Parshas Shelach – When and Where and Why

People often joke that students taking classes in psychology are prone to “diagnosing” their friends, to analyzing the personalities of those close to them. The truth is that it is human nature to want to understand what makes others “tick,” most probably as a way to help us understand our own motivations. Parshas Shelach is a parasha that leaves particularly gaping opportunities for asking the question “But why?”

You might think that this question is directed at the primary narrative of Parshas Shelach, the narrative of the scouts who misrepresented Eretz Yisrael to the nation and therefore caused their entire generation to be denied entry into the Promised Land. And, indeed, understanding why they behaved as they did is the source of a great number of commentaries and divrei Torah. Tucked at the very end of the parsha, however, is a completely different narrative - that of the man who gathered wood on Shabbas and received the death penalty for it.

This narrative is contained in five verses, Bamidbar 15:32-36, that begin with a vague statement of time: “And it was when the Israelites were in the wilderness…” Being in the wilderness, according to many commentators, such as Ibn Ezra and Rashi, is understood as being in the Wilderness of Sinai. According to other mepharshim, such as the Ramban, the incident took place in the greater wilderness after the report of the scouts.

If the incident occurred in the Wilderness of Sinai, then it happened shortly after the Jewish people received the commandment to remember the Sabbath day. In fact, Rashi notes that it would have been the second Shabbas. Indeed, he cites the idea that had Bnei Yisrael managed to keep two shabbasim, mashiach would (have) come.

Assuming it was the second Shabbas since the Israelites had been commanded to remember the holy day, one can speculate that perhaps the man forgot, or perhaps he didn’t understand. Assuming it was the second Shabbas, maybe he did not truly conceive of what the punishment would be, even though it had already been declared a capital crime. The idea of the man forgetting, explains the Daas Zkainim, connects this section to the final section of the parsha, which is the commandment to wear tzitzit as a constant reminder of Hashem’s presence. According to this commentary, Moshe told Hashem that it was because tefillin are not worn on Shabbas that the man forgot, so Hashem commanded tzitzit as a constantly available mitzvah for men.

It is interesting to note that the section just prior to the narrative of the man collecting wood discusses bringing a karbon for a shogaig, an unintentional action. Torah law leaves a lot of room for teshuva and very little blame for accidental actions. This, however, leads one to question why, if the man simply forgot, was he sentenced to death? The sages state that those who “came upon” him were witnesses who warned him, for capital punishment can only be decreed if at least 2 witnesses saw the person and warned them against the transgression. We are then left with the question that if he was warned, how can it be a situation of having forgotten?

Assuming that the man collected the sticks on Shabbas after the scouts had returned and the people rebelled, then the hypothesis of the why changes. There is no possible “he forgot” in a camp full of men and women who had kept Shabbas for at least a year. If the entire camp of over a million people are keeping Shabbas, it seems unlikely that he lacked awareness. That fact and the understood warning make one think of the two verses concluding the section on karbanos for accidental incident that precedes it:

 “And the person who acts with a high hand, whether from the community or a stranger, and reviles Hashem, that person shall be cut off from within the people; because it was the word of Hashem that was spurned, and his mitzvos were violated, that person shall be cut off and bears the guilt” (15:30-31).

This is a far more difficult situation. The use of the phrase “high hand” implies that there is a deliberate arrogance in this person’s transgressions. But perhaps that is the case of the wood-gatherer. Perhaps in reaction to the incident of the scouts and to the new knowledge that he himself would never see the Promised Land, we find an insight into the man’s mind-frame. Perhaps we can speculate that the man had a great need to test the boundaries of Hashem’s commandments and Hashem’s forgiveness, which was not the right reaction, but which could be understandable in the realms of human psychology.

To make matters all-together more confusing, there is one Midrashic commentary that notes that the man who gathered wood was named Tzelophchad, famous for his five daughters, and that he acted deliberately. Tzelaphchad, this midrash says, actually sacrificed himself for the greater good. He chose to commit a capital crime so that other Jews would see the complete process of the Torah’s system of law. This motivation could, in fact, place the incident of the wood gatherer in either interpretation of the wilderness.

One might, of course, determine that the man’s motivations are irrelevant as the punishment was the same either way. Put together, however, one realizes that both ignorance and arrogance – either insolent arrogance or benevolent arrogance - leave us prone to making mistakes.

When the man was seen gathering wood, he was brought to Moshe, Aaron, and the community leaders, who placed him under guard, “for it had not been clarified what should be done to him” (15:33-34). Moshe then sought out guidance on how to handle the incident. This is significant to our discussion of motivation. The desire to try to understand another person’s reasoning is natural, but we must always remember that only Hashem is truly capable of understanding a person’s motivation. Indeed, Hashem sees through even the lies we tell ourselves about why we act as we do.

Why did the man gather sticks on Shabbas? We will probably never know. Does it matter? Only in that it helps bring the events into perspective. There are many, many reasons that people transgress. Sometimes we simply mess up and sometimes we deliberately disobey. We are, however, far less likely to do so when we make ourselves mindful of Hashem’s constant presence.

Parshas Behaalos’cha - Family Dynamic

Brothers and sisters - if you have them or you parent them, then you know that the relationships can be complex. From love to hate, from insepreable best friends to bitter rivals, we find even in the Torah that these are some of the most complicated dynamics that people have to deal with in life. In Parshas B’haalos’cha, we get a close up view of the fascinating dynamic of the children of Yocheved and Amram.

Not included in this week’s parasha are some vital facts to their relationships. Miriam was the oldest, and she was so dedicated to her family unit that Miriam risked her life by approaching Pharoah’s daughter after Bisya had pulled Moshe’s basket from the river. 

Aaron was the oldest son of Amram, a leader of the tribe of Levi, and yet he had no reservation about stepping aside and letting his younger brother lead the Jewish people. He felt no jealosy and presented himself as ready to assist. In the dynamic of Moshe and Aaron, we see the first sibling dynamic in the Torah in which there is no strife (except perhaps Menshe and Ephraim). 

Miriam, Aaron, and Moshe are a family united in their desire to uplift the Jewish people and serve Hashem, which is why we are shocked by the well-known events of Bamidbar 12. Miriam speaks lashon harah (gossip or conjecture) with Aaron about Moshe. 

The midrashim and commentaries generally make it clear that their intentions in discussing Moshe’s marriage were not to demean him or his wife but out of concern for him. Nevertheless, it is considered lashon harah, and the consequence is that Miriam is stricken with the affliction of tzaraas. But some of the details, some of the easily overlooked wording in the Torah, adds a beautiful sense of the dynamic of these incredible siblings. 

For instance, after the Torah alludes to their conversation and asserts that “Moshe himself was very humble, more humble than any man on the face of the earth” (12:3),  the Torah records that Hashem called to Moshe, Aaron, and Miriam to come to the Tent of Meeting and then He called Aaron and Miriam out to rebuke them. This was a situation that effected all of them as a family and as leaders of klal Yisrael. The fact that verse 3 describes Moshe’s humility implies that Moshe knew that they had spoken of him and had chosen not to react. Hashem is showing him that it is okay to stand up for himself and for his special and unique role, but that it is important still not to embarrass those who did wrong by rebuking them in front of him. 

After Hashem gives them tochacha, when Miriam is stricken with tzaraas, the Torah strangely notes that “When Aaron turned toward Miriam, he saw that she was stricken with tzoraas. And Aaron said to Moshe, ‘oh my lord, account not to us the sin hwich we committed in our folly” (12:10-11).  And Moshe immediately did pray for her.

Why does the Torah describe Aaron seeing that Miriam was afflicted, since it would seem obvious as he was standing there and the first half of the verse states that she was thus afflicted? Why does Aaron speak in the first person plural of their sin when only Miriam appears afflicted?

The dynamic of these siblings is, perhaps, a model for us all to understand the broader concepts of self and family, that family being all of klal Yisrael. People make mistakes. Siblings hurt each other, even when they don’t intend to. But when push comes to shove, they stand together. 

Aaron did not accept that Miriam’s tzaraas indicated only her guilt. He saw that his sister was stricken, and he held himself to account, he asked Moshe to forgive both of them. Moshe did not hesitate one moment before praying for his sister’s recovery, recognizing that there was no malicious intent. 

People do bad things. People say things that hurt each other, and often they do so with only the best intentions. And when those incidents occur, we must not look upon the person as an other, as an offender, as an enemy - but rather we must look upon them and see a person who is like ourselves, a member of our family. 

Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom

Parshas Naso – So What It’s Not Your Fault?

Have you heard the recent trend in conversations about how children require more grit, about how the younger generations of our age lack a sense of stick-to-itness. The experts point to the increase in attention issues, to online shopping’s near-instant gratification, and to a lack of job loyalty when compared to older generations. One might think that children being raised in a Torah environment, in a society with intricate rules and sometimes lengthy rituals, would not have the same issues, but we do. Just think about the difference in the selection of kosher food thirty years ago and today…as a minor demonstration. There is almost nothing we must defer having or having a near perfect imitation of (Why should there be fish shaped like shrimp?) We have, in many ways, lost the art of accepting limitations.

Although there have been some some-what modern era examples, most of us today have trouble imagining the life of a Nazir, of a person who has dedicated themselves to Hashem and taken a special vow not to cut their hair, not to partake in anything made from a grape plant, and not to come in contact or proximity to a corpse. We understand, perhaps, the drive for dedication, the urge to gain control over one’s spiritual life – indeed, we see people taking such steps today in cutting themselves off from technology that they feel brings them down spiritually. Withholding from using technology, however, is an understandable reaction; withholding from cutting one’s hair or eating stuffed grape leaves is far less concrete.

   

Within the laws of the Nazir described in Parshas Naso, there is a wonderful lesson in having grit. We assume that a person who becomes a Nazir does so at a point of high motivation, whether the source of that motivation is positive or negative. To make such a defined and encompassing vow, a vow that becomes publicly obvious, requires a driving force. Being vigilant to keep the prohibitions during the entire time period requires dedication and mindfulness. But true grit comes into play when:

   

"And if any man die very suddenly beside him, and he defiles his consecrated head, then he shall shave his head in the day of his cleansing, on the seventh day shall he shave it… And he shall consecrate unto God the days of his Naziriteship, and shall bring a he-lamb of the first year for a guilt-offering; but the former days shall be void, because his consecration was defiled” (Bamidbar 7:9 &12).

   

Imagine a Nazir - a week in, three weeks in,to the usual 30 day vow -sitting at the park and the man next to him has a sudden heart-attack and dies on the spot. Without question there is a trauma for anyone just from having watched this tragic event occur. For the Nazir, however, there is a deeper impact. All of the time he has passed as a Nazir until now is null and void, defiled and done. And he starts again.

   

There isn’t an option to opt out. You tried, life got in the way, so you try again. A recent discussion noted that there seems to be an increase in the “not my fault” culture in Western society. It’s the next step of everyone gets an award, and it is an attitude contrary to the values honed by living a Torah lifestyle. Leaning against a light switch as you enter a room and accidentally turning on the light on Shabbas is still a melacha.

   

When we take away personal responsibility, we diminish both our selves and the society in which we live. A Nazir may not be in the proximity of a dead body. This is it. This is the rule. You chose to become a Nazir, and you may not be near a dead body. If a person died next to you, this means that there is a reason, a part of a Divine plan, why you need to be a Nazir longer.

   

Giving up is easy, especially when the thing that interferes with success is “not your fault.” But that doesn’t build you as a human being, that doesn’t make you stronger; it doesn’t give you the internal koach to face the other challenges that life might throw at you.

   

It seems obvious that Bamidbar 7:9-12 is there because of very real and possible situations. Like all pasukim in the Torah, however, it also helps us find ways to live better lives. We hope to never face situations that require deep levels of grit and resilience, but the truth of the matter is that life is full of those challenging moments and the Torah helps us to prepare for them.

   

Wishing you all a good Shabbas.

(My grit story is that this is the second worked on for this parsha. When the first one fell apart, or wouldn’t really come together, at 9 am, I could have sent a message declaring no parsha this week, but I pushed forward and started again.)
  

Parshas Bechukosai – A Metallic Metaphor

 Parshas Bechukosai starts with a promise of bracha – of rains in their time and peace in the land – if Bnei Yisrael will follow Hashem’s mitzvos. If, however, Bnei Yisrael does not follow in Hashem’s ways, then Bechukosai presents a detailed and awful list of consequences. Among the descriptive terms is one verse that is particularly perplexing: “I will break the pride of your might. I will make your heaven like iron and your land like copper” (12:19).

 This verse, which is meant to instill fear, begins the second level of punishment; These are the consequences if Bnei Yisrael doesn’t heed the panic and the disease and the fevers, the famine and the violence, all of which is their first warning of being terribly off track. But what does this verse mean? Beyond a basic threat, what purpose does this metallic metaphor serve?

 Rashi notes that the difference between iron and copper is that copper exudes water, while iron does not – and that the combination of dryness in the sky and moisture in the earth, will intensify any famine. And still the question remains. With so many possible words to describe a punishment like drastic change in climate, why this metaphor of iron and copper?

 The common characteristic of most metals is that they are hard – even the soft metals. Iron and copper are utilitarian metals, natural elements that can be transformed and used. The transformation, however, takes great heat and hard pounding. Perhaps Hashem threatens them with making the world iron and copper to remind Bnei Yisrael that it is their own hardness, their own stiff-necked mida, that was the cause of their downfall.

 This suits well with common translation of the first half of the pasuk:  “And I will break the pride of your might.” To be a stiff-necked nation infers that our pride is great, that we place our will at an inflexible height.

 In this pasuk, however the term used for pride is an odd Hebrew word, ge’own. As noted by many commentators, it has within it an inference to the Beis Hamikdash because it can also be translated as majesty or exaltation.  The Kli Yakar points out that in Devarim 28:23, Moshe threatens the opposite - that the heavens will be like copper and the earth like iron. This, the commentator notes, indicates that Vayikra 12:19 is speaking of First Temple because “It is known that iron is harder than copper. In the first Temple Period, their main sin was toward Heaven, through the worship of the stars and the constellations …Therefore the heavens were as hard as iron” (translation via Sefaria).

 When our pride kept us from doing teshuvam from heeding the warning from Hashem, then Hashem destroyed the place where our true pride should have been focused.

 Sometimes it is hard for us to relate to the actuality of the Beis Hamikdash and even harder to grasp the desire for avodah zarah. And if we are not sure whether we still retain the trait of being stiff necked, we do, at least, know that each of us has a yetzer harah to lead us down a path of gaivah (pride) once in awhile.

As Klal Yisrael today, we live in the world after our great punishments, in a seemingly unending era of exile in which we once again see the hatred of the nations festering. Here, in Bechukosai, we have a reminder that we must take down our pride, be flexible in our path in order to truly serve Hashem, and strive to do proper teshuva.

Wishing you a beautiful Shabbas.

Parshas Acharei Mos: Protecting the Law

 Parshas Acharei Mos: Protecting the Law

The 18th chapter of Sefer Vayikra begins a section of the Torah in which Hashem dictates a long list of laws for Moshe to give to Bnei Yisrael. It starts with a very important statement that the Children of Israel must not do like the ways of Egypt, the land from which they had come, or the ways of Canaan, the land to which they were heading, “and in their statutes you shall not walk” (Vayikra 18:3). This injunction against assimilation is followed by what, at first, appears to be simple guidance for staying true to the new path Hashem has put before Bnei Yisrael, and yet the two verses that follow are anything but simple when looked at more closely.

 

“My ordinances you shall do, and My statutes shall you keep, to walk therein: I am the Lord your God. You shall keep My statutes and My ordinances, which if a man shall do, he shall live by them: I am the Lord” (18:4-5).

 

Simple, it seems. Do these mitzvos and guard these laws. So why do the verses seem to flip into themselves? Why is there a seeming repetition with a reversal in order? Is it more important to do – ta’asei – or to keep/guard – shamru?

Ordinances, in Hebrew mishapatim, are basic civil laws – laws that one expects to help society as a whole function. Statutes, in Hebrew chukim, on the other hand, are generally defined as laws for which there is no reason or explanation other than that Hashem told us to do them. Given the different definitions, it makes sense that Hashem instructed Moshe to tell the people to do the mishpatim and to guard the chukim. Setting up and maintaining a civil society requires constant action, whereas the more esoteric rules (chukim) require deliberate cultivation and transmission to the next generation.

But why then the seeming repetition? Perhaps we must remember Hashem's eternal omniscience. Hashem knew that we would be sent into exile, that the Jewish people would have to both develop its own kingship/nation and to live under the governance of others. 

What is the difference between doing and guarding, between la’asot and l’shmor. One is not meant to just keep the chukim close to heart, one must also “do” them. Perhaps Vayikra 18:4 should be read as a warning. Setting up a just society, following the Torah’s civil laws, is important, but it is not enough. The civil system must be sublimated to the statutes, to remembering that what may seem right and just may be a false front if it would not be acceptable within the framework of the chukim – and there are many who have noted that, at the end of the day, all mitzvos are chukim, are mitvos that we do because Hashem told us to.

Vayikra 18:5, on the other hand, reflects galus. Mishpatim, the ordinances, are both very easy and very hard. Mishpatim are often thought of as laws that most societies would develop on their own, even without Divine intervention, laws like “do not steal” and “set up courts.” Living in a society based, as they say, on Judeo-Christian traditions, we cannot even fathom life without these basic standards. At the same time, living in a society that asserts itself as following just laws, but law which may not actually be Torahdik, makes it challenging to hold fast to the mitzvos that we know we are to follow if we are to walk in the way of the Torah. Thus Vayikra 18:5, which switches the order of the injunction and states that we must keep (guard) the statutes and the ordinances and if we do so we shall live (individually). In this, it is fair to say, that living means far more than actual physical existence, but rather the true flourishing of our neshamos.

Right and wrong. Good and bad. Fair and unfair. These are terms that society casts about on every issue, without necessarily taking the time to consider who determines the parameters of those judgments. Interestingly, Rabbi Shimshon Refael Hirsch notes on Vayikra 18:3 that “the ways of the land of Egypt and the ways of the land of Canaan seem to designate the social behavior that marked the relation of men to each other in Egypt and Canaan…the former are regulated by state-laws, the latter less by legislation but rather by rules which become sanctified by custom and convention.” For Bnei Yisrael, there can only be one source for the decision of right and wrong, good and bad, fair and unfair, and etc. The source is concisely stated as the conclusion to this set of pasukim: Ani Hashem, I am the Lord. 

In the era of galus, may we all have the strength to truly guard our paths.

Wishing you a beautiful Shabbas. 

Parshass Metzora – The Lesson of the Interruption

 The parshiot of Tazria and Metzora, which are most often read together, are interesting in that they are, one might say, interrupters. In Parsha Shemini, during the dedication of the mishkan, the Torah describes the unexpected and tragic death of Aaron’s two oldest sons. Parshas Acharei Mos, which is the parsha after Metzora, continues that narrative almost as if Tazria and Metzora did not exist.

 

Although it is not explicitly stated, the affliction of tzaraas and being in the state of being a metzora are tied to lashon harah, and this fact is, perhaps, significant given the narrative which it interrupts. Thinking back to Parshas Shemini, one might recall the variation of commentary on why Nadav and Avihu died. Each of these interpretations is based on tradition and textual evidence, and each of them is meant to guide us on how to live life, not simply on critiquing the behavior of Aaron’s sons.  One could, however, imagine the amount of speculation that occurred when the dedication ceremony ended. Perhaps this is the first place where one learns the lesson that one shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.

 

Vayikra 14, which is the first and dominant perek of Parshas Metzora, first describes the very detailed ritual necessary for one with tzaraas to undergo in order to return to normal life within the settlement of Bnei Yisrael. One would expect this to be the end of the topic of tzaraas, since its appearances and diagnosis were discussed in the previous parsha and here we have the means of purification. The perek, however, continues on to describe what happens when a nega tzaraas,  a plague on a house, appears on a home.

 

There are many interesting, although perhaps strange, concepts attached to the idea of a nega tzaraas. Beyond the idea that a house can be afflicted because of its residents’ behavior, there is the idea that the kohain can minimize the impact of his assessment by pushing off his inspection or by making certain the resident has removed anything he wouldn’t want destroyed before he comes to inspect the affliction. But really, what is fascinating here is the very idea that the consequence of tzaraas, or the impact of lashon harah, goes so much further than an individualized punishment.

 

It is fairly obvious why speaking ill effects both the individual who spoke ill and the person about whom they spoke. It is even obvious how lashon harah can affect those who heard the negative talk, whether first hand or multiple iterations later (which can sometimes be far worse for the distortion). The development of nega tzaraas, of an affliction upon a house, is an important reminder that lashon harah can be detrimental to the very fabric of society, and why it needs to be curtailed as quickly as possible.

 

We today live in a society that is woefully high strung and incredibly willing to accept and react to lashon harah. Fair and just reporting and the opportunity to examine the facts have been buried under that pressure of competition and immediate gratification. In other words, the 24 hour news cycle and social media fire the flames of constant lashon harah.

 

Imagine if Bnei Yisrael in the wilderness existed under 21^st century conditions. Not only would the ceremony dedicating the Mishkan not have been able to carry forward, but within minutes the entire structure of the kahuna (priesthood) might very well have been decimated. Public speculation about why Nadav and Avihu were struck down would have maligned not just the deceased priests, but their father and their brothers as well.

 

There is much commentary on the fact that Aaron continued on with the ceremony after his sons perished, and it would seem a strange narrative to be interrupted by laws that seem to have no connection to either the actions of Nadav and Avihu or the modified reactions of their family. On closer consideration, however, one might see that it is not completely random, that there is yet another valuable lesson to be learned from this narrative. (And, one might even, perhaps, speculate that this is a lesson that had less meaning before we entered the era of social media!)

 

Lashon Harah is complicated… It takes people of tremendous fortitude to truly abstain from it in all forms. Human nature, with ego and jealousy and righteous indignation, constantly finds ways to justify lashon harah. When we remind ourselves of how dire the consequences can be, however, perhaps we are able to strengthen ourselves just a little; perhaps the next time we are on the bring of sharing our judgements we will remember how very detrimental lashon harah can be.

 

Wishing you all a good Shabbas and, if I don’t get to post next week, a chag Pesach Kasher v’sameach.

 

This Dvar Torah is dedicated to continued Besoros Tovos and Refuah Shelaimah for Rivka bas Golda.

 

Parsha Tazria - So Many Ways

There are many parshiot in Sefer Vayikra that are difficult for us to truly understand. While Vayikra most often deals with sacrifices and the actions of the kohanim, in parsha Tazria the subject turns to a seemingly mysterious skin ailment for which a person must be isolated outside of the encampment of Bnei Yisrael. This ailment is quite often mistranslated as leprosy, which we now know is a contagious bacterial infection. The actual affliction, tzaraas, has no real English translation.

 

From reading the parsha and the multitude ways in which tzaraas can appear, one might wonder at the frequency of diagnosis. While diagnosis is a medical term, and there are many dermatological medical conditions, tzaraas could only be determined by a kohain. This is important because the source of tzaraas is not viral, bacterial, or auto immune; it is spiritual. Tzaraas is caused by the inimical yet pervasive behavior of lashon harah, speaking badly of others.

 

Lashon Harah is one of the most impactful transgressions of Jewish law. It is famously stated by Hillel that the essence of Torah is “What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor: that is the whole Torah while the rest is commentary; go and learn it.” Loshon Harah, or, better, refraining from lashon harah, is critical to this essential dynamic of bein adam l’chavero (interpersonal relationships).

 

The laws of guarding one’s speech are complex and rather extensive. Lashon Harah can be the obvious gossip or verbal denigration of a person, but praising a person publicly can also fall into categories of speech to be cautious of. And this, the complexity of the laws of Lashon Harah, is a fascinating fact when reviewing parshas Tazria.

 

One might expect that a spiritual affliction such as tzaraas to have very clear and obvious symptoms. One might expect one or two fairly consistent descriptions of how the skin blemish would look. And yet, while there is only one perek dedicated to the subject, that perek is 59 pasukim long. The parsha goes on and on… if it looks like this and if it looks like that, if it is on a bald spot and if it is on hair, if it goes away and if it comes back, and etc. For the description of an affliction that must be diagnosed by a priest, that’s an awful lot of detail and variation.

 

When we remember that tzaraas is an affliction that is caused by a spiritual malignancy, by an act that undermines the fabric of interpersonal relationships, perhaps we can better understand why tzaraas is not described in a straight-forward way. Lashon Harah is certainly not straight-forward. If one were simply told not to speak ill of another, one might refrain only from outright statements such as “Jack is a liar.” But Lashon Harah, like tzaraas, is not simple.

 

The Torah does not specify the laws of Lashon Harah, but the lengthy discussion of tzaraas as expressed in the parsha is an excellent indicator of just how varied and complex the source of the disease can be.

 

We today can only imagine what it would be like to live in a world where our physical selves manifest deficiencies in our spiritual selves. Instead, we must put in great effort to guard our tongues and monitor our actions knowing that this is how we not only keep our own neshamos healthy, but how we strengthen klal Yisrael and the whole world.

 

This Dvar Torah is dedicated to continued besoros tovos/refua shelaima for Rivka Bas Golda.