Parashat Toledot tells us about Yishak and Rivka, and their experiences with their two children, Yaakob and Esav. One of the intriguing things about Rivka – which is striking especially after having just read Parashat Hayeh-Sara – is that the Torah never tells us about her passing. The Torah devotes a special section at the beginning of Parashat Hayeh-Sara to the death of our first matriarch, Sara, telling us how many years she lived, where she died, that her husband wept and eulogized her, and how he secured a burial plot for her final resting place. Rivka's death, however, is not mentioned – at least not explicitly. Later in the Book of Bereshit (35:8), we read of the passing of Devorah, who was Rivka's nurse when she was younger. Rashi explains that at that time, when Devorah died, Yaakov learned of the passing of his beloved mother, Rivka. The Torah told us about Devorah's passing, Rashi explains, to subtly allude to us that Rivka had died. And so whereas Sara's death received a whole section in the Torah, Rivka's death is concealed within the death of a different person. Why? Rashi writes: ולפיכך העלימו את יום מותה – שלא יקללו הבריות כרס שיצא ממנו עשו . This means that the Torah hid Rivka's death, rather than mention it openly, so that people would not say bad things about her. One of her two sons was Esav, who grew to become a very evil man. If the Torah would speak of Rivka's passing out in the open, people might right away associate her with Esav, and denigrate her. Rashi here is teaching us a very profound truth that emerges when we contrast Sara with Rivka. Both were righteous women who endured a considerable amount of hardship during their lives, but with a very significant difference. Sara's troubles were out in the open, and known to everyone. She was twice abducted by kings, she was childless until old age, and she was forced to move to different places many times during her life. There was no shame or embarrassment in these hardships. Rivka's struggle, however, was more private, and caused her humiliation. She had a son who became sinful, causing her a great deal of grief – but grief that she could not easily share with others, because this kind of challenge is painful and embarrassing. Some hardships turn people into heroes. Of course, we don't wish these challenges upon ourselves or upon anyone else. But when somebody goes through a major crisis, or a devastating loss, the community does its magic – coming together to help in every way, and to offer a strong support system. The person receives help and support, and also well-deserved admiration and respect for the way he or she dealt with this crisis. But so many people endure hidden hardships, that they cannot tell anybody about. It may be problems in marriage, with finances, with a child or several children, a mental health challenge, or an addiction. These are very personal and very embarrassing, and so the person suffers silently, feeling unable to confide, to seek help, to find a shoulder to lean on. These people can be sitting next to you in shul, or at your table at a wedding or other affair. For that matter, they might be at your Shabbat table. They could be your own family members. So many people are struggling with issues that they're understandably too embarrassed to share even with their siblings or closest friends. This is why we need to change the way we see people and speak about them. We need to stop categorizing people as "successful" and "unsuccessful," as though they are two groups – those who "made it" and those who didn't. We have to stop talking this way and thinking this way. We need to instead realize that we're all the same, we're all in the same boat. We all have things in our lives that are going well, and things in our lives that aren't. This is how we need to look at ourselves and at all people. If we do, then people with hidden hardships will feel comfortable and at ease around us. If we think of ourselves as better, as more stable, as more accomplished, as more successful, then without any intention of doing so, we exacerbate the pain of those suffering in silence. We need to instead give off the "vibe" that we're all equal, we're all struggling with something, so people who need comfort and friendship can find it with us. Those familiar with my lectures know that I often share things about me and my family that are less than flattering. I don't do this simply for entertainment. I do this because I want my audience to feel that I see myself as not that different from them, that we're all in this together, we all have our issues, our struggles, our challenges, and our disappointments. If we live with this mindset, then we all become an amazing team – a team whose members are always there for each other, always supporting each other, and always comforting each other, even when we have no idea why the support and comfort is needed.

Avraham Avinu sent his trusted servant, Eliezer, to his homeland, where was born – Aram Naharayim – in order to find there a suitable match for Yitzhak. The Torah tells that Eliezer went to Aram Naharayim with כל טוב אדוניו בידו – "all his master's goodness in his hand" (24:10). The commentaries explain this to mean that Eliezer took with him the official document in which Avraham promised to bequeath his enormous fortune to Yitzhak. Eliezer took this in order to convince the girl and her family to agree to the match. However, the Shelah Ha'kadosh takes note of a slight but important nuance in this pasuk . The word טוב is punctuated not as it usually is, with the dot on top of the ו , such that it would be pronounced tov , but rather with the dot in the middle of the letter ו , resulting in the pronunciation tuv . This raises the question as to the difference between the Hebrew words tov and tuv , and why this might matter in the context of Eliezer's mission to find a wife for Yitzhak. The Shelah Ha'kadosh explains the difference. The word tov refers to goodness that can be easily seen, that is clear, that is unmistakable. Avraham's legacy, which he passed onto Yitzhak – and to all of us – includes many wonderful blessings and precious gifts that are very clear to us. There is no mistaking the great blessing of Shabbat, of family, of Torah learning, and of the many joys that we are privileged to experience by being part of the Jewish Nation. But Avraham also bequeathed to us tuv – a hidden goodness, blessings which are more difficult for people on the outside to perceive and understand. This hidden goodness is the faith that accompanies a person during times of hardship. When an heir of Avraham Avinu is struggling, or in pain, people see the hardship – but they probably don't see the faith and hope that is sustaining that person and helping him carry on. This gift of emunah , the knowledge that Hashem is with us even in life's most difficult moments, is incredible. It provides a person with the "wings" he needs to rise and soar when life might otherwise pull him down and shatter his spirit. Before Hashem brought the seventh plague upon Egypt, He commanded Moshe to come before Pharaoh and warn about the plague – בא אל פרעה . Literally, this means "Come to Pharaoh." Instead of saying "Go to Pharaoh," Hashem said "Come to Pharaoh" – emphasizing that He would be there, too. Moshe knew that Pharaoh would be furious with him after six plagues had already befallen the country. For good reason, Moshe felt hesitant and uneasy about confronting Pharaoh yet again. And so Hashem assured him that he wasn't going alone, that He would be there holding his hand. Whenever we're going through a hard time, whenever we're dealing with a very difficult problem – either big or small – feeling Hashem holding our hand can make all the difference in the world. There is nothing like the feeling of knowing that we're not dealing with this alone, that Hashem is helping is through this situation, every step of the way. This is the tuv – the precious gift – that Avraham Avinu bequeathed to each and every one of us.

People sometimes ask me for advice on how to give speeches. Whenever I'm asked this, I give the same three pieces of advice: Remember that nobody cares what you have to say. Just because I have a nice devar Torah to share, or some story that I find interesting – this doesn't mean that they care about it. My job when giving a speech is to find something to say that's relevant to them , that's interesting to them , that's of value to them . Not what's relevant, interesting, or of value to me . Never, ever, ever, ever speak to an audience that you don't respect. Each and every word should be spoken in a manner that expresses respect for the people you're speaking to. If they feel you're talking down to them, in a condescending way, they won't pay attention to anything you say. Be vulnerable. Be prepared to share stories about yourself that aren't especially flattering. There's a clear common denominator between all three pieces of advice – making the audience feel that you're with them, not above them, that you're not standing and talking to them from a different place, but rather speaking to them as an equal. This, I believe, is the key element of hesed – which is one of the important themes of Parashat Vayera. The story told at the beginning of the parashah , describing how Avraham Avino hosted three angels who appeared to him as weary nomads, provides us with a paradigm of hesed . And we read that after Avraham brought them food and served them, והוא עומד עליהם תחת העץ ויאכלו – he stood with them as they ate in the shade (18:8). This is a critically important part of the story. Avraham didn't just give them food and then get back to his affairs. He stayed with them. He showed them respect. He gave them his full attention. He made it clear that he really and truly cared about them, that they were important to him. The Gemara teaches in Masechet Baba Batra (9b) that one who gives money to a poor person receives six blessings in reward, but המפייסו בדברים – somebody who speaks kindly to a poor person, giving him encouragement and emotional support, receives 11 blessings. A poor person of course needs money – but there's something he needs even more than money, and that is respect and concern, the feeling that somebody truly cares about them and considers them important. Most patients prefer doctors with a good bedside manner than a doctor who's the best in the field – precisely for this reason. They need not just good medical care – but somebody who is really concerned about them, who can provide them emotional support and comfort during this crisis. Moshe Rabbenu was given his name, משה , because Pharaoh's daughter drew him from the water when she found him floating in a basket in the river – כי מן המים משיתיהו (Shemot 2:10). Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch noted that seemingly, Moshe should have been named משוי , which means "drawn" – as he was drawn from the water. But instead, he was called משה , which means not "drawn," but "draw." Rav Hirsch explains that because Moshe was "drawn," because his life was saved through hesed , he was to devote his entire life to "drawing," to saving and helping other people. This is true not only of Moshe Rabbenu, but of every one us. There isn't anybody alive who is not the beneficiary of hesed . We are here only because we had people who took care of us, and so much of the good fortune that we enjoy is because of kindness that people do for us even today. Our family, our friends, our community, our society – we owe so much to so many people, without whom we wouldn't have the blessings that we enjoy. If we understand this, then we will be able to do hesed the right way – as equals, without condescension, and without ego. If we understand that we are dependent on people's hesed , then we will give respect to the people who need our hesed . We will realize that we are all in the same boat, that we all depend on one another, and so we all need to help one another. We will then be able to meet other people where they are, and treat them as equals, giving them the feelings of dignity and self-worth that they so desperately need. Avraham is the paragon of hesed not only because of his generosity, but because הוא עומד עליהם תחת העץ – because he treated his guests as equals, because he came to where they were standing, without arrogance and without feeling more important than them. This is the example of hesed that we must aspire to follow.

We read in Parashat Lech-Lecha of the war that Avraham Avinu waged against the kings who had captured his nephew, Lot. After winning this war, Avraham was greeted by a man named Malkitzedek, who brought him food and wine to celebrate this victory. The Midrash quotes two opinions regarding the real purpose of Malkitzedek's meeting with Avraham. According to one opinion, Malkitzedek was revealing to Avraham סוד כהונה גדולה – the "secret" of the position of the kohen gadol who served in the Bet Ha'midash . According to the other opinion, Malkitzedek was revealing to Avraham סוד תורה – the "secret" of Torah. This entire discussion seems very mysterious. What are these "secrets" being shown to Avraham Avinu? The Kedushat Levi explains that the Midrash here is actually telling us about the two ways in which a person is to serve Hashem, depending on the situation, which the Kedushat Levi calls יש and אין . יש means "there is," and refers to serving Hashem when a person who has a lot going on, a lot of mitzvot to do. Let's imagine a person who is blessed with a large family, children and grandchildren, a successful business, and friends. He is busy serving Hashem in a state of יש – caring for and spending time with his wife, children and grandchildren, giving charity, helping people, involving himself in important community affairs, and so on. Unfortunately, however, some people are in a state of אין , "without," lacking all these blessings. It could be somebody who is getting older but has yet to find a marriage partner, or somebody in a troubled family situation. It could be somebody who hasn't had a job in several years and faces dire financial straits. It could be somebody who is going through a medical crisis, or a mental health crisis, and cannot function properly – or the family member of such a person. These situations do not lend themselves to the kind of flurry of mitzvah activity that characterizes the fellow in a situation of יש . The Kedushat Levi explains that the יש person has many wonderful opportunities to serve Hashem – but there's a disadvantage to this service of Hashem, in that there is some ego and pride involved. The person feels accomplished and successful. He looks at his wealth, his beautiful family, and all the mitzvot he is able to do, and he feels proud and takes credit – sometimes forgetting to give Hashem the credit for all his accomplishments. The אין person, however, has no such challenge. He is able to build a true, genuine connection with Hashem, because he recognizes that he is entirely dependent on Him. The אין person turns to Hashem and says, "I can't do all that much, but I want to build my relationship with You. I have no family to care for, I have no enterprise or charity organizations to run, I don't have so many opportunities to do amazing things – but I'm serving You by praying, by connecting, by turning to You, by believing in You." Avraham Avinu, for many years, faced the quintessential אין reality. I imagine that if I were in Avraham's shoes, I would have just given up. His father brought him to the authorities to have him executed. He miraculously survived, and many years later, at the age of 75, he was told to leave to an unknown land. When he got there, he faced a dire famine, forcing him to go to Egypt, where his wife was abducted. Not long thereafter he needed to fight a war to rescue his nephew. Meanwhile, his wife could not conceive. In the end, of course, Avraham becomes fabulously wealthy, well-respected, and the father of G-d's chosen nation. For decades, Avraham served Hashem in a situation of אין , until he was ultimately able to serve Hashem in a situation of יש . The Kedushat Levi explains that this is what the Midrash is alluding to. Avraham was shown the "secret" of the kohen gadol , who did the service in the Bet Ha'mikdash , representing self-sacrifice. The kohen gadol had no land or property, but he devoted himself entirely to Hashem. He symbolizes serving Hashem with "nothing." But Avraham was also shown that his life would become one of סוד תורה , a life of outstanding spiritual achievement, of יש , where he is able to serve Hashem with a great number of blessings and good fortune. In the beginning of our parashah , the Torah makes a point of informing us that Avraham was 75 years old when he left his homeland to live in Eretz Yisrael . This perhaps alludes to the fact that all Avraham had at that point in his life was his בטחון , his trust in Hashem, which in gematria equals 75 (2+9+8+6+50). He was in a position of אין , and he served Hashem in that state, by building a strong connection with Him. There is a young woman in our community who, after several years of dating, was still not married, and she asked to meet with me to speak about her situation. She expressed her anguish and how she just didn't know what to do. I advised her to give this problem over to Hashem. I said she needed to tell Hashem, "I don't know what to do, so I'm leaving this in Your infinitely capable hands. I will, of course, continue to recite Tehillim each day, and to reach out to matchmakers, because I need to make an effort, but I'm giving this over to You." Baruch Hashem , around a year later, she got married. She told me before the wedding that she felt so much better when she came out of our meeting, being able to let go of this challenge. And a week later, her hatan showed up... We hope and pray that we are always blessed with יש , with an abundance of happiness, prosperity and success in all our endeavors. But if we ever find ourselves in a situation of אין , let us draw strength and inspiration from our ancestor, from Avraham Avinu, who served Hashem even when he had nothing, with his בטחון , by developing his faith in Hashem and his connection with Him. When we face challenges, we must try to acknowledge that now Hashem wants us to serve Him in this way, by focusing on our בטחון , on our unwavering faith and trust in His goodness, and working to build a stronger relationship with Him.

Noah is one of three people in the Humash who are described as having "found favor" – מצא חן . The final pasuk of Parashat Bereshit says that Noah מצא חן בעיני ה' – "found favor in G-d's eyes." Later in the Book of Bereshit, we read that Yosef "found favor" in the eyes of his master, Potifar, for whom he worked as a slave ( וימצא יוסף חן בעיניו ). And in the Book of Shemot, Hashem tells Moshe Rabbenu that he "found favor" in His eyes ( כי מצאת חן בעיני ). Some commentaries added that, in fact, Yosef and Moshe are subtly mentioned in the beginning of Parashat Noah. The first pasuk of this parashah describes Noah with two adjectives – צדיק ("righteous") and תמים ("complete"). The word צדיק is associated with Yosef, who is often referred to as יוסף הצדיק , and the word תמים alludes to Moshe Rabbenu, who lived with perfect faith and devotion to Hashem. What is the connection between these three figures – Noah, Yosef and Moshe? The answer is that Yosef and Moshe together corrected Noah's mistake. Noah was, on the one hand, a great man, thanks to whom the world was literally saved, but at the same time, he was guilty of a serious flaw. This is indicated by a pasuk in Yeshayahu which refers to the flood as מי נח – "Noah's waters," suggesting that Noah was somehow to blame for the flood. The Zohar explains that Noah was informed long before the flood of Hashem's intention to destroy the earth – and he did nothing to stop it. He just heeded Hashem's command to build an ark for himself and his family. He had 120 years' notice – but he did not pray for his generation. He did not try to come to their defense, and plead to Hashem to spare them. And so he was, in a certain sense, responsible for the catastrophic flood. Yosef and Moshe exhibited the precise opposite quality. Yosef was betrayed by his brothers, who threw him into a pit to kill him, and then sold him as a slave to a foreign country. But Yosef did not seek revenge. His response was not to get back at them. Instead, he forgave them and even took care of them, providing them food during a severe famine. Yosef, the great צדיק , looked for the good instead of focusing on the bad. He continued loving his brothers despite what they did to him. This quality was continued by Moshe Rabbenu, who repeatedly prayed to Hashem's on behalf of Beneh Yisrael , even when they committed very serious sins. When Hashem decided to annihilate the nation after they worshipped the golden calf, Moshe did not just say "ok" like Noah did. Instead, he petitioned Hashem on their behalf, going so far as to demand that if Hashem destroys the people, he should be destroyed with them. He declared that if Hashem did not forgive the people, then מחני נא – he wanted to be "erased." The word מחני contains the same letters as the phrase מי נח – alluding to the fact that Moshe here corrected Noah's grave mistake. Instead of accepting Hashem's decree against the people of his time, Moshe interceded and prayed that they be saved. The difference between these two attitudes – that of Noah, and that of Yosef and Moshe – is the difference between judging and reserving judgment. Noah looked at the people of his generation, saw everything they did wrong, and decided they deserved to be punished. But Yosef and Moshe didn't rush to judge. Yosef's brothers, and Beneh Yisrael in Moshe's time, acted wrongly, but Yosef and Moshe didn't right away condemn them. They understood that there's so much more than what meets the eye. There's so much going on beneath the surface. No one can ever understand what other people are going through, what kind of struggles they're dealing with, what kind of challenges they face, what kind of pressure they're under. So many things contribute to the way a person acts – and nobody knows any of it. So we cannot judge. And when we don't judge, we wish people well and pray for their wellbeing. We don't get angry and look down at them – we do just the opposite. We look at them the way Yosef looked at his brothers and the way Moshe looked at the people. We look at them kindly and lovingly, even though they did or do things wrong. I cannot tell you how many times it happened that a couple who seemed so happy together, who seemed to have such a wonderful marriage, ended up getting divorced, or turned out to be having a very hard time in marriage. None of us know what other couples are going through. None of us know what kind of struggles other parents are having with their kids. None of us know all the details of our fellow's background and upbringing that could have caused his wrong behaviors. In short, none of us know practically anything about other people, about why they do what they do. Everyone, without exception, is struggling with something that we know absolutely nothing about. So let's stop judging, and start loving. Let's learn from Noah's mistake, and follow the examples set by Yosef and Moshe. Let's give people the benefit of the doubt, try hard to see all the good they do instead of focusing on the bad, and show them lots of love, friendship, and support.

The Midrash tells us something fascinating about the snake that lured Adam and Havah to sin, encouraging Havah to eat fruit from the forbidden tree, after which she shared some of the fruit with Adam. This snake, the Midrash relates, was previously the greatest servant man ever had. It would go to distant lands, find beautiful gems, and bring them to Adam. Meaning, the same snake that enticed Adam and Havah to sin was also their greatest helper, who brought them precious diamonds! How do we explain these two sides of the snake – how on the one hand, it helped Adam and Havah, but on the other hand, it brought about their downfall? We might find the answer in another source that talks about snakes and diamonds. The Gemara, in Masechet Baba Batra (74b), tells the story of people traveling on a ship who saw a precious diamond surrounded by a snake. A diver brought the diamond onto the ship, but the snake then came to devour the entire ship. A bird flew down and bit the serpent's head. Then another snake came to devour the ship, but it, too, was killed. This repeated itself several times. The Malbim explains the symbolism of this story. We are created as "diamonds." We are created with a soul that is pure and pristine, with which we are to live a pure and pristine life. The problem is the "snake" that comes and ruins everything, by attacking our pure minds. And each time we manage to defeat the "snake," it comes again, and again. This "snake" is our imagination. As the Midrash tells us, the imagination is our most valuable asset, which brings us precious "gems." Nothing was ever built, created or innovated without imagination. Our imagination is what enables us to see what can be made, to see what we can become, to see what we can create, which is the first critical step toward achievement. Because of our imagination, we have dreams and ambitions that propel us forward and drive us to work and accomplish great things. But like the snake, our imagination can also bring about our downfall. Here's a simple example. We hear about a friend's son or daughter who is about to get engaged, and we feel overjoyed for that friend. But days and weeks go by, and we don't receive an invitation. Our imagination starts running wild. We start thinking that this friend is upset because of this or that, or just plain forgot about us, even though we made a point of inviting that friend to all our events. This invitation that doesn't arrive becomes like a serpent, a monster in our minds, that devours us and takes all the "diamonds," all our purity and goodness. We are consumed by resentment and hostility – all because of our imagination – for in truth, that young man or woman did not get engaged… The entire field of advertising is based on this realization of how the human imagination works. Colorful billboards put images in our minds that fester. We see a model wearing certain clothes – and we think of ourselves looking just as good. We see an advertisement for a blissful vacation spot – and we imagine ourselves experiencing that bliss. We see an advertisement for a car – and we imagine ourselves driving that car while our neighbors look on with envy. This is how the snake succeeded in luring Adam and Havah. It made them imagine unbridled bliss that they would experience if they ate the forbidden fruit. Most human vices work the same way. We are tempted not by the thing itself, but by our imagination, which deceives us into thinking that we will experience unparalleled joy and contentment if we do whatever it is we feel tempted to do. Our imagination can bring us precious diamonds – helping us rise to great heights and accomplish amazing things, but it can also ruin us by fooling us into looking for joy and satisfaction in the wrong places. The story of Adam and Havah teaches us that we need to keep our "snake" in check. Our imagination is both our best friend and our worst enemy. We must use it wisely – to dream, to aspire, to set bold and ambitious goals, to strive for greatness, but not to feel jealous, angry, embittered, or greedy. Let's imagine ourselves doing great things and becoming great – and then focus our attention on getting there.

Sukkot is called זמן שמחתנו – "the time of our joy," and indeed, the dominant theme of this holiday is simchah – joy. In the times of the Bet Ha'mikdash , a festive celebration called the שמחת בית השואבה was held each night of Sukkot in the courtyard of the Bet Ha'mikdash with music and dancing. Today, שמחה בית השואבה celebrations are held in many communities during Sukkot to commemorate the festivities in the Bet Ha'mikdash . There is a certain irony in the fact that specifically on this זמן שמחתנו , we are commanded to leave our comfortable homes and reside in a sukkah . The sukkah is a crude, temporary structure, and it is often cramped, chilly, and at times damp. How are these uncomfortable living quarters conducive to the experience of simchah ? The answer might be that this is precisely the point – to teach us that simchah does not depend on perfect circumstances. If we cannot experience joy under less-than-ideal conditions, then we will never experience simchah , because life is hardly ever ideal. And so specifically on זמן שמחתנו , on the holiday of the greatest joy, we leave our homes and reside in the sukkah . In the first pasuk of Tehillim, King David warns us about מושב ליצים – "the company of scoffers." The ליצים – scoffers – are exceedingly dangerous. They can destroy everything, and they can do it very quickly. These are the people who sit around the Shabbat table criticizing, mocking and ridiculing. It's usually the Rabbi, or the entire shul, or the school... They find fault in something, and then paint the whole thing as bad, igniting a flame of negativity that can spread like wildfire. ליצנות – mockery – is so destructive, and it is oh so easy. If I wanted to, I could in a split-second ruin the reputation of any rabbi, lay leader or institution in our community – including myself. I could find more than a couple of mistakes I made and then start talking about them to people to make myself look bad. And I could do this about anyone and anything. No person is perfect, and no institution is perfect. There is always what to complain about – and so many people love complaining, focusing on the flaws and making something or someone good look very bad. The scoffers appear to enjoy doing this, but, as the Sukkot celebration teaches us, joy is achieved by doing just the opposite. If we always focus on what's imperfect, we will be very unhappy. A happy life is a life when we can enjoy the sukkah , when we feel content and happy even with things that aren't perfect. A well-known story is told about a man who approached his Rabbi in anguish, asking him to speak to his son, who was going to marry a non-Jewish girl. Nothing the father said could convince the boy to change his mind, so he wanted the Rabbi to try. After meeting with the young man for an hour, the Rabbi soberly reported to the father that there was nothing he could do. "Sorry, but you made me useless," the Rabbi said. "You would sit around the table every Shabbat complaining about me, making fun of my speeches and the way I ran the shul. Your son has no respect for me." This is what negativity does. When we always focus on what's wrong, instead of appreciating and praising what's right, we make everything look miserable – and our children, understandably, are not going to want to have any part of it. Sukkot teaches us to find joy and satisfaction even in the imperfect, to direct our attention to all that is good about life and about the people around us, so we can live with genuine happiness under all circumstances, and thereby spread joy instead of negativity.

I once witnessed the following scene in a busy shul in Brookyln with lots of minyanim . A young man approached someone to ask for tzedakah , explaining that he was getting married and needed help. The man handed him his credit card and told him to charge $52. Just then, someone else passed by, and this fellow asked him if he could help. The guy pulled out a $1 bill and handed it to him. He said, "Thank you." He then turned to the first fellow, who had given him his card, and said, "Look, I need a pair of nice shoes for the wedding. Maybe you can give a little more?" At first I was astonished. That second guy gave him $1 and got a "thank you," but the first, who offered him $52, got a request for more. How could that be? Very quickly, though, I understood why this happened. The "$1 guy" isn't going to do much more, but the "$52 guy" is capable of more. Someone who gave just one dollar cannot be expected to give anything beyond that, but someone who is able and willing to give $52 is likely to be able and willing to give even more than that. Sure enough, the first guy told the fellow to charge the card for an additional $50. I believe this is the mistake that so many of us make – especially this time of year – which hinders our growth, which stops us from becoming better. We all see ourselves as pretty good people, or even very good people – and we are right. We are good people. The problem is that although we give $52, we want to be left alone like the guy who gave $1. Specifically because we feel good about who we are – as we certainly should!!! – we feel that it's enough, that we don't need to try any harder. I imagine that if I had accomplished by the age of 20 all that Rav Ovadia Yosef zt"l accomplished by that age, I would feel pretty content. He was already an outstanding scholar who had mastered pretty much all of Torah. But he was not content. Not at all. He went on to not only write dozens of important books of halachah and answer untold numbers of halachic questions, but to devote himself tirelessly to the Jewish People, uplifting the entirety of Sephardic Jewry. He didn't think what he accomplished was enough – because he knew how much more he could do, and he was prepared to work as hard as was necessary to do it. The story is told of a man who bought his son an antique car for his college graduation. He told him to go find out how much the car was worth. The son came back and told his father that he brought the car to a dealership, and they said that it could hardly drive. It was worth at most $500. "Bring it to a pawn shop," the father instructed. The boy came back and reported that the guy at the pawn shop said it might be worth as much as $1000. The father then told his son to bring the car to a classic car club. The owners of the club were so excited by the car. They offered the young man $100,000 for it. "This is the lesson I want you to learn," the father said. "Some people will see how much value you have, other people won't. Always know just how valuable you are." Our problem is that we don't know our value. We see ourselves as $52 people, and so this is all we give. We need to understand that we have so much more to give, so much more to contribute, and so much more to achieve. We were not brought to this world to be just ok. We were brought here to be everything we are capable of being. There is also a second obstacle that stops many of us from growing. In the Book of Devarim (10:12), Moshe turns to the people and says to them, ועתה ישראל מה ה' אלוקיך שואל מעמך, כי אם ליראה את ה' אלוקיך – "And now, Israel, what does Hashem your G-d ask of you, other than that you fear Hashem your G-d…" The Midrash teaches that the word ועתה is a reference to teshuvah , repentance. This means that the key to teshuvah is ועתה – "now," a sense of urgency, the decision to change right now, without delaying any more. Even when we realize that we can and should do better, we often delay change. We figure we'll work on it tomorrow, or next week, or next year, or after this happens or that happens. The key to change is to get started now. Even if it's just one small step – we cannot wait. ועתה . We need to start today, right now, with everything going on, with all the issues we're struggling with – because right now, today, is the time to start. As we head into Rosh Hashanah, let's not wait. Let's challenge ourselves right now to be more than we are, to be everything that we can be – because this, and nothing less, is what we need to be.

The "highlight," so-to-speak, of the Rosh Hashanah prayers is the sounding of the shofar. In all, 100 sounds are blown over the course of the prayer service on Rosh Hashanah. What is the meaning and significance of this mitzvah , and what should we be thinking and feeling when we hear the shofar sound? To introduce the answer, let's consider an analogy to a very common situation: a mother comes home and sees a big mess in the house. She turns to her kids and asks them to spend a few minutes straightening up. She goes upstairs to change. When she comes back down, she sees the exact same mess, and the kids sitting in the exact same places where they were beforehand. They completely ignored her request, as though she did not even exist. This simple scenario helps us understand the concept of teshuvah , repentance, which is what the shofar blowing is all about. Whenever we sin, whenever we do something wrong, we are, in effect, ignoring Hashem. We're acting as though Hashem is not here with us, as though He is not part of our lives. After all, if we made Him part of our lives, if we were aware of His presence, then we would never have dared to do something He told us not to do. So each time we commit a sin, we are pushing Hashem out of our lives a little more. Teshuvah is the desire to bring Hashem back into our lives. It is a fierce, desperate longing to restore that relationship, the feeling that we cannot live without Him, that we need Him with us. This explains the Gemara's famous teaching that when a person performs teshuvah sincerely, his sins are not just erased, but transformed into merits. This is astonishing – our sins can become mitzvot if we perform teshuvah properly. We actually receive reward for the sins! How does this work? The answer is that when we perform teshuvah , the distance created by the sin makes us long for closeness with Hashem even more. We feel disconnected from Him, and this makes our yearning much stronger. It thus turns out that the sin led to a strengthening of the person's bond with Hashem, and so it is transformed into a mitzvah . The sound of the shofar has no words. It is a cry from the innermost depths of our souls. We are crying out for closeness with Hashem. We are yearning for a stronger relationship. When we hear the shofar sound, we should be thinking about how much we want and need Hashem in our lives, and how much we regret driving Him out of our lives through our mistaken behavior. This isn't about being sad; it's about longing and yearning, a desperate feeling of needing someone whom we had pushed away. If we can experience this longing on Rosh Hashanah, then we will transform our misdeeds into great sources of merit, and, no less importantly, we will put ourselves in a position to make this coming year much better than the previous year, a year when we avoid many of the mistakes we've made in the past, and when we truly live with Hashem each and every day.

A member of the Jewish community in Minneapolis once brought me to give a speech in that community, and the man who picked me up at the airport was none other than the owner of the Mall of America, the largest mall in the United States, who is a wonderful Torah Jew. In the car, he told me a beautiful story. His wife had made a trip to Israel around Thanksgiving time, leaving him with the children. On Thanksgiving, all the kids had school except the youngest, who was getting restless at home, so the father brought her to the mall. They sat at the kosher eatery at the mall, and ate some fries. There they met a religious family from Los Angeles that was attending some event in the middle of the country. The father worked as a Rabbi in a school. They could not afford to fly, so the family decided to turn it into a road trip. They stopped off at the mall to eat. After speaking with the family for some time, the mall's owner asked the children if they wanted free passes for some of the rides at the mall. They of course emphatically said yes. He went downstairs and, as the owner, easily obtained several passes. He came back to where the family was waiting, and he placed the passes in the mother's hand. She looked at him in disbelief. She explained that during the whole trip, the children were complaining that they wouldn't be able to afford the amazing rides at the mall. "I learn from a book about bitahon [faith in Hashem] every day," she said, "and I told my kids that if Hashem decided that they should go on the rides, He can put the passes in my hand at any minute. And that's just what happened." The owner of the mall told me how at that moment, he genuinely felt how he was just a puppet in Hashem's show, just a pawn in His plan to help this beautiful family. He realized that he's not the owner of the country's largest mall, he's not a high-flying executive – he's just Hashem's agent, His messenger through which His will is carried out. Nothing more. This is an important message for us to internalize as we prepare for Rosh Hashanah. What we want on Rosh Hashanah is to arouse Hashem's compassion, that He judges us with mercy, and not on the strict level of the law. This means that we want Him to judge us not according to our actions, based on what we've actually done, but based on who we really are, who we try and aspire to be. A cop once ticketed for me for speeding. What mattered to him was only that I was driving above the speed limit. It didn't matter that I had flown back to the city that morning, was then driving home after delivering an inspiring speech, and was on the phone dealing with important community matters. We want Hashem to treat us differently, to take into account the bigger picture, how we are inherently good and want to do the right thing, even though the results aren't always what they should be. And the way we arouse Hashem's compassion is by seeing ourselves the way this mall owner saw himself – humbly, as dependent entirely on Hashem. If we take the credit for our achievements, then we will be held responsible for our failures. If we pride ourselves for the good results, then we are accountable for the bad results. But if we focus not on the end results, but on our intentions, recognizing that we make our effort and then Hashem brings the outcome, then we will be forgiven for the times when the outcome wasn't right. If we want Hashem to see the broader picture, who we really are, then we need to look at the broader picture – how Hashem controls everything – and at who we really are – just frail human beings who depend on Hashem for everything. May we all be worthy of Hashem's mercy and compassion, and be blessed with a wonderful year of joy, health and prosperity, amen .