdered by the Romans. The Zohar teaches that these great Rabbis were Gilgulim (reincarnations) of the brothers, and they were killed to atone for the sin of Mechirat Yosef. Now in truth, only nine of the twelve brothers participated in Mechirat Yosef: Yosef, of course, was the victim; Binyamin, the youngest, was home and not involved; and Reuben was not present when the other brothers decided to sell Yosef, and in fact tried to rescue him. Why, then, were ten Rabbis killed to atone for the sin committed by only nine brothers? The answer is that Yosef himself bore a degree of guilt. While his brothers of course acted wrongly by selling him as a slave, he was partially responsible for their hostility. He reported to Yaakob about their alleged wrongdoing, and provoked them, arousing their hatred. Therefore, he, too, was accountable. This, then, was the tribe of Efrayim's mistake. The additional thirty years were decreed also for them, the descendants of Yosef, because he was partially responsible for what happened. Their decision to leave Egypt was thus a mistake, as they, too, were required to spend an additional thirty years in Egypt.

The Torah in Parashat Vaera traces the lineage of Moshe Rabbenu, informing us that he was son of Amram and Yochebed. Amram was a grandson of Yakaob Abinu's third son, Levi – specifically, he was the son of Levi's son, Kehat. Astonishingly, the Torah relates, Yochebed was Amram's aunt – she was the daughter of Levi, the sister of Kehat. The commentaries explain that Yochebed and Kehat had different mothers, and thus they were half-siblings. As such, the marriage between Amram and Yochebed was not forbidden by the Noachide laws, which apply to all mankind. These laws forbid marrying one's parent's full sister, but not a parent's half-sister. This union would, however, be proscribed by the Torah given to Beneh Yisrael. It turns out, then, that Moshe – the greatest leader and prophet in our nation's history, who brought us the Torah – was the product of a marriage that Torah law forbids. Moshe is not the only great leader with less-than-pristine origins. The Davidic line, which began with David and Shlomo and will – we pray very soon – culminate with Mashiah, also has its origins in problematic relationships. David descended from Peretz – the product of the relationship between Yehuda and his daughter-in-law, Tamar. David's great-grandmother was Rut, a convert from the nation of Moab, and although it was ultimately concluded that this marriage was permissible, there was considerable controversy as to whether a man may marry a woman from Moab. And the founder of the nation of Moab, Rut's ancestor, was conceived when Lot's daughter gave her father wine and had a relationship with him, thinking they this was needed in order to maintain the earth's population. Rav Menahem Recanti (Italy, 1223-1290) offers an explanation for this phenomenon, for why the great leaders emerged from less-than-ideal origins. The Satan, he writes, is always seeking to sabotage the rise of these righteous figures, to block these holy souls from descending into the world. Moshe brought us the Torah, which is the "antidote" to the Yeser Ha'ra (evil inclination), the greatest weapon we have in our struggle to overcome the Satan's efforts to lure us away from the service of G-d. And the Gemara teaches that when Mashiah arrives, he will destroy the Satan so it could no longer hurt the Jewish People. Therefore, the Satan will do everything in its power to obstruct the transmission of Torah, and to prevent the arrival of Mashiah. For this reason, Hashem arranged that Moshe and David would be produced from unions that the Satan would never bother to disrupt. The Satan welcomes problematic relationships such as those of Lot and his daughters, Yehuda and Tamar, and Amram and Yochebed. He would never try to interfere with them, because this is precisely what he wants – relationships that are from the Torah's ideal marriage. Moshe and David needed to be produced this way for the purpose of avoiding the Satan's interference. This reminds us never to be discouraged by the challenges that we face in the pursuit of greatness. Whenever we try to achieve something significant, we are going to confront obstacles. Whether it's in the process of finding a spouse and raising a family, the process of learning Torah and spiritual growth, starting a new organization or project – the Satan is always going to try to interfere. Rather than be surprised and discouraged by the problems that arise, we should expect them, stay strong, and proceed with confidence, trusting that Hashem is always helping us in our efforts to defeat the Satan and achieve to the very best of our ability.

Parashat Shemot tells about the enslavement of Beneh Yisrael in Egypt, a policy enacted by the king about whom the Torah writes: "A new king arose in Egypt, who did not know Yosef" (1:8). Rashi brings a debate among the Amoraim regarding this verse. One view accepts the simple meaning, that a new king came to power. According to the other view, however, this Pharaoh who decided to persecute Beneh Yisrael was the same king who ruled Egypt previously, but he is called "new" because "Nit'hadeshu Gezerotav" – he issued new decrees. This second opinion cited by Rashi requires some explanation. The phrase "Nit'hadeshu Gezerotav" does not actually denote "new" decrees. Its precise translation is "his decrees were renewed." There is, of course, a significant difference between a "new" decree and a "renewed" decree. A "new" decree is one which never existed before, whereas a "renewed decree" is a policy that was once in place and is now restored. We must ask, then, which old policy did Pharaoh "renew" in Egypt? Rav Yosef Salant (Jerusalem, 1885-1981), in his Be'er Yosef, answers this question by examining Onkelos' translation of this verse, which concludes: "De'la Mekayem Gezerat Yosef" – "who did not uphold Yosef's decree." According to Onkelos, Pharaoh annulled the policy that Yosef had put into place. This likely refers to the measures Yosef had enacted in order to feed the population of Egypt during the famine. As we read toward the end of Parashat Vayigash, once the famine struck, Yosef began selling the vast quantities of grain that had been stored during the seven years of surplus. At first, he sold grain to the people in exchange for money, and then, after they had spent all their money, he sold them grain in exchange for their animals and their land. Eventually, the people were left with nothing with which to purchase grain. Yosef therefore turned the entire population into Pharaoh's servants, giving them land to till, in exchange for which they gave Pharaoh a percentage of their crops. The Torah writes that the Egyptians were happy with this arrangement, as it ensured their survival during the devastating famine that ravaged the country. Many years later, Rav Salant explains, Pharaoh changed this policy and brought back the conditions that had been in place before Yosef came along. And thus he "renewed" the old decrees. Rav Salant writes that once the famine ended, Pharaoh used the arrangement established by Yosef as a means of provoking resentment and hostility toward Beneh Yisrael. As politicians often do, Pharaoh sought to win the people's support by convincing them that they were victims of an evil scheme from which he would heroically rescue them. He thus charged that Beneh Yisrael – who were living comfortably in the Goshen region – were responsible for the Egyptian people's lack of freedom, for their status as Pharaoh's servants, because it was Yosef who enacted this policy. And thus the arrangement that saved Egypt from widespread starvation was turned into an evil, malicious scheme to subjugate the people. The Egyptians who were previously grateful for this arrangement now resented it, blaming Yosef – and, by extension, all Beneh Yisrael – for the injustice that they were told they now experienced. One contemporary Rabbi added that this might shed light on Rav Yosef's comment in the Gemara (Pesahim 68b) expressing the great importance of the holiday of Shabuot. Rav Yosef remarked that if not for the event of Matan Torah, which is celebrated on Shabuot, "Kama Yosef Ika Be'shuka" – "There are several 'Yosef's' in the marketplace. Meaning, it is only because of the Torah that Rav Yosef was able to achieve and to distinguish himself through his outstanding scholarship. On a deeper level, however, Rav Yosef was perhaps lamenting the fact that the phenomenon of Yosef, of a Jew who was unfairly maligned and scapegoated after having helped and contributed to a country – has recurred many times. There are, unfortunately, many examples of "Yosef," occasions when Jews were viewed with suspicion and treated with hostility despite their having been hard-working, law-abiding, contributing members of society. This observation is, on the one hand, sobering, but on the other hand, it should give us hope and encouragement at this time of rising antisemitism. This phenomenon is upsetting, but not new. It has happened before – and, each time, we've prevailed. Hashem has always helped us in the past, and he will help us now, as well. We will continue to proudly carry the legacy of Yosef Ha'sadik, passionately adhering to our values and traditions while contributing to the society around us, and placing our trust in Hashem at all times.

Rashi opens his commentary to Parashat Vayehi with an observation about the "formatting" of this text in the Torah scroll. He notes that the text of Parashat Vayehi begins immediately after the text of the previous Parasha, with no space in between. Normally, the Torah indicates the beginning of a new section with empty space. Sometimes a new section begins on the next line ("Parasha Petuha"), and sometimes a new section begins nine empty spaces (meaning, the space needed to write nine letters) after the end of the previous section ("Parasha Setuma"). Parashat Vayehi, however, begins with no empty space at all separating it from the previous Parasha, appearing as though this is not actually a new Parasha at all. We know that the division of the Torah into Parashiyot was established by Ezra based on an oral tradition. The question thus arises as to why Parashat Vayehi is written immediately after the previous Parasha, without any empty space to indicate that a new Parasha begins. Rashi explains that this "closed" formatting symbolizes the fact that "once Yaakob died, the eyes and hearts of Israel were 'closed' from the distress of bondage, as they [the Egyptians] began to enslave them." The "closed" Parasha expresses the "closing" that occurred due to the slavery that began to unfold after Yaakob Abinu's passing, which the Torah tells about in this Parasha. We must ask, what exactly does Rashi mean when he speaks of the people's eyes and hearts "closing"? Additionally, tradition teaches that the Egyptians did not enslave Beneh Yisrael until all of Yaakob's sons passed away. As long as even one of the Yaakob's sons was alive, the period of slavery did not begin. How, then, can Rashi say that the Egyptians began enslaving Beneh Yisrael after Yaakob Abinu's death? One explanation I saw is that Rashi refers not to the bondage itself, but rather to the early warning signs. Even before Beneh Yisrael were enslaved, there were indications of hostility toward them. Unfortunately, the people's "eyes and hearts" were "closed," they were blinded, and failed to see what was happening before to was too late. When we learn Jewish history, and hear about the tragically numerous incidents of persecution that our nation has suffered, we often find ourselves wondering why the Jews did not just leave, why they did not see the proverbial "writing on the wall" ahead of time and escape before it was too late. The answer is found in Rashi's comments. The Jews' eyes were often closed, unable – or unwilling – to objectively assess the situation, to see where developments were leading. They dismissed hostility as a limited phenomenon, the attitudes of a negligible fringe element. Or, they would see it as a passing phase that would soon end. If a discriminatory law was passed, or a discriminatory policy decision was made, the Jews would assure themselves that it could be repealed, that a different politician will soon come in and implement a different policy, or that they would just lobby government officials. Rashi is telling us that our ancestors in Egypt made this same mistake. Their eyes and minds were "closed," unable to see what was really happening. We must always keep our eyes and minds open, and honestly acknowledge what is happening even when these truths are uncomfortable. And we must never delude ourselves into assuming that the kind of hostility that our nation has experienced in other countries cannot surface here, too. As we continue hoping and praying to Hashem to protect us wherever we are, we must, at the same time, keep our hand on the pulse of the society in which we live and keep our eyes open to potential threats to our future.

The Torah in Parashat Vayigash lists the names of the members of Yaakob Abinu's family who moved with him from Canaan to Egypt. These include his granddaughter, Serah, the daughter of Asher (46:17). Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel tells us something fascinating about Serah – she was one of the very few people in world history who never died, and instead went into Gan Eden alive. Serah received this special reward because she was the one who informed Yaakob Abinu that Yosef was still alive. Yaakob had mourned and grieved for twenty-two years, thinking that Yosef, his beloved son, was devoured by an animal. When Yosef's brothers returned from Egypt with the news that Yosef was actually alive, and had risen to the position of vizier of Egypt, they were unsure how to communicate this information to Yaakob. He was an elderly, shattered man, and they needed to share with him this news in a gentle, delicate manner that wouldn't cause him shock. They turned to Serah, Asher's daughter, who was a talented musician. She took an instrument and sang beautifully to Yaakob the words that Yosef was alive. In reward for this act, Serah earned eternal life. It is not difficult to see the principle of "Midda Ke'negged Midda" – how actions are repaid "measure for measure" – at work in this story. Serah effectively restored Yaakb Abinu's soul, bringing him back to life. Throughout the twenty-two years of mourning, Yaakob was lifeless – without joy, without vitality. Serah restored Yaakob's life – and so she was rewarded with eternal life. The Zohar teaches that anytime a person shares good news with somebody, the spirit of Eliyahu Ha'nabi enters his being. Eliyahu is the one who will inform us of Mashiah's imminent arrival. In fact, Ashkenazim have the practice of adding a brief prayer to Birkat Ha'mazon asking Hashem to send us Eliyahu Ha'nabi "so that he will bring us good news, salvations and consolations." Eliyahu is the ultimate bearer of good tidings – and he is the most famous person who never died, who lives eternally, who went straight into Gan Eden without experiencing death. By sharing good news with people, we attain an element of Eliyahu Ha'nabi's eternal quality. When we tell good news, we make people happier, we revitalize them, we encourage them, we bring them more "liveliness." We are thus worthy of eternity. I recall that after my first child was born, I went from the hospital to a job I had at the time tutoring a young man in preparation for his Bar-Misva. When I came in, his mother said hello and asked how I was doing. I said I was fine, without informing her that my wife delivered a baby boy. I felt I would come across as self-absorbed by telling her about the birth. Later, the father came in and said hello, and once again I just responded to the greeting without informing him about the birth of my son. Not long after I left, both parents heard that my wife had given birth to a boy. They both called me and asked in bewilderment why I hadn't said anything about it. I acted incorrectly that day. I didn't realize at that time how important it is to share good news, as much and as often as possible. People love hearing good news. It gets them excited, it injects them with optimism and encouragement. It gives them a better feeling about the world. It reminds them that beautiful things are happening all around them, that Hashem does so many wonderful things. Sharing good news has the effect of lifting people's spirits and energizing them. This is especially important in today's day and age. The device we carry in our pocket is constantly bringing us bad news. We are greeted all day by distressing news, by all that is wrong in the world. The news feeds never tell us about couples getting engaged and married, about people working hard, accomplishing, and earning a respectable livelihood, about happy families enjoying dinner or an outing, about people doing Misvot and learning Torah. This is not reported as news because it's uninteresting. News feeds instead tell us as much negative information as it can – crime, corruption, ugly politics, "juicy" gossip about public personalities and celebrities, etc. Every piece of news we consume makes the world seem darker. The cumulative effect of news consumption is chronic negativity, and even anxiety, as we feel that everything about the world is wrong. The antidote to this gloom is positivity. We should be making a point of being as positive and upbeat as possible. We should be seizing every opportunity we have to share happy news, to point out the good things that are happening, to compliment, to praise, to express admiration and gratitude. There is more than enough negativity in our lives – and we must therefore avoid adding further negativity. Instead, let's spread positivity, talking as much as we can about all the good we see around us.

Parashat Miketz begins with the famous story of Yosef being brought from the Egyptian prison to interpret Pharaoh's unusual dreams. Yosef informed Pharoh that his visions of seven lean cows devouring seven large cows, and seven lean sheaves devouring seven large sheaves, foretold a seven-year period of agricultural surplus that would be immediately followed by seven years of harsh famine. After explaining the meaning of Pharaoh's dreams, Yosef proceeded to urge the king to appoint somebody to oversee the storage of grain during the next seven years to prepare for the drought years which would follow. Pharaoh promptly assigned Yosef to this role. Yosef adds a curious phrase in his remarks to Pharaoh, one which is often overlooked. In urging the king to set up a mechanism for the storage of grain, Yosef says, "Ya'aseh Pharaoh Ve'yafked Pekidim Al Ha'aretz" – "Pharaoh shall act and appoint officers over the land" (41:34). Yosef does not just advise Pharaoh to appoint officials – he says, "Ya'aseh Pharaoh," that "Pharaoh shall act." What is meant by these words? Why did Yosef emphasize that Pharaoh should "act"? Some suggest that Yosef here expressed a fundamental principle of leadership and education – the importance of setting a personal example. Yosef anticipated that there would be opposition among the Egyptian population to his plan to store large amounts of grain. During years of economic prosperity, few people have the foresight to consider the possibility of a shortage down the road. It would be hard for the Egyptians to envision a devastating famine while they were busy harvesting unprecedentedly large amounts of produce. They would not be so quick to put the surplus grain into storage to prepare for something that the government claimed would happen years later. They would need some convincing. This is why Yosef said, "Ya'aseh Pharaoh." The best way for Pharoah to convince the people to store grain was for him to set an example. Before he could appoint officials to enforce a policy of storage, he would have to "act" – he would need to show the people that he, too, was storing his surplus, that he was not overindulging during the years of prosperity. This was critical for the success of this plan. We might add that Yosef learned this concept from his father, Yaakob. At the end of Parashat Vayeseh, we read that Yaakov made a pact with his father-in-law, Laban, and as a formal symbol of their agreement they made a special pile of stones. The Torah tells that Yaakob turned to his sons and instructed them to collect stones to make this large pile ("Liktu Abanim" – 31:46). Despite the grueling labor involved, his sons immediately obeyed, without any protest. The likely reason is because in the preceding verse, we read that Yaakob himself lifted a large stone and erected it as a monument. Before asking his sons to participate in this process, Yaakob first acted himself. He first set an example for his children, and they were then far more receptive to his request that they join. Parents, educators, and anyone looking to have an impact must realize this truism about influence. A person is not likely to inspire others by sitting comfortably and trying to convince them to act. If we want to influence and inspire, we need to act, to set an example, to model the behavior. It is only if our words are accompanied by a personal example that we can hope for them to have an impact.