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Bereshos, Rosh Yeshiva, Shlita. It's been a couple of months now since we had our last mishmar here in Yeshiva. And I have to say I can't tell you how much I missed it. It's so unbelievable to be back to see Shana Bekka coming back to see Baruch Hashem, so many Shana Aleph guys. That are off to such a great start. Shbe'ez Hashem will only continue. The end of this week's parsha The last sugya that Yaakov Avinu taught Yosef before Yosef Hatzadik was tragically sold down to Mitsrayim. Is the sugya that's in this week's parsha, the sugya of Eglarufa. The Medrash tells us. That Yosef Etzadik sent word back to his father to tell Yaakov Avinu that he was alive, even after all these years Even after Yaakov thought that he had been killed. The Medrash fills in the gaps. The Medrash tells us the way of liars is that even when they tell the truth, people don't believe them.
The Shvatim had lied to Yaakov Avinu. They said that Yosef was killed. And therefore, Yaakov Avinu didn't believe them when they said that Yosef was still alive. And then he saw the agalot; he saw the wagons. And the Medrash tells us that the wagons that were sent by Paro were Egyptian wagons that had idolatry etched into them. And Yehuda The great Melach of Yisrael Burned the wagons. Destroyed those wagons because they had idolatrous images etched into them. And Yosef the Tzaddik sent word to Yaakov Avinu. He said, "Remember" The last sugya we learned was Eglah Arufa. These wagons are a reference, a remez. To the last sugya that we learned. And Yaakov Avinu says, "Wow." My son is incredible. How much strength he must have had to withstand everything that he went through, every test that he went through in Mitzrayim. He's even stronger than me.
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It behooves us to take a moment to learn the sugya of Eglah Arufa Because this must have been a powerful sugya. The last sugya that Yaakov Avinu taught Yosef's. Perhaps Yaakov Avinu didn't know that it was going to be the last sugya. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't. But certainly, it was the Hashgacha. It was the divine plan that this was the lesson that Yosef HaTzaddik took with him into Mitzrayim. And if it's the lesson that he took with him into Mitzrayim, then it's not an accident that he sends that message to his father to say, "I'm still learning the sugya of Eglarufa. After all these years, I'm still holding in the same sugya. What is the deeper lesson of Eglarufa?" Let's review very quickly some of the basics of the sugya for those that are not familiar. Somebody's killed And we don't know who killed him. We don't know who the killer is.
So the elders and the judges measure the distance to see which city is the closest one to this person in the field. When they determine the city that's closest, the elders of that city come and take a calf. And there you go. They take a calf. A calf that has never been worked before, and they take it to a rugged valley. Where nothing has ever been planted, the soil has never been tilled. And they break this calf's neck. And then the elders of the town declare that they did not shed his blood. And the Gemara wonders. The Gemara in Sota forty six a wonders. Does anyone think that the elders of the city Are you responsible for killing this man? Of course not. Rather, the Gemara explains that since they did not escort this man out of the city That's why he was killed. Had he been escorted out of the city, they wouldn't have killed him. But because he wasn't escorted out of the city, that's why he's killed, and therefore the city is responsible.
The Rambam pasksins this la halacha. The Rambam's lashon is unbelievable. The Rambam talks about the mitzvah of accompanying somebody out of your home. Rabbi says you should know this halacha. Somebody comes to your house and they're leaving the house. Walk them out, not just through the door. Walk them outside. The Rambam says If you're going to be lazy in this manner and you're not going to walk somebody out of your house, it's like You killed them because you didn't walk them out of your house. But the Rambam says if you walk somebody out of your house for amos, you get a great reward. It's a plea of the Rambam. If I walk somebody out of my house, I'm worthy of great reward. That's such a big mitzvah. It's a strange lashon of the Rambam. And the Rambam says if you're lazy about it. It's like you killed them. It's like I killed them.
I killed somebody because I didn't walk them out of my house. It's the Maral's question. Just because I wasn't melava somebody out of the city because I didn't escort them out of the city. So I'm Chayv. It's kilo. I killed them. I'm responsible for that. How could that be? The Gemara in Hario 6A says something even stranger. This kapara of breaking the eagle's neck. It's not only a kapara for the elders of that city who weren't malave him out. The Gemara says it's a kapara for the generation that left Mitzrayim. Even if it was thousands of years later Which generation needs a kapara? Not only the city that wasn't malave him out, but for some reason, the generation that left Mitzrayim in some way is also responsible for this guy's death. How could that possibly be? And also, as we examine the halachos of Eglarufa, it's a very strange thing. Why does it have to be an eggel that was never worked? Why does it have to be an eggel that never gave birth? Why do we take it to a place where the soil has never been tilled, where fruit was never grown from such a place?
And why do we break its neck? I want to share with you something that I think everybody is going through. This moment There are two life experiences. There's what we'll call in the city Which means you're safe. The city is fortified. There are walls. They protect us from marauders. We're safe from the outside world. And if we are attacked I'm not the only one under attack. I have people that will fight alongside me. I'm not alone. That's a very good feeling To be with your tribe, to be with your people. There is another experience. I think it's an experience that every one of us is having right now. What happens when you leave your city? What happens when you leave the safe confines of your home? What happens when you leave your boys? I grew up with these guys. I was in camp with them. I was in elementary school with them. I was in middle school with them. I was in high school with them. I've been with them my entire life.
I come to a new place. It's strange. These walls don't feel like my walls. These boys don't feel like my boys. Does anyone really have my back? There's an anxiety that's present in the room right now, and it's an understandable anxiety. It's a little scary. For Shana Bet, it's a little bit easier. These walls are your walls already. But you probably remember in the beginning of Shana Aleph, before they were your walls When it was uncomfortable, when it was new And maybe you were looking around and wondering, "Did I pick the right yeshiva?" Is this really my place? Every guy's looking around. I was in a morning seder. I was in an afternoon seder. You look around right away. You want to know—is that my rebbe? Are these guys like me? What are we looking for? What's the word? What we're looking for is safety.
What we're looking for is a feeling of it's okay. I'm not alone in this world. Two people go to fight. Who wins? Who wins? It depends on the circumstances. Imagine the scene. You have a guy and he's traveling along the way. And you have another guy who wants to rob him. He jumps out. The guy is walking on the road. He is scared, and the guy starts to chase him. Maybe he has a knife. Who runs faster? Who's stronger? If he gets caught It's easy to say the stronger one wins, but it's often not true. You know who wins? The one who cares more. It's a great drill. I don't know if they do this anymore. It's a great drill in basketball. They take a ball. Roll it on the floor. Two people have to run after it. They have to grab the ball. Who dives?
Who wants it more? What's that line? It's not the size of the dog in the fight. It's the size of the fight in the dog. Who's willing to take that charge? Who's willing to lay themselves out because they care about it more? You know who wins in a fight between two people? One of them wants your money. He's not that invested. The other has everything to lose. This guy is willing to murder you for your money. So you rise to the occasion because your life is under threat. It's like the mother who can lift the car to save her child. You get a rush of adrenaline that you never thought possible. You say, "I got this. This is my life." You win the fight. Not because you're bigger, not because you're stronger, but because it's your life on the line. You have more to lose; that makes you stronger.
So why was this guy killed? He left the city. He was attacked along the way. The other guy wanted his money. How did he lose the fight? And the answer is very simple. Because he had nothing to live for. You can win any fight. If you care more than the other person But if you don't care to fight, why should I? What am I fighting for? Why is my life valuable? Now that might sound strange to some of you. But I guarantee you there are people in this room that know exactly what I'm talking about. Rabbi said there's something called resilience. There's something called grit. There's something called toughness. There's something called rising to the occasion. There are people that are able to do unbelievable things. And it's not because they're more talented. It's because they take life seriously, because they have something to live for.
Not because they're important, but because life is important. They don't sleep in. Losers don't wake up in the morning. Winners wake up in the morning because they have something to wake up for. Winners go to work and they put in a hard day's work because they have something to live for. The worst feeling in the world, the absolute worst feeling in the world, and I hope that none of you have felt this in your life. Is the feeling I just don't matter. I am not really important. And there is a tremendous opportunity that we have this year in Mevasseret, and let's be honest with each other: there is also a tremendous danger. We're not a big yeshiva, as the Rosh Yeshiva says. The Mir is a big yeshiva. When Mevasseret crosses the eight thousand mark, you can say we're a big yeshiva. But we are not a small yeshiva either.
And it is possible And it will be tragic if this happens. It is quite possible that there will be people walking around in this yeshiva, as there are right this very moment. Guys that are anxious, guys that are wondering, 'Do I fit in?' You don't know what a kind word will do for them. You don't know what it's like to invite them to sit with you at your table in the chadar ochal. You might think they're fine. They might look fine. But if you don't, pass by them in the hallway That's a tragedy. What is success in Mevasseret? I want to be absolutely clear. Success is not who finishes the most Tosvos this year. Who knows the most Rambams? Who finishes the most Blatt? That is not success. Success is not how long your Shmona Esrei was. That is not success. Success is not how late you stayed in the basement. Those are all really wonderful, beautiful, and important things. Those are not success.
If you want to know the litmus test, the true litmus test of whether or not you're being successful this year, whether or not you've truly connected to Hashem, there is only one litmus test. And that is where is your ben adam lechaveiro. If you care about Hashem, then you care about his children. And if you care about his children, you will care about his Torah too. And for sure you will become a better davener and for sure you will become a better learner. But derech eretz kadem le Torah is not a joke. One of the most painful stories that I think I've heard in the last. I've now been a part of this yeshiva twenty-eight years, but eighteen, I've had the opportunity to work here. This is my high year in Mevaseret. Without a doubt, one of the most painful stories is about a young man who was locked and loaded coming to Mevaseret.
He was for sure coming Out of nowhere, he popped up in yeshiva in February. It was like decision-making time. I said, "What are you doing here?" He said, "I came to check out the yeshiva." I thought you were locked and loaded. I thought you were coming. He said, "I was until I saw who you accepted." I said, "What do you mean?" He said, "Rebbe, I thought Mivasaret was a place that was going to be different than the way that I grew up. There's a group of guys that were in my elementary school, my middle school, my camps, my high school." I've known these guys my entire life. I walk by them in the halls. This is exact line verbatim. Rebbe, I'm a ghost. It's like I don't exist to them. They don't say hello to me. They're not acknowledging my existence. And I was so looking forward to coming to Mevaseret because I heard in Mevaseret it's a place where you have really nice guys and guys treat each other with kavod. And I was so disappointed that some of these guys who have literally ignored me for years were accepted into the yeshiva. It made me question everything I thought about Mevaseret. And Baruch Hashem, he came here, and Baruch Hashem, he was not a ghost, and he had a completely different experience.
That is absolutely. What so many of us are going through—it's so difficult to walk through the halls. I don't know your name. You don't know my name. We don't know each other. I was from Florida. I'm from LA. I'm from Skokie. I'm from New York. I'm from New Jersey. I'm from Philadelphia. I'm from Cleveland. I'm from everywhere. The shisha is everywhere. And you think everybody's fine. Rabbi, are you being Malafa people out? Are you letting people know they matter? When you walk somebody out of the house, it's like saying, "I can't bear to see you leave." You think. You think you just spontaneously showed up on this world one day? It's not true. You were loved into being. Love is the most powerful force in the entire world. And you have generations of love that are coursing through your body. Your great grandparents, your grandparents, your parents, your aunts, your uncles, your cousins, your siblings—for generations.
How do you know you matter? If you pay attention, look deep inside yourself You'll find generations of love that are coursing through your bones. Generations of love that tell you that you matter. Rabbi said, "Listen carefully to the halacha." We take a young egel, a kid A kid who's never worked before. He's never produced anything. He's little. He's a baby. How do you raise a child? This child was raised without that love. This child didn't have anybody when he was home from school to greet him and say, "Hey, how was your day? What's going on in your life?" This is a kid that grew up thinking, "What is my life worth?" And you know what the Gemara says? You take that kid who's never had a child themselves; they've never produced anything. You bring him to a place that's never produced anything. And you break his neck because that's what his life was like.
The neck is the point of connection in the body. It connects your head and your heart. This person, tragically alone, lived with the pain of no connection, of being disembodied. Rav Ben calls them brains on legs. And if you don't know Rav Ben, one day you will know that line is genius. Disembodied people, people who have no connection to themselves. Because they never felt the love. Then you have people who get so much of it from their rebbeim, from their counselors, from division heads, from everywhere. Everywhere they go, they just get that love. Generations of people gave them that love. That's why they're successful. That's why they take risks. That's why they're okay to say this is scary, but I can be brave. They're not awesome because they were born awesome. They're not awesome genetically. They're awesome because every day of their lives, people told them you matter.
The secret The secret of the Eglah Arufa is that it atones even for the generation that left Mitzrayim. We left Mitzrayim. That's when we became a nation. That's when this whole mission started at Harsinai. If somebody was killed out in the field, it's not only because those people weren't malaveh him out of the city. It's because way back in the day, our great grandparents didn't love their children enough so that their children wouldn't pass on that love. It's an atonement for them too. It's the secret of Yaakov Avinu. Did Yaakov know that Yosef was going to be sold down to Mitzrayim? I imagine not. But Hashkachot Pratis demanded. That the last sugya that Yosef Etzadik would learn before he went into the most difficult place in his entire life, a place where even the wagons have idols etched into them The last sugya was You survive through connection. Is it any wonder that when Yosef Etzadik was about to do that avera with Esau's Potifar that he saw his father's image in the window? The connection was so strong, so powerful.
That of course he felt his father's love, and that's how he survived. So how does Yosef HaTzaddik tell his father, 'I'm still alive'? He says, 'Tati, I'm not. I'm not just alive because of the last sugya that we learned.' I'm alive because when we learned that sugya, you taught me that our connection The love that you have for me is so profound that I can withstand anything. I was talking tonight to Benny Dolphin. If you don't know Benny, you should get to know him fast. He's a tzaddik. He's a wonderful person. I was talking to Benny and I shared with him something that I'm experiencing right now—a little bit of anxiety that I'm having. I don't know if you know this. Last night, the Rosh Yeshiva and I did not get home until 11:15 at night. It's a long day. I don't even know what time it is now. It's eleven fifteen again. We're not going to get home, Rosh Yeshiva, before midnight tonight.
Rosh Yeshiva is tired. It's not true. The Rosh Yeshiva is about twenty minutes away from his next coffee. I said to Benny The success of every guy in this yeshiva It's also on us. You're not alone in this. Every guy in this yeshiva Every rebbe in this yeshiva, it's our responsibility to tell you that every moment of your life matters. Don't be a cautionary tale. The days are long, but the year is short, and I promise you. Ask the Shana Bet guys; you will be on the roof before you even know it. And we will be talking about how incredible this year was. But not for everybody. Tragically, not for everybody. For most guys, you'll walk away from this year saying, "I accomplished more than I ever thought possible." I grew up and matured. I have a better relationship with Hashem. I have a better relationship with myself. I have a better relationship with my parents and my siblings.
I learned so much about myself this year. For most of you, it will be this way. But there will be There will be guys. Some guys fall into the cracks, other guys live in the cracks, and our job is to make sure that not one guy falls through the cracks and that nobody lives in the cracks. And when Rav Josh gets up at orientation and he says to you guys, "My job is to make sure that you're positioned to have the most incredible year." He means it. He lives it. He breathes it. Every mashgiach in this yeshiva. Every seder coordinator, everything that goes on in this yeshiva, it's to make sure that you guys have the most important year of your lives. This is going to set you up for years to come. But I'm telling you right now that it doesn't matter. You could call a guy into the office and say, "I see you're struggling. Is there some way we could help you?" The guy says, "Yeah, I'm going to do better," but he can't.
It's not because he didn't have the right rebbe and it's not because he didn't have the right chevra. It's because somewhere along the line. Somebody forgot to tell him. Your life is important. This is important. Take it seriously. You only get one of these. People say life is short. Life is long. It's the longest thing you'll ever do. But you never know how much of it you're going to get. Take advantage of every moment of every opportunity. It's not often that you get do-overs, but if you do, good for you, because you'll kill it the second time around because you know that you matter. This is going to be an amazing year, but only if you believe in yourselves. Ratzalak Hakoyin Milublin says believing in Hashem means believing in yourself. If you believe in God, then you believe that God woke you up this morning for a purpose.
Why don't we rise to the occasion for Shacharis? Why don't we do like it says in Halacha? Why don't we jump up like lions? It's not because we don't have strength. It's because does the Rebbeinu Sholm really want me to wake up in the morning and davening? Does the Rebbeinu Sholm really care if I put on tefillin? Does a rabbanim sholom really care if I sit and learn the black gemara? And the answer is, he cares infinitely. The only difference is Do you feel that? Do you feel that you matter? If you were born with grandparents and great grandparents that told you that you're awesome, then good for you. But if you're one of those guys who feels like you fell through the cracks, that you were a ghost walking through the halls of your high school. That you were just another guy Just a bump on a log.
This is your opportunity for greatness. This is your opportunity for connection. My bracha to all of us and I mean that sincerely. To every rebbe in this yeshiva, to every mashgiach in this yeshiva, and most of all to every talman in this yeshiva. My bracha is that this year we take it seriously. My bracha is that this year we say I matter and I'm here to do something important. And because of that. I see the importance in others. There are opportunities in this yeshiva to meet other guys. But it's possible And it's sad. But it's possible that some guys will just sit at the same table in the chadar ochal the entire year. They'll stay with their sheer. Don't do that. Don't be that guy. If in March and April you're still sitting at the same table. I don't care how many blackamoor you learned. You missed the point. The point was not to learn the words of the author. The point was to get to know the author himself. If you're getting close to Hashem, you're getting close to His children. Rabbi Isaiah, may this be a year of unbelievable connection.
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