The Mishna in Ta’anit tells us that with the arrival of the month of Adar comes an increase in joy.  But what’s to get happy about?

 

The Sfat Emet teaches that Adar is a time for awakening one’s love for Hashem. Just as Elul, the month before Tishrei and Rosh Hashanah, is a time for tshuva (repentance), so too the month of Adar is a special time for tshuva, since Nissan also marks a beginning of the year.

 

But there is a substantial difference between these two types of tshuva. During Elul our tshuva is driven by awe; during Adar, it is driven by love.

 

Adar is not about fear of judgment, but rather about a desire to be close to our Creator.

 

Rav Yitzhak Luria, known as the Ari of Tsfat, taught that Yom Kippur is Yom Ke-Purim, i.e., the day that is likened to Purim. In other words, Yom Kippur, a day in which Hashem wipes the slate clean from all our misdeeds, takes a back seat to Purim. How can this be?

 

In the Sfat Emet we see an answer. A relationship based on fear or awe is not a complete relationship. Imagine a marriage in which the spouse is only fulfilling his or her obligations out of a feeling of fear. Obviously this is a relationship in dire straits. So too with our relationship with Hashem; if our whole desire to come close is only out of obligation or fear of punishment, the relationship is on shaky ground.

 

Adar is a time to focus on all the good and blessing that fills our lives, and how we want to be close to the Source of that blessing. There is no room for misdeeds when this is our focus. And as our sages teach, there is no greater joy then experiencing closeness to Hashem.

 

Here are some practical ways in which to feel this joy and closeness:

 

• Before you go to bed at night, write down three things that happened that day for which you feel thankful to Hashem.

 

• Find a quiet place to talk to Hashem. Speak freely about specific positive events that have happened to you recently.

 

• Take an extra moment in your daily prayers to close your eyes and take a breath, and to focus on the source of that breath. Alternatively, during prayer put your hands on your chest, and feel the warmth and life that radiates from your body.

 

 

The transition between the Torah’s description of the national revelation at Mt. Sinai to the bulleted list of property laws listed immediately afterwards is jarring.

 

Imagine the scene at Mt. Sinai: the sages tell us that we were like a unified body in our mutual desire to receive the Torah. God reveals Himself to the nation; it was an event that, according to the Zohar, caused their souls to literally leave their body.

 

It was the absolute height of spirituality.

 

Then, in the next moment, Moshe enrolled the nation in Tort Law 101. We learn about indentured servitude, personal damages, property damage, etc. Where’s the transition? What happened to the spiritual experience, to the oneness?

 

The Ramban, in his first comment on Mishpatim, explains that the laws elucidated in the adjacent section are a translation of the last of the Ten Commandments, i.e., the prohibition of coveting.

 

Says the Ramban, if it were not for the property laws listed directly after the prohibition of coveting, you would not know what is yours and what is not. Therefore the Torah has to describe the parameters of ownership.

 

Spirituality can be defined as engaging with the entity that created and gives life to all of creation. A moment when one experiences this greater reality can alter one’s life. I remember distinctly a Shabbat meal where a friend shared a moving experience during his first trip to the Western Wall, where he felt “so connected.” That moment opened him up to further exploration of his Judaism and to pursue a life in Israel.

 

True, tasting the oneness can provide a high like none other. However, it is not the end goal. Jewish spirituality values both the concept of oneness, along with well-defined boundaries. We must develop a clear sense of self, as well as maintain the consciousness of our greater context. The awareness of this paradox prevents perversions of spirituality that violate healthy borders in all types of relationships.

I find driving in Israel a difficult task. When you have a “nation of priests,” everyone thinks they rule the road. God tells the Jewish people that they are a “stiff-necked people,” a prophecy one can experience any time one needs to switch lanes in a pinch.
 
I always get a laugh when I see is a car with Ain Od Milvado, There is nothing other than Him, a passage from Devarim, printed in large letters on the back windshield of a hatchback. As he cuts me off, I’m wondering if he thinks the translation is “There’s nobody else but me on the road.”
 
It’s only one of the many ways one can experience holy chutzpa in modern day Israeli culture. But this stubbornness is a character trait that can be redeemed.
 
According to Rebbe Nachman of Brestlov (Meshvat Nefesh 31), one needs great stubbornness in the service of Hashem. There will be endless ups and downs in this endeavor, and in order to overcome the many obstacles one must be tremendously stubborn.
 
Strengthening our character and becoming more aware of Hashem’s presence in our life is an endless process filled with pitfalls. The normal daily details of life constantly pull us way from this growth.
 
So too with any meaningful goal; there will be challenges at every point, and in order to find success we must act with diligence. Only through being stiff-necked can we reach our goals, whether in service of God or otherwise.
 
Dedicated to our new daughter Sara Temima, named after my grandmother Sarah Jean Cohen, a strong, stubborn woman whose determination helped turn around many lives.

What is the source of our desire to succeed and to achieve?

Rav Zadok HaCohen of Lublin offers a surprising answer: our internal desire to accomplish comes as an inheritance.

There are times when we want something so badly, but despite all our efforts and good intentions, it just doesn’t happen. It may appear that this unachieved desire is lost; but Rav Zadok teaches that the opposite is true. Though it may not even come to fruition in the person’s life, this desire hidden in one’s heart is passed on, and will take hold in future generations.

We can see an example from King David. He desired so deeply to build a house for Hashem, but was forbidden to do so. However, his son King Shlomo was able to build the Temple.

 From where did King Shlomo get the inspiration? The desire of David, hidden in his heart, never came to fruition in his life, but was passed on to his son, who was able to actualize the desire of his father. And even though Shlomo was the one who actualized the latent desire, the Temple is not called by his name, but is rather called, “The House that David Built.”

The desires hidden in our hearts are part of the inheritance that is passed down from parent to child and from generation to generation. This organic relationship connects us with our ancestors long gone, and we pick up the pieces and finish projects left undone.

And those latent desires in our hearts are passed along to our children. Though we will not be able to complete all our aspirations, there is comfort in knowing that the desire will be passed on to the future generations, and will someday find completion.

These words of Torah should give strength and healing to my wife Devorah Leah bat Yosefa as we get ready for the birth of our second child, with the hopes of a new soul to continue the desire in our hearts for Israel, for Torah, and for the Jewish people.

We usually translate Shmot, the second book of the Torah, as Exodus, but literally it is called the Book of Names. Why call the book of exile and redemption the Book of Names?

The topic of names reminds me of a well-known quote from Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet: “that which we call a rose/ By any other name would smell as sweet.” Translation: what something is matters more than what it is called.

True, a name can never capture the full essence of an object. However, there is still great importance to a name, to the extent that King Shlomo wrote in Kohelet, “A good name is better than good oil.”

The Chasidic master known as the Sfat Emmet gives an explanation of this passage in Kohelet. He says that good oil is an allusion to the priests who are anointed with oil as an initiation into their service in the Temple. Better than serving Hashem in the Temple, a position that comes as an inheritance, is the effort and exertion one puts into serving God. It is through this effort that one acquires a “good name,” i.e., the recognition and reward for the hard work put in.

This brings us back to our initial question. The Book of Shmot begins: “These are the names of the sons of Israel who came to Egypt”…and then lists Yaakov and his sons. The Sfat Emmet teaches that our ancestors went down to Egypt and maintained the spiritual level of their names. In other words, the spiritual work that they had done and the name that they had made for themselves also came down with them to Egypt. In this way they were able to carry the light of God even into the darkest depths of exile. These names, i.e., the spiritual inheritance of our ancestors, carried Israel through the exile long after their death, and ultimately led to Israel’s exodus from Egypt and the receiving the Torah.

The name that we make for ourselves, meaning the work we do both on our character traits and in our mitzvah observance, is what we leave behind for the next generation. It is our inheritance in the next world, and what allows the presence of Hashem to shine even in this long, dark exile. And it is through these efforts that we will ultimately bring about our redemption as well.