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Shiur · Rav Mordechai Burg

Pesach - Valuing The Small Things In Life

Apr 16, 20191 hr 37 minTranscript
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This shiur is divided into two parts. The first half an hour of the shiur is an advanced in depth analysis of the Machlokes between Rashi and Tosafos as to he nature of Tashbisu and Bitul. The second half an hour of the shiur is based on an idea from Rav Shmuel Zucker as to why we are so makpid to remove even the smallest piece of chametz and to tell over the story of Yetzias Mitzrayim to even our smallest children.

Transcript

Automatic transcript; may contain mistakes, especially in Hebrew.

I was thinking Amish, like the beards and the hats. Two kinds of people. Since we spent the day doing bedikah So I figured we'll divide this up into two parts. First, we'll do a halachic part of the shir, and then we'll do a hashkafic part of the shir. But the halachic part of the shir is going to be. Somewhat complicated and pretty high level. So if at any point you don't understand, please stop and I'll repeat. First of all, I do want to express my hakarasatov. My wife already expressed her hakarasatov of how much it means to us to have all of you come and clean our house for Pesach, even though my wife was joking. I hope when she said that it saved the Eretz Yisrael. I do know that it's not a simple thing. I do know. Aren't you supposed to be putting Mikey to sleep? I just quoted you. I said, even though my wife said it saved our shalom bayis, I do want you to know that it means a tremendous amount. It's a very stressful time. Thanks for coming.

It's a very stressful time for families. It used to be that people lived in very small homes. So to do bedikah, what did bedikah take? First of all, bedikah wasn't spring cleaning. And second of all, bedikah— I mean, if you lived in a two- or three-bedroom like hut, so what did it take to do bedikah? It's a tremendous, tremendous. Hakarasatov on our part to you. So thank you very much. The pasuk in Shmoyes, in Parshas Bo, says, 'This is the first mar makom on your source sheet. Shivas yamim matzos teichelu. Seven days you should eat matzos.' Ach, we'll see what that means. Ach, b'yayim harishon, Tashbisu soor mibatechen. On the seventh day, you should be tashbis. We'll see what that means. Remove, but what does remove mean? So or mi batechem any bread that you have in your house ki kol ocha chametz v'nichrasa hanefshahim mi yisrael mi yamerishan ad yerushvib because anyone that eats bread from the first day until the seventh day of Pesach is chayiv kares. Okay, so what exactly are you chayiv to do? What would you have said just from the lashon apasuk? What exactly is your responsibility? It seems like you have a responsibility from the pasuk. What's the responsibility? Eat matzah. Sure. Okay.

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What was that? Correct, and there's a chiyuv to be tashbeis to remove any bread that you have from your house. When you look at the Gemara in Pesachim, your second source sheet over here, second source on the sheet, it says kiven the bedikas chametz midrabbanan who midaraisa bebitul baamasagile. So I'm new rabbanan midrabbanan. The Gemara says very interesting that bedikah is really only midrabbanan. Everything we just did today is just the rabbanon. Medayrayisa, what could you do? Meaning from the Torah we just read, Tashbisus Olamibatechem, all you have to do is bittel. So everything we just did medayrayisa was unnecessary. Hours and hours of cleaning. What could you do? You could just do bittel. There's something called bedikas, searching your house, finding the chamets, destroying the chamets. That is all meder rabbanon. The Gemara indicates all there is left is bittel. So if that's the case, we have to ask ourselves, what is bittul? What is bittul?

By the way, it's machlokus rishonim exactly why you have to do b'dikah at all. Sometimes it's because it won't be a good enough bittul. Sometimes it's because maybe you'll find chametz on Pesach and you'll come to eat it because you're used to eating it. Whatever the reasons are, all you have to do is bittul. And we midarabbanon go crazy to find any piece of chametz and to destroy the chametz. So what is bittul? Rashi says, "Bito ba'alma, Dechsev tashbisu." If you noticed, the lashon of the pasuk was tashbisu. Tashbisu means literally to remove. Ve'lochsev tevaru, and it does not say to be mevar. What does mevar mean? To burn. So v'hashavasa the leiv he hashavasa. So what is this removal? It's a hashavasa belav. It's removing it in your heart. What does removing it in your heart mean? So the Rambam explains. The Rambam is going with Rashi, even though not everybody is so clear on that. But the Rambam is going with Rashi. A person should be mevatel the chametz in his heart.

And he should consider it like dust, and he should make it in his heart as if the chametz is not in his rishus at all. Any chametz that I do have in my rishus is like offering. In my property, in my home, in my dwelling, in my domain, is something that's like dirt. And I have no reason for it whatsoever. In b'otzarich, it has no necessity. So this is the declaration that I'm sure you saw your fathers make on the night after bedikas chametz. And then probably again if you went with them to see the beer chametz. They said v'havi v'havi efr kaf or daara. That was they made this declaration. That was called bittol. It's a declaration that this means nothing to you. However, this is not so clear. Comes along Taisus, and Taisus asks two questions on Rashi, and each question is a bomb question. This is where it gets somewhat complicated. Up until now, it should be very simple. The Torah used the lashon of hashavasah. The Torah did not use the lashon of tivaru. Rashi says, what is the indication there? That when you are chayav to remove the chametz from your house, what does it mean to remove the chametz from your house? Bittel. The Gemara says, bittel med araisa is all that you need. What does it mean, bittel? Bittel is that you're machshevet in your heart ka'afir the arayah.

It doesn't say you have to burn it. That's not your responsibility med araisa. That's only med rabbanon med araisa. It's enough to have a bittel in your heart that this is like dust. Adkan. Very easy. Everybody on the same page? Questions, comments, reactions. Good. Take a look in Taisus, second line. See where it says the Kashalari, Four words in the Kashalari, The high hashvassa, Havarahy, The low bittel. The Rie has a question on Rashi. This hashvassa, hashvassa means tashbisu. This removal is havarah. I know for sure that it's havarah. What does havarah mean? To burn. The low bittel. It's not bittel. How do I know? The Tanya b'Shmaitzan, Because we have a brisa. R' Avkiva Oimer Ein sarich harayu Oimer tashbisu umatzinu lahavardah she'av malacha. So his first question is as follows: We know that it says by yom harishon tashbisu soar mi batechem. On the first day, you should do tashbisu. So we want to know when is the first day. What would you have simply said from the Torah's lashon? It says ach by yom harishon tashbisu soar mi batechem. So when's the first day?

So you would imagine Yomar Rishon is the first day of Pesach. Rav Akiva says, no, I'll bring you a proof that it can't be the first day of Pesach. What's the proof that it can't be the first day of Pesach? Because you can't do it on Pesach. Why can't you do it on Pesach? Says Rav Akiva, because you're burning it, and burning is an av malacha. And of course the Torah would not be telling you to do an av malacha on Yom Tov. So Toisus's first kasha on Rashi is as follows: You just got done telling us that Tashbisu means bittol and not havarah because the Torah says Tashbisu v'leite and it doesn't say tevaru. But Rivekiva said, 'What does Tashbisu mean? It must mean havarah because otherwise, when would you have thought it was? You would think it's on Yom Rishon of Pesach. It's not. It's a proof that Yom Rishon doesn't mean Yom Rishon because he assumed that Tashbisu meant burning it. So you Rashi are going against an open Gemara. You hear his first question? Again, one more time. I told you it gets a little complicated. I appreciate your honesty.'

What did Rashi say? Tashbisu means what? Bittle of the heart, right? Saying to me, this is like dirt. This is like dust, right? Rashi says, how do I know that? Because it says tashbisu, and it doesn't say tevaru, which would mean to burn. So Rashi's position is that tashbisu means bittle, not beer. But we have a Gemara that says that tashbisu means beer. Rashi can't go against the Gemara. Rashi says I have an open Gemara that says that the word tashbiso means biur. Where do you see that Gemara? Because Rav Akiva says it says in the pasuk on the first day you should do tashbiso. Does the first day mean the first day of Pesach? The pasuk says Ach bayomarishon tashbiso soar mibatecham. On the first day you should be tashbiso, whatever that means, the soar from your house. So when is the first day? I would have simply said if I was reading the pasuk. Means the first day of Pesach. Rav Kiva says it can't be the first day of Pesach because Tashbisu means Tevaru.

It means to burn. Are you allowed to burn things on the first day of Pesach? You're not allowed to burn your chametz. You're not allowed to burn. First of all, you can't burn your chametz anyway. It's already Pesach. But that's not Rav Kiva. Rav Kiva says it's an Av Malacha. It's an Av Malacha. That's you're not allowed to burn things stam on Pesach. So if that's the case, what is the Gemara? What is Rav Kiva really saying? What does the word Tashbisu mean? It means to burn. It doesn't mean to be mavatol in your head. It means to burn. So how could Rashi say that the word tashbisu means bittel when the Gemara says clearly what does it mean? To burn. Got it? That's the first question that Tosus has on Rashi. So far so good. A little bit more. Vaod and furthermore, Another question. The tashbisu amrinon lekaman meach chilek shehu misheish shaus ulemalah. The Achri Sura lo Mahani Bito. Another question.

The pasuk says Ach. Remember before when I read it, I said Ach in that funny way, because Ach splits the day. Ach splits the day. So Chazal darshin that Ach means from the sixth hour of the day and on. Let me just explain to you very quickly. We do not work in perfect twelve-hour days in Judaism. You know that. There's something called Shavuot Zmanios. We take a day. Whatever the amount of time of that day is, and we divide it into twelve chalakim. Twelve doesn't. We don't work with sixty minutes out. Sixty minute hours. For the purposes of this mussel, let's work with a sixty minute hour. Let's say there were twelve hours in a day, so you'd have the first hour be sixty minutes. The sixth hour would be sixty minutes. Regularly, the way it works by us. Let's say you had such a case. So from the sixth hour and on, you have to tashbisu soarmi batechen. That's what it means.

What was that? Again, look what he says. Ach chileik, right? What does it mean? Ach chileik means it splits. Shehu misheish shaus ulamala from six hours and on. Baachar isuro lo mahani beto. Now here's his question. This halacha. It's going to get if up until now if you thought it was complicated, now it's going to get a little bit more complicated. By the way, whenever anyone asks you what the boys are doing in yeshiva all day, it's studying every single word of every Talmud, of every Rambam. This is the work. Girls, when something is aser b'hanah, when you're not allowed to even have a na from something like chametz on Pesach It's taken out of your rishus. That's what it means. It means you do not have ownership over it. Just because I don't have ownership over something doesn't mean I can't burn it. But if I don't have ownership over something, Tosaf says, how could you do bittul to it?

What's the Torah telling you? Which means from the sixth hour on, Tashbisu saar mi batechem. You have to be tashbis the saar from your house. Rashi, you're telling me tashbis means bittul. How could I do bittul? It's not even mine anymore to do bittul on. Somebody comes along and they say, This stuff that's mine to me, it's like an offer. It's not yours anymore. It's like me going over to your chametz and saying your chametz is like dirt to me. That's good news because you don't have any reshus. You don't have any control over my chametz. So Rashi, not only are you going against the rav Kiva that says that tashbeis means burning, but it can't mean bittol because how could you do bittol after the sixth hour? It's already aser b'hanaf. What does that mean, girls? It's out of your reshus. How could you come along and do bittol to it? It's out of your reshus already. You're gonna come along and say that thing that's already not mine isn't mine. It's already not yours. You hear it? Tzitzis is brilliant, huh? Everyone got it clear? So if we're not holding by brachas yet Not holding by brachas.

Because you're talking about bedikah and bior. But Tzitzis isn't talking about bedikah and bior. Remember, he's talking about betel. He's talking about Rashi's concept of betel. So we have two kashes on Rashi. Rashi came along and said the word tashbishu means betel. Bittul means believe, like the Rambam. Means you have in your head you have to say this is like offer. So far so good. It seemed very simple. Except number one, Rivakiva clearly says it doesn't mean bittul; it means havara. Number one and number two, You can't do bittul on something that's not yours. The pasuk is telling you ach means from the sixth hour and on. How could you do bittul on something that's not yours? Doesn't even make any sense. Because of this, Taisus comes along and just to read the bolded words now. Tosaf gives his own teretz, argues on Rashi, and he says the medayraysa bebitul baalmasagi. When the Gemara says that from the Torah you only need bittul mitam, it's for a different reason. The me'acher shebittlu have hefker the yatsa mirushuso umater. Tosaf says no. What's the reason that bittul works?

Bittul doesn't mean what Rashi said—a brand new din by Pesach that you can consider your chametz like bread. Bittel is a very famous din. What's the din of Bittel? Bittel is hefker. You all know hefker. What does hefker mean? Anyone could take it up for grabs. Like I'm sure that I don't know if they had this when you were growing up. When I was growing up, kids would go hefker, and kids would come and grab it. Kinda. When I was a little kid, somebody would call out hefker, and everyone would come and grab it. I got it first. It was like first come, kilu. So Tais says this is hefker, and hefker is a din that you could do under these circumstances. So really, of course, Tashbisu means to burn. And when we say that the araisa bital baal masagi, that's referring to hefker. Now.

Shaila is for us. How would Rashi answer Taisus? We have two Bam kashas on Rashi that Taisus asks, and we have to think about what Rashi would answer. Because when Rashi was writing his Pehirsh, he thought of every single answer that Taisus asked, and every single kasha that Taisus asked. He knew all those kashas and he had answers for them. So we have to answer for Rashi. For this, we're going to go to the Minchas Dinah. I'm going to the minchas. What was that? Minchas kanach. Ask ourselves the following question: Is tashbisu a passive mitzvah or an active mitzvah? What would be an example of an active mitzvah? Let's say I don't own a home. Say I don't own a home. Am I chayav to buy a house to put up a mezuzah?

No. You're not chayav. When you have a home, what are you then chayav to do actively? Good. Let's take chametz. If I don't own a home, am I chayav to do tashbisu? The pasuk says I have to get rid of all the chametz from my house. If I don't have a home, if I don't have a house, am I chayav to go buy a house so that I could do tashbisu? No. What was that? Do you have chametz? Again, let's say I don't have any chametz. That's an active mitzvah. An active mitzvah is when I need to go out to do this mitzvah. Then there's such a thing called a passive mitzvah. For example, let's take Shabbos. There's a mitzvah that you're not allowed to do, A losase. You're not allowed to do malacha on Shabbos. There's another mitzvah that you have to rest on Shabbos. That's a positive commandment. So there's a negative commandment when it comes to Shabbos: don't do any malacha. And there's a positive commandment: rest on Shabbos. What does rest on Shabbos mean? Don't do any malacha. If you didn't do any malacha on Shabbos, I didn't do anything passively.

Not only did I not over the losase, but what else happened, girls? I was m'kayim the asay passively. You get it? So sometimes I'm m'kayim the mitzvah actively. You put on tefillin, you put on sittes. All those things. Sometimes you're m'kayim a mitzvah passively. A mitzvah asay. Torah says rest on Shabbos, and what do you do? By not doing anything. By not doing anything, I'm m'kayim the mitzvah asay. How we doing over there? No problem. Let's take that over to Pesach. If I don't have any chametz, am I high? Let's go first. Go with active. If I don't have any chametz, am I actively? If I don't have any chametz Am I actively chayev to go and burn chametz? To go buy chametz to go burn it? Everyone would agree. But let's say the mitzvah is a passive mitzvah. On Pesach, don't have any chametz. So then, what happens? Even if I don't own any chametz, I was mekayim the mitzvah by not having any chametz. You hear? So there's one, there's two ways of looking at this. What? How do we? It's just a question. Two ways. Hakira.

How do we look at this? One way is to look at it and say you have to actively go out and burn any chametz that you have. If you don't have any chametz, then there's no mitzvah for you to do. It's like I didn't own a house, so I didn't have to put up a mezuzah. That's an active mitzvah. Or no, the mitzvah is don't have any chametz on Pesach. If the mitzvah is don't have any chametz on Pesach, then if I didn't have any chametz on Pesach, I was mekayim the mitzvah. Did you do anything? No, you didn't do anything. Good. What would be some nafgminus? A nafgmina means a practical halachic difference. Whether you went with one of these two sides. One nafgamina would be the timing that you have to do this. Mitzvahs in general, active mitzvahs especially, have timing. For example, let's say a week before Sukkot started, I shook my lulav. Was I mekayim the mitzvah of lulav? No. Why not? Because it's an active mitzvah. What does an active mitzvah tell you? It has to be done within a particular time. If I blow shofar three weeks after Rosh Hashanah, was I yotzei the mitzvah?

Because it wasn't done within the time. So now, if we hold that getting rid of your chametz is an active mitzvah, what would you say? It has a particular time that it needs to be done, right? If you hold getting rid of your chametz is a passive mitzvah, does it matter if Rosh Chodesh Adar? I decide to get rid of all of my chametz. No. Why not? Because you're still making that mitzvah. Because either way, once Pesach comes, I was passively mekayim that mitzvah that I had no chametz in my house. Girls, if it's an active mitzvah and it's a time-bound mitzvah Mitzvah sasei shas man grama. And what would you say? Are women chayevos? No. Isn't that interesting? So if you hold it's an active mitzvah versus a passive mitzvah, then there's going to be timing. If it's an active mitzvah, there'll be timing. If it's a passive mitzvah, there's no timing. And if there's timing to it, then it's a mitzvah to say shasman grama. Maybe women are patr.

Nah, that's right. All women are voting for it to be active. Why are you saying that after we? I'm davka saying it after you came, and davka after the shalom bayis issues were brought up. I'll give you another one. Mitzvos, Srichos, kavana. Generally, we say that a mitzvah requires kavana if it's an active mitzvah. But if it's a passive mitzvah, all I have to do is be there on Pesach with no bread, so I don't require any kavana. Here's a really good one. This is one the Mechas Kanok brings down. Let's say it's Pesach now. And I see a delicious-looking donut that my child has stowed away. As I once heard from Rav Moshe Weinberger, he told the story that he was sitting and chalamavid learning in his dining room, and his little son came in with a bag of pretzels, and he was just gnashing on the bag of pretzels. And he looked at his son and he said, 'What do you have there?' So he said, 'Bag of pretzels.' I hid it from you and mommy, so you're taking away all of my stuff.

And when Reuvenberger tells over the story, he says that his wife was there, and she looked at him and she said, "Now there must be some way of separating the chametz from the child, right? We want to do beer on the chametz, but not on the child. So let's say you found that delicious-looking donut that your child stowed away." Can you eat that chametz now on Pesach and be yotzei the mitzvah of tashbisu? Let's think about it. Normally, we have a principle that says mitzvah haba ba'avera. You're not allowed to do a mitzvah that comes through an avera. So eating chametz on Pesach is clearly an avera. So the active mitzvah of tashbisu came at the same time as the eating of the chametz. Mitzvah haba ba'avera. But let's say it's a passive mitzvah. Is it mitzvah haba ba'avera? No. I did an avera. That's one segment, right? And then there's something else separately, right? It happens to be now that I don't have any chametz in my house. Mameila, I'm in that passive state where I was, where I don't have any chametz in my house. So there's all sorts of very interesting halachic nafka minas. I'll give you one last one.

Let's say someone steals your mitzvah. Do you know that if somebody steals your mitzvah, they're chayav to pay you? They're chayif to pay you. So the Gemara discusses how much in different cases you'd be chayif to pay. Let's say ten. I would absolutely charge. What do you mean? You can bash at me, you know me. That's fine. I take payment, payment, Haba. So that's the halach. If somebody's, you're about to do a mitzvah, somebody comes and steals that mitzvah, they caused you a loss. So cool. So let's say I'm about to do bir chametz and somebody comes along, grabs my chametz and throws it into the fire. Do they owe me money? If it's an active mitzvah, then they took my. But if it's a passive mitzvah, it's just that I have no chametz on Pesach. They didn't do anything; they just threw it in the fire. Other rabban, maybe I should pay them. They did me a service.

So this that we spoke about is a very complicated thing: having chametz, getting rid of your chametz, an active mitzvah or is it just a passive mitzvah, not having chametz on Pesach? So let's see which side says which. Rashi remembers. Tosas argued with him and said, Tashpisu can't mean bittel; it has to mean havara. It has, it means. According to Rava Kiva, tashpisu means what? Tashpisu means burning the chametz. So let's see. We're going to say, we're going to suggest, The Minchas LeNoch suggests that Rashi held that tashpisu is passive. That the mitzvah is passive, and therefore, as long as when the sixth hour comes, you have no connection to that chametz anymore, you're going to be yotzei the mitzvah of tashbiso. Because comes along the sixth hour, and now chametz is aser, from now until the seventh day of Pesach. So at this point, you had no chametz in your house, so you're yotzei the mitzvah.

According to Tosfos, he says it's active. It means you have to actively get rid of it. Rashi, if the whole now here's where it gets a little complicated. You Rashi are telling me that Tashbisu means bittol. But how could you actively do bittol after the sixth hour? What's Rashi going to say? I don't have to do an active mitzvah after the sixth hour. As long as I was mivatol it beforehand. What happens now after the sixth hour? All I need is to have no chametz. Where was Tosas's second kasha? Where was it predicated on? It was predicated on the fact that Tosas was assuming that you have to actively go out and get rid of the chametz. But that's not true according to Rashi. Rashi says you don't have to actively get rid of the chametz. It's just that by the time Pesach comes along, you shouldn't have any chametz anymore. How do you get rid of your chametz? According to Rashi, consider it dust. As long as that happened, you can do it at any point.

Up until the sixth hour. Why? Because once the sixth hour comes, what do you need? I have no more yachas, no more relationship to my chametz. So that answers the second kasha of tosos, right? But what about the first kasha of tosos? You'll see why I'm bringing this in. What about Rivakiva? Because remember what Rav Kiva said? Rav Kiva said Tashbisu means beer. How do you know that Tashbisu means beer according to Rav Kiva? Because he says Bayom Arishon doesn't mean on the first day because it's an Av Melacha. So for this there's a Remban. The Remban is not on your Mar Mekamos. For this there's a Remban, and the Remban says that really Tosfos was not understanding the Gemara over there correctly. Tashbisu there meant both bittel and havara. It means bittel and burning. How do you know? What are we trying to prove? Let's assume for a second that the word tashbisu means both bittel and havara. It means bittel and burning.

The Gemara wants to know when's bayom arishon. If tashbisu means burning, then when is bayom arishon? It's not on the first day of Pesach. When is it? The day before. Was Rav Kiva coming to tell you that Tashbisu doesn't mean betel, or was he just coming to tell you that Tashbisu doesn't mean that Bayom Arishon doesn't mean on the first day of Pesach; it must mean the day before? But Rashi is saying from the fact that it says Tashbisu velotivaru, what was the kavana of the pasuk? Not that Rashi agrees that Tashbisu could mean beer. But what is Tashbisu really? It's betel, because otherwise what would the pasuk have said, Tivaru? So both Rashi and Tosfos have two different ways of understanding what Rava Kiva said. The bottom line is we had a question: What does Tashbisu in the Torah mean? Rashi says Tashbisu means bittul. Tosfos asked two kashes on Rashi.

We answered using the Minchas Chinuch. There's two different types of mitzvos. There's active mitzvos and there's passive mitzvos. Tosus understands that Tashvisu is an active mitzvah to destroy your chametz, with all the implications of what an active mitzvah means. Therefore, he assumes that there has to be an activity, and that activity can't come after the sixth hour. Rashi says, no, it's a passive mitzvah. Just as long as comes the sixth hour, you don't have any more chametz. What about Rivkahiva? Two different ways of understanding the Gemara. Tosus understood that Rivkahiva meant it's only beer. And the Ramban, and we assume that Rashi would use this Ramban. The Ramban says no. Rav Akiva wasn't coming to tell you what Tashbisu means. He was only coming to tell you what Bayom Arisol means. Since Tashbisu indicates Biur, it certainly can't be, at least partially, means Biur. It certainly can't mean that it's on the first day of Pesach. Up until that point is the halacha. Now we'll get into the hashkafa.

Everything that I'm going to tell you now is a piece that was written up. In a sefer that my Rebbe Rav Zucker published for one of his children's chasnas, it's a very, very special piece. Everything we've just been speaking about—bittel, Bedika, biur—why do we go crazy? So there's a fascinating halacha here. You don't really find it in other places in the Torah. Usually, when something is aser, what's the sheir that it's aser? A kezayis, a kabeiza, right? But on chametz, how much is aser? Afilu b'mashu, even a tiny little bit. So we're going crazy searching in the choros, stuck him in the nooks and crannies of our house. Mamish every single little thing. We're using toothpicks. Mamish going crazy. Everything gets bleached. Why? Because chametz afilu b'mashu is aser. First question: Why? Why are we so concerned about any tiny little crumb? But that's a kasha. That's everyone asks kasha. But Ruzoker had a phenomenal connection to this.

He said not only on the negative side are we makpid even a mashu, but also on the positive side. Where do we see a mashu on the positive side? Because we have a mitzvah of v'higadata levincha to tell over the story of Sipur Yisias Mitzrayim to our children. How small. How young do the children have to be in order to be makayim this mitzvah with them? The answer is once they can understand, even a very little bit. We have a chiyuv to tell them over the story of Sefer Yisrael, which means an unbelievable thing. This concept of a mashu, of a small amount, on the negative side it means we have to look even for the crumbs, but on the positive side it means even the smallest child is involved in the mitzvah of v'igadat lelavincha. Everyone knows, and this is like every Pesach drasha in the world, that the Gemara says that chametz is the Eitz Ahar. Chametz is connected to the Eitz Ahar. How does the Eitz Ahar work? The Eitz Ahar does not come to us generally and tell us, 'Here's a giant aveira for you to do.' It's not generally the way it works. Generally, the way the Eitz Ahar works is the Eitz Ahar says as follows: I know I'm not going to get you to eat treif on Yom Kippur. You're a good girl.

You've been studying for a year. I know you're not going to eat treif on Yom Kippur. So here's a small avera. Everybody does it. This is not even a big one. What do you mean? Everybody does this. They get you with a small avera. And what happens? Avera girelas avera. Once you start with the small things, one avera leads to the next. It's like for those who know anything about dieting. How does the beginning of breaking the diet start? A small piece. It's just a cookie. It's just a slice of pizza. It's just one. I'm just going to have a little bit. Here's my favorite. And girls do this. Guys don't do this. Guys are honest. Girls are dishonest. A guy sits down with a tray of cake and he eats it. A girl also eats a tray of cake. But I've noticed how you do it. Half slices at a time.

No, I just want a little piece. Because a half slice does not have a chalay shem slice. So I didn't break my diet. I promised myself I wasn't going to eat a slice. I didn't eat a full slice. I didn't take a full piece. I took half a piece. Half a piece at a time. Nine by thirteen is not a serving size. Even of half pieces, you still ate nine by thirteen. You know how it goes. I'm sorry. I know that's a shock to you. Half pieces. Half right. That's like a anyway. That's a famous rashi when it doesn't matter. That's right. There are these pieces in front of me. It's that one. But you eat all of them. So now And once you eat that first piece, what's the psychology? I broke my diet.

You're not thinking straight when you say that. What should you really say? Say there. It wasn't the right thing. I did the wrong thing. But now it's like I feel like ach. And if I already feel that way, forget it. So all of a sudden we went from having a slice of pizza to a pie of pizza. And that's how the Yitzchakar gets you. The Yitzchakar doesn't come and say, "Want to have a pie of pizza?" Even though you're lactose intolerant. It says, "Take the pill. Only have a piece." Once I had a piece, I'm still hungry. It's lunch anyway. So it's not pizza and a salad. Now it's two pieces in a salad. Now it's three pieces in a salad. That's the way it gets you. Which is why we're obligated to search in every single look and cranny of our home to try to find these small avaras. The small avaras are the ones that get us. Those small avaras fester. They fester inside us, and they have a certain psychology to them. The psychology of the avera is: now you're an avaryan. Before you were fine. Now you're bad.

Not only that, but on the positive side too, the yitzohara doesn't just tell you, 'Don't worry about it. Just a small avera.' The yitzohara also tells you, 'Don't worry. Don't worry about this one too much because it's just a small mitzvah.' And we're supposed to be zayir b'mitzvos kalos, k'mitzvos chamuros. We're supposed to be so makvid, even on the smallest mitzvos, like they're the biggest mitzvos. Why? Because we know mitzvah gairerus mitzvah. So even the smallest mitzvah has the capacity. Once you did that tiny mitzvah, what starts to happen? It starts to roll downhill. I feel good about myself. I did the right thing. But again, the Yitzhakara tells you, don't pay attention to small things. We're searching on the negative side for the suor me'ira. We're trying to say, let's get rid of all of our small avers because we know that if they fester, it's like cancer cells.

If you have cancer cells inside of you, it's going to multiply. That's the nature of cancerous cells. Even if it's a small amount right now, you have to get rid of it. It's a crazy thing. But on the positive side too, if small has the capacity to make such a big impact, then you have to take your big mitzvah so seriously. Which is why on Pesach, I always struggle on Pesach. And my wife is in the other room. I hope she's listening in because I'm about to admit something that I don't generally admit. She's listening. The crinkling has stopped. A lot of things on Pesach have nothing to do with halacha. You are not obligated to tin foil your house from top to bottom to make it look like the spaceship that just crashed into the moon. Or the lounge, they're all loud. Just wait. It's going to get worse for me.

And one year, many years ago, I was when I was doing I don't know if I was doing smichah. It was after smichah. I was making fun of certain Pesach minhagim to the Rebbe who taught the smichah here in Landers with Kershonbaum. And I said something. And he said, "You're right. There's no halachic basis for that. But we don't make fun of the bubby's on Pesach." I hear it. But the truth of the matter is, it's much more. It's more than that, even. Because of all the places in Shas to discuss the power of minhagim. Which perek in Shas discusses it? It's a perek in Pesachim. It's a parak in Maseches Pesachim called Mafum Shana Aleph. Why? Because a minig is a very small thing. A minig is a very small thing, but a minig is your minig. It's your minig, and once it's your minig.

We can't be mezalzel in small things. So everybody has their menhagim. For this year, for those of you that are Shana Aleph, I'm sure that when you were in shul on Rosh Hashanah Yom Kippur, it might have been a little jarring for you. What was jarring? How do I? It's not my tunes, right? Everyone says that they're like, It was a nice davening, but I miss my tunes, right? And you always look at the guys in yeshiva that say that to you, and you're like, that was a nicer davening than any davening you've had in your entire life. What are you talking about? The singing, the dancing, the ruach, the kavana. That was awesome. But in my shul, we sing Ki Onu Amecha, and here they did like a lively minig, and I'm like But they're right, because a minig is yours. You can't be mezazel in small things. A minig is not a mitzvah. It's mezazel. Mezazel means to embarrass, to say it's like little, to say it's like nothing.

You can't be mezazel in a minig, because a minig is very chashuf. A minig is you, and that's why we say minig Yisrael toirihi. The meaning of Klal Yisrael becomes a chelik in Torah because by us small things have very big meanings. Why is it Dafka on Pesach that every small child needs to be told the story of Sipur Yisrael Mitzrayim? Because this is exactly the machlokus between Paro and the Jews. What does Paro say? Paro says, "Kill all the children. They have no value to us." Children by Paro have no value. What do we say? Zeha katan gadolim. Treat the children with respect, with dignity, because one day that child is going to become a gadol. See, Mitzrayim, they're totally functional. If Mitzrayim has to choose between ketanim and gadolim, they're going to choose gadolim because by Mitzrayim they're worried about function. But by us, we're always worried about continuity. So a cotton is just a great big ball of potential. The machlokus that we have with paral, and specifically on Pesach, we say the littlest child has to be part of our seder, and that's why so many people have the minig to get toys at the seder table to keep the children involved.

Everything is about keeping the children involved. So every year at the seder, we're coming up with new things to try to keep our children involved. One year, when I was leading the seder, I did the seder as Paro. I narrated the story as Paro. Why? Because that's a great way of keeping the kids involved. They were fighting with me the whole time. Everything that they were saying, I said, "No, that's not how it happened." And I said it like the way Paro said it. Last year, I did the seder as Adamarishon. If Adamarishon never died. Telling the story from the beginning of time. This year, I don't see any of my children around. Did they leave? This year, kids aren't here. So this year we're doing the seder. My wife and I are doing it together as Aaron and Miriam. Trying to come up with ways of keeping the kids involved. And we're trying to make the story come alive for the kids. Everything is focused on the kids. Why Dafki here? Is it so focused on the kids? The answer is because it goes kineged everything that Paro said. Paro says forget about the children. Klal Yisrael is all about the children.

Another example of this The halacha is that you're only allowed to make matzah from something that could become chametz. Wouldn't it be exactly the opposite? Imagine somebody tells you the main thing on Pesach is not to have any chametz. Go have matzah. Great. What do I make matzah out of? Specifically, something that could become chametz. It should be exactly the opposite, right? Let's all be svardim, because we know svardim are more authentic Jews. Let's all be svar. Let's all be svardim. And the svardim have rice matzah, right? Let's have rice matzah because no matter what, no matter how long I bake it. It's never going to become chametz. Could you imagine the chumra? I got mine from pure rice. That it could never even have a shemitz of chametz. I watched my rice to make sure there was no chametz. You can manage to make the greatest chumras out of this. And that's not matzah. Why?

Because what we want is the bread to stay small. We want it to remain in its unleavened state. We take something that could become big, and we value it when it's not big. The problem with rice is it can never become big. Rice can never leaven. It can never expand. It doesn't have that expansive quality. So since it doesn't have that expansive quality, we can't really value it. What we're trying to say is the contrast. You parol, you only value those things that are big. We specifically value those things that are small. That's what it means. Ushmartem etzamatos. Etzamatos. You have to watch. We have to watch carefully our matzahs. We have to watch that they don't become leaven, that they don't become big. Because on Pesach everything is about what's small. And even Klal Yisrael was on the 49th level of tuma. What separated us from the 50th level?

A very small amount is what separated us. So even the small amount, we have to give such chasivus to that which is small, because it was mamish about to fall apart. 50th level of tuma and you're done. So we tend to think to ourselves, the 49, 49 not 50. 49th level of tuma meant we stayed there one more minute. We were there. What separated us from the 50th level? This much. The separation was not 49 and then the 50th level of tuma is 20 yards away. 50th level of tuma was right there. And for this reason, we were given the mitzvah of kiddush haChodesh while we were still in Mitzrayim. Why didn't we get the mitzvah of kiddush haChodesh after Mitzrayim? Because Kiddush Hashem is all about what? It's sanctifying when the moon is so small, when there's mamash and nothing left. It's valuing that which is minuscule. That's dafka. When does a Jew come and say there's sanctity here? When does a Jew come and recognize there's kedusha? We recognize the kedusha of the tiny, of the minuscule. And in order for us to leave Mitzrayim, we needed to know that, because the whole problem is we adopted an Egyptian culture. Adopting an Egyptian culture means what? We think big.

Everything today. If you ever notice today in the world, what does everyone talk about? Everyone talks about leadership. How do we create the next generation of leaders? What's the problem? If you actually create the next generation of leaders, you're going to fail miserably. Why? Because anyone who's not a leader is going to feel like I'm a loser. Either or, by us, we have to value the smallest contribution. In Klal Yisrael, we don't only look at the tzaddikim and say only the tzaddikim have a role. Every single Jew has a role. Even the smallest little child has a role to play. And that's why everyone comes to Rav Akiva on the night of the Seder. In the Hagada, what do we see? Where do we find everybody? In Bnei Brak, by who? By Rav Akiva. Why dafker Rav Akiva? So we know that Rav Akiva's neshama was a Gilgal of Yaakov Avinu, because Rav Akiva was Rav Akiva ben Yosef, and Yaakov also had a son whose name was Yosef. So there's a deep connection between Rav Akiva and Yosef HaTzaddik. There's a deep connection between Rivka and Yaakov Avinu and Yosef. Let's talk about Yaakov for a second. What is Yaakov? Yaakov is made up of the letters Yud, Echav. Yud is the smallest letter. Echav is the lowest part of the body.

Yaakov has an adversary. Who's the adversary of Yaakov Avinu? Esav. So when Yaakov goes back for Pachim Ketanim, he encounters Esav because Esav says, 'Why are you going for something that's small? You should be focused on that which is big.' " So There, when he goes looking for something that's small, that's dafka where he fights and where he finds the Malchav Esav. And we know that the Shach says that pach, that little jug that he went back for, ends up being what, the pach shemen of Chanukah. And from that small little jug, eight days are lit. Ze hakaton gadoliyah. If you value that which is small, you're going to end up getting that which is big. Now Esav only values that which is big. Why? What does Esav say? Esav famously says when he meets Yaakov Avinu, Yeshli Rav, I have a lot. What does Yaakov Avinu say? Yeshli Kol. Now who had more? Yaakov or Esav?

Physically, Yaakov had more. Why? Because Esav only had that which is big. I have big things. Not just I have a lot. I have big things. What does Yaakov Vino say? I have everything. Why everything? Because you have that which is big. I also have big. But the difference between you and me is I also have small. That's why Yaakov Vino is referred to as a katan. Esav was supposed to be. The Balavoda and the Beis Hamikdash. If Yaakov would never have taken the B'charei from Esav, who would have been running the Beis Hamikdash? Esav would have been running the Beis Hamikdash. But why did Yaakov v'nu have to take away the Beis Hamikdash, the Avodah Hamikdash, from Yaakov from Esav? Because Esav only values that which is big, and we know that in the Mikdash, what do you have? You have the Carbon Mincha. The Carbon Mincha is just a flower offering; it's a very small offering, and the Oni who brings the carbon mincha, it's like he was makriv himself. So that's what it means. Echad amarba ve'echad amabre ve'echad amarba ve'echad amamet ubalvad sheichaven libo l'shamayim.

In the base of mikdash, it doesn't matter how big, how much you brought, as long as your heart was in the right place. So Esav would never have understood that. Why? Because Esav was all about valuing that which is big. So big carbonos, Esav would have thought were as amazing, but small carbonos like the carbon mincha that the ani brings, he would never have known how to value that. The meila Esav needs to be taken away from the mecharo so that Yaakov Avinu could run the Beis Hamikdash, and that's why VaYikra begins with a small aleph, because VaYikra is all about valuing that which is small. Now RevaKiva was the gilgal of Yaakov Avinu. RevaKiva is the gilgal of Yaakov Avinu. So then, what's RevaKiva going to value? He's going to value that which is small. For example, could you imagine what type of person it would take to walk by a rock and see one small drop of water, over and over again, creating a dent in that rock? Where did Rivkah get the vision to be able to see the impact of one small drop of water? Only because he was the gilgal of Yaakov Avinu, and he knew how to value small things. Not only that, but Rivkah

Because he valued small things, he had an experience where, as a 40-year-old, he started to learn Torah. Who did Rivkah start to learn Torah with? In a classroom full of children. So who did Rav Akiva value? Why was it appropriate for everybody to go to him in Bene Brak and to learn Torah by him? Because he was the one who understood the value of small things. He spent his time with small children, starting again. And this answers a Gemara that of course it had to be Rav Akiva that said this Gemara. There's a Brisa that they said about Rav Akiva that in his time he never told people to leave the beis medrash. Only two times a year he told people to leave the beis medrash. When? Pesach, erev Pesach, and erev Yom Kippur. Erev Yom Kippur, why? So that they could eat, and erev Pesach, so that the children could take a nap, so they could be up for the seder. And of course, it would be Rivakiva that would be the one to say, "Let's get all the kids to sleep because they are the key of the seder, being machshav the small, doing that bedikah, making sure that you're totally removed even from the smallest amount of chametz on the sore me'ra."

And on the pasetov having value for every single child. And think about the chinuch lesson that Rav Kiva was imparting to us. Rav Kiva was saying, value the children, really value them when they're young. What will happen when they're older? When they're older, it will be amazing because they'll grow up with dignity and respect. So of course, if we take it all the way back, we had a machlokas between Rashi and Tosus. What does tashbisu mean? They're fighting over Rav Kiva. Tosus says, 'What are you talking about, Rashi? How could you say Tashbisu means Bittol when Rav Kiva said Tashbisu means Biur?' And Rashi says, 'Rav Kiva never said Tashbisu means Biur. He meant to say it also means Biur, but of course it also means Bittol. But of course they're fighting over Rav Kiva's opinion. Why? Because it's Rav Kiva's opinion on Pesach that's so critical to us.

Because Rav Kiva tells us be machshav that which is small. Today. In today's chinuch, we spend so much time talking about at-risk kids, but very few people are paying attention to kids who are at risk for being at risk. Everyone today is creating programming for at-risk kids. Baruch Hashem, they need it, and we have a responsibility as a community to create that programming. But could you imagine what it would look like if we weren't doing triage? If instead of getting to a kid when they're 15, 16, 17 years old, if we got to a kid when they were seven and eight and nine and ten years old. These kids are at risk for being at risk. How do we deal with the kids who are at risk for being at risk? How can we service those kids? We can make amazing programs for those kids. Programs like that exist. There's a program in the five towns called Tova, which stands for Torah Viable Alternatives, where they have mentoring programs for at-risk kids and even for kids that are at risk for being at risk. But not all of us are going to be able to involve ourselves or create such programs. So what can we do? I think the answer to us is very impactful.

Very important, and very necessary for us to hear. The answer is how you treat your child when they're old enough to understand—three, four, five, six, seven, eight years old. These kids zeh katan gadol iya. That kid at 16, 17 years old—they didn't get there accidentally. They got there because they weren't respected as children. Kids know naturally, young ages. They know a tremendous amount. They know the difference between the teachers that love them and the teachers that don't. They know the difference between the teachers that respect them and the teachers that don't. When we sometimes look at teachers who are really railing on their classes, especially at young ages, in the name of discipline, in the name of classroom management. Somehow, if those teachers were teaching classrooms where they were 16 and 17 years old, they wouldn't do that anymore. Why? Because it would be beneath their dignity to teach that way. So why do you get to do it to a third grade class? Why don't they deserve respect?

There's a rebbe in Yeshiva Darche Torah. Unfortunately, his wife just passed away. The lie was yesterday. But he was my brother's rebbe when he was in second grade. A very, very special man. His name is Rabbi Saldinger. Rabbi Saldinger is the sweetest rebbe in the entire world. Unfortunately, he was never zaychah to have children. So because of that, I don't know because of that. That's not fair for me to say. But definitely, he's somebody who treats every child with respect and he loves every child so much because each one of them is his children. My brother, when he had his third child, my brother and the second grade rebbe were very close. The second grade rebbe really gave something special to my brother. Without getting into the details, that year my brother was very sick. And his rebbe really took extra special care of him. And when he had his third child, so he didn't have anyone to name after. So he called Rabbi Saltinger and he said, "Rebbe, I know you never had the capacity to name a child. So this one's for you." And my third nephew, Yishai Yosef

Is named after Rabbi Saltinger's father. Rabbi Saltinger named the baby. Very, very special, Rebbe. One of the things that makes Rabbi Saltinger so special, and there are many things. But one of the things that makes him so special is the way that he disciplines children. Because he's teaching second grade, and you know, like many people, it's hard to maintain classroom management. You have to maintain a certain decorum in the classroom. So when a kid starts acting out, he has phrases, go-to phrases that he uses. He goes, "If you don't start behaving" I'm going to, and the kids say, 'Dip you in chocolate and eat you all up,' and he has like all the kids say it at once. And he has like all these cute. And he goes, if you don't start behaving, I'm going to send you to. And all these little second graders go, Alba Island for imperpetuity. He teaches them in the beginning of the year all these like the cutest, warmest, most wonderful things to say. What's the pshat? He values them as katanim. He values them as children.

And if you meet someone who had Rabbi Solinger, ten years later they still talk about him. You had Rabbi Solinger. They go, that was awesome. They're 17 years old. Why are they still talking about their second grade rebbe that way? What's the pshat? Because he was so sweet, he was so kind, he treated us with such respect. There's another rebbe in Darchei. His name is Rabbi Potash. He is a pre-one A rebbe. Sometimes first grade rebbe, I think a pre-one A rebbe. Every single summer, the highlight of my day. My wife knows this. I've told this story many times before. The highlight of my day was watching Rabbi Potash daven with these five or six year old kids. You know what he did? He had a giant stereo in the room and he turned on music. So like Matovu was ma Matovu oh Alecha Yaakov. And you know what davening is? The whole class is dancing and singing. That's the whole class. And they make a train and like every kid is going around the room. It's amazing. How do you teach? How do you teach children like that? What's the pshat? The pshat is if you really respect ketanim. If you respect on the positive side, what are those kids going to be?

They're going to remember the geshmack they had when they were younger. They're going to daven when they're older. The problem is, so many of us are told, now put your finger on the place and sit still, for hours and hours on end, which has never been in the history of the world before. Who was able to sit for that long? It's a crazy thing. But a rebbe who knows how to value small things zahkot and gadol yeh. So for us, as we head into Pesach now, on the sorer me'ra, we just did a lot of sorer me'ra. We got rid of all the chametz in the house, every little nook and cranny. We searched that there should be nothing that could become something bigger. Avera gareerus avera. But we have to make sure to double down on the positive also. To find the Yakov Avinu. To find the Rivakiva, those people that value small things and that know how to. That just like a small avera can send you one way, a small mitzvah could send you the other way. And to value the small things in our life.

I was asked to speak on the topic of the recent terrorist event that occurred in Poway, San Diego. And this is the second time this year. It's a crazy thing to think about. It was the second time this year that the State of Israel has suffered a tragedy like this. We had in Pittsburgh earlier in the year. And now we had an ahabad shul in Poway. What's our response? How should a Jew respond to this? How should a Jew understand these things? Start off with one basic question. Medrash and Bereishis Rabba tells us How did Hakadosh Baruch Hu create the light that fills the world? So the Medrash says that first Hakadosh Baruch Hu clothed Himself kaviyachel in a garment, and then the light shone through that garment. And the Medrash concludes, Just as I learned this concept in a whisper, so too I have passed it on to you in a whisper. So there's a couple of questions on this Medrash. First of all, the question of the Medrash was how did Hakadosh Baruch Hu create the light?

But the Medrash's response is that Hakadosh Baruch Hu conceals Himself. If the question is how do you create the light, talk about the light. Don't talk about the concealment. That's the first question. And the second question of the Medrash is what does it mean that just as He learned this in a whisper, so too He taught it in a whisper. What does that mean to teach these things in a whisper? When you speak to somebody, if you're whispering, then they can't hear you unless you're very close to them. So what does it mean? What's the deeper message of the concept of these things being taught in a whisper? Everything that happens in our lives is always deeply connected to the spirituality of the time that we're in. So in order for us to understand these things, I think it would be helpful for us to look at what's the idea of Sfiras Haomer and to try in a deep way to understand the message that's being taught to us, especially for the things that we're going through right now as a nation.

When we look at the mitzvah of Sfiras Haomer, it comes in a very interesting way. Pesukim in Vayikros say as follows: Bechodesh Harishon, in the first month, Bar 14th day, Bein Arba'im, Pesach LaHashem. You should bring the carbon Pesach on the 14th of Nissan. On the 15th, Chodesh Azayir of this month, Chag Amatzos Lashem, that'll be Pesach. And Shivas Yamin, Matzas Tochelus, seven days you eat matzah. By Yom Arishon, Mikra Kodesh Yelachem. Kamalachas Avodah Lo Tasu, You're not allowed to do any Melacha on Pesach. Vehikravtem Ishel Hashem Shivas Yamin, By Yom Ashvi, Mikra Kodesh Kamalachas Avodah Lo Tasu. And these are the carbon that you have to bring to our Kodesh Baruch Hu. That's Pesach. The pasuk continues and it says, 'V'y'daber Hashem u'Moshe lemar, 'Daber el b'nei Yisrael v'Amart aleihem. Speak to Klali Yisrael and say to them, 'Ki tavo v'la'artz. When you will come to Eretz Yisrael, Hashanin osein lachem, The land that I will give you, Uksartem et k'siro' Uvehavesam es omer, Righteous k'sirchem el a'kohen, V'hinev es omer l'avnei Hashem, L'ertzomchem mi'macharas ha'Shabbas yinifenu a'kohen. There's a whole process of waving the karbanah omer. And when do you do that? Mimacharas Hashabbos. Mimacharas Hashabbos is when you bring the carbon omer. Girls, what day is Mimacharas Hashabbos?

That's the day after Pesach. So how does it go? It goes like this: On the 14th, you bring the carbon Pesach. On the 15th, it's Pesach. And on the 16th, you bring Mimacharas Hashabbos, the carbona omer. What's strange? If you were writing the Torah, how would you have written this? Think about what the Torah says. On the 14th, you bring the carbon Pesach. On the 15th, it's Pesach. Then seven days you should eat matzah. Don't do any malacha. These are the carbon you bring on Pesach. The day after Pesach, we have the carbon Omer. There's something out of order here. If you were writing the Torah, how would you have written it? The 14th, you bring the carbon Pesach. On the 15th, it's Pesach. On the sixteenth is the carbona omer. Then talk about shavas yamim matzos tochelu. Why did Torah go out of water over here?

Before we answer these questions, start off with a basic question. How would you describe the condition of the world? Would you describe the condition of the world as one of suffering? Or would you describe the condition of the world as one of hope? It's a fundamental question. When you think about the world, when you think about your life, should you think about it as I'm hopeful, or should you think about it as what it means to be alive is a state of eternal suffering? This is a very important question because the truth of the matter is that this world seems to be—it appears to be—a state of eternal suffering, and that sounds very bleak, but it's also very true. Because if you think about it, the moment you're born, what process did you start? You started to die. Because life needs to be sustained. So even if we're not talking about tragedy, which we'll get to in a minute, the condition of a human being is one of suffering. So if you don't eat, you die. So you need to work in order to eat, and working is suffering because working is pain. Because everything that you're going to be involved in work is going to involve a certain amount of pain because all production in our world requires pain.

That's why Chava had the curse that if she wants to produce a child, it's going to involve pain. And if Adam wants to eat from the land, it's going to involve pain. B'zeas apecha tocha lechem. He's going to require suffering in order to work. On a baseline level, when you look at the world, it tells you are in a state of suffering, and there's no escaping that suffering. And every single day that you wake up in the morning, what you're basically looking forward to that day is a day of suffering. Even being in this year right now is suffering. I don't know if you frame it that way. I kind of hope you don't. But there's a certain amount of suffering because you have to use your mental acuity in order to understand the concepts we're talking about here. That requires a certain amount of concentration, and concentration can be draining.

Think about the days when you've put in a really hard day of work. So at the end of the day, how did you feel? Maybe you felt accomplished, but you probably also felt exhausted. Why did you feel so exhausted? Because it requires a certain amount of energy. The energy that you're exerting is because you're suffering. The nature of the world is friction. So every time there's friction, there's suffering. But that's not even getting to the big stuff. That's just your everyday run-of-the-mill stuff. And then there's tragedy. I lost my job. So as long as you had a job, you were suffering, but at least there was a payoff. But now you lost your job. And now what happens to your children? Think about all of the psychological energy that you're going to expend being anxious about how am I going to support my family. Or think about the pain that it might take to have to accept tzedakah from somebody. That's a massive amount of pain. But even that pain is not massive amounts of pain because at least within that pain there's the possibility that I'll get a job. But what happens if Chassidus Shalom we have illness? Think about the amount of suffering that is involved in illness. Not only the person that's ill

But think about the psychological suffering that's occurring around the person that's ill. Think about what it's like for their parents or for their children, for their spouses, for their siblings. There's a massive amount of suffering that goes on. In a certain way, it is. So if you think about organizations like High Lifeline. High Lifeline is basically an organization that says we're going to help you in times of suffering. And who are we going to help? We're not just going to help the person that needs to get to the hospital by providing transportation. But we're going to provide support for the siblings. And even when people pass away, there's a massive amount of suffering that's left over. So they have bereavement weekends for children for siblings. That lost their siblings, and for parents that lost their children. There's a massive amount of suffering that occurs. But even that, within that illness, that's not the suffering of death. The suffering of death. If you've ever seen someone, and I hope that you haven't, but if you ever see someone go down that path of death, there's a massive amount of suffering when you're just focusing on the person that's dying. There's a massive amount of tragedy there. So when you look at the world, and you say, the condition of life is one of suffering.

It's not incorrect to say that the condition of life is suffering. So how could somebody come to us and tell us that the condition of the world is one of hope? Where would they get off saying that? It would come from a perspective of the two not being mutually exclusive. You can suffer with hope. But where does hope come from? In other words, is hope just this thing that I imagine to cope with the suffering? Because that's what people with suffering would tell you. I'm arguing that that's maybe another way of looking at it. And so, hope means that yes, there's suffering, but there's also hope. Are we? Today you were given a chance to live and to suffer. I was just born. I didn't ask. In fact, the Mishnah Avot says you were born against your will. But you were given the ability to do things. Sure, and all the things that you're going to do, or at least many or most of the things that you're going to do in any given day.

Are going to be to ameliorate the suffering that you have with this existence. It's all on what you perceive the world as. I agree. That's why I'm framing it as not the way, but as one of two ways of looking at it. There's no question that a person who says life is suffering is not wrong. There's certainly a lot of truth to it. Otherwise, it wouldn't be bothering you so much. But we look at we see hope because we don't just believe that life is life. We don't think that it's just life is that who you're done. We believe life, and then there's more. And there's more within the life that we're living that isn't finite. We like people who suffer and see a finite world and say, 'I suffer. That's it. There's the end.' The hope that's there for us is we see there's a life. I'm suffering. What for? There's something behind the curtains playing the scenes that gives me hope. So then, there's another way of looking at it. The other way of looking at it is, of course, every single moment of my life is going to require suffering. But the reason that there's hope is not. And this is very important and is very subtle. Hope is not a coping mechanism to suffering.

But here's the theory: hope came before suffering. Now, at first glance, that doesn't seem to make any sense. Because how could I be hopeful about something that hasn't gone wrong? When are we hopeful? We're hopeful when something is potentially going wrong, right? But that means something could go wrong. That's the point. But the only reason I think that is because the condition of the world is suffering. But that's hope as an antidote. So it's like I really want to get into this seminary. I'm really hopeful that I will. Why are you hopeful? Because there's potential suffering involved. So that's hope as an antidote to suffering. But I'm going to argue that hope actually comes before suffering. That before there was suffering, there was hope. What does that mean? How could you be hopeful before there's suffering? It depends on how you frame the suffering. Is suffering purposeful? Is there a reason for my suffering? And before the suffering ever occurred, there was purpose. There was a plan, and embedded in that plan there was a hope. And it's not that hope is an antidote to suffering. This is a deep idea. It's not that I suffer and then there's hope, but I hope when there's suffering because the hope came before the suffering.

And the reason why hope works when I'm suffering, I'll say it again. The reason why hope works when I suffer is because hope came before the suffering. So again, there's I'm suffering, but I'm hopeful that I'll suffer less today than I did yesterday. Or there's a potential tragedy, so I gotta have hope. But that's hope just as a response. Or hope is way before suffering. Hope occurs way before suffering. The suffering is purposeful. The suffering is part of a plan. The hope, before the suffering ever occurred, was there was something called hope. And the reason why hope is a really good antidote to suffering is because it came before the suffering. And so, if the refuah comes before the makah, then when the makah comes, I have the refuah. But it's not that I only have a refuah because there's a makah. I have the refuah. Period. Now there's a makah. That's good because I have a refuah. So it's like I have hope. That's good. And now if they're suffering, I'll be able to employ that hope as an antidote to suffering. But my hope is not because I have suffering. My hope is because I have hope. So it's a very different way of looking at it.

Does that make sense? Not yet. One more time. I have hope. You don't need suffering to have hope. And now if I suffer I'll have hope. Because you already had it. Because I already had it, and I couldn't employ hope if I never had it to begin with. Some people think that hope is born out of suffering. Hope is not born out of suffering, according to this way of looking at it. Hope is the natural condition that you have. There's something about you that is deeply hopeful. And then if you have suffering in your life, it's okay. You can manage it. How do you manage it? Because I have hope. So hope wasn't born as an antidote to suffering. A person lives in a state of hope. And then, because suffering is real, we have ways of dealing with suffering, and those are two very different models. So let's go back and look at our two models for a second. In the first model, we said every single moment that you're alive, you're suffering. You're expending energy all the time in order to avoid suffering.

And tragic things you know are going to happen to you in your lives. We're just so foolish until we get to real suffering. Until we get to tragedy, most people are walking through life going, "Well, somebody's going to suffer, but it's not going to be me." And then when it happens, they're like, "Well, that wasn't supposed to happen." But of course, every one of us in this room knows that we're going to suffer. And if we haven't suffered yet, it's only by luck of the draw. And it's only because we're at an age where we're looking at people and we're going, "I can't believe they had to suffer so young." But really, we're living in this magical world where we think we're never going to suffer. And that's not true. You're going to suffer, and tragic things are going to happen in your life. Some people say, life is suffering, and I have to develop coping mechanisms to deal with that suffering. Alternatively, we build organizations like High Lifeline because we have hope, not because we have suffering. And then, when people suffer, we have some place for them to go. Now you'll say, we only have High Lifeline because they're suffering.

Why do we have High Lifeline? Why do we have any of these organizations? Why can't a person just say, "I'm suffering, and that's it"? What is it about us as a community that says, When these things happen, we should band together for each other? The only reason we had that is because we have hope. So there's something about us. There's something about the human condition. It's called the soul that tells you that all of this suffering is meaningful, all of it is purposeful, and there's something about our suffering. That demands to know why, and we're not okay with what appears to be unjust suffering. And here's the thing about unjust suffering: when it happens, we call out to the one that's bringing the suffering to begin with. So people will say the following: "I don't understand how God could do this." Exactly. But isn't that the most incredible statement of belief in God?

Because if your condition is hope, doesn't that make sense? If your condition is one of hope, then when suffering occurs and it appears to be unjust, like when you have somebody who tragically dies at a young age or in a horrific fashion, so then what do we do? We call them and we go, that's not right. Who told you that it was supposed to be right? Life is suffering. What's the answer to that? The reason that you say that it's supposed to be right is because you had hope to begin with. Do you understand? So when the unjust suffering happens, what's our reaction to that? That's not right, and that's a good reaction. Does that make sense? The difference is everything. Because if you're living in a world of suffering, your view on life is naturally going to be pessimistic. Whenever you meet anybody, you're going to think the worst possible thing because life has taught you that life is suffering. So imagine what it would be like for somebody who has that worldview to walk into Tomer Devora on day one.

She's going to look around and she's going to say, "I don't. I'm not going to be friends with these people." And she's not wrong, because inevitably this year you're going to have some fights. As I imagine some of you may have already had, roommate issues. The temperature of a room. By the way, I say that in any seminary that I teach at, I say the temperature of a room. You see all the girls going. The lights or the noise in a room. Inevitably, there are going to be shirum that you don't like. So there's going to be conditions of suffering over the course of the year, right? And so a person who walks in with a perspective of suffering, what's their response going to be when they walk in on day one to anything? They're going to say it's probably going to involve suffering, and they're not wrong. Right? And yet when you walked in this year, I hope. Perhaps you walked in not with an optimistic worldview because optimism is just like I'm a positive thinker. Right? Hope is much deeper than that. Hope is I'm not looking at the suffering that's going to be involved in this year.

And it's not because you're ignoring the suffering, but because it's not the way you see the world. So there's something about you that came here this year and said, 'I'm deeply hopeful that this year is going to be transformative.' Where did that come from? And by the way, you know exactly who you are if you're that type of person. If you were the type of person who was sitting there in high school going, 'I'm just waiting till I go to Israel.' And it's not something that you necessarily said out loud. Maybe you didn't even say it to your closest friends because you were embarrassed to say it. But deep in your heart, you knew about yourself. I'm going to go to Israel and I'm really going to turn it on. It's going to be a transformative year. Where did that hope come from? There's something about our design that tells us there's something to be hopeful for. That we can live in a world that has a better tomorrow. That we live in a world that ameliorates suffering. Not because we need to get rid of it because we can't take it, but because it's purposeful, so we have to access it. So all of a sudden, suffering takes on meaning to us. So this is one of my favorite ideas that I ever heard.

It's an idea from Rav Salo Hachik, and he says, "Nar hayisi gam zakanti v'lo raisi tzadik nezav v'zar mavakesh lachem." I was young and I was old, and I never saw a tzadik go hungry and his children didn't have bread to eat. And R' Salavichik asks, "Well, how could that be? What do you mean? You never saw the righteous people suffer?" So he said, "No, you're misreading the pasuk. N'har ha'is'i, I was young; v'gam z'kanti, and I was old; velor ha'is'i, and I never stood by and watched as a tzaddik went hungry and didn't have bread to feed his children." Well, why? What's the value of saying that? The value of saying is, "I won't be a person who stands by and watches suffering." Because it's not the worldview that a Jew has. The worldview that a Jew has is that suffering is a call to action, and every single one of us deeply knows that. We know that suffering is a call to action. So when we see somebody suffering, what's our natural response? Even if we're not suffering, what's our natural response to them? I want to help. So it's the most amazing thing. As a community, when these things occur

Our response is off the charts. For example, when Ari Fol d, Hashem Yikom Damo, was murdered this year. After I think it was maybe after the week of Shiva, a couple days later, they had raised well over a million dollars to support his family, from people from all over the world. How did that happen? And what's the answer? The answer is because we are a people of hope. It's not by accident that the national anthem of the state of Israel is Hatikva. It's because we're a people that was built on hope. People ask the question, how have Jews survived throughout the millennia? The answer is very simple. If we had had a perspective of suffering, we never would have survived. But every single time we've suffered, we've done incredible things with the suffering. When you look at the Spanish Inquisition, it was a terrible time, but some of the greatest works that we have came from those times. We were exiled to Bavel. We created Shas Baveli. So any time that there's been suffering, Jews have always responded with purpose.

Does that make sense? The reason we do that is because we're deeply hopeful. So after the Holocaust, everybody said it was over. Nobody could possibly rebuild after this. And the Gedolim came ahead and said, "Okay, but we're going to rebuild." And Rav Aaron Kotler started Lakewood. And Rav Moshe Feinstein was in New York. And Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky was in Torva Dass. And the Gedolim rebuilt World Jewry. And now we're flourishing. And thousands upon thousands of people are learning in yeshivas. And people are moving to Eretz Yisrael. And people are coming to seminary for the year. And if you would have told our great grandparents, If you would have gone back to a Jew in 1939 and 1940 in Germany and Poland and Czechoslovakia, and you would have told them that this, don't worry, your grandchildren and great-grandchildren will be sitting and learning in your shulaim, and that they'll not only be free to learn, but that their parents are going to have the capability of sending them for the year to just focus on sitting and learning, so they could be impactful Jewish mothers. What would your great-grandparents have said?

I wonder what they would have said. Because maybe people who were in a state of suffering would have said that. But I wonder if our great grandparents were hopeful enough to be able to imagine such a future. And maybe that's how they did it. What was that? For sure. Why did they daven for it? Because they were hopeful. I don't know if they would or they wouldn't, but I'd like to believe that they would. Because if you think about it, we've been hopeful that the Beit Hamikdash will be rebuilt. How do we know that it's going to happen? If you look at the Ani Mavet, what does the Ani Mavet say? Even though Mashiach hasn't come yet, and even though he tarrys, I'm waiting for him. Why would you wait for someone for so long? That doesn't make any sense. Only if you really believe that he's going to come. But other than that, you would never You would never wait if you were waiting for a date.

And he didn't show up for thousands of years. You would never tell your kids. You married somebody else, but I'm still waiting for that date. So every night I go to that hotel lobby at eight o'clock. And now you're like a bubby, and you're in your early nineties, and you pull in your great-grandchild, and you say to your great-grandchild, "Listen, that at eight o'clock every night I go to the Leonardo Hotel." Because I'm still waiting for that Shidduch day, and now I tell you, it's your turn to wait. Because maybe his children will show up, Safda needs to go to a home now. And that's what it is, and that's exactly what we do, right? Every single generation tells the next one that it doesn't matter. How many generations rise up against us? Just hang in there because it's coming. At some point you would say it's not coming anymore. And that's what they tried to do. The conservative and reform movement tried to take Mashiach out because they said it's an Arish Kaddarli. And as a result, their movements have suffered tremendously because when you remove hope, all you're left with is suffering. And we're exactly the opposite.

So let's go back just for a second to these pesukim because I think they're going to be very illuminating here. What comes first, Redemption or the Karban Omer? The carbon omer represents suffering. It's when you come into Eretz Yisrael and now you actually have to build the land. There's a lot of work involved in building the land. Then you come with your carbon omer. You come with your bare bones and you say, I'm giving this to God. That required a massive amount of suffering. We left the midbar. The omer represents the suffering of this world. And that's not the same as Pesach. That's not the same as redemption. Pesach. It's very clear that there are two very different sets of sukkim. So first we start off with, on the 14th you bring the carbon pesach, and on the 15th you have pesach. And then you have your seven days of pesach where you eat matzahs. And then only afterwards, mi machar asher shabbos, we go back and we talk about the omer because they're two very different things. Yes and no. Because the omer happens in the context of redemption. Do you understand? And that frames how you come into Eretz Yisrael.

If you come into Eretz Yisrael and all you have is the suffering, it's true that suffering and freedom are two separate motifs. But the suffering happens in the context of the redemption of Pesach. You're redeemed from Mitzrayim and you lead this idyllic life in the Midbar. You're totally redeemed. And then only afterwards do you have the suffering. The reason you have that suffering is because now, when you're ingrained with the notion of redemption, when you're ingrained with the notion of hope, how you engage suffering is totally different. And so, while there are two separate motifs, there's redemption, there's the hope, and then there's the suffering. But the suffering occurs within the context of the hope, and that makes it meaningful, and that makes it purposeful. That's how you're able to bring it tasha. And I think perhaps that's the pshat in the medrash. Because the medrash wasn't just simply asking a question of how you create light. The medrash was asking a fundamental question of why do the righteous suffer?

And the answer is, there's the garment. There's the light that's Hakadosh Baruch Hu, and then there's the garment that's the darkness. That's the Hester Panim. And the light shines through the darkness, and that's our job. Our job is to find that. But here's the thing: you can only learn that lesson in a whisper, and you can only teach it to somebody else in a whisper. So what does that mean? To learn it and to teach it in a whisper. Whispering is a very powerful imagery. Because in order to hear a whisper, you need to be close. And if you think about it, The Medrash gives us the ultimate distance. It talks about the Hester Panim. It talks about the hiding of Hakadosh Baruch Hu's light in this garment. And yet, at the same time, we're talking about it being a whisper. And here's the key: if you want to learn the secret to suffering It's going to be very subtle. It's almost going to be unheard. You have to draw closer to God in the suffering in order to hear the whisper. And most people, when they've done it, it changes them. But it's so difficult to do. For example, when you're undergoing some suffering—hopefully not too much suffering—but when you're undergoing some suffering, if you have a tragedy and you're able to turn towards God, it won't be that you understand why it happened.

Because that's just speculation. We never know why things happen. But what you'll be able to hear is the whisper calling out to you and saying, 'Find me in the darkness.' And so the Talmidei Chachamim say, 'What does the word Matay mean? Mitzvot, Tshuva, and Yisurin.' So when will Mashiach come? When we find God in our Mitzvot, which is not so simple because a lot of us do our Mitzvot just by rote. When we find God in our aviras, and that's not so simple either, to actually do a real tshuva. And the last one is when you find God in your yisurin, when you find God in your suffering, and that's the one that really brings Mashiach, because ultimately those that have suffered, but they hang in there towards those last moments. And they say, but I'm here, and they're able to hear that whisper in the suffering. That's what really brings God to be revealed in this world. And that is only something you can learn in a whisper, and it's only something you can teach in a whisper. Because even right now, as I'm talking, it doesn't really mean anything to you. Because hopefully you're not in a state of suffering right now.

But when you're in that state of suffering, if there is that chance that you have to listen to the whisper of God saying, 'Pay attention, I'm calling out to you from within the suffering. Can you find me?' Well, that's exceptionally powerful. And I'd like to read to you something now, with your permission, something that I think is very meaningful. Do you know this rabbi, The Chabad of Poway, Rabbi Goldstein? I remember, so I know. Rabbi Goldstein wrote an article in the New York Times, and I'm going to read to you the article. I think that this is the ultimate response of how a Jew responds to the whisper that he hears in the suffering. And it's very powerful, so really try to listen carefully. April 29, 2019. The article is entitled "a terrorist tried to kill me because I am a Jew. I will never back down."

Today should have been my funeral. I was preparing to give my sermon Shabbat morning, Saturday, which was also the last day of Passover, the festival of our freedom, when I heard a loud bang in the lobby of my synagogue. I thought a table had fallen down, or maybe even that, God forbid, my dear friend Laurie Gilbert Kay had tripped and fallen. Only a few moments earlier, I had greeted Laurie there. She had come to services to say Yizkor, the morning prayer for her late mother. I went to the lobby to check on her. What I saw in those seconds will haunt me for the rest of my days. I saw Laurie bleeding on the ground and I saw the terrorist who murdered her. This terrorist was a teenager. He was standing there with a big rifle in his hands and he was now aiming it at me. For one reason, I am a Jew. He started shooting. My right index finger got blown off. Another bullet hit my left index finger, which started gushing blood. After the massacre in Pittsburgh, we had a community training. Now that training kicked in. Somehow, my brain directed my body to the synagogue ballroom.

Where the children, including two of my grandchildren, were playing. I ran toward them, screaming, "Get out! Get out!" I grabbed as many as I could with my bloody hands and pushed them out of the building. One of our congregants that day, Almag Peretz, a veteran of the Israeli Defense Forces, ran after me to help get the children to safety and took a bullet in the leg. His eight-year-old niece Noa Dahan took some shrapnel to hers. Then an amazing miracle occurred: the terrorist's gun jammed. Two other heroic congregants, an army veteran named Oscar Stewart and an off-duty border patrol agent named Jonathan Morales, rushed toward him as he fled. The ambulances had not yet arrived. We all gathered outside. I don't remember all that I said to my community, but I do remember quoting a passage from the Passover Seder liturgy: 'In every generation, they rise against us to destroy us, and the Holy One, blessed be He, saves us from their hand.' And I remember shouting the words, 'Am Yisrael Chai,' the people of Israel live. I have said that line hundreds of times in my life.

But I have never felt the truth of it more than I did then. I am a religious man. I believe everything happens for a reason. I do not know why God spared my life. I do not know why I had to witness scenes of a pogrom in San Diego County, the ones my grandparents experienced in Poland. I don't know why a part of my body was taken away from me. I don't know why I had to see my good friend, a woman who embodied the Jewish value of chesed, hunted in her house of worship. I don't know why I had to watch Laurie's beloved husband, a doctor, faint as he tried to resuscitate her, and then their only daughter Hannah sobbing agony as she encountered both her parents collapsed on the floor.

I do not know God's plan. All I can do is try to find meaning in what has happened and to use this borrowed time to make my life matter more. I used to sing a song to my children, a song that my father sang to me when I was a child. Hashem is here, I would sing, using the Hebrew name for God, pointing to my right, pointing with my right index finger to the sky. Hashem is there, I would sing, pointing to my right and left. Hashem is truly everywhere. That finger I would use to point out God's omnipresence was taken from me. I pray that my missing finger serves as a constant reminder to me. A reminder that every single human being is created in the image of God.

A reminder that I am part of a people that has survived the worst destruction and will always endure. A reminder that my ancestors gave their lives so that I can live in freedom in America. And a reminder, most of all, never ever to be afraid to be Jewish. From here on in, I am going to be more brazen. I am going to be even more proud in walking down the street wearing my tshirts and kippah, acknowledging God's presence. And I'm going to use my voice until I'm hoarse to urge my fellow Jews to do Jewish. To light candles before Shabbat, to put up mezuzas on their doorposts, to do acts of kindness, and to show up in synagogue, especially this coming Shabbat. I am a proud emissary of Chabad Lubavitch, a movement of Hasidic Judaism. Our leader, the great Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, famously taught that a little light expels a lot of darkness. That is why Chabad rabbis travel all over the world to set up Jewish communities. I have colleagues in Kathmandu, in Ghana, as well as in Paris and Sydney. We believe that helping any human being tap into their divine spark is a step toward fixing this broken world and bringing closer the redemption of humanity. It is why 33 years ago, my wife and I came to this corner of California to build a house of light.

Because we are obviously Jewish, identifiable by our black hats and beards, it has also meant that some of us have been targets before. Eleven years ago, my colleagues Rabbi Gavriel and Rivka Holtzberg, who ran the Chabad of Mumbai, India, were murdered along with four of their guests. They were targeted by the terrorist group Lashkar-e-Taiba because they were Jewish. And over the years, people I know have been harassed and assaulted by thugs in the neighborhood where I grew up, Crown Heights, Brooklyn, in incidents that typically go unreported by the press. In his vile manifesto, the terrorists who shot up my synagogue called my people The Jewish people, a squalid and parasitic race. We are a people divinely commanded to bring God's light into the world. So it is with this country. America is unique in world history. Never before was a country founded on the ideals that all people are created in God's image and that all people deserve freedom and liberty. We fought a war to make that promise real, and I believe we can make it real again. That is what I pledge to do with my borrowed time. That's just an exceptional response to the whisper of suffering.

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