From Babylon to Broadway: The Siege Then, the Siege Now

Most people think destruction begins with fire. With shattered walls. With exile.

This class argues otherwise.

Asarah B’Tevet marks the moment before everything collapses — the day the siege began, when nothing was burning yet and everything was still reversible. Drawing from Tanakh, Chazal, and the haunting words of the prophets, this episode traces how quiet decisions, ignored warnings, and comfortable illusions brought Jerusalem to ruin — and why this fast is treated with a gravity unlike any other. It is the only fast that can fall on a Friday, and according to early authorities, one that might have demanded fasting even on Shabbat. Why? Because beginnings matter more than endings.

From the armies of Babylon to the streets of modern New York, this episode confronts the uncomfortable parallels between then and now: rising antisemitism, false confidence, dangerous leadership, and the temptation to believe “it can’t happen here.” This is not a history lesson. It is a wake-up call. A class about recognizing the siege while it is still forming — and about what Jews must do now if we want to reverse the story before the walls close in again.

This Sunday’s breakfast class wasn’t prepared in an office or a study hall. It was spoken after to a berit milah in Yerushalayim — a Jewish child entering the fold, blessed like Ephraim and Menashe, carrying the name of a man whose quiet integrity shaped lives long after he was gone. Parshat VaYechi stops being history when blessing meets loss, when memory becomes continuity, and when responsibility replaces resentment.

In this class, we explore how Yehudah’s single step forward shattered a pattern that had haunted Sefer Bereshit for generations — jealousy, rivalry, brothers who could not survive one another. We ask why Ephraim and Menashe became the eternal Jewish blessing, what it means to raise Jewish children in “Egypt,” and why the Rambam insists that Jews raised far from Torah must be drawn close with words of peace, not contempt. This is a class about breaking cycles, healing families, and choosing responsibility when the old instinct would be to step back. VaYechi is not about how things end — it’s about how they finally begin to heal.

 A great story anchors today’s special edition of
“Breakfast & a Class” on Parashat Vayigash, dedicated le‘iluy
nishmat Adele bat Victoria—a woman of clear vision and honest
realism. At the center is Yosef’s thunderclap moment: “אֲנִי יוֹסֵף”—not
a reunion scene, but a preview of the day when our own narratives collapse and
truth stands in the room. Why were the brothers struck silent even after regret
and teshuvah? Because the most dangerous lie isn’t what others tell us—it’s
what we tell ourselves. 

Through the “$300 wine” illusion, the “above-average driver”
myth, the berakhah of הַנּוֹתֵן לַשֶּׂכְוִי בִּינָה, Ya‘akov’s
22-year awakening, and a powerful modern story of a young Jew guided back to
Torah by an unexpected teacher, this episode becomes a practical guide to
spiritual clarity. If you’ve ever been certain—and later realized you were
wrong—this is for you. Listen for the one question that changes
everything: What if I’m fooling myself?  

This morning’s class was recorded in Jeruslem, at 7:00 in the morning, in a synagogue where “Breakfast and a Class” meant something very different.

The coffee was finished. Instead there was arak. It was a yahrzeit morning, and the setting was Zecher le-Avraham — a domed synagogue built in memory of Avraham Picciotto, just off the old railway line where tracks once carried people away and life has since grown back around them. From that quiet, early-morning space, surrounded by children, grandchildren, and the layered emotions of being in Israel during a week of Kaddish, this class unfolds.

The episode weaves together personal memory and classical Torah sources to explore one powerful, uncomfortable truth: the love of a parent for a child is deeper, more instinctive, and more absolute than the love in the other direction. Drawing from Parashat Vayigash, the Ḥidushei HaRim, Sanhedrin, Midrash, Zohar, and lived experience — from Ya‘aqov and Yosef to grandparents and grandchildren today — this is a reflection on what parents give, what children owe, and how Torah, tefillah, and Kaddish allow that love to continue flowing even after a parent is gone.

A little arak, a lot of Torah, and a conversation that lingers long after the class ends.

Vayigash opens like a courtroom hanging over a cliff: Binyamin is “caught,” the goblet is the evidence, and the verdict is already on the table. But then Yehudah steps forward — not with clever legal arguments, and not with polite diplomacy — but with a different kind of power: responsibility. In this episode, we follow Yehudah’s fierce approach to Yosef, the moment he abandons “policy” and pleads the case of a broken father, and the breathtaking line that should never exist in any normal justice system: “Take me instead.”

And then Yosef breaks — not from weakness, but from holiness. Chazal reveal that he cannot bear to reveal himself while his brothers stand humiliated in front of Egyptians. He clears the room, weeps so loudly the palace hears, and speaks a sentence that sounds like concern but carries a subtle rebuke that shatters every excuse: “Ani Yosef. Ha’od avi chai?” How did Father survive losing me, if you were certain he would die from losing Binyamin? Our class builds toward a final unity — Yosef and Yehudah, din and rachamim — sealed by Ya‘aqov’s Shema: what looks like two forces is, in truth, One. And some tremendous lessons for each of us

 In this morning’s
class, Sweetening the Channels — How Hidden Light Rewrites the Script, we
explore a deceptively simple question that opens a profound door: if Divine
flow comes through channels shaped by our soul’s past, does that mean some
lives are destined to be harder than others? Drawing from the Arizal, the
twelve tribes, Yosef’s descent into Egypt, and the inner mechanics of gilgul,
this class reframes struggle not as punishment — but as a soul’s chosen terrain
for repair. 

Set
against the convergence of Chanukah, Shabbat, and Rosh Ḥodesh Tevet, this
episode reveals why the darkest month of the year is not a verdict — but an
invitation. Through hidden light, candlelight placed at the threshold, and
Torah that reaches beneath nature itself, we learn how channels can be
sweetened, redirected, and illuminated. This is not about escaping your path.
It is about carrying light into it — and discovering that what felt like
blockage was always waiting to be transformed.  

 Why do we embrace truth when it benefits us — and resist
it when it costs us? In this powerful Breakfast & a Class, we explore one
of the most unsettling patterns in human nature: how the same facts can lead to
completely opposite moral judgments depending on comfort, self-interest, and
perspective. From Pharaoh’s embrace of Yosef to his rejection of Moshe, the
Torah exposes a hypocrisy that isn’t ancient history — it’s alive in every one
of us. 

Drawing on Midrash, Talmud, Zohar, sifrei mussar, and a
memorable story shared by Rabbi Mordechai Kamenetzky, this class challenges us
to look inward with honesty and courage. It’s not about judging Pharaoh — it’s
about judging ourselves. If Torah inspires you when it’s easy but unsettles you
when it demands, this class is for you. 

 From the stones of the Kotel at sunrise to the darkness of Yosef’s prison cell, this episode is about the kind of power we forget words carry. Parashat Miketz opens with “Vayehi miketz shenatayim yamim” — two years that Chazal trace back to two phrases Yosef says: “zekhartani… ve-hizkartani.”
How can Yosef—Mr. Bitachon—be “punished” for a simple request? We unpack
Midrash Tanchuma’s sharp language and discover something unsettling: speech
doesn’t only describe reality — it can set the terms of reality. 

And in a week when Jewish hearts are already
raw—especially after the deadly antisemitic attack at a Ḥanukkah gathering in
Sydney, Australia (December 14, 2025) —the message lands even harder: our words must keep HaShem as the
Source, while people remain only vessels. Through Yosef’s two words, Ya‘aqov’s
“few and bad,” Yosef’s silence for kavod av, and Moshe’s “rav” that comes back
to him, we learn one clear takeaway for Ḥanukkah: speak like a Jew who knows
speech is real. Listen now — and share it with someone who needs chizuk this
week. 

This morning’s podcast explores the quiet but demanding avodah of bitachon—trust in Hashem—through the life of Yosef HaTzaddik. Drawing on the teachings of our Rabbi and mentor, Rabbi Abittan זצ״ל, a תלמיד of the Ḥazon Ish, we examine his powerful lesson that bitachon is the greatest test of our generation. Yosef’s journey—from the pit, to prison, to the palace—reveals what true trust looks like when every outcome seems uncertain and every door appears closed.

As we enter the holiday of Ḥanukkah, this episode connects Yosef’s unwavering faith to the lights we kindle against all odds. It is a reminder that our role is sincere hishtadlut—to act, to try, to light the flame—while the victory itself belongs to Hashem. When He decides that light will prevail, even the smallest effort is enough. This is a timely and grounding conversation about faith, patience, and standing firm when the world pushes back.

 Entering
the Light - Why Seeing the Ḥanukkah Candles Is Not Enough 

We
all love candlelight. It softens a room. It quiets a home. It makes everything
feel spiritual. But the Torah never treats light as ambiance. From the very
beginning of Creation, light is so much more: Vayomer Elokim yehi or — vayehi
or - “And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.” 

Chazal
teach that this was no ordinary light: Or she’adam tsofeh bo misof ha’olam ve‘ad sofo - “A light with which one
could see from one end of the world to the other.” 

But
that light was hidden. When Hashem saw that future generations would corrupt
it, He concealed it for the righteous in the future. That light is known as Ohr
HaGanuz, the Hidden Light. And for one week each year, quietly and without
spectacle, that light returns. Its not hidden in lightening, nor in Nevuah –
prophecy. but as a simple flame on our windowsill. 

Perhaps
the question we can ask is not, Do you see the light? The question is: Do you
enter it? 

Before
we begin, I want to give credit where it truly belongs. I prepared a version of
this on the plane to Israel for a class. I was reading old newsletters for this
week’s perasha and this entire sugya opened up for me because of something my
dear friend Nathan Dweck wrote years ago. When I reread his words recently, it
pushed me to go back into the Gemara and the Mussar and really ask: What is the
candle actually demanding from us? That question reshaped this entire class 

The
Gemara teaches: Ha-ragil b’ner — havayan leh banim talmidei ḥakhamim - “One who
is ragil (habitually formed) by the candle will merit children who are Torah
scholars.” Rashi explains that this refers to the candles of Shabbat and
Ḥanukkah. At first glance, this sounds almost mechanical, light properly and
merit Torah scholars. 

But
reality does not support this reading. Many people are meticulous with every
halakhic detail — and yet do not see this outcome. Rav Yeruḥam Olshin cites the
sharp question raised by the son of the Ra’avad: if this promise is literal,
why don’t we see it fulfilled broadly? There are many who fulfill every
halakhic detail to perfection — and still do not see this result. 

The
answer given by the Saba of Kelm is devastating. The candle, he explains, is
not the goal. It is only a siman, a sign. He compares it to a messenger sent on
a mission, given a string tied to his finger so he won’t forget his task. If
the messenger returns and proudly reports, “I guarded the string beautifully,”
but never completed the mission — he has failed completely. 

So
too with the candles. They are not about wax and flame, nor just oil and a
flame, they are meant to awaken: Recognition of Hashem’s power and His love for
Israel, leading to: Kabbalat ol malkhut shamayim b’simḥah - Accepting the yoke
of Heaven with joy. Without that inner transformation, the candle remains
physical light — not mitzvah light. 

This
is why the Saba of Kelm could say his shocking words: “I never fulfilled the
mitzvah of Ḥanukkah in my life.” Not because he did not light — but because
fulfillment means surrender, not compliance.  

Chazal
rule that Asur l’hishtamesh b’oro - “It is forbidden to use the light of the
Ḥanukkah candles.” The Maharal explains that this is not practical
illumination. It is gilui kedushah, a revelation of holiness. You may look at
it. You may not use it. Because once you use light, you control it. But when
you truly encounter sacred light, it controls you. 

The
Menorah in the Beit HaMikdash functioned the same way. Its light was never used
for benefit. The Gemara says it stood as: Edut she’Shekhinah shorah b’Yisrael -
“Testimony that the Divine Presence rests among Israel.” The Ḥanukkah candles
testify to the same thing. 

As
I was walking back from Synagogue on the Yishuv, I noticed people sitting
around a firepit and enjoying the warmth during these rainy cool days here.
Firepits and Fireplaces have become so popular. Even table top mini fire pits
allow one to bask in a bit of warmth, stare at a flame and feel calm. That is
human. 

But
Ḥanukkah is not asking whether the light warms the room. It is asking whether
it warms the soul. To see the light is passive. To enter the light requires
surrender, loyalty, inner reorientation and the courage to live differently.
The blessing is not in what burns on the table. The blessing is in what burns
in the will and inside of us. 

Perhaps
we can suggest that before lighting this year, pause for ten seconds and
quietly whisper, Hashem, I am not just
lighting a candle. I am renewing Your kingship in my life. Then look at the
flames and into the flame searching for the inner light of creation. And ask
yourself one honest question: What does this light obligate me to clean up in
my life? Because the light does not bless the eyes. It blesses the will that
surrenders to it.