Parsha in 2

Remembering Amalek is central to our Yiddishkeit because Amalek represents a war against anything Jewish or holy without rhyme or reason. Unlike other enemies, Amalek attacks out of pure hatred, even in the face of open miracles, as when they struck after Yetzias Mitzrayim. Rashi compares Amalek to one who jumps into a scalding bath to cool it for others — reckless, brazen, and destructive. This battle exists not only in history but within each of us: the inner voice that cools inspiration and plants doubt. We overcome it only with Hashem’s help and through the Moshe Rabbeinu of every generation, bringing us closer to Geulah.

לקו״ש כו-זכור

The Tachash, whose multicolored hide crowned the Mishkan, was unique because its beauty was intrinsic, not imposed. The Targum calls it Sasgona, and Rashi explains it was sas v’ga’eh — joyful and proud in its colors — meaning its coloring expressed its very character. Unlike the ram skins that were dyed red, where the color was external, the Tachash’s outer appearance was fully rooted in its inner being. As the uppermost covering of the Mishkan, it reflected the truth of Chai HaOlamim — that every detail of existence, even what appears secondary or external, flows from Hashem, the Ultimate Source. Just as its outer layer was essential, so too in avodas Hashem even minhagim, which may seem external to the mitzvah itself, are deeply bound to holiness and must be performed with full chayus and seriousness.

לקו״ש לא-א

Becoming a Jew began at Har Sinai, where every Jew received a Nefesh Elokis—an eternal bond with Hashem—and the mission to transform oneself through Torah and mitzvos. In the time of the Beis HaMikdash, this inner transformation was expressed through Korbanos, drawing closer to Hashem through revealed G-dliness. Today, even without open revelation, Jewish identity is formed through Milah and Tevilah, devotion to Torah and mitzvos, and entering the bris with Hashem. Each day a Jew receives a new neshama, renews that bond, and in a sense becomes a ger again, reaffirming that no matter what, the inner pintele Yid and connection to Hashem never disappear.

לקו״ש כו-ג

Women possess a unique spiritual advantage in Divine service, with a more revealed Emunah and Yiras Shamayim rooted deep within their souls. This inner faith explains the distinction in Jewish lineage, where the essence of Jewish identity comes through the mother, while the detailed divisions of Kohen, Levi, and Yisrael come through the father. Accordingly, when the Torah was given, women received the General Principles of Torah — Emunah and Yiras Shamayim — while men received the detailed laws and mitzvos. This is why women are exempt from time-bound mitzvos, as they are connected primarily to the timeless spiritual foundations that rise above detailed limitations. As taught by the Arizal, man and woman together form one soul, and the performance of time-bound mitzvos by the man includes the woman as well. Just as redemption from Egypt came in the merit of righteous women, so too the future redemption will come through their merit.

לקו״ש לא-א

Hashem trained Bnei Yisrael in the Midbar through the manna not to be anxious about tomorrow’s parnassah, teaching them that although in Eretz Yisrael they would go through the natural process of working the land and earning a living, all sustenance truly comes from heaven. By collecting only what was needed each day for forty years, they learned that even when engaging in human effort and natural systems, it is Hashem alone who provides. Our role is to make a kli by working, because it is a mitzvah, but we must always recognize that the outcome is entirely from Hashem. This same lesson is reflected in Shabbos, where we are told to rely on Hashem for our needs while still going through the practical process, understanding that repayment and success come only from Him.

לקו״ש טז-ג

Kiddush HaChodesh is not only the first mitzvah in the Torah — it is a foundational mitzvah that captures what all mitzvos are meant to accomplish: bringing holiness into this physical world and transforming it into a vessel for Hashem. While many mitzvos elevate physical objects, Kiddush HaChodesh elevates something even more basic — time itself, the very foundation of creation. Through sanctifying time, we gain the ability to sanctify everything within space as well. This connects to the Torah’s opening word “Bereishis,” which Rashi explains teaches that the world was created for two “reishis” — the Jewish people and the Torah — and everything in existence fulfills its purpose when it serves that mission. Kiddush HaChodesh reveals this in a unique way, because Beis Din doesn’t only sanctify certain days; they must study, calculate, and track the moon’s movement throughout the entire month, thereby elevating all of time and utilizing it fully for Torah and the Jewish people. The takeaway is that we are not merely controlled by time and space — we have the power to elevate them, transform them into kedushah, and actualize the true purpose of creation.

לקו״ש כו-א

Matzah and wine represent two stages of Geulah and two stages in a Jew’s spiritual growth. Matzah, called lechem oni, symbolizes the rushed redemption of Yetzias Mitzrayim when the Jewish people were spiritually low, deeply influenced by Egyptian culture, and needed to be taken out immediately before falling completely—there was no “taste,” refinement, or enjoyment, only survival and escape. Wine represents the next stage, when a Jew works on himself mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, becoming more sensitive to Kedusha and beginning to experience true flavor and enjoyment in Yiddishkeit. The goal of Geulah was not only leaving Mitzrayim but reaching Har Sinai—“You will serve Me on this mountain”—and in the weeks leading to Matan Torah the Jewish people purified themselves and became worthy of receiving the Torah. Even if one fulfills matzah without tasting it, because that moment lacked sweetness, Hashem planted the potential for spiritual flavor, and through pushing forward even during struggle, the “matzah Jew” can ultimately become a “wine Jew,” tasting Torah and experiencing real joy in a relationship with Hashem.

לקו׳ש כו-א

A person’s true greatness is only revealed over time, once their life’s deeds and spiritual impact can be seen. While most souls enter the world concealed and slowly reveal their light through Torah and mitzvos, Moshe Rabbeinu was different—his light shone from the moment of his birth, because he is inseparable from Torah itself, which is eternal. Through the Torah of every generation, Moshe continues to live and actively shape the world. The same is true of Yaakov Avinu, who embodies Emes Hashem—Divine truth—and remains alive as long as his children walk in his path. This is the secret of Jewish eternity: our life is not merely physical, but a life of Torah and truth, which no force can extinguish. As long as we carry Moshe and Yaakov within us, the Jewish people endure forever.

לקו״ש כו-א

Yaakov, on his deathbed, asks Yosef—the ruler of Egypt—to swear that he will take him out of Egypt and bury him in Eretz Yisrael. This was not a lack of trust, but a recognition that a commitment depends on circumstances, while an oath means that failure is not an option. Yaakov understood Yosef’s belief that a true leader must remain with his people in exile to strengthen them through suffering, and he feared that this noble vision might keep him buried in Egypt. But Yaakov’s deeper concern was the danger of exile becoming normal. When people remain too long in darkness, they adapt, accept it as reality, and forget that another life is possible. By insisting on being taken out of Egypt, Yaakov implanted an eternal message into the Jewish soul: exile is not our identity, comfort is not our truth, and even when galus feels stable or meaningful, we must remember that we are a free people whose true home is in geulah, in Eretz Yisrael.

לקו״ש כה-א

Yosef’s declaration, “I am Yosef — and my father is still alive,” was not a question but an expression of astonishment. Realizing that his father had unknowingly mourned him for twenty-two years, Yosef grasped the depth of Yaakov’s unrelieved pain — pain that could never be fully comforted because Yosef was, in truth, alive. Understanding that those twenty-two years were now complete, Yosef refused to allow even one more moment of suffering. He immediately sent his brothers to inform Yaakov that his son was alive, teaching a powerful lesson: there are times when distance and restraint are necessary, but once that time ends, love, closeness, and compassion must return instantly. When the period of pain is over, we do not delay — we reunite, we heal, and we begin living and loving again.

לקו״ש טו-א