What good can possibly come from the tragic deaths of the righteous?

On this question the Talmud makes an astonishing statement: The righteous are greater in their death then they are in their lives (Chulin 7B).

Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler, the great spiritual leader of the Ponevitch Yeshiva in Bnei Brak, explains this difficult statement. Every day we are charged to see all the good and blessing that Hashem places in our lives, from the breath in our lungs, to our simple daily needs. All the kindness that Hashem does for us screams out to us from every corner in our surroundings.

Yet we don’t heed the call. We have become too accustomed to the daily miracles that we experience; we have become so accustomed to them that we don’t pay them any attention at all. In order to experience Hashem in our lives we need a wake-up call. And sometimes, a small one won’t work; we need a blaring horn to awaken us to the good that falls below our line of vision.

So too with the righteous. In their lives we didn’t learn enough from them. We got too used to their acts of kindness, got too accustomed to their words of Torah. But when they pass on to the next world, the shock of the loss suddenly wakes us up; only then do we realize who they were in their lives. And then we can start to pay attention to all the little things that we miss, and learn the lessons that we could have learned while they were still with us (Michtav M’Eliyahu, Book 4, pg. 246).

May Hashem bless us to learn from the five slain members of the Fogel family in their deaths what we did not learn from them in their lifetimes.

“You are compassionate and give grace; you have patience for us and bestow great kindness and truth,” we say over and over again in our prayers during this time known as the Days of Awe. We admit where we have misstepped, and we’re ready to change and move on.

However, the Talmud (Yoma 76B) seemingly challenges our ability to wipe the slate clean. It teaches that the indiscretion that we confessed (vidui) last year, we must confess again the following Yom Kippur, even if we did not repeat the misdeed; a passage from Psalms is quoted: “I will know my transgression, and my sin should be before my eyes always.”

A simple reading of the Talmud seems very difficult. What is the religious value of constantly focusing on one’s flaws? Does Hashem truly want us to constantly meditate  on our mistakes? Where is the G-d of compassion, grace, and kindness?

Rav Zadok HaCohen of Lublin, one of our great Chasidic masters, explains this piece of Talmud in a novel way. He teaches that a person can experience the feeling of absolute forgiveness for a past inequity, as well and the continuing pangs of guilt in the same moment (Tzidkat HaTzaddik 134).

What is behind this strange conflict of emotions? One unique aspect of the human being is his ability to grow. Though we may not always sense it, we are never static; we are always ascending. Therefore, this year, as we stand one rung higher on the spiritual ladder than the previous year, we have a different perspective on our past deeds.

From where we were last year, those inequities no longer exist; but from where we are standing now, we are a new creation. We can see our past actions in a clearer light. We can see how we left behind undeveloped potential, and we can use this greater vision to propel us even higher.

Hashem does not want us to be ridden with guilt; Hashem only wants us to utilize this new, broad perspective to actualize our potential as we move forward on the path of life.

I remember from my elementary school health class a poster on the wall of the food pyramid. It outlined exactly how many servings of meat, dairy, carbs, fruits, and vegetables a person needed every day in order to reach optimal health.

This is also true concerning the learning of Torah. The practical matters of halacha and the Talmudic discourse serve a central role, but negating issues of faith and matters of the soul can bring on a bad spiritual stomachache.

Rav Avraham Yitzhak Kook explains that one’s soul is constantly searching for faith, and if it is unable to find it in the proper channels, then it will seek it out in unhealthy ways. He compares this to a starving person who is so hungry that he would eat something totally inedible. This is the root of idol worship and other obscure expressions of misplaced spiritual activity (Ma’amar HaReiya, Helech Bet, 7).

This explains why we see so many manipulations of spirituality, such as cults and deviant religious groups. The Jewish tradition is filled with teachings that can quench our thirsty souls and nurture out relationship with Hashem; we must make sure to access them in order to maintain a healthy, holistic relationship with our spiritual well-being.

As we read Sefer Devarim, we can tangibly feel Moshe’s unrequited longing for Israel.

But why does Moshe long for Israel? Is it as the Talmud asks, that he only wants to taste the fruits of the Land?!

To frame the question a different way, what is the unique spiritual nature of Israel? Is there only a historical significance to the Land, or is there something more?

The Talmud teaches that Moshe’s longing for Israel is based on a desire to do more mitzvot. A large number of the mitzvot that Moshe communicates to the Nation of Israel are only applicable in the Land.  This is true for Jews today; one’s mitzvah count increases exponentially by simply living a Torah life in Israel.

Rav Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin, known by the acronym the Netziv, explains Moshe’s longings for Israel in a different manner. For Moshe, arriving in Israel provides the greatest opportunity to disseminate Torah. There is no wisdom like the wisdom of Israel, and more specifically Jerusalem; therefore Moshe’s lamentations are an acknowledgment of his pain that he will never teach the wisdom of the Land of Israel.

The greatest natural resource that Israel has to offer the world is knowledge of Hashem; the Land is filled with wisdom, as the Talmud itself testifies: the air in Israel makes one wise. As we ponder the greater goals of the State of Israel, and our individual work in it, we must remember that the endeavor of illuminating Hashem’s Torah bears its greatest fruits here. 

Dedicated to our dear friends Mark and Sarah: we hope to see you again in the Land of Hashem’s wisdom very soon.

Upon arising, the first words that I utter each morning are, “Modeh ani lefanecha,” I am thankful before you, living and everlasting King, that you returned my soul to me, with great kindness is your faith.

From the very first moments our eyes open in the morning, we must remind ourselves that we are standing before Hashem, and feel thankful for the opportunities we have to serve Hashem in the coming day.

The Baal HaTanya, Rav Shneur Zalman of Liadi, gives this morning utterance a different spin. He explains that the word modeh has another meaning: admittance. Instead of a statement of thanks, these words are a statement of faith. What are we admitting?

We are admitting that there is dissidence between the way that we experience the world and the way that it actually is. We see a world where we feel like a completely independent entity, disconnected from each other and our Creator. Hashem’s presence is only found in the places where we let Hashem in.

But in reality, the world is ablaze with Hashem’s presence. We are all intrinsically connected, all of creation; each one of us is an expression of the Oneness of Hashem. But this is hidden from our physical eyes. Therefore our first statement in the morning upon opening our eyes is to admit that what we see is not the whole picture. With this in mind we can go through our day revealing the hidden reality that lies just beyond our vision.