Author: ArtScroll Staff

Adapted from: Chessed Under Fire by Rabbi Nachman Seltzer

Just because there was a war going on and Israel was fighting on five different fronts didn’t mean that the terrorists inside the country had stopped trying to harm Jews. With the army preoccupied, they saw opportunities to attack innocent civilians. And while most plots were stopped — some slipped through.

One such attack took place at the entrance to Yerushalayim. Several were killed, and others badly injured.

“On the day of the attack,” Shai recalls, “I was at Hadassah Hospital and entered the room of a chareidi girl who had been wounded in the attack earlier that day. Her mother sat at her bedside.

“What can I do for you that will cheer you up?” he asked gently.

He expected her to ask for a computer, or perhaps a new jacket — hers had been ripped by a bullet. But her answer caught him completely off guard.

“There’s only one thing I want,” she said, eyes brimming with tears. “My father is a rosh kollel. He travels to America often to raise funds. It’s hard when he’s away, for us and for him. If you could somehow help him stay in Israel without needing to travel, I’d be so happy.”

Shai was deeply moved. Of all the things she could have asked for, she chose something so selfless — to give her father peace of mind so he could stay home and learn.

“First things first,” Shai said with a smile. “I’m giving you money to buy a new jacket. And now, what’s your father’s phone number?”

She gave it, and moments later, Shai was speaking with him.

“Shalom aleichem. I’m here with your daughter. She didn’t ask for anything for herself — she just wants to help you. How many avreichim are in your kollel?”

The man gave the number.

“Great. We’re wiring you twenty-six thousand dollars right now. It’s 2:30 p.m. You’ll see it in your account by 4:30.”

Shai had helped distribute millions for Rav Chaim Kanievsky zt”l over the years, especially before Yom Tov. But the joy he felt in transferring those $26,000 was unlike anything else. It was a zechus — an honor — to help a rosh kollel spend more time at home and learning Torah.

As he hung up, the hospital room filled with spontaneous song. Everyone — family, visitors, Shai’s helpers — burst into “Mah Ashiv LaShem,” praising Hashem for the opportunity to bring happiness to a girl who’d been shot for no reason other than being a Jew — and to her father, who devoted himself to Torah.

But that was just the beginning.

Someone in Lakewood who had followed Shai’s updates reached out. “I saw you gave $26,000 to a rosh kollel. I want to match it.” Soon after, a campaign was launched, and it didn’t take long to raise the full amount. Now the rosh kollel had been gifted a total of $52,000 — enough support to remain focused on learning for months.

Months later, while biking with his sons in Har Nof, Shai stopped for a rest. A yeshivah bachur approached and suddenly burst into tears.

Shai jumped off his bike. “What’s wrong? Do we know each other?”

The bachur shook his head. “No. But I have to tell you something.”

He explained how, even before the war, he had been spiraling spiritually. Learning had become difficult. He eventually left yeshivah, deciding instead to cook for soldiers and find other ways to help.

“One day I found out about the girl who was shot — and how all she wanted was help for her father’s kollel. That changed me. I felt something spark inside. I dropped everything and returned to yeshivah.”

He smiled. “I’ve been back for seven months now. I’m learning three sedarim a day, and today I’m one of the top boys in my yeshivah — all because you shared that story.”

Two days later, Shai spent Shabbos in Petach Tikvah. After davening, while waiting for his mother, a woman approached him.

“Are you Shai Graucher?”

He nodded.

“My son met you in Yerushalayim and told you how that story changed his life.”

“I remember.”

“You don’t understand,” she said. “He doesn’t just learn now — he loves it. That girl could’ve asked for anything. But she asked for Torah support — and that changed my son forever.”

As Shai walked home with his mother, he reflected on how one act of kindness, one moment of selflessness, could ripple across the world, transforming people he had never even met. It felt like a kiss from Hashem — a clear message to keep going, keep helping, and keep spreading light.

Adapted from: Rabbi Frand on the Parashah

הַמַּאֲכִלְךָ מָן בַּמִּדְבָּר…לְמַעַן עַנֹּתְךָ וּלְמַעַן נַסֹּתֶךָ 

The One Who feeds you manna in the desert… in order to test you (Devarim 8:16)

Everyone knows that life is a test. We struggle to make a living, to raise our children, to build up our communities. Nothing comes easy, and our test is to deal with the hardships and frustrations in the best way possible.

But what if our livelihood were served up to us on a silver platter? How wonderful that would be! No more worries about how to pay for the children’s tuition or the new roof. What if everything we needed came to us like manna from heaven? Would we consider this a test? Hardly. We would consider it a blessing. The Torah, however, seems to say otherwise.

No sooner had the Jewish people come forth from Egypt that they complained (Shemos 16:3), “If only we had died by the hand of God in the land of Egypt when we were sitting beside the fleshpots, when we ate our fill of bread; now you have brought us out into the desert to let the entire congregation starve to death.”

“Behold, I will rain down bread from the heavens on you,” Hashem replied (ibid. 16:4). “The people shall go out to collect their daily portion every day, in order to test whether or not they will follow My Torah.”

The commentators wonder what kind of test this is. What could be better than having everything you need delivered to your doorstep every day? This is a test? This is a blessing!

Rashi explains that Hashem was referring to the laws that govern the manna. One could not store away any manna for the next day. One had to collect a double portion on Friday. And so forth. This was the test. Would the Jewish people observe the laws of the manna scrupulously?

This test is also mentioned in Parashas Eikev, “The One Who feeds you manna in the desert… in order to test you.” Sforno explains that the test is to see if the Jews would still follow the Torah when they do not have to worry about their livelihood.

Yes, there is a great test in “bread raining down from heaven.” Affluence without effort is a dangerous thing. It comes with a great amount of leisure time and freedom of action. What do we do with that leisure time and that freedom of action? Do we use our leisure time and freedom of action to taste the forbidden? This is the great test of the manna.

We are all aware of the test of poverty. We are all aware of the trials and tribulations of being poor. However, says Sforno, affluence also comes with great temptations. It puts a tremendous responsibility on a person. This is the test of the manna, and it is the test for many Jews in these affluent times. 

Adapted from: Live the Blessing – Chofetz Chaim Heritage Foundation

Obviously, if everyone could hear all our thoughts, the average person with the average level of tolerance would be leaving emotional casualties all over the highways and byways of his life. We don’t want people to know everything we think, because sometimes those thoughts will discourage or hurt them. They don’t need to know that we think their business idea will never amount to anything, or that their new spouse seems a bit odd, or that we find their conversation boring. Many such thoughts are just fleeting impressions, but if we focus on them or voice them, they change our reality.

Negativity can sour relationships even when it’s not personal. Nobody enjoys the company of the person who always finds the downside of every situation and complains about it. The food isn’t hot enough, the band is too loud, the speaker goes on too long, the teacher is too strict, the room is too cold; people who share these thoughts regularly seem to be forbidding those in their circle to have a moment of unadulterated enjoyment.

Many people have trouble recognizing where to draw the line between what they think and what they say. While the best of all possible solutions is to see and think only good, this is a level that may take a lifetime to reach. In the interim, a person who wishes to sow goodwill and live in peace with others has to learn the fine art of leaving certain negative thoughts unsaid.

What are those thoughts? They’re the ones that say, “I don’t trust your judgment,” or “He always has to do everything his way,” when a person is doing things differently than we would. They’re the thoughts that cast a shadow over another person’s joy or call into question a decision that he has finalized. In the vast majority of situations, negative thoughts should remain just where they were born – inside our own head.

Peaceful, positive relationships can’t compete against the constant din of negativity. Hashem taught us this when He brought us out of Egypt. The splendor of that moment would have been thrilling enough for the Jews who followed Moshe out of slavery; but to make our joy complete, Hashem restrained the dogs of Egypt from barking as we left. We learn from this that when the only result of our noise will be to vex another person, silence is a far better option.

Menachem and Dave, old classmates, started out together in new jobs at the same company. They worked in two different departments, but both took their lunch from 1 to 1:30 in the small company dining room. Each was happy to see a familiar face, and they began eating together every day.

Over the course of a few days, they caught up with each other’s lives. Then they began talking about the jobs they now held and the company they worked for. “Baruch Hashem, this job came up at exactly the right time,” Dave said. “I had really outgrown my other position and was looking for a challenge, not to mention a raise. There’s lots to learn here.”

“Sure, but I wish they’d get their act together,” Menachem commented. “I don’t know about your work in the IT department, but let me tell you that in sales, no one’s got a plan. You’re really on your own, learning the job.”

“Well, that’s part of the challenge,” Dave said.

“I don’t buy it. They just don’t want to invest in training,” Menachem answered. “If I want to know anything, I have to track someone down who’ll give me a minute of his time, and if I need more than that, I’m sunk.”

Now Dave began pondering his own “learning curve” and thinking about the distracted, incomplete answers he was getting to his own questions. Maybe Menachem was right. The company wasn’t well run. “Maybe I should have taken a different offer,” he thought, feeling just a bit deflated. 

Before voicing your negativity about something, ask yourself if your words are likely to sour the other person’s mood or outlook [or if they are loshon hora]. If so, try to find the positive, or simply leave your comment unspoken. 

Adapted from: Yearning for Redemption by Rabbi Daniel Glatstein

The following verse (Tehillim 130:6) requires explanation: נַפְשִׁי לַה’ מִשֹּׁמְרִים לַבֹּקֶר שֹׁמְרִים לַבֹּקֶר., My soul [yearns] for the Lord among those longing for the dawn, those longing for the dawn.

The Malbim explains that a watchman longs for the dawn; he eagerly awaits the morning because when it becomes light outside, he can see more clearly and his work will be easier. He will be safer in the morning. The arrival of the day also likely means the end of his shift.

When the watchman is engaged in his work throughout the night, he has no doubt in his mind that morning will come. He knows with certainty that the night will not last forever. He has complete confidence, because that is how the world works.

The watchman waiting for morning is not at all like someone awaiting the arrival of a guest. A guest may be late or may encounter a pressing issue he cannot postpone, or may not come at all. Perhaps he was the victim of an accident as he made his way to your home, and he will never show up. Thus, waiting for a guest’s arrival will not be with confidence and certainty that he will come, while, in contrast, anticipating the morning is with complete conviction that it will arrive, without any shadow of a doubt.

What does this pasuk mean? Why are we even more eager than the watchman for the morning? Furthermore, why does the pasuk repeat the phrase שֹׁמְרִים לַבֹּקֶר, those longing for the dawn.

Dovid HaMelech is saying that his soul awaits the coming of Mashiach with even more certainty than the night watchman’s conviction that the sun will rise. He then continues: In what way does he wait with more certainty than the night watchman? Because the watchman is merely שֹׁמְרִים לַבֹּקֶר, longing for the dawn! It will most certainly come, but no matter how eagerly and passionately he wishes the morning to come, it will not come any sooner. The sun will rise at the predetermined moment, regardless of the intensity of the watchman pining for the dawn of the new day. The new day will come when it is supposed to, and not a moment sooner. However, there is a difference when we wait for Mashiach. When Klal Yisrael longs for the Geulah, then it can come earlier!

Dovid HaMelech continues (ibid. vs. 7–8), advising, יַחֵל יִשְׂרָאֵל אֶל ה’ כִּי עִם ה’ הַחֶסֶד וְהַרְבֵּה עִמּוֹ פְדוּת. וְהוּא יִפְדֶּה אֶת יִשְׂרָאֵל מִכֹּל עֲוֺנֹתָיו, Let Israel hope for Hashem, for with Hashem is kindness and with Him is abundant redemption. And He shall redeem Israel from all its iniquities.

When we are languishing in galus, yearning for Hashem to redeem us, it can come earlier! Hashem can bring Mashiach earlier than He intended! We therefore await Mashiach with an even deeper sense of longing than the watchman who knows with complete confidence that the night will end, because he can do nothing to make it happen sooner. However, in regard to Mashiach, Hashem gives so much chessed, so much lovingkindness toward His children, Klal Yisrael, that He can revise His initial plans and redeem us early.

The Chasam Sofer had the custom to begin Rosh Chodesh bentching with the paragraph of מִי שֶׁעָשָׂה נִסִּים לַאֲבוֹתֵינוּ…הוּא יִגְאַל אוֹתָנוּ בְּקָרוֹב, He Who performed miracles…may He redeem us soon…

The Ba’er Heitev amends the text, writing that the word בְּקָרוֹב, soon, should be omitted. The reason for this is because it is significant when this tefillah contains precisely twenty-one words, which is the gematria of the Name of Hashem (Aleph–Kei–Yud–Kei). It is also the numerical equivalent of the word אַךְ in the phrase אַךְ טוֹב, only goodness.

The Chasam Sofer vehemently disagrees; he holds that the word בְּקָרוֹב is critical to the tefillah! Our being redeemed is a given; thus, it does not require us to pray for it. Hashem promised that He will take us out of exile, and we know with absolute certainty that this will occur. There is therefore no need to daven for the Geulah, argues the Chasam Sofer. What can make a difference is if we ask Hashem to redeem us בְּקָרוֹב, very soon! Our tefillos can serve to bring Mashiach sooner! The Chasam Sofer maintained that the word בְּקָרוֹב is the crux of the entire tefillah. It is the main point that we are asking Hashem: Bring Mashiach imminently! Immediately! Right now! 

Watch our Inside ArtScroll interview: Tzipisa L’Yeshuah, Yearning for Redemption

Adapted from: Messages from Rav Pam by Rabbi Sholom Smith

וּקְשַׁרְתָּם לְאוֹת עַל יָדֶךָ וְהָיוּ לְטֹטָפֹת בֵּין עֵינֶיךָ

Bind them as a sign upon your arm and let them be ornaments between your eyes (Devarim 6:8).

This pasuk, which is part of the first parashah of Krias Shema, is one of the sources in the Torah for the mitzvah of placing tefillin on one’s arm and head. Tefillin is a precious mitzvah for which Jews since time immemorial have gone to great lengths and expense to perform. During the Holocaust, there were Jews in the concentration camps who traded away their meager ration of bread for the privilege of briefly putting on a pair of tefillin that had somehow been smuggled into the camp.

Rav Pam would often repeat a story about the chassidic master R’ Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, the author of Kedushas Levi. The Berditchever Rav once saw a simple Jew accidentally drop his tefillin. The Jew paled with fright and quickly picked them up, kissed them, and lovingly wiped off the dirt.

Taking in the scene, the Berditchever Rav raised his eyes heavenward and declared, “Master of the World! Look down from heaven and see how a simple Jew expresses his deep love for his tefillin, which have fallen to the ground. You, too, our Heavenly Father, also wear tefillin (see Berachos 6a), which contain the pasuk (I Divrei HaYamim 17:21) Who is like Your people Israel, a unique nation on earth! How long can You allow Your tefillin, Your precious people, Israel, to lie on the ground? It is almost 2,000 years since Your people were sent into galus. Why don’t You pick us up and hug and kiss us, as this simple Yid did for his tefillin?”

This parashah is always read on the first Shabbos after Tishah B’Av. We hope and pray that Hashem will finally respond to the Berditchever Rav’s appeal and bring us the long-awaited Final Redemption.

Adapted from: A Daily Dose of Perek Shirah by Rabbi David Sutton

רְצִפִי אוֹמֵר: נַחֲמוּ נַחֲמוּ עַמִּי, יֹאמַר אֱלֹקיכֶם

The penguin says: Comfort, comfort my people, says your G-d. (Yeshayah 40:1)

The flightless aquatic bird called a retzifi, the penguin, is characterized by its willingness to remain in a frigid climate throughout the winter rather than migrating to warmer climates like most other birds. The sefer Kenaf Renanim explains that these birds survive the harsh winter by staying close to each other, gathering in close clusters, nuzzling under each other’s wings to fend off the wind. Their name hints at this characteristic, since it shares a root with ratzuf — connection.

Every bird’s song is a reflection of the natural instinct Hashem invested in it, and the penguin is no exception. Living as it does in one of the world’s least hospitable habitats, it teaches us the proper way to live in the inhospitable environment of galus. And that is to accept that wherever Hashem has placed us, no matter how challenging, this is where we need to be. This is the venue in which we can accomplish the purpose for which He sent us into the world. The penguin doesn’t complain that Hashem chose the South Pole as its home. He knows this is the environment a penguin requires.

Furthermore, the penguin teaches us that by staying close to each other and sharing our warmth, we can survive that which we could not survive on our own. The penguin sings, Nachamu nachamu ami, yomar elokeichem, Comfort, comfort My people, says Your God, because when we learn the ways of the penguin, accepting our challenges and supporting each other, we will merit redemption.

The sefer Kenaf Renanim draws another lesson from the pasuk’s words, yomar elokeichem, which includes the Name of Hashem that represents His attribute of strict judgment. This tells us that even when we are subject to this attribute, with the cold wind blowing in our face, we can find within ourselves the strength Hashem has given us to accept it.

Mabit adds an inspiring insight on the repetition in the words, Comfort, comfort, my people. Normally, he says, people seek comfort when something terrible happens, Rachmanah litzlan (Heaven forfend). However, in Bereishis 6:6, the word usually used to mean “comfort” is used instead to mean, “And Hashem reconsidered” {vayinachem Hashem]. This was in the context of Hashem’s decision to destroy mankind with a flood.

Rashi explains that the true essence of the word “comfort” is indeed “to change one’s mind.” That is because when a person is comforted, he looks at a situation differently. As we might say, he “reframes” the situation in a way that eases his pain. The source of pain has not disappeared; if someone has lost a loved one, that person is still gone. However, the mourner, over the course of time, with the support of those around him, finds a way to accept his loss.

For the Jewish people, the first mention of comfort in the penguin’s song addresses the pain of galus. We can find a certain degree of comfort in accepting that Hashem has a plan, that our suffering is bringing us necessary growth, strength and rectification that will ultimately allow us to merit the Geulah. However, the tribulations of galus do not disappear at this level of comfort. That waits until the second comfort, which is when the Geulah is achieved. Then, not only will our troubles disappear, but also, we will understand how they paved the path to redemption.

A final insight comes from the words, G-d will say. The future tense conveys that Hashem will provide this double layer of comfort in the future. For now, we can only have the first degree of comfort.

The penguin tells us to hold on and be patient. Although we are buffeted by icy winds, our suffering isn’t wasted. Hashem promises that one day, He will comfort us completely, so that our troubles will turn into triumphs and all our questions will evaporate.

Practical Take-Away

The penguin gives us supremely useful advice on how to deal with difficulties. When you face a challenge that you can’t fly away from, remind yourself that you can seek support from others, and trust Hashem to give you what you need to endure. 

Watch our Inside ArtScroll interview: Rabbi David Sutton – A Daily Dose of Perek Shirah

Adapted from: Yearning for Redemption by Rabbi Daniel Glatstein

How can we realistically yearn for and await the coming of Mashiach when he has not come for so many generations preceding ours? How can we possibly expect him to arrive now, if those who were much greater than us did not merit the Geulah? 

The Chofetz Chaim answers this question by comparing the later generations, who despite their lower spiritual stature can nevertheless bring Moshiach, to a dwarf riding on the shoulders of a giant. Picture a giant of immense height. Try as he may, he will not be able to reach the top of a building that is just beyond his reach. If he were to take even a dwarf who is only a few feet tall, and place him on his shoulders, the dwarf will be able to reach the top of the building with ease.

However, from the Chofetz Chaim’s elaboration in Tzipisa L’Yeshuah about the resilience of the later generations, another perspective emerges. The Chofetz Chaim explains that the challenges confronting the later generations, and the powerful allure and temptations so widespread in our time, surpass many of the difficulties faced by earlier generations. 

R’ Ovadiah Yosef relates a beautiful mashal that highlights this point:

A princess resided in the palace and exerted great influence over the king. When someone desired an audience with her father, it was the princess who would make the arrangements — if she were so inclined. If someone needed a favor from the king, the princess could make it become reality.

Naturally, anyone who sought a favor from the king would do his best to befriend the princess, trying to win her over so she would take up his cause. They would bestow lavish gifts on the princess, hoping that whenever they might need help from the palace, she would recall the gifts fondly and agree to assist them.

The princess lacked nothing, so a simple gift would not have impressed her. For a present to catch her attention in a memorable way, it would have to be luxurious, opulent, and extravagant. Anything ordinary would not have the desired effect.

One day, after residing in the palace for many years, the princess fell victim to the slander of those who were jealous of her. The fabricated charges resulted in her banishment from the palace. Cast into a cold, dark dungeon, she remained imprisoned there for some time, suffering greatly at the hands of the warden. The meager prison meals provided insufficient nutrition, and she became extremely weak.

A concerned citizen who lived near the prison took pity on her and smuggled bread and water into her cell. She ravenously devoured the food he brought, consisting of items she never would have considered consuming while residing in the palace.

Ultimately, the princess was proven innocent and the king realized that the libelous accusations spread about her were false. He ordered the princess to be released from prison and reinstated in the palace.

From then on, any gift she received, irrespective of value, paled in comparison with the meager meals she had been given while languishing in prison. The gifts that forever remained most dear and meaningful to her were the bread and water she received when she would otherwise have died of starvation.

Rav Ovadiah holds when the Beis HaMikdash was standing and Hashem’s Presence there was obvious to all, Hashem treasured only those mitzvos done properly.

Now, however, Rav Ovadiah emphasizes Hashem is no longer in His palace. Shechinta b’galusa, the Divine Presence is in exile. When God is in exile, even the smallest mitzvah can find favor in His eyes. A small mitzvah performed in our times may be more valuable to Hashem than the combined mitzvos of an entire generation of several hundred years ago.

Perhaps then, it is for this precise reason that it is our lowly generation that has the power to bring Mashiach and can merit Mashiach more than any generation before us. To some degree, we are not simply dwarves standing on the shoulders of giants; rather, we can be likened to the tallest of giants standing on the shoulders of the giants who preceded us.

The arrival of Mashiach, the coming of the Geulah, is dependent on us. And if the Ribono shel Olam has left it up to us, then He trusts that we are fully capable of rising to the challenge. 

Watch our Inside ArtScroll interview: Tzipisa L’Yeshuah, Yearning for Redemption