Tag: israel

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

Adapted from: A Most Meaningful Tishah B’Av by Rabbi Yechiel Spero

קינה מד: צִיּוֹן גְּבֶרֶת

צִיּוֹן גְּבֶֽרֶת לְמַמְלְֿכוֹת מְצִירֲֽיִךְ, רֻבֵּי שְׁלוֹמִים שְׂאִי, מֵאֵת אֲסִירֲֽיִךְ.

Tzion/Yerushalayim, you once ruled over the other nations who are now your enemies, who torment you. Accept many good wishes for peace from your people who are now in galus.

Background — The Importance of Peace

Yerushalayim used to be the center of the world, where everyone would come together. Now, it is destroyed and disgraced. This is what we cry about in this Kinnah.

In the first stanza, we mention how all those in galus are still sending their best wishes for peace in the city. And in the last two stanzas, we again speak about how we wish for peace in Yerushalayim. Only when there is peace can we enjoy all the blessings in our lives.

We know that the Beis HaMikdash was destroyed because of sinas chinam, hating another person for no good reason.

If we really want Mashiach to come, we have to do the opposite. We have to show our fellow Jews ahavas chinam. We have to love them for no reason. This is called unconditional love, since the love is not based on any specific condition or reason.

We must love all Yidden.

• A Story •

Reb Yisrael Klein was a Belzer Chassid who lost his entire family during World War II. Somehow, someway, he survived. He was once asked, “In what zechus did you survive, when so many others were killed?”

He responded with a story:

“One day, I was walking in one of the concentration camps when I saw a fellow searching near the garbage. I walked over to him and asked if there was anything I could do for him.

“He said four words, ‘Epes vus tzu essen.’ He wanted something to eat. As I looked closer, it was clear that he had not eaten in days. But I had no food to feed his starving body, and I had no way to get hold of it.

“I apologized to him and told him that I didn’t have any food for him. But he would not accept that answer. He begged me for something, anything.

“I could see that if I didn’t give him food right away, he was going to die. I began to cry. I had nothing. But he begged me, ‘Please, give me something!’

“And then, it hit me. I told him that although I didn’t have food for him, I did have something to offer. ‘I do have something for you. I have love.’ I put my arms around him and I told him, ‘I love you. I love you. I love you.’

“We cried on each other’s shoulders. And then, he looked at me gratefully and walked away. It was remarkable. Although I had not given him even a morsel of bread, he was full. And, most important, he was alive.

“We both survived the war, and we both rebuilt our families.”

Reb Yisrael concluded, “If there is any one act that served as a zechus for me to survive the war, I believe it was that hug and show of love.”

• Bringing Us Closer •

This is the power of love. If you see a friend who is down and in need of encouragement, show your love. Even if he isn’t on your list of friends, he’s still a Yid. He still deserves unconditional love.

WATCH: An Incredible Story by Rabbi Yechiel Spero

Adapted from: From Sorrow to Celebration by Rabbi Paysach J. Krohn

As I thought about the following incident, it occurred to me that perhaps there can be a new understanding of the words Ahavas Chinam, which is usually understood to mean “love for no specific reason.”

Conceivably it could also mean “beyond the ordinary standards of warmth and kindness between friends.” This story about Rav Mattisyahu Salomon (1937-2024), the beloved and revered Mashgiach of Beth Medrash Govoha in Lakewood, is a perfect example.

After Rav Mattisyahu arrived in Lakewood in 1997 from the renowned Torah community of Gateshead, England, he became a beloved and cherished figure throughout the American Torah world. His shmuessen in Lakewood, his lectures at conventions and seminars, and his heartfelt advice to countless people who sought his counsel made him one of the most respected Torah luminaries in our generation. This story reveals his remarkable sensitivity. His actions are worthy of emulation.

The Salomon family lived on Sixth Street, down the block from the yeshivah. Their neighbors were the Epsteins, with whom they soon developed a strong mutual friendship. The families had children the same ages and a simchah for one was a simchah for the other.

In the autumn of 1999, one of the Salomon girls became engaged. There was great joy in the Epstein home as the girls looked forward to dancing at their close friend’s wedding.

Tragically, this was not to be. A few weeks later, just days before Rosh Hashanah, the Salomon’s beloved neighbor, Rabbi Shimon Epstein, a noted talmid chacham and askan, suddenly passed away, and his family was plunged into mourning. The children would not be permitted to attend festive gatherings such as weddings for the twelve months of mourning. Hence, they could not attend the Salomon wedding, adding additional pain to their unexpected loss.

The wedding would be a day of great celebration in Lakewood as befitted a simchah in the beloved Mashgiach’s family. However, during the following weeks, the Salomons made a conscious effort not to talk about the wedding plans within earshot of the Epsteins. 

On the day of the wedding, when the Epstein daughters returned home from work around 6 o’clock, as usual, they found a note on the kitchen table:

To our dear friends, the Epsteins:

Please do not prepare dinner this evening. Your dinner will be served to all of you shortly. We will miss you at the wedding, but we want you to share in our simchah, and so the caterers will be at your home with the wedding dinner.

May we share future simchos,

The Salomons

Within the hour, a truck came from the wedding hall with a full-course meal, including dessert, for every member of the Epstein family. And if that were not enough, as the Epsteins were enjoying this unexpected meal, someone brought them photos that had just been taken at the wedding. Rav Mattisyahu and his wife had arranged for someone to take pictures of the badeken and chuppah, rush to a local one-hour photography store, and then deliver the processed pictures to the Epsteins. Thus, as they were enjoying the wedding meal, they could also enjoy wedding photos!

In the last blessing of the sheva berachos, we thank Hashem for creating the traits of ahavah v’achvah v’shalom v’reiyus, love, brotherhood, peace, and companionship. The events of the evening totally exemplified those words.

We lost the Beis HaMikdash because of Sinas Chinam, baseless hatred; if only we could emulate the Ahavas Chinam of Rav and Rebbetzin Salomon, going beyond the conventional parameters of friendship, we would be hastening the rebuilding of the Beis HaMikdash. 

Adapted from: The Darkness and the Dawn by Rabbi Daniel Glatstein

On Tishah B’Av, all our hearts are in pain. Rav Moshe Wolfson writes that even ordinary people who may not fully grasp the gravity of having lost the Beis HaMikdash are able to weep genuine tears on Tishah B’Av. From where does this originate? How can every single Jew feel the pain of the Churban so acutely on this specific day?

An incredible phenomenon is articulated by the Haflaah, the rebbi of the Chasam Sofer: The neshamah of every single Jew is connected and in sync with how the Ribbono Shel Olam is feeling toward us.

David HaMelech writes, צָמְאָה נַפְשִׁי לֵאלֹקִים לְקֵל חָי, My heart thirsts for Hashem, for the Living God (Tehillim 42:3). What does David mean by the phrase, “the Living G-d”?

The Haflaah explains: When David HaMelech refers to Hashem as the living G-d, he is referring to the fact that Hashem actively has, at it were, feelings of deep longing and love toward us. The natural human emotion is to then respond in kind, to reciprocate these emotions. The way you feel toward others is a direct reflection of how they feel toward you. As the pasuk states, כַּמַּיִם הַפָּנִים לַפָּנִים כֵּן לֵב הָאָדָם לָאָדָם, As water reflects a face back to a face, so one’s heart is reflected back to him by another (Mishlei 27:19).

Hashem is a living G-d, actively loving and yearning toward each and every one of us. We then mirror these emotions, and our souls thirst for Hashem, for a relationship with Him.

We learn a very important principle: The neshamah of a Jew is in tune with the Ribbono Shel Olam.

The Midrash on Eichah tells us that when a human king is in mourning, he sits and cries. So too, says Hashem, do I cry in mourning over the loss of the Beis HaMikdash. As the pasuk in Yeshayah (22:12) states, וַיִּקְרָא ה’ אֱלֹקִים צְבָקוֹת בַּיּוֹם הַהוּא לִבְכִי וּלְמִסְפֵּד וּלְקָרְחָה וְלַחֲגֹר שָׂק, My Lord Hashem/Elokim, Master of Legions, declared that day to be for crying and lamenting, for baldness and for the donning of sackcloth. Hashem designated that day as a day of crying and tears.

Were we to ascend to Shamayim and witness how Hashem is spending His time on Tishah B’Av, so to speak, we would find Hashem and His entire entourage weeping bitter tears, mourning over the Beis HaMikdash and Klal Yisrael going into exile. But we don’t have to see it to know that this is what is happening.

Our neshamos feel it; we sense the mourning taking place On High, and we respond in kind; we join Hashem in weeping and mourning. We cry, says Rav Wolfson, because our neshamos perceive the crying of Hashem and His court. Hashem is crying for us, and we reciprocate by shedding genuine tears, pining and yearning for Him.

The Midrash later describes how Hashem mirrors the mourning of a human king. A melech basar vadam, king of flesh and blood, would sit on the floor in silent reflection. Similarly, Hashem sits on the floor in mournful silence, grieving for Klal Yisrael.

We join Hashem on the floor, mourning along with Him. ‘שִׁפְכִי כַמַּיִם לִבֵּךְ נֹכַח פְּנֵי ה, Pour out your heart like water in the presence of the Lord (Eichah 2:19); we pour out our hearts directly opposite Hashem. We don’t have to send our tefillos, our cries, our tears, all the way up to Shamayim. Hashem is right there on the floor with us.

Even the simplest of Jews is able to cry on Tishah B’Av because he senses Hashem crying, and he cries along with Him.

עַל נַהֲרוֹת בָּבֶל שָׁם יָשַׁבְנוּ גַּם בָּכִינוּ בְּזָכְרֵנוּ אֶת צִיּוֹן, By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat and also wept when we remembered Tzion (Tehillim 137:1). What does the pasuk mean by saying, גַּם בָּכִינוּ, we also wept? Who besides us was weeping? Rav Wolfson explains that in addition to our crying, Hashem, too, is also weeping. The “also” refers to the Ribbono Shel Olam crying along with us.

A Nechamah for Klal Yisrael

The fact that the Ribbono Shel Olam is still crying for us after more than two thousand years have passed provides us with some degree of nechamah. He has not forgotten about us. If we are able to shed bitter tears over the Churban, it is only because Hashem still cries desperately for us, longing for us to return to Yerushalayim. His love and yearning for us have not waned even an iota over the millennia.

A further source of consolation rests in the fact that our souls are attuned to Hashem’s crying. However sullied, dirtied, and covered over our neshamos may be, whatever sins we may have committed, and whatever distance has been created between us and Hashem because of our aveiros, we still remain connected to Hashem. Our neshamos are far from perfect, yet we remain tethered to Hashem, and His emotions are reflected by us. We remain forever connected to Avinu she’baShamayim, our Father in Heaven.

We continue to feel toward Hashem what He feels toward us. This bond has not broken or diminished at all. This, too, is a nechamah to us, as we cry and mourn for the Beis HaMikdash.

May we be zocheh to feel the full outpouring of love, the ahavah rabbah and the ahavas olam that the Ribbono Shel Olam has for us, and may it be manifest with the rebuilding of the Beis HaMikdash, may it happen imminently.  

Adapted from: Rav Yaakov Bender on Chumash 2

וַיָּבֹאוּ בְנֵי גָד וּבְנֵי רְאוּבֵן. . . עֲטָרוֹת וְדִיבֹן וְיַעְזֵר וְנִמְרָה וְחֶשְׁבּוֹן וְאֶלְעָלֵה וּשְׂבָם וּנְבוֹ וּבְעֹן.

The children of Gad and the children of Reuven came… Ataros, and Divon, and Yazer, and Nimrah, and Cheshbon, and Elalei, and Sevam, and Nevo, and Beon (Bamidbar 32:2-3).

In listing the lands in Eiver HaYarden, the areas chosen by the Bnei Gad, Bnei Reuven, and half of Shevet Menasheh, the Targum Onkelos provides details on the towns listed.

Cheshbon, he says, was Beis Chushbena, a place inhabited by those who made calculations, while the town of Elalei was Baal Devava, a place of fighters. Nevo, Targum says, was beis kvurta d’Moshe, the kever of Moshe.

The fact that it was Moshe Rabbeinu’s resting place is important, but identifying the town this way and this way only would seem to be in marked contrast to the other places, in which the Targum either translated the words, such as Ataros as Machlelta, or tells us a detail about the people who lived there. Moshe Rabbeinu’s burial place, however, was a feature that would eventually mark the place, but it did not the define the town and it had not yet happened. Why does Onkelos switch his description of this one place?

The Chofetz Chaim famously commented that the largest cities on the map, Warsaw, Krakow, Vilna, Moscow, or St. Petersburg, had stars near their names, their letter bolded so that travelers could easily identify them. Smaller towns appeared on the map, but without any star. The smallest towns did not even appear on the map with anything more than a tiny dot.

“But even if Radin has no star on the government-issued map,” he said, “in Shamayim, there is a big star on the map near Radin, because we have a yeshivah where bachurim learn Torah.”

R’ Yitzchak Hutner told a story about a Yid who came to Vilna for the first time. He hired a coachman to drive him, and he sat in the carriage, learning from his Gemara.

The wagon driver turned to ask him what he was learning. The passenger, assuming the driver to be unlearned, gave a polite, curt answer.

The wagon driver was intimately familiar with the topic, and he engaged the passenger in a conversation on the sugya. The passenger was impressed and shared a question of his own. The driver had an answer, and a learned discussion ensued.

Finally, the passenger could not contain his curiosity, and he asked the question on his mind.

“In any town, you would be the rav. How is it that in Vilna you drive a wagon?”

The coachman explained that Vilna was a town filled with great talmidei chachamim and he was not unique just because he knew how to learn. This, he explained, was because of the Vilna Gaon.

“Is he the rav of the city?” asked the passenger.

“No,” said the wagon driver, “he is not the rav.”

“Is he the maggid meisharim?”

“No,” came the reply.

“Is he the rosh yeshivah?” the passenger persisted.

“He was none of those things, and he is not even alive. He was niftar over a hundred years ago,” said the driver.

“So how did he make you a talmid chacham?” asked the scholarly passenger.

“Veil ehr iz duh gevehn! Because he was here!” said the driver emphatically.

There are features in the history of a town that are so monumental, so immense, that they mark the town forever and the place lives on, forever bound up with that event or personality. Vilna will forever be associated with the man who learned Torah in a room with the shutters drawn. It is his city, and no other detail means as much to a Torah Jew.