Parshas Vayigash - Feeling Connected in Galus

3:00 It's okay. Va'yares ha'galos, and he sees the wagons that Yosef had sent. Asha shaloch Yosef, that Yosef sent la'seis oso. V'thiruach Yaakov Avinu. So Yosef, he sees the wagons that Yosef had sent to bring them to Mitzrayim, and all of a sudden, Yaakov Avinu was revived. The spirit of Yaakov Avinu comes alive. There's an obvious question here. The Medrash asks this question. You all know the answer. We can understand when Yosef HaTzaddik sends words to Yaakov that Yaakov hears them and he's revived by that. But what was it about seeing the agalot? What was it about seeing the wagons? Everyone knows the medrash. We're going to say it out anyway. Everyone knows the medrash of there was something deeper going on. What was going on? Yosef HaTzaddik sent a hidden message to Yaakov Avinu. When Yaakov Avinu sent Yosef, over twenty years prior, when he sent him to go search out his brothers, they were in the middle of learning a particular sugya. The sugya was the sugya of the Eglah Arufa. What is the sugya of the Eglah Arufa? We're going to discuss in a minute. But the message was as follows: Tati. 22 years ago, when we left each other.

4:29 We were learning this sugya. 22 years later, what's my message to you? How do you know that authentically I am still alive? I'm sending you the agalot. I'm sending you the wagons as a reference to the egla arufa. But there's some problems here. Again, before we get into the depth, there's some obvious problems. That seems to be a pretty tenuous connection. Eglarufa was a. Eglah means a calf. Agalot is a wagon. What does one have to do with the other? That's like a really like. Does it sound like a bit of a reach? Eglarufa. It's just like we were learning. Eglarufa. I sent you agalot. He sees the wagons, and what does he think to himself? Agalot, Eglarufa. Why? That sounds like a little far fetched. But more than that, what was it about the sugya of the Eglah Arufa that's a message back to his father? Furthermore, what was the message of the Eglah Arufa that Yosef HaTzaddik was sent away on that sugya? In other words, there is something about Eglah Arufa that it has a certain message that Yaakov sent Yosef, and that Yosef is now sending back to Yaakov. Yaakov sends Yosef. What does that mean? Yaakov saying to Yosef, 'Go search out for your brothers.'

5:55 What's the last thing we should learn? Eglarufa. Yosef is now saying to his father, "I'm still alive." What's the proof? Eglarufa. What's going on in the sugya of Eglarufa that there's some sort of hidden communication here between Yosef HaTzaddik and Yaakov Avinu? Obvious questions. Now let's look at what actually happens in the Eglarufa. Again, it's not going to make it any clearer, but I want you girls to get the basic information. The pasuk says as follows: Let's say you find a dead body in a field, and it's not known who murdered this person. But clearly, dead body in the field, person has been murdered. We don't know who murdered this person. So there's a very interesting prescription that the Torah gives us. Prescription is as follows: First thing we need to do is we need to measure. If this person is between two cities, we need to measure which city the dead body is closer to. How do they do that? So five members of the Sanhedrin. These are the biggest tzaddikim, the best dayanim that we have in Klal Yisrael. They have to leave the Sanhedrin in Yerushalayim to travel to whichever city this is between. And they themselves, the members of the Sanhedrin

7:19 Have to measure which city the body is closest to. This is such an important thing that we need to bring the Sanhedrin to measure. We can't just have the regular bezdin that sits in that city. The local rav, no, Sanhedrin itself needs to be represented to go see which city the body is closest to. Now they find out. Let's say it was closer to city A. So now what do they do? The elders of the city go out and they have to shecht this egel as a karpun. And they have to basically say this is an atonement for the fact that you died. Because they would say, 'Our hands, I'm quoting from the pasuk now, have not spilled this blood, and our eyes have not witnessed it.' And then the Kohanim would say, 'Forgive your people. Do not allow the guilt for innocent blood to remain with your people, Israel. Why? As follows.

8:20 There's many reasons for the Eglah Arufa. I'm going to speak about two of them. The first reason, the common reason that's given, is because the Eglah Arufa was basically letting everybody know that somebody just died. And this was a way, a very functional way of making a big deal. The elders of the city came out, the Kohanim came out. Now everybody was on the lookout for what? Everybody was on the lookout for the murderer. So it was a very easy way of heightening awareness. But there's a problem with this. What's the problem with this answer? Let's say it wasn't a murder. We're assuming that it was a case of someone was murdered. That's an interesting. That's like a. You gotta really be like a thoughtful, halachic murderer. Let's see where we can get it closer to. Only a small sip for a small laugh. Girls, this is an obvious problem here. Why do I need Sanhedrin for that?

9:24 You want to make a big deal, put posters up. What are we talking about here? There's a second reason that's given. The second reason is a little bit more interesting. Not that the first reason isn't true, but the second reason piques our interest a little bit more. Second reason is as follows. Just going to hit. In a certain way. Chazal say, if a person is murdered in a field, we might be a little responsible for it. Why? Because had we sent him off properly, we're going to discover the depth of what this means. Had we sent him off properly, perhaps he would not have been murdered. The fact that he didn't leave with the confidence that we were coming with him in a certain way that led to his murder. We're going to discuss what that means. In order to explain this, I want to tell you a story.

10:35 This is not my story. The story is from Rabbi Krohn. But when I read this story for the first time, which already goes back probably over 20 years ago, this story really moved me to my core. And I would ask all of you, just for a second, especially for those that may be engaged in technology, maybe just to put away the technology for a couple of minutes. Because a, I'm not blind, and b, just be real. It's worth hearing the story. As a young boy in class, he never raises his hand. It's a true story. He never raises his hand. That kid sits in the back and is quiet. He doesn't say much. He doesn't speak to many friends. He's a pretty quiet kid. Kid had a hard life. It's a true story. His father left. Divorced his mother, left. He has nothing to do with the family. Here's a little kid growing up in such a home.

11:47 He never raises his hand. The Rebbe comes to this week's parsha. The Rebbe is teaching this week's parsha. The Rebbe asks a very famous question. What's the question? The question is: Why does Yosef say, 'Ani Yosef Haora Vichai'? I am Yosef. Is my father still alive? He obviously knew his father was still alive. How did he know? Because how many times throughout the story do the shvatim reference Yaakov Avinu? Yosef knew that his father was alive. So what was the real question? That was the question that the Rebbe asked. I think it was third or fourth grade. That was the question that the Rebbe asked his class that day. And this kid who sat in the back of the class, quiet kid who never spoke, he raises his hand. If you're a Rebbe and you have a kid who never raises his hand, and then the kid raises his hand, what do you do? You have to call on that kid, right? So it didn't matter if there were going to be better answers, and it didn't matter if the smartest kid in the class was going to contribute, the brisker Rav's terrors to this question. If that kid raises his hand, you have to call on that kid. So right away the Rebbe goes, yeah. So the kid said, "Listen to the words that he said."

13:05 Maybe he was asking, 'Is my father still alive?' Of course, my father's still alive. Maybe he was asking, 'Does my father still think about me?' Is he still alive in the sense of like, is our life deeply connected with each other? Because you know, after twenty-two years of not seeing each other, I know my father is alive. You told me he's alive, but do I still matter to him? Sometimes when you're a rebbe in that situation, and you know what's really going on behind the scenes, you know that what was this kid really saying? He wasn't just speaking about an answer in chumash. He was speaking about himself. He was saying, "I'm Yosef, I am Yosef, but my father has left me." It's such an exceptionally profound answer to this question. At the core of the answer is a very basic pain, and it's a pain that every one of us, on some level, experiences throughout our life. Ani Yosef, Haod avichai, I am Yosef, but is my father still alive? Am I still connected to Hashem?

14:23 I want to give you the reasons why we ask this question. Reason number one. I'm in exceptional pain. Tragedy surrounds my life. I am Yosef, and I am sent away to Mitzrayim. The suffering is exceptional. How could it be that my father is still alive? Where is Hakadosh Baruch Hu in my life when there's exceptional suffering? I'll tell you a true story. I'm going to change small details, but they are insignificant details, just to protect this person's identity. Young man comes from a very poor family, exceptionally poor. And we're talking about davening. And the kid says to me, 'Rebbe, I have a hard time davening because as much as I keep saying thank you to Hashem, I don't feel like I'm getting a 'you're welcome.' I don't feel like I'm getting a response that says I really appreciate the fact that you're thankful for what I've given you.' What's he really saying? He's not talking about davening. Could you imagine how obtuse a rebbe would have to be to start talking to him about the philosophy of davening?

15:45 How could you talk to somebody about the philosophy of davening if they're telling you I'm in pain? You have to be smart enough to know the words that are really coming out of their mouth. Are we talking about davening? We're talking about the fact that his family is mamish suffering, and he feels so disconnected from God that it's hard to talk to him. That's not a mussar shmuus in davening. It's nothing to do with davening. Many years ago, a young man got up at a panel, a bunch of rabbis sitting in the front, and he asked, 'Is it okay to be angry at God?' And all the panelists started giving these hashkafic answers. 'Is it okay? Is it not okay to be angry at God?' I didn't answer. Afterwards, I went over to him and I said to him, 'So why are you angry at God?' And he told me my grandmother died, who I was exceptionally close with. And honestly, I miss her so much. It's not a hashkafa. It's not a hashkafa to sit there and talk with people about hashkafa when they're in pain. It's the most ridiculously stupid thing you could do. That's why people make such terrible mistakes when they go to shiva houses and they say things like He's in a better place now. She's in a better place now. This was all meant to be.

16:53 Shh! Don't say stupid things. Don't say stupid things in general. Don't say stupid things to people at shul houses. How could you be so dumb? It's not a time for hashkafa. A person is in pain. Ani Yosef Aodavichai. I am Yosef, experiencing some of the most terrible, horrific suffering I've ever experienced in my entire life. Could it be that my father really cares about me? That's the question. Question number one. Let's say it a little differently. It's not because I'm suffering. That's for some people. I'll give you a different one. Ani Yosef Ha'oda Vichai. Does my father still think about me? I feel so disconnected from him. Why? Because I consistently do things that I know don't make him proud. I consistently do things that I know. We're not talking about nuances. I know Hashem wants me to do this, and I'm choosing to do the opposite.

17:51 Is he still interested in me? How many people have thought the following? The answer is everybody on some level. How many people have thought the following? If I was this obnoxious to a parent or to a sibling that I constantly and consistently did the thing they asked me not to do, what would our relationship look like? If I let's say I had to room with my brother, and my brother said to me, "Listen, do me a favor. I gotta get some sleep." I know you like to read at night, but just use a flashlight. When you keep the big lamp on, it doesn't allow me to go to sleep. I'm going to do that anyway. If you do that every single night, what's your relationship with your brother going to look like after 20 years? I'm not interested in being a part of your life. You hurt me. You clearly could care less about me. Why should I care about you? How many people have thought? The answer is everybody. So you don't have to raise your hand. How many people have thought? How could God really care about me after all that I've done?

18:50 Look at how far I've fallen. Look at how many things I've done that are obnoxious. I'll give you one last one. This might be the most difficult one. Does anyone really care about me? Not because of my avarice, not because of my suffering. Does anyone really care? I'll tell you what it sounds like when you talk about it academically, and then we'll talk about it for real. This is what it sounds like when you talk about it academically. Does God care? I don't know why it's almost always this example. Does God really care if I'm not careful about boreh on Shabbos? I don't know what it is about boreh that it became the litmus test for every Jew who asks me this question. Does God care how I separate my food on Shabbos? What is that really? What is that really saying? What it's really—it's not about boreh. Imagine, can you imagine how stupid it would be if somebody came to me and said, 'Does God really care about boreh on Shabbos?' And I started discussing with them the halacha of boreh. Why would that be so stupid? It's not about boreh.

20:02 You girls, have you ever seen the video? It's not about the nail. It's not about boreh. If you haven't seen "It's Not About the Nail," I'm giving you a homework. After the shearing, take out your phones that I'm sure are filtered up the wazoo and type it on YouTube. It's not about the nail. Trust me, it's worth two minutes of your life. It's not about the nail. It's not about boreh. What are they really saying? Does any of this really matter? Does God really care if I do boreh on Shabbos? What does that really say? Ani Yosef ha'odovichai. Is there a life here? Is this a life? If I do something for my kids, I know my kids care. How do I know? I get the feedback. What's the feedback? The feedback is that was really good. We made a bar mitzvah last week. I made a bar mitzvah for my daughter. You girls were on Chanukah break. It was a perfect time to do it.

21:09 Do you know what it means to go the extra mile? See in Israel, the way we do it here, my daughter's bar mitzvah is in my house. We decorated the house and we cooked all the food ourselves. We invited friends and family, and then there's dancing. There's a video afterwards, then dessert, and then clean up. I was in charge of buying the decorations. Why? Because I went to America and I can go to Party City. In Party City, it's like today in the Five Towns they have a Party City. And it's like the Costco of Party City. This thing is like a Sam's Club. It's massive. So I went to the cashier and I asked her. I said, 'Do you have emoji stuff?' Because the theme of the Bar Mitzvah was black and gold were the colors. But because my daughter is such a character. This daughter is really a character. So the dessert section all had like emoji stuff. She said, 'Sure, Aisle six is emoji stuff.' So I went to aisle six.

22:21 Which is twice as long as Toma Devora. And there's every emoji thing you could possibly think of. So when I came back, I had gone the extra measure of buying a black and gold chandelier and black. I bought everything. I must have spent blygosma. I must have spent two to three hundred dollars just on decorations. Now tell me, do we spend two to three hundred dollars on decorations because of the way the house is going to look? Of course not. We spend it because of the look on my daughter's face when I opened up the suitcase and half the suitcase is decorations. What's the feeling? My father really cares about me, not because of two or three hundred dollars. But because look how much he got for me, and when we spend that day decorating the house, and we're making sure everything should look great. And by the way, decorations are still up. Why? Because every time she comes downstairs, the chinuch moves. Every time she comes downstairs, it's my b'ashmitza. And when you write your daughter's b'ashmitza speech with her, and you don't just hammer it out in five minutes, but you sit there with her and you work out all the jokes. She didn't have a sip of water.

23:38 But we sat there and worked out all the jokes. Really ruined it for me. And we're sitting there and trying to craft like this daughter. Again, she's wonderful. She's amazing, but she is a character to the max. From the time she's little, from the time she's in first grade, she's been fighting with kids that are older than her. She was the kid when first grade. Everybody in eighth grade knew. Like she was that kid. When my daughter was in eighth grade and she was in third or fourth grade, she started a fight against the entire eighth grade class because they were in their section for kickball. Whatever games they have, she came to my daughter who was in eighth grade and she said, "Tell them they're doing the wrong thing." And my daughter said, "Stop embarrassing me in front of my entire grade." She's that kid. So when we yeah, everybody likes Rachami. She's like because she's no sugar the.

24:42 So when she thanked her sisters, she said again, and we worked on the joke together. The joke was, "Thank you to my sisters, Bracha, Hannah, Shira, and Miriam. And I know that sometimes I bother you, but let's be honest, sometimes you bother me too. And you deserve everything I give you?" So that was the thank you she came up with, and we sat and worked on it together. When she said it, I was watching. When she said it, she wasn't just saying a line. It was the line we wrote. Was the line we wrote right? So why do we go above and beyond for our kids? Why do we go above and beyond for the people we love? Because it's clear and obvious. Does it make a difference? But what if it's not clear and obvious? What if every time I feel like I'm doing something for God, nothing happens? Not because I'm suffering, but because honestly, I just don't see the connection.

25:30 How old are we? Is my Judaism alive? How many girls want to be able to daven with passion? But daven with passion. I feel so disconnected. Not because I'm doing so many aviras. I'm generally a good girl. But lemaisa, we feel disconnected. It's so hard to connect to God. And wouldn't it be so much easier if we could just do whatever we wanted? Just now, I got off the phone with a Talmud and he said, 'This is his question.' As I was walking in, 'Is this question?' Does it really make a difference three hours or six hours? Does it really make a difference? I want to go three hours because honestly, it's easier. Who wants to wait four or five hours? I'd rather go three. Isn't three an acceptable minute? So I asked him a question. I said, "You asking me a halachic question? Are you asking me an emotional question?" He said, "Both." I said, "Let's talk about the emotion for a second. What's the emotional question?" He goes, "I know what I'm really asking. I'm lazy. I don't really care about this. I want to do the bare minimum." I said, "Right. If we feel disconnected, what do we want to do? We want to do the bare minimum."

26:31 When we feel connected, what do we want to do? We want to do the maximum. So the question, really, if you put all three of these together, what's really the question? If I'm suffering, if I've done so many avers that there's no way God could love me, or honestly, if I just don't feel like any of this matters, the one word that ties all of this together is connection. If I'm suffering, I must not be connected because you did this to me. That's fair. If I've done so many avers, I must not be connected. Could who could possibly stand? Even an infinite God couldn't stand as obnoxious as I am. And last but not least, I just don't feel connected. Let's take this young man's response and go back to Eglah Arufa. I want you to see something unbelievable. You know what the halachah of Eglah Arufa says? Halachah of Eglah Arufa says a simple thing: You were leaving the city. You were leaving the city.

27:34 What was the feeling you felt when you left? Did you feel protected? Did you feel cared for? Were we malava you out? When you left, did we hug and say goodbye? Did we make sure that you had food and shelter for the road? Or did you leave as if you didn't matter? How many people go off the derech not because they don't believe but because nobody ever let them know that they mattered? How many people go off the derech because they never had a teacher? They never had a rebbe. Maybe they never even had a friend that put their arm around their shoulder and said to them, "You know, you're the most important person in the world to me right now." Rabbi Yaakov Harowitz, I don't know if you've heard of him. He was the head of project. I think he still is the head of project. When he sits down with kids that are off the derech, he has a move. You know what his move is? His move is he keeps his phone on, and when they walk into the room, he turns off his phone.

28:40 He says to them, "I'm turning off my phone." Why does he turn off his phone? Because the first thing that this kid needs to know is everything that you say has my undivided attention because you matter. He doesn't need to tell them you matter. He acts as if they matter. I've said this before. I've probably said it here, and I'll say it again. It's a famous story. I think everybody tells it in their version. But of the mother who's washing dishes and the kid who's trying to get their mother's attention so she could show her the book report that she got back. "Mommy, look at my book report." It's very nice, sweet. Very nice. She continues washing the dishes. Mommy, look at my book report. I looked. Mommy, can you look with your eyes? Look. Put down the phone. I want to. You want. You know what the most obnoxious thing you could do is. When somebody's talking to you, I'm listening. You're not.

29:35 I can type and listen at the same time. Who cares that you can? Do you know how rude that is? Do you know how obnoxious that is? Just imagine if you were a kid trying to talk to somebody who's saying, 'Yeah, I'm listening to you.' No, you're not. You might be listening to me, but you're not listening to me. There's a fundamental difference. I know you can hear the words that I'm saying with your ears. How many people do this? How many people, if they've ever been called out in class, and they were spacing out, and the teacher says, 'Okay, tell me the last thing I said,' so they can go back in their mind and somehow they can pull out the last seven seconds of what the teacher said. They don't actually know the sentence. But they're able to be like, 'There was a war in England.' They can pull out that last thing. Why can they pull that out? They're not paying attention. They just have the words in there.

30:23 Paying attention to somebody doesn't mean hearing the words that they've said. It means letting them know that they mattered. You know why this person was killed? This person was killed not because they weren't able to defend themselves. This is what the pasuk is telling us. It's not because they didn't have a knife on them that they could have staved off their attacker. It's because they didn't believe in themselves to stave off their attacker. And you know why they didn't believe in themselves? Because who told them that they mattered? Why is it that? And again, I don't think I'm saying something crazy. But why is it that so many people feel that they're getting twice, three times, four times the amount of negativity thrown at them as they are positivity? The comments on our dress, the comments on our behavior, the comments on our classwork, the grades that we get. Where's the enthusiasm? Where's the positivity? Where's the "You're awesome. We're so happy to have you here"? Here's a crazy line. I shouldn't say it, but I'm obviously going to say it anyway. Could you imagine what education would look like in the Orthodox world if we treated it like Kiruv? Wouldn't that be awesome? Wouldn't it be awesome if when you showed up to shul or you showed up to school, somebody said, "We're just so happy to have you here"

31:34 Instead of, "but you didn't do this," instead you didn't do that. And I'm not saying we shouldn't say those things. I feel absolutely comfortable, 100% comfortable. If somebody's doing something inappropriate in the shir of mine, I feel absolutely comfortable to call that person out. I can't because I don't have enough trust in the bank with you girls. I don't know you. I come here once a week. I give a shiur. I laugh. I take a sip of water. We move on. We don't know each other. So what happens if I call one of you out? It's over. You don't know me, and I don't know you. It's not nice. So I, the person, might be doing something that's exceptionally disrespectful. I can't say a word. I don't have enough credit in the bank. I can't make a withdrawal if I haven't made a deposit. And I know I'm smart enough to know that getting up here once a week and sharing Torah with you is not a deposit. You don't have to be here. You could leave. Maybe Riva will write you down. Maybe she won't. But that's not what it's about. This is not a deposit. A deposit is a personal relationship. When I have a personal relationship with somebody, I'm thrilled to say to them "You're doing the wrong thing." If I don't have that personal relationship, how can I do that?

32:40 The Eglah Arufa was the following statement: The Sanhedrin needs to come for it. We made a terrible mistake. You were killed because we didn't tell you that you mattered. The Torah of today's generation is a Torah that must be every single sense. You matter. People are suffering exceptionally. You know the message. If they're getting hit on the head from our Kodesh Baruch Hu, you know the message that has to be from us as a community. You matter. Person dies. What do we have? Shiva. Who comes? Everyone. And it's. Again, Baruch Hashem, I've never had to sit shiva, but my best friend has had to sit shiva twice. I flew in from Israel for the last one. When you sit at shiva for long enough, you hear the same thing over and over again. Tell me about, and you hear the same stories. I ask my friend, "How can you tell the same story over and over again?" He goes, "You know why? Because people cared enough to come." When we suffer as a community, it eases the burden because we tell people that they matter. When a person feels disconnected because of all the averes that they've done, what is the only message that every rebbe, every teacher should be giving over in every single shiur that they give?

33:57 You are infinitely connected because you are a piece of God. Just like a son or a daughter cannot truly run away from a parent. Because no matter how far they run, they're essentially connected. That has to be the message of every single halacha, every single hashkafa, every single mussar, every single sheir you get. You have to walk away with the feeling that I am beloved by Hakadosh Baruch Hu infinitely. And if you leave a sheir ever feeling worse about yourself, you should know that tirah is toxic. It's disgraceful tirah. It's tirah that can poison a person. You have to know that no matter how far you stray, you're deeply connected. It's our responsibility as a community to do that. And here's the last one. If somebody feels disconnected from their Judaism because they say, 'Does God really care?' The answer is not a hashkafah shmuza boreh. You know what the answer is? The message of the Eglah Arufa. If you feel like you're distant, if you feel like you're far out, if you feel like it doesn't matter, you should know it matters. It matters. Why it matters to God, I have no idea. Why He cares how I separate the food like this

35:00 I have no idea. But I know it matters, and you have to know it matters. The best way to teach you to know that it matters is you matter. Now let's go back, and we're going to hear something unbelievable. If you kept what I'm saying until now, it's going to change your whole view of the story. Yaakov sends Yosef down to his brothers, and he knows that the brothers hate him. And he knows that he's sending him out there. It's going to be mishubach. It's going to be complicated. It's going to be complex. What's really going to happen? He knows all of that. What's the message that he sends him off with? I know that you're about to go to a place of disconnection. I know that you're about to go to a place where it could be that Mitzrayim is awaiting for you. You're going to fall so deep that you Yosef HaTzaddik, the paradigmatic tzadik, might find yourself in the home of Eshas Potifar. You might find yourself in the midst of that avir. You might find yourself in jail. You might find yourself as the viceroy of Egypt, and every woman is saying, "I want to be with Yosef HaTzaddik." You might find yourself in all of those places. You should know one thing: you're deeply connected. You matter.

36:01 So Yosef Hatzadik's response then is unbelievable. His response to his father is twofold. You have to get the genius here. The genius was that he was saying to his father, "I am still alive. How do you know I'm still alive? Because I'm only alive because you told me I matter." I'm only alive today. I'm only Yosef Hatzadik because of the message that Yaakov Avinu told Yosef Hatzadik over and over again when he was a kid. Do you remember the feeling that you had in your heart the first time you felt like you didn't matter? The first time someone important in your life really spoke to you in a terrible way? Maybe it was a parent who was so disappointed in you. Do you remember the feeling, the sinking feeling in your heart of like, Oh my gosh, I'm so unworthy? You know that feeling? Yosef never had it from his father. How do you survive 22 years in an alien culture? If you had a father who raised you to know that you are the most important person in the world to him, you can survive.

37:10 It's fast. It goes so fast. Why do we have thirteen-year-old kids, twelve-year-old kids that are going off the derech today? You think it's because they have big hashkafa questions? All of a sudden, a twelve-year-old. You remember what it was like to be twelve? It wasn't that long ago. Remember what it was like to be twelve? You're a big philosopher. I don't know if I believe in this. It's because nobody told you to believe in yourself. Nobody told you mattered. That's why all these programs today—they're wonderful. You know why? Because the programs are basically designed to say you matter. An old acquaintance of mine, a guy who I grew up with, started a program called Our Place. You've heard of Our Place? Our Place is in Brooklyn. It basically takes kids off the streets. He gets them to come in by offering them hot food. Because they haven't had hot food in so long, because they left their parents' house, they have nowhere to go. They don't know where the next meal is coming from. Just by offering them hot food, he gets them to come in. The message is though: We have food for you. Not we have food. We have food for you.

38:12 You matter. That's how they rebuild lives. So the first thing that Yosef said to Yaakov is, "I survived because you told me you mattered." And then, Yaakov knew that it was real. But there's something deeper. If you look at the pasuk carefully, I'm going to read it to you one more time. Something unbelievable. The symmetry is just stunning. You got to really hear it again. You got to hear it with your heart because it's a beautiful one. What were these agalot? Remember, we asked the question that these agalot. It seems like such a thin connection. Aegel agalot, wagon, a calf. What's the connection here? These were the agalot Asher Shalach Yosef that Yosef sent. What does lasait oto mean? To bring Yaakov down to Mitzrayim. What was the message Yosef was sending to Yaakov? You also, my father. I paved the way. What was the way? You told me I matter, so I was able to survive. But now Yosef is saying something back to his father: "You matter too. You matter too. Sometimes we have the capability of giving a gift to our parents. Yaakov was about to go down to a gullus that he knew, because it was from Brisbein Abesarim. When Yaakov leaves, what does that mean?

39:40 It means all of his children are going into gullus for hundreds of years. The end of the parsha. That's already what's going on. Do you hear it, girls? Could you imagine the feeling that Yaakov Avinu has as he's walking down to Mitzrayim? He must have dreaded every single step. Because he knew he's imprisoning his grandchildren. His great grandchildren are going to go through some of the most horrific suffering in the world. How could this happen? After all, what did Yaakov want? Bkshalayshiv b'shalva. He wanted serenity. And instead, what is he getting? His children are about to go into Gullus Mitzrayim. What's the message that Yosef HaTzaddik says to him? Don't be afraid. Don't be afraid, because the message you gave me it was true, and now I'm giving it back to you. These agalot that are going to take you down to Mitzrayim they have in them the egla arufa. They have in them the capacity. Don't ever forget, Yaakov. As you're coming down to Mitzrayim, you have the capacity to tell Klal Yisrael right now, We're going to get through this together. You know why? Because we matter. That was the sensitivity. Girls, could you imagine? Let's go back to that story.

40:49 Could you imagine what it was like to be that kid whose father left? You imagine. What's the feeling? Is the feeling I don't have a dad by Little League when everybody else does, when everybody else's father has a dad that's there cheering them on? I don't have a dad. Is that the feeling? I don't think it's about the dad being by Little League. Everybody else has a dad that they sit next to in shul, and I have to sit with a friend's father. Is that what he wants? Someone to sit next to him in shul? I don't think so. Those are symptoms. You know what the root causes? Somebody abandoned me. Somebody literally said I don't matter. So he said, "Ani Yosef ha'odavichai. Chaval. Chaval, to communicate anything else to the people that we love, to the girl that's sitting next to you right now, to the girl that's in the dorm, the one that's suffering. Chaval, to communicate anything other than, you matter infinitely.

41:56 Because at some point, that mussar of ani yosef, Iod vichai, it's going to come around to us. When somebody looks at us and says, 'Do I matter?' It's going to be an indictment on us. Did we let them know? Were we proactive? Did we let them know that they mattered? Everyone talks about this year of growth. I have to focus inwards. Whatever that means. How could it be that growth could happen without us looking at the person next to us and saying, 'This person may not know that they matter enough. They may not know. It's our responsibility. Kol Yisrael, I reivim zelaza. It's our responsibility to be an egla rufa for every single person.'