• Article Chodesh Adar 5763
• Dvar Torah from Shabbaton Telz-Stone Newsletter
• Message to Graduates in Yearbook
• The Light Side of Chanukah

Springing towards Adar
Adar 5763

The Gemara in Megilla (13b) tells us an interesting thing.
When Haman, of cursed memory, resolved to destroy the Jews, he drew lots to help him determine the optimum time for their destruction. These lots pointed to the month of Adar as the most propitious time for his scheme. The Gemara tells us that Haman was overjoyed at this result.
Why was he so happy?
Haman, we know, was not just flipping coins because he couldn't make a decision - he was operating within the mystical worlds of Mazal and tevah, and he knew that Adar was , in terms of Mazal - not a good time for the Jews. It was a time of weakness for them as a nation. The clearest indication of this was the fact that Moshe Rabbeinu passed away on 7 Adar - what could be a clearer sign of the decline of the Jews than the death of their greatest leader. So Haman was happy, seeing in the fall of the lottery a presaging of his ultimate success.

But the Gemara adds, "Haman did not know that Adar is also the month of the birth of Moshe." The Gemara seems to be saying, "You think that Adar is a bad time for the Jews, as Moshe Rabbeinu died then, but it's also a good time for them, as he was also born then, so the things cancel each other out, and Adar is really just a neutral month." This would appear to be the intent of the Gemara.

But this presents several problems. First of all, why would Haman know the date of Moshe's death, and not his birth? Was this merely chance?

The simple answer to this is that the death of a great man is important and thus recorded and remembered, while his birth is less impactful, and is not as likely to be recalled. After all, while he's a baby, nobody yet knows that he is destined for greatness. For example, everyone knows, or can easily find out, the Yahrzeit of Harav Schach, zt'l, because it was an event felt by all of Jewry. But as to his birthdate, well, good luck tracking that down. There is actually a disparity of several years between the various accounts of his birthdate. Why? Because when he was born, nobody knew he would be Harav Schach.

Secondly, the Gemara's Teretz is kind of odd. Haman had one adverse indication, we have one positive sign, so everything is all right, we're safe - Adar is neutral, neither good nor bad.

Shouldn't Chazal give us something that completely negates Haman's good luck - something that turns his happiness into our Marbim B'Simcha. Isn't that the overriding theme of Purim, V'Nehapechu? Why are Chazal satisfied with merely achieving a tie? Finally, and this harks back to our earlier point - if Chazal are only trying to even the scales by countering Haman's favorable omen, Moshe's death, with one of our own, his birth, then it's hard to see that they are successful. After all, one cannot truly equate the birth of a future Tzaddik with the passing of an accomplished Tzaddik. At birth it is not at all clear what will become of this baby, and even in the case of Moshe Rabbeinu, who was certainly an exceptional infant, one cannot compare his stature as a newborn to that of his final day on earth, after 120 years of unceasing character development and improvement.

Let us examine the month of Adar a bit more closely, and perhaps we will get a hint of what the Gemara is trying to tell us - and draw a measure of inspiration we can relate to our own lives. To do so, let us move forward a month and take a quick look at Nisan, the first month of the year.

Ah Nisan, what a glorious month; a time of rebirth, spring in the year, birds chirping, sun shining. And not only in the physical realm, but in a spiritual sense as well. Nisan is the month of birth, the birth of our nation, the time when time began. A time truly deserving of the cheerful title 'spring'.

But Adar? Cold, dreary, rainy. No flowers, not much sun, a time of weariness, both physical and spiritual - No Jewish holidays (before Purim) - our great leader, Moshe died then; it is a time, to paraphrase the Medrash, when "we are exhausted, out of strength."

All in all, a pretty miserable month. Certainly nothing to compare with Nisan. But wait a second. Where do those cheerful little springtime flowers come from? All those blades of grass, poking their tiny tips out of the ground. They don't just materialize out of thin air, do they? Of course not.

During Adar they're right there, just below the frozen surface, getting ready to poke their heads up and restart the process of birth and rejuvenation. Without Adar there would be no Nisan; without the cold, wet months in which the seeds rot under the ground, there could be no new growth, no new beginnings. Adar may look bleak, may look like death, but it contains the potential for the continuation of life. And not just the potential, but the very groundwork of the future is contained in the seeming harshness of the present.

Now we may understand our puzzling Gemara. When Haman looked at Adar, all he saw was the darkness - the death of Moshe Rabbeinu - what appeared to be the end of our strength; what he did not see was the aspect of renewal that is contained in Adar - signified by the birth of Moshe. The birth of a future Tzadik indeed does not weigh against the passing of an accomplished Tzadik, but it does symbolize for us the perfect cycle of Jewish existence - and embodies the potential which, with time, will come to be realized, and which is of itself an implicit promise that we will continue to thrive, so as to realize that potential.

This is why Chazal tell us that a great Tzadik never dies without a new one being born; not because this newborn can replace the lost giant, but to remind us that Jewish existence is an eternal cycle, with, in the words of the Zohar, "the end tucked into the beginning", Nisan as a natural outgrowth of Adar.

Haman looked at Adar and saw Death and Finality; We look at Adar and see Birth and Continuity. Thus Chazal indeed trump Haman's bad omen. He saw the death of Moshe Rabbeinu. We see the birth and the death, not only not a bad omen, but the proof that our existence is a well-planned cycle, and that where things seem to be ending is really the augury of a bright new beginning.

If one were to ask any thinking person the following question: "At which point in your life did you experience the greatest personal growth?" the answer would be, almost inevitably, "When times were hard and I had almost given up, when all seemed hopeless and lost."

"And where did you find the strength to continue?"

"It was right there, right below the surface. I just had to dig down to bring it out."

This is the pattern of the world - when things appear most bleak, therein lies the greatest potential for achievement - for life. (At the moment of greatest trauma, a baby is born - new life!)

An interesting Remez to this is that the words "Marah Shechora" , Hebrew for 'Black Depression', contain the same letters as "Hirhur Sameach", which means 'Happy Thought'.

But it doesn't happen through a heroic rescuer riding in and saving the day, rather within the trial itself lies the promise. This is the message of Adar - that things were indeed bleak - the Jews were at the end of their spiritual strength - and from the very trauma - they found the strength to turn the Death into new Life - the lottery of Haman into our lottery.

May we all find the strength to identify our own potential, and to turn our bleak moments, our periods of disillusion, into times of growth and our own personal Purims.

A Freilichen Purim!

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The Light Side of Chanukah
Chanukah 5762

There is a fascinating Gemara in , which describes the seven types of Tzadikim that exist in the world, and compares them to seven different types of light. One is compared to the Sun, one the Moon, the Sky, Lightning, Stars, Lilies, and the Lamps of the Bais Hamikdosh.

Why does the Gemara compare Tzadikim to light, and why is there a different form of light used to describe each Tzadik?

Perhaps with a story told of the Chofetz Chaim, and a look at the physical properties of light, we can better understand this Gemara.

Someone once asked the Chofetz Chaim, "Wouldn't it be better if all Jews be the same? Why do there have to be so many types of Jews, Litvaks, Chassidim, Sephardim, etc?

The Chofetz Chaim answered him, "Ask the Czar why he doesn't have the whole Army doing the same thing. It would be so much easier and cheaper to train and equip them. "
"Obviously, you understand that if the entire Army would be tankers, or cooks, or medics that there would be no chance at all of winning a war. "

"So too, Hashem's Army must consist of all kinds of Jews, each doing his part to serve Hashem in his way. As long as one follows the Torah, and his Rabbonim, he has a place, and a job in the Army of Hashem."
( Reb Simcha Wasserman used to add to this story, "The Reform and Conservative are also part of the Army....they're the deserters.)

Light itself, in its physical properties, also demonstrates this unity of different parts.
Pure light is white is white, but when passed through a prism, it is revealed to be made up of seven distinct colors, each with a different wavelength.
However, when merged as one, the seven separate colors combine to form one pure form of light.

The Menorah, in the Bais Hamikdosh also was made up of seven branches, but as Rashi tells us, the outside flames always pointed towards the middle, which itself pointed straight up to Hashem, as though to emphasize the unity of the seven separate branches all working towards the common goal of Avodas Hashem.


So that the Menorah, which is the ultimate source of light, as well as the source of ultimate light, the Torah, also represented this idea of disparate individuals uniting in a common goal of Avodas Hashem.
And this would appear to be the intent of Chazal when they compare the various types of Tzadikim to various sources of light, for, just as light itself is a perfect unified combination of varying energy wavelengths, so too the Tzadikim, who have perfected themselves in the Torah, the Ultimate source of Light, are also comprised of many different types of Tzidkus and Maasim Tovim, all of which join to form a unity in their Avodas Hashem.

May we be Zocheh to the Brocho of "Layehudim Ho'iso Orah", which as Chazal explain, "Orah, Zu Torah", and may the Lights of Chanuka bring back the days of the Bais Hamikdosh and the Menorah, Bimhayra V'yomainu.

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Shabbaton Telz Stone
Parshas VaYigash
Teves 5761

A Series of Sevens:
        Towards the end of this week's Sedra, the Posuk says, "". "And Yosef fell onto his father's shoulders and and he cried." Rashi points out that only Yosef cried, but Yaakov did not, because, we are taught, Yaakov was saying Shema.
The question is asked: Why was only Yaakov saying Shema, and not Yosef, and why did Yaakov choose this precise moment of reunion to recite Krias Shema?
        There are many answers given for this. The Sham MiShmuel provides a beautiful, novel interpretation.
        It is clear from the previous pesukim that Yaakov's going down to mitzraim signified the beginning of the physical golusin Mitzraim. Even though the 400 years had begun with the birth of Yitzchak, the actual golus began with Yaakov going down.
        This is why Yaakov stopped in Beer Sheva to offer Korbanos and be mispallel on the impending golus, where Hashem aasured him that He would go down with them and would ultimately take them back up to Eretz Yisrael. But Yaakov saw that while they would be in Mitzraim, the golus would be dark and bitter and the Jews would come close to losing all hope of redemption.
        Therefore at the very moment that Yaakov stepped into Mitzraim he felt it was necessary to daven to Hashem and to invoke the special bond, the Ahava that Hashem has for Klal Yisrael, to protect them in the dark days ahead.
        The perfect tefila for this is Krias Shema, in which we express our emuna in Hashem and his Hashgacha, and we express te mutual Ahava that exists between Hashem and his people.
        That is why Yaakov Avinu was saying Krias Shema upon arriving in Mitzraim, not because he had no other time to daven Shacharis but as a protection against the coming dark days of Golus.

        The Shem MiShmuel points out that we see from here that is is possible to ward off the negative effects of Golus even before it descends upon us, by invoking the positive connection we have developed with Hashem up to that point.
        With this he explains the phenomenon of making Kiddush not only at the begnning of Shabbos, but also at the end of Shabbos, Havdala.
        This is because the six days of the week are considered to be like Golus when compared with the Seventh day of Shabbos, and we therefore make a Kiddush over wine when the Shabbos leaves us, not to celebrate the leaving of Shabbos but to fortify and prepare ourselves for the six Golus days of the approaching week.
        We use the Havdala as a way of invoking all we have gained from the past Shabbos to keep us strong until the coming Shabbos.
        The theme of this Shabbos is the Chavivus of Seven, but as we know, there is a level beyond seven, a level termed 'Eight', as in Shmini Atzeres and Shmona Yemei Mila. Shmini represents this very concept that we see in the Shem MiShmuel, the idea that when one reaches perfectionof Seven, of Shabbos, he does not begin again from scratch, leaving behind all he has gained in his climb to perfection, but rather he takes along everything he has accomplished until now and starts his climb towards Shabbos anew, but this time, he starts on a higher level, a level called eight.

        May we be zocheh to take all that we learn this year and all that we have learned throughout our highschool years, and apply it to our daily lives as we climb to ever-higher levels in our Avodas Hashem.
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Yearbook 2001 Article
Message to the Graduates

        The Ramban in Shemos 16, 13, explains to us some of the meaning behind the mitzva of Tefilin and its specific connection to that seminal event in the birth of Klal Yisrael, Yetzias Mitzraim.
        The reason, says the Ramban, that we wear Tefilin daily, and we wear them next to our hearts and our minds, and the reson the Battim contain Torah passages commemorating Yetzias Mitzraim, Emunah BeHashem, and Schar Kiyum Mitzvos, is all one.
        The purpose of all the mitzvos we have been given, is to display our recognitionof and belief in Hashem and in His creation of the world and ourselves. There is says the ramban, no other purpose other than to recognize Hashem's sole creation and sovereignty upon everything, and each time we perform any mitzvah we are displaying and reaffirming our belief in this.
        This rulership was clear at the beginning of time, yet was subsequently forgotten and lost to mankind. Yetzias Mitzraim and and the miracles then displayed re-established this sovereignty beyond any shadow of a doubt, and when we recall Yetzias Mitzraim, we are recalling the primary purpose for which the world was formed, our recognition of Hashem's dominion.
        Thus we find the phrase, "Zecher LiYitzias Mitzraim" inserted by Chazal into myriad mitzvos, some of which seemingly bear no direct relation to Yetzias Mitzraim.
        And that is why Tefilin are placed on the heart and mind, the two repositories of thought and remembrance in our bodies - for as Hashem will not perform a private Yetzias Mitzraim for every individual, upon demand - it is thus that we will remember the lessons of Yetzias Mitzraim, and the connection of Yitzias Mitzraim and all the mitzvos of Hashem.
       
        In our own limited way, this principle the Ramban applies as well, to you, the first, I"H of many, graduating class of Pninim. You were zocheh to a year of learning, of growth in Ruchnius, of reexamining priorities, and values in life, and perhaps most important, seeing the joy and enjoyment of being true Bnos Yisrael. Each of you gained, both personally and a s part of a Chevra, and will hopefully continue to gain and shteig throught the years.
        But now the intensive study is over and you must move on in life, to build your own Battim and fill them with your own, personal chapters of Torah and Mitzvos.
        Our wish, and my bracha to you, is that you take with you all that you have learned and all that you have gained, and tie it like tefilin to your hearts and minds so that it will always be there and always remembered, as you continue onward and upward, building the world, L'Shem UliTiferes.