by Ner Tamid | Aug 10, 2025 | Sermons
A very, very, very long time ago, when I was growing up, there was virtually no funny Jewish video content being produced. It’s hard to believe but there was a time before Reggie_Torahshorts and Dovi Neuburger were producing daily content. There were a few, very few, exceptions – some Jews who were a little ahead of their time – who made videos like, Stuff People say on Pesach (I still watch this video every year before Pesach, and it still cracks me up). The other prehistoric video content from that era was Shtick People say at Shiva Houses. The genius of these videos is that for the most part, they were just saying things people say on Pesach or at Shiva homes. They weren’t making jokes, they were just highlighting how insane we sound, and when it comes to shiva houses, how tactless people can be.
People ask things like, “So… how did he die?” Or “Stop crying, she’s with her husband now.” Or “I think the chair you’re sitting on might be a little too high. Should we measure it?”
Let’s be honest, shiva houses can be quite awkward. What do I say? What do I say? What do I say? “Uh, I love the wallpaper!”
And because they’re so awkward, people tend to do one of two things, they don’t show up at shiva houses, or they speak about weather, world news, pickleball, anything except the deceased.
There are two Shiva house halachos that are worth reviewing. One, we wait for the mourner to speak first. And what if they don’t speak? That’s. Okay. We just sit there.
The other rule is that we are supposed to speak about the deceased; about their accomplishments, about what they did in their lives, about their legacy.
Both these halachos are encapsulated in the term we use for visiting a mourner – Nichum Aveilim. It’s translated as comforting the mourner, but what this term Nichum really means, explains Rav Samson Raphael Hirsh, is to shift one’s attention, to turn. And that’s because what we are doing when we visit the broken and lonely mourner is we are trying to shift their attention. Not to distract them with small talk and jokes. Not to remove the pain, there is no way to do so. Rather, they are feeling utterly alone, and by being there, even if we do not say anything, we are conveying to the mourner that they are not entirely alone, that there are people in the community who are with them. We say yes, you’re in pain, you’re alone, AND we are here with you.
They feel like their loved one is gone forever, and by reflecting on the deceased’s life, we remind them that their loved one also left behind a rich legacy that can be perpetuated by all who knew them. We say yes, they are gone, AND they accomplished so much.
We don’t need to be afraid of a shiva house. It’s cliché but I know from all the many mourners here that it is true – the greatest present is your presence. And you don’t need to be a great conversationalist to make a shiva call. “Tell me about your loved one.” And then sit back and listen.
Nechama, comfort, does not take place by ignoring pain. It comes about through a shift in perspective.
The reason I bring this up is, well, it’s critical that we visit people who are visiting shiva and we ensure that the visits are meaningful. But also, because this Shabbos is known as Shabbos Nachamu. It’s that same word – comfort, but also to shift perspectives. A week ago, we sat on the floor and mourned all the losses we experienced over two thousand years; the Batei Mikdash, the terror, the inquisitions, the Holocaust. And today, a mere six days later, we are supposed to celebrate. Shabbos Nachamu is supposed to be a joyous day. In our Haftorah, Yeshaya soothingly proclaims, “Nachamu, nachamu, ami! Be comforted, my people!”
How can we be comforted? The Bais HaMikdash is still unbuilt, the Jewish People are still not unified, there are still hostages in Gaza. Comfort? Really?
And the answer is yes. The sad realities have not changed, but G-d is asking us to now shift our gaze as He tells us, “I will one day redeem you. I may seem so distant, but I have not forgotten you.” On this Shabbos, G-d is performing Nichum Aveilim to us; He’s reminding us to not despair, to choose to look at the survival of the Jewish People and not the sacrifices, to choose to see how much we’ve progressed as a people and not how far we still have to go, to choose to see the fulfillment of so many positive prophecies even though some have yet to come true.
And this is not a one-day exercise, it takes place every day. Because there are two types of Jews in the world; Tisha B’av Jews and there are Nachamu Jews.
Tisha B’av Jews are always focused on what’s broken, on what’s missing, on all the things that have not gone their way.
Nachamu Jews are not those slightly-annoying-everything-is-awesome-let’s put-on-a-fake-smile-type of person. No. Nachamu Jews do not pretend that every story has a happy ending, or that the Jewish People are perfect, or that their spouse or children have no flaws. No.
Nachamu Jews say, yes, there are issues AND I chose to focus on what is good, on what is beautiful, on what I have. I could complain, it’s easy to complain, criticism is far more clickable than compliments, but I chose to focus on the good.
In our kitchen, we have a magnet on our fridge. Literally, one magnet. Some people deck their fridge in tens of magnets and pictures and notes, but we are minimalists (some may call it a neurosis) and the front of our fridge has nothing except one magnet. On the magnet it says, “Liftoach mikarer, zeh olam um’lo’o, to open a refrigerator, it’s the whole world.”
These words were uttered by Eli Sharabi, a husband and father of two daughters, who was kidnapped from Be’eri on October 7th. He spent almost 500 days in captivity. When he returned, he looked like he had just been liberated from Auschwitz. He spent most of his time in captivity chained by his leg. He ate almost nothing and lost 66 pounds, or 40% of his body weight while in captivity.
As bad as that was, nothing prepared him for the devastating news that he learned when he was released. Shortly after exiting Gaza, he was informed that his wife and two daughters were murdered by Hamas on October 7th.
This man lived through a modern-day Tisha B’av and yet, he was and is a Nachamu Jew.
When asked about learning the horrific news about his family, he said he was grateful for the 18 years that he had with his beloved wife, Lianne. When asked about the starvation, he said, yes, it was horrific, and now I open my fridge ad it’s filled with food, “Liftoach mikarer, zeh olam um’lo’o, to open a refrigerator, it’s the whole world.”
The Bais Hamikdash is still destroyed, our family members get on our nerves or worse, our friends don’t always support like us they should, and G-d feels like He is ignoring us.
Those are all 100% true.
And yet, we can decide to be a Nachamu Jew, not only this Shabbos, but every day.
To choose to look at the positive trends in Jewish history and say I am so proud to be a Jew.
To choose to see the incredible qualities that our family members possess and embrace them.
To choose to see G-d in our every waking breath.
To be a Tisha B’av Jew or a Nachamu Jew, the choice is ours.
by Ner Tamid | Aug 3, 2025 | Sermons
In the year 500, the Himyarites, a Yemenite kingdom, ruled over much of the Arabian Peninsula. The Arabian Peninsula consisted of modern Saudi Arabia, Yemen, Oman, The UAE, Bahrain, Qatar, and Kuwait. It was an exceptionally powerful and wealthy kingdom, dominating the trade routes in the ancient world.
They were ruthless leaders and had no tolerance for any other faith groups in their empire. The first thing they did when they conquered any land was burn the churches and massacre the Christian population. We have historical records of the Himyarites killing thousands upon thousands of Christian civilians.
If we had lived in the year 500, I imagine, I hope, if we were to see evidence of such atrocities, we would respond fiercely, condemning the Himyarites for their actions. If we were to find out that they did indeed kill innocents, that they did indeed destroy all places of worship, we would be outraged.
But there’s a detail I forgot to share with you – the Himyarites were a Jewish kingdom. In the year 400, Abu Karib, their king, converted to Judaism. Inscriptions from that era throughout the country make it clear that the ruling class and likely many others were practicing Jews.
And with that, our reaction changes. We become a little more compassionate, curious. Maybe there’s more to this story? Maybe the Christians were persecuting the Jews first, and this was a reaction? Maybe it’s an exaggeration?
I know that was my reaction. When I learned they were Jews I saw them in a more protective light.
Someone hearing this may accuse me of having double standards.
And to those accusers, I say, yes, I have a double standard. I think about my fellow Jews in a different fashion. And I’m not ashamed of it.
If someone told me that my child committed a crime, heaven forbid, I would not hide my child from the authorities. But I would certainly not post criticisms against the child on social media. If there was a protest outside my child’s home, do you think I would join the protest? Of course not. It’s my child. And they may be guilty, but I also have a moral obligation, at the same time, to look out for them.
You probably know where I’m going with this –
Are there children in Gaza who are starving? Likely.
And even though this war was started by Hamas and is still going on because of Hamas, could the Israeli government do things differently that could help alleviate the situation, even though it’s not their fault? No one knows for sure. The news is dizzyingly confusing and has lost any shred of credibility. But is it possible that there are missteps or worse on the part of the Israeli government here? It is certainly possible. Jews are not perfect. Be it the Himyarite Kingdom or the Modern State of Israel, Jews are capable of doing horrific things.
But does that mean we should go ahead and write articles or write open letters criticizing the Israeli government?
To me, this seems to be the equivalent of protesting outside your child’s window. We have a moral obligation to protect our family. Your standing there protesting may be used by the prosecution against your own child. Which is exactly what the enemies of Israel are doing.
“Look at all the Jews who are calling this out!”
“We’re not antisemites! There are Jews who are saying the same things we are!”
And before you know it, the UK, France, and Canada, rally behind Palestinian nationhood and encourage Hamas to stop negotiating.
Public statements can possibly encourage antisemites around the world to attack Jews. Public protests can possibly encourage Hamas to hold on to power and not let the 50 hostages go to freedom. I would be petrified to speak out for the chance that my statement contributed in one small way to the death or prolonged captivity of one of my brothers or sisters.
To be clear, I am not saying that we should pretend Israel or the Jewish community is perfect and cover up our crimes. I am not saying that we should pretend issues do not exist in our communities, as some do say, “to prevent a Shanda.” If you are aware of a crime, if you are aware of someone who is a danger to society, even if it is your child, you must tell the authorities. But this is not that.
Was there a private letter sent to the Israeli government, or did it go straight to the press? Do we really know definitively what is happening in Gaza? And it really boils down to one question – if this was my son, if this was my daughter, would I be so quick to condemn?
***
But let’s now talk among ourselves – we’re here among family. Is the Israeli government perfect? No.
Is the desire to stay in power something that might influence the decisions made by political leaders? Yes.
Are there elements in Israeli society and the Israeli government who would like to remove all Arabs from Israel from the river to the sea? Yes, there are.
Does spilling blood, even when entirely justified, erode our sensitivity to life? Yes, sadly, it does.
Among ourselves, among family, we can and we must be honest.
Read Matti Friedman’s piece in the Free Press. Matti Friedman, for those who don’t know him, is one of Israel’s greatest defenders, and he is quite concerned about what Israel may be doing wrong in Gaza.
The Himyarite Kingdom is a cautionary tale – the one time we had power in the last 2000 years, we abused it. Today’s Haftorah is another cautionary tale of many – “Your princes are rebellious; they are companions of thieves,” roars Yeshaya. “Everyone loves bribes and runs after payments,” he screams. “They ignore the orphan and widow.” Power, warns Yeshaya, is the most intoxicating and addictive drug.
This is not to say that power is intrinsically evil. The idea that anyone who is in power is evil is a perverse and illogical idea that has taken the Western world by storm; it is one of the idiotic philosophies that fuels antizionism. Judaism does not believe power is evil. But it does believe that power is fraught with danger. Rav Soloveitchik, a fierce defender of the State of Israel, once wondered out loud what would have happened if the Jewish People had a kingdom in Medieval Europe. Would we have been different than our neighbors, or would we join the Christians and Muslims in their blood orgies?
The antisemites of the world do not need our help. Our brothers and sisters in Israel do. We need to think twice and three times and four times before publicly saying anything that can harm our family. But among brothers and among sisters, we must be honest with ourselves; we are fighting a just war, going above and beyond, but that does not mean we are perfect. We cannot allow ourselves to be infatuated with our strength nor self-righteous over our just cause. A healthy people are devastated by the death toll in Gaza, exaggerated or not. A healthy people introspect and recognize the blinding force of being in power.
***
Yeshaya finishes the prophecy we read this morning with one piece of hope – Tziyon b’mishpat tipadeh. That Zion will be redeemed with justice. Justice means to not abuse our power. And justice – as defined by Jewish ethics – also means to love our family fiercely, not to the exclusion of, but before we love others.
by Ner Tamid | Jul 20, 2025 | Sermons
For the past few years, our shul has conducted an auction on Simchas Torah. Though it was new for our shul, the custom of auctioning honors on Simchas Torah goes back hundreds of years and is fairly standard in many shuls. What is not so standard, and something that I believe is unique to Ner Tamid, is that in addition to auctioning off honors, we also auction off the opportunity to choose a sermon topic for one Shabbos. This year, the highest bidder for choosing a sermon topic was Rabbanit Ahava Schachter-Zarembski.
After Simchas Torah, she told me she purchased it for her son, Meshullam, who is eight years old. Last time a parent bought this opportunity for a child, the sermon topic I was given was Marvel vs. DC, which is a far more controversial topic than I ever realized. So Meshullam comes to my office, we make some small talk, and then I ask him, what should I speak about? I’m wondering to myself which videogames he’s into, maybe he’s a sports fan, maybe fantasy books.
Meshullam says, “Can you please speak about Chevron?”
Chevron the superhero or do you actually mean Chevron the ancient city in Israel?
Yes, Chevron the ancient city in Israel.
Well, Meshullam and his brother and mother are moving to Israel in a little over a week, and so it’s time for me to follow through and give a sermon about Chevron. Are you ready, Meshullam? Here we go.
In 1929, one of the most vicious pogroms took place in Israel. Israel was never a safe place for the Jewish People and every now and then, there were attacks on Jews. But as Zionism gathered steam, the Arab population grew quite nervous about the growth of the Jewish community in the Holy Land. On August 24, 1929, a rumor was spread that the Jewish People were trying to take over the Temple Mount. At 8:30 AM, as many men were making their way to shul for Shabbos morning davening, a terrible massacre began. I will omit the details due to the age of the crowd, but 69 Jews lost their lives that day. There had been a Jewish community in Chevron for over 800 years, but after this massacre every single Jew left.
Rav Avraham Yitzchak Kook was the chief rabbi of Israel at the time. When he heard what was taking place he immediately ran to the British High Commissioner, Sir Harry Luke, begging him to send his troops to intercede. The High Commissioner refused. A few days later, the High Commissioner came to visit Rav Kook and put out his hand to greet him. Rav Kook, who was known to be the most loving and forgiving person, refused to shake his hand, stating that he would not shake a hand covered in Jewish blood. (Rabbi Simcha Raz)
Rav Kook gathered the Jewish community together for a memorial service and shared the following message: “The holy martyrs of Chevron do not need a ‘memorial’ service,” he announced. “The Jewish people can never forget the holy and pure souls who were slaughtered by those murderers and vile thugs. Rather, we must remember and remind the Jewish people not to forget the city of the patriarchs. Am Yisrael must know what Chevron means to us.”
He continued: “We have an ancient tradition:‘Maaseh avos, siman lebanim—The actions of the fathers are signs for their descendants.’ When the weak-hearted meraglim, the biblical spies, arrived at Chevron, they were frightened by the fierce nations inhabiting the land. But Calev quieted the people for Moshe. “We must go forth and conquer the land,” he said. “We can prevail!” (Bamidbar, 13:30).”
Concluded Rav Kook: “Despite the terrible tragedy that took place in Chevron, we hereby announce to the world, ‘Our strength is now like our strength was then!’ We will not abandon our holy places and sacred aspirations. Chevron is the city of our fathers and mothers, of Mearas HaMachpela [where our forefathers are buried] … It is the city of King David —the cradle of our sovereign monarchy. עוד תבנה—it will yet be rebuilt—Jewish Chevron will be built again, in all its honor and glory!”
For almost 40 years Rav Kooks’ words rang hollow. Despite the rich history of the city dating all the way back to Avraham Avinu, despite the many whose parents lived in that holy city for over a thousand years, Chevron did not have a single Jewish resident. Until 1967.
After the Six-Day War, Chevron was under Jewish control. However, the government and army prevented any Jews from entering the city. Not to be deterred, a woman by the name of Sarah Nachshon could not be held back. She led a group to the outskirts of the city and established a new Jewish city called Kiryat Arba. But this holy and determined woman was not satisfied. So a little while later, she and a group of women and their children slipped into Beit Haddassah, a deserted hospital in Chevron, and refused to leave until the government allowed them to live in Chevron. The government assumed that after a while the women would give up and leave. But they didn’t. And after a full year of living in this hospital, the government relented and allowed for the Jewish community of Chevron to be rebuilt.
While she was leading this sit-in or live-in in Beit Hadassah, Sarah Nachshon gave birth to a son. And she thought to herself, how can I be so close to the burial place of Avraham Avinu, the first Jew to ever have a Bris, and not have my son’s circumcision in Avraham’s burial place, the Mearas Hamachpeilah? Sure enough, their son, Avraham Yedidia, was circumcised in the Tombs of the Patriarchs.
Tragically, a few months later, this son died. Sarah Nachshon was determined to bury the baby in Chevron’s ancient Jewish cemetery. The government adamantly refused. It would cause an uproar among the Arabs living there. The army was instructed to block the road to the Jewish cemetery knowing that she would try to bury her son. Sure enough, she showed up, carrying her deceased infant in a tallis. The instructions from Tel Aviv were to prevent her from going through. But the soldiers refused. And Avraham Yedidia Nachshon was buried by his mother, Sarah, in the ancient Jewish cemetery of Chevron.
Rav Kook was right. It is a city of strength. And it was a city that would ultimately be rebuilt. Sarah Nachshon, following in the footsteps of King David, in the footsteps of Calev, in the footsteps of Avraham, rebuilt the city of Chevron.
But the question is why? That’s Meshullam’s question. Why have Jews always been so obsessed with this city? Why did Sarah Nachshon go to such great lengths to resettle the city? Why did a small population of Jews live in a predominantly Arab city for centuries? Why did King David need to go there to start his monarchy? Why did Calev pray there? Why did Avraham go to great lengths to bury his wife there? You would imagine all of this should have taken place in Jerusalem. Is that not our holiest city? What is the significance of this city of Chevron?
Here’s where we get a little more mystical, so buckle up. The root of the name Yerushalayim is shalom, which means peace and harmony. The root of the name Chevron is chibur, which means joining together. Both cities represent Divine connection, but that’s where the commonalities end.
Yerushalayim’s most famous structure, the Bais Hamikdash, stood atop a mountain. Chevron’s most famous structure, the burial place of our forefathers is a cave, Mearat Hamachpeila, literally the double cave. It’s called a double cave because it is a cave within a cave. One city’s center was open and elevated, the other city’s center is hidden deep under the ground.
Another contrast – We know of the many prayers said in Yerushalayim, by King David, by King Solomon, by Ezra. But in Chevron, there is mysterious silence. Avraham goes there to eulogize his wife, but the Torah makes no mention of what he says. We know that Calev goes there to pray for strength, but his prayer is only subtly alluded to the text and nothing more.
Rav Moshe Wolfson suggests that while Yerushalayim and Chevron are both cities of connection, Yerushalayim represents an overt and tangible connection to the Divine, whereas Chevron represents the hidden connection.
This idea, I believe, is alluded to in a rather strange passage in the ancient Medrashic work, Yalkut Shimoni. It relates how Adam was looking for a place to bury his wife, Eve. He walked by Chevron, and he smelled a smell that he recognized from the past; Chevron smelled like the Garden of Eden. The Medrash tells us that he started digging so he could reach Gan Eden, but an angel made him stop.
This story represents the essence of Chevron. In Jerusalem you would hear the music of the Leviim and see the beauty of the Temple. In Chevron, you would hear silence and stare at a rocky terrain. The angel prevented Adam from digging all the way to Gan Eden, because Chevron is needed to remind us that there is a form of spirituality, I would argue a more elevated form of spirituality, that remains hidden away.
We live in an era of extreme superficiality. Whether it’s social media which filters away our flaws, or it’s the unprecedented materialism that we both enjoy and are overwhelmed by. In a world of so much externality, we crave for something deeper. Most people will tell you the antidote to superficiality is being authentic, being real, saying whatever is on your mind, sharing and over-sharing until there is nothing hidden at all.
But Chevron tells us that is wrong. And I’ll share personally here – as someone who tries to share their inner world with others, you, I will tell you that I often second-guess myself. I do find value in sharing my inner experience but sometimes it leaves me depleted, empty.
We are not supposed to dig all the way to Gan Eden; we need to appreciate the rich spiritual world that lives inside.
Those feelings of intense emotions that you cannot articulate, the small joys that no one else will understand, the deep pain which no one can relate to, the yearnings for G-d and for growth, as fleeting as they may be, Chevron reminds us to savor them, to swish them around in our mind and our heart, to allow them to breathe in their natural hidden habitat. That’s where real spirituality lives and thrives; hidden away. I used to think it was a tragedy that there are parts of us that can never be understood by others. But I was wrong. Chevron teaches us that this part of us, that cannot be shared, is a gift from G-d.
Meshullam, I imagine you chose this topic of Chevron because someone you know quite well embodies these ideas – your mother. Like Calev, she is a fighter and able to hold her own. Like Sarah Nachshon she yearns to live in holiness as difficult as it may be, and that’s why you and your family are making Aliyah. And like the city itself, she has a deep and powerful inner world. We have had the opportunity to learn from your mother – she has given numerous classes in our shul during your short time here. Thank you for giving us a taste of Chevron here in Baltimore. And we wish you so much success in Israel.
We are in the midst of the Three Weeks. It’s a time we mourn for the loss of the Bais Hamikdash, that holy edifice in Yerushalayim, that was destroyed. There is only one ancient building from the times of the Temple that has not been destroyed, and that is – Mearat Hamachpeila in Chevron. Being authentic and ‘putting it out there’ may feel strong, but it’s depleting, and ultimately, it is susceptible to destruction. Our inner world, our precious yearnings and feelings, our Neshama, our hidden connection to G-d, like the city of Chevron, is unbreakable and can never be destroyed.
by Ner Tamid | Jul 13, 2025 | Sermons
What a time to be alive.
I spent the past week reading – that is my ideal vacation. I don’t need to go anywhere fancy; I just need a stack of books. News alert, your rabbi is a big nerd.
Most of the books I read were about antisemitism. Second news alert, your rabbi has a really warped sense of what a relaxing vacation should look like.
In these books on antisemitism there were a few consistent themes. One, we were hated throughout almost all of history. Two, it wasn’t that hard to act out on antisemitism. If someone did not like us, they would attack us. It was as simple as that.
Nowadays, we spend so much time discussing how to combat antisemitism. Imagine discussing how to fight antisemitism with your great-great-grandparents. You know how they combatted antisemitism a hundred years ago? They ran for their lives.
But now, our enemies cannot just attack us; we have an army that fights back. Jihadists like Ahmed Al-Sharaa, the leader of Syria, are meekly turning to Israel with the hope that Israel will offer them peace. We have come to a point where we are so strong, that one of the roles of the IDF is to restrain Jews from fighting back.
What a time to be alive.
I believe the last time we had such security, security to the point that the nations around us were scared to attack us, probably goes back 3297 years to the year 1272 BCE, the year the Jewish People stood on the banks of the Jordan, after defeating the nations of Sichon and Og, the two mightiest armies in the region.
And here’s where history has a funny way of repeating itself. What do you do when you can’t attack with knives and swords? What do you do when your nuclear capabilities are severely limited and your weaponry can’t match up to the Jewish State?
You start a war of words.
Moav and Midian, two countries who hated the Jewish People, realized they did not stand a chance going to battle against the Jews, and so they employed Bilaam, a master orator, to disparage the Jewish People, to curse them and to highlight their every flaw.
What’s fascinating is that if you review many of the classical commentators, they all ask variations of the same question: Who cares if Bilaam cursed the Jewish People? Why do we have an entire Torah portion dedicated to this lowlife? Why does G-d perform crazy miracles, like a talking donkey and preventing Bilaam from cursing the Jews? What’s the big deal?
I don’t blame these rabbis from the Middle Ages for asking this question. Because they lived in a time when if someone did not like us, they killed us. Our enemies did not have to resort to words to hurt us. But I don’t think you and I have this question. Because we live in a time in which they cannot just attack us physically. And so instead, we have experienced time and time again, the lethal power of words.
- How chants of “From the River to Sea,” on college campuses led to physical violence against Jewish students.
- How groups like In Our Lifetime that chant, “Globalize the Intifada,” then go ahead and list addresses of major Jewish organizations and leaders, all but telling their followers to take “justice” into their own hands.
- How on May 20th, the under-secretary-general of the UN issued a dire warning on a BBC interview how “there were 18,000 Gazan babies who would die in 48 hours.” And although the absurd claim was immediately debunked, the next day, two Israeli embassy staffers were shot dead in Washington, DC.
- How just a few days later, a man who yelled, “How many children [have] you killed?” firebombed a group of Jews in Boulder, Colorado, injuring 15 people, and ultimately, killing Karen Diamon.
One commentator understood this. The Abarbanel argues that Bilaam’s curses had no power at all. But had he been successful in cursing the Jewish People it would have galvanized the enemies of the Jews to attack them physically. In 2025, we know all too well what that looks like.
And so instead of just ignoring the “meaningless” words of Bilaam, the Torah records this entire episode, as if to say, there will be a time, thousands of years from now, when the Jewish People will once again be in a position of power, the Jewish People will once again be in a position in which our enemies will be scared to attack, but there will be Bilaams who will attack you with words – Bilaams like Mahmoud Khalil in Columbia chanting death to the Jews, or Bilaams like Tucker Carlson or Candace Owens who platform antisemitic conspiracy theories, or Bilaams like Kanye West and the rapper, Vylan, who lace their music with hatred. The story of Bilaam is a warning – do not ignore those hateful words; they have power.
To further illustrate how powerful words can be, G-d does something rather intriguing. G-d does not just prevent Bilaam from speaking, Bilaam is not kicked off of Twitter and forced to stop sharing his hate. Instead, G-d turns Bilaam’s curses into blessings. Rashi explains that G-d took each of Bilaam’s attempted curses and showed how that curse can actually be a blessing.
If Bilaam were alive in 2025, it does not take much of an imagination to know what he would want to say. I imagine that if Bilaam were around today, he would probably try to claim the Jewish People have outsized influence and control world politics. He would probably claim that we are racist. And he would probably claim that the IDF kills Arabs indiscriminately.
If Bilaam were alive in 2025, if G-d were to take his curses and turn them into blessings, this is probably how Bilaam’s curses-turned-blessings would sound:
“Hen am l’vadad yishkon, it is a nation that lives alone.” The Jewish People are not looking for world dominion; they are looking to be left alone, to live in peace. There are no Elders of Zion plotting world dominion. The wealthiest people on earth are not Jews. But the Jews do indeed have an outsized influence. We have made outsized contributions to the field of life-saving medicine. We have an outsized representation in the realm of social justice. We give more dollars per capita to charity than any other faith group. Our stated mission is to support and elevate the nations around us. Bilaam of 2025 would affirm the outsized positive influence of our nation.
He would then be forced to continue:
“Mah tovu oholecha, how beautiful are your tents!” Like the tents of Avraham, opened on four sides to every passerby regardless of their faith, regardless of their race. Judaism is not racist. On the contrary, it is the only faith that believes that it does not have a monopoly on heaven. Ours is a tradition that does not call others dhimmis or sinners; instead it coins terms like tzadikei umos ha’olam, righteous gentiles. Spend a moment in Israel and you will meet millions Jews of all colors.
And then finally, Bilaam of 2025 would concede:
“Kara shachav ka’ari, the Jewish People crouch like a lion.” That yes, we attack, yes, we fight, yes, we bomb. But our preferred state is that of a crouching lion, of not attacking at all. As Paul Johnson once noted, it was the Jews who taught the world that peace is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign of strength. In our tradition, the word we use for peace, Shalom, is also a name of G-d. We cannot finish a single prayer without beseeching G-d for peace. We are obsessed with peace.
Sometimes we have to kill. And sometimes our army makes mistakes, let’s be honest with ourselves. But warfare as a value?! Killing children as something to glorify?! There is nothing further than the truth. As Golda Meir so beautifully put it, “We will perhaps in time be able to forgive the Arabs for killing our sons, but it will be harder for us to forgive them for having forced us to kill their sons.”
What a time to be alive.
Like the times of the Bilaam of old, we live in a time of unprecedented Jewish strength.
Like the times of the Bilaam of old, we live in a time when our enemies must resort to words – dangerous, hateful, lethal words.
Like the times of the Bilaam of old, we have internalized the message of our parsha; we know how dangerous those words can be, and we must fight them at every turn.
May we merit to live in a time in which all of Bilaam’s blessings come true, a time in which dorach kochav mi’Yaakov, a Messianic star will shoot forth from Yaakov, and the Jewish value of peace will reign supreme.
by Ner Tamid | Jun 29, 2025 | Sermons
In 1956, Rav Moshe Feinstein, the preeminent Halachic authority of the time, received a fascinating question. There were a group of Orthodox Jews who refused to pray in a certain local shul and wanted to start a breakaway minyan. They were looking for Rav Moshe’s approval for their decision.
Now as well know, it is very easy for Jews to come up with reasons why they won’t daven in a particular shul and why they absolutely must start a breakaway minyan. The mechitza is too tall, the mechitza is too small. There’s too much talking, there is not enough talking. They never have kiddush, they waste their money on kiddush. You name it, if there is a shul, we will find good reason not to daven there. But you will never guess what this group’s issue was.
Their issue was with the Israeli and American flags that stood prominently in the front of the shul. They argued that those flags were objects of worship; it was a form of Avoda Zarah. How could one daven in a room that displayed idolatry? As bizarre as this may seem to you, it’s worth noting that over the past two decades there has been pushback in Christian circles around the placement of flags in churches for the same reasons. (See here: https://thelehrhaus.com/commentary/star-spangled-synagogue-do-national-flags-belong-in-our-houses-of-worship/)
Rav Moshe Feinstein, ultimately concludes his response to this question by stating: “Those who want to make a minyan elsewhere because of this and think they are doing something great, are acting inappropriately. It is politically motivated and driven by the evil inclination and Satan.” Next time someone wants to start a breakaway minyan, show them this piece.
Before you get all excited, it’s worth noting that Rav Moshe does not love the practice of placing flags in a shul. Though he says they should not be removed if it would cause any arguments in the community, he calls the practice of placing flags in a shul a foolish practice.
And it begs the question, where did this practice come from? Some of you who travel to other countries may have noticed that in most countries they do not display flags, certainly not flags of the host country, in their shuls. Why do so may American shuls have American flags? And, should we keep our flag in our shul?
So let’s learn a little history. Americans are known to be the most flag-obsessed country in the world. It was an American flag flying over Ft. McHenry that inspired the star-spangled banner. When the Confederates bombed Fort Sumter in 1861, it caused the main flagpole to break. A picture of the broken flagpole was the image that was used to raise funds for the Union army. At the same time, a law that prohibited bringing American flags to the battlefield was reversed and Union soldiers would regularly march into battle under the red-white-and-blue. Whereas other countries wave their flags on government buildings, in the US, you will find flags on private residences and businesses.
Churches and shuls started placing flags in their sanctuaries around World War 1. In addition to it being a time of nationalistic fervor, it was especially important for religious groups that were being accused of being sympathetic to enemies of the United States demonstrate how patriotic they were. Many shuls which consisted of Russian and German members were extremely careful to show that they considered themselves American.
The next time there was a noted spike in placing flags in shuls was in 1948. After the establishment of the State of Israel, many shuls wanted to show their pride and connection to a Jewish State. But to place a foreign flag in their shul is bad form. So a number of shuls decided to place both an Israeli flag and an American one to show that our connection to Israel does not detract from our connection to America.
Rav Moshe Feinstein was skeptical about the appropriateness of placing a flag in such a holy place. A shul is not a place to make a political statement, even if it’s an important one. A sanctuary is not where we proclaim to the world how connected we feel to this land. If that is the symbolism of this flag then I too, am less than enthusiastic about it being here.
But there is another very famous letter sent by Rav Moshe Feinstein. This letter written in 1984 is addressed to all Jews living in America. He forcefully encourages every Jew to vote in elections, and he sees doing so as an expression of a most fundamental Jewish value: “On reaching the shores of the United States; Jews found a safe haven. The rights guaranteed by the … Constitution and Bill of Rights have allowed us the freedom to practice our religion without interference and to live in this republic in safety. A fundamental principle of Judaism is hakaras hatov — recognizing benefits afforded us and giving expression to our appreciation.”
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a lot to be grateful for. Not only are we grateful for the freedom to practice our faith which has been a centerpiece of the American way since this country came into being. But for a president of the united States to assist Israel in bombing the nuclear plants of Iran – undoubtedly the greatest existential threat we have faced in the past 50 years, despite the pushback that he received from Democrats and Republicans alike, and despite whatever misgivings you may have of him as a person and/ or a politician, to not say thank you at a time like this would be the most un-Jewish thing possible.
In our parsha, Dasan and Aviram, rebel against Moshe and Aharon. “Because you, Moshe, promised to bring us to a land of milk and honey, and we are stuck in the desert for forty years.” And what they said was correct – Moshe did not fulfill his promise to take them to Israel; they were going to die in the desert. What they said was accurate, but they were not right. Because had they had a semblance of hakaras hatov, of gratitude, they would have been overwhelmed by their feeling of indebtedness to Moshe for all the good he did for them and that gratitude would have prevented them from giving voice to their legitimate complaints.
Too often we excuse our lack of gratitude because the same person wronged us in one way or another. The spouse who cooks and cleans was also mean to us. The child who helps was also rude. The friend who is there for us ignored us. Maybe it’s the President of the United States who we may not love for one reason or another. Or maybe, l’havdil, it’s G-d who we have so many questions for. And so we allow our anger and frustration and at times, legitimate, grievances get in the way of us saying, thank you. Dasan and Aviram, who refuse to be grateful are swallowed up by the ground; they are, we are taught (Sanhedrin), left without a connection to the afterlife, another way of saying that gratitude is a core value of our faith.
So no, that flag is not going anywhere. Not only that, but I went ahead and bought myself an American flag magnet for my car. Because we should wave that flag. Whether you feel patriotic or not – as you know, I am not even an American citizen. But I, and all of us, must be so incredibly grateful for the good that this country has brought to the world and brought to us as a people.
