by Ner Tamid | Aug 30, 2026 | Sermons
Tucked into a mountainside in the Shomron lives a community of about a thousand Samaritans. Their exact origin is a matter of dispute but we do know that when they were looking for a place to settle, they deliberately chose Har Gerizim for its significance. Though not very well-known to us, it’s a mountain that plays a dramatic role in this week’s parsha.
As soon as the Jews crossed over the Jordan, they were told to divide in two groups, one on Har Gerizim and one on the neighboring Har Eival. Then, in a highly orchestrated fashion, a list of curses were to be uttered, highlighting a number of immoral behaviors that the Jews were warned not to engage in, to which the people would say Amen.
It’s a puzzling ceremony, which is why many of us gloss over it. Did the Jews not already accept all the Mitzvos at Mt. Sinai? What unique lesson is being taught here?
There are many explanations, but I’d like to focus on one. Rav Ovadya Seforno says something that when I read, I had to read twice to make sure I was reading it correctly. He observes that although much of the Torah is written in the plural, the curses are directed to the individual – arur ha’ish, cursed be the man. He suggests that the individuals being cursed in this passage are not the regular Joe’s of the nation. The people being cursed are the leaders of the Jewish People. As made clear by our prophets, the worst offenders during Biblical times were the most powerful men and women of Jewish society. The function of this ceremony is this: Though we have a concept of arvus, of being responsible for one another. There are limits to this responsibility. When powerful people commit crimes, being that they are so powerful, being that they are so well-connected, G-d said, I recognize that you, the masses, may not be able to stop them, and because of that, you are not responsible. Arur ha’ish; I, says G-d, will curse the sinful leader. Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of it.
This commentary by the Seforno is so instructive. Notice how he does not say that leadership is inherently corrupt, and should therefore be abolished (this is not Woke 1.0).
Torah Judaism is built around leaders – kings, Kohanim, prophets, judges, rabbis, parents and teachers. We need people to guide us and inspire us. But needing leaders is not the same thing as believing leaders are infallible. The ceremony at Har Eival and Har Gerizim was to convey to the Jewish People that as integral as leadership is, leaders should never be fully trusted.
About a month ago, a film was screened in California, called The Darkest Light. It tells the tragic story of the legendary musician, Shlomo Carlebach and highlights the many allegations of sexual abuse that were made against him.
I apologize if this comes as a shock to any of you, that this man, whose tunes are embedded in our davening and whose legacy looms large over all of Judaism, is also accused of engaging in horrible behavior. I know I was taken aback when I first learned about these allegations. You may or may not have noticed, our shul has not had a “Carlebach Minyan” for the past decade. Though we still sing his tunes, once I became aware, I refused to call any of our Friday night minyanim in his name.
As you can imagine, this movie has caused quite a stir.
Since 1998, when some of these allegations became public, there has been pushback. Carlebach had died four years earlier, in 1994, and therefore, had no ability to reply to the claims made against him, which is an important point to ponder. It is undoubtedly appropriate and necessary to report on any living person who is abusing others so as to prevent others from being harmed. But it is a fair question if one should be reporting on those who are deceased and can no longer do any harm. People of good faith can debate this point.
But there are arguments being raised that I believe are not debatable.
There are those who say, “But Carlebach did so much good. Do you know how many people he brought back to Judaism? How many lost souls he gave life to?”
I’d like to remind those people of what was said on Har Eival and Gerizim: “Arur ha’ish,” Great people can do terrible things. As Carlebach’s daughter has written, her father was an incredibly complex man; genuine greatness in one realm does not guarantee goodness in all realms.
There are those who say, “I knew him personally, there is no way he could have done such horrific things.”
I’d like to remind those people of what was said on Har Eival and Har Gerizim: “Arur ha’ish asher yakeh es rei’eihu basaser,” We never know what is in someone’s heart and what someone can do behind closed doors.
There are bad actors who get into jobs of authority that give them access to vulnerable people. There are also good people in such positions who become corrupt over time. There are even good people in positions of power who do not become corrupt, but allow poisonous power to get to their head. I was speaking to a rabbi from a different city this summer who told me he could not go on vacation because his congregants needed him to always be around. That may not be criminal but it is wildly unhealthy. My rebbi used to remind us constantly how the cemetery is filled with indispensable people. Any rabbi that enmeshed in their congregant’s life is not building people; he’s controlling them.
The blessings and curses at Har Eival and Gerizim remind us not to be seduced by charisma, not to be deceived by what may be some truly redeeming qualities, and to recognize that in Judaism we believe that infallibility is reserved for G-d.
How do we do this? How do we balance turning to rabbis for Halachic rulings and advice with the appropriate caution?
Three words – Trust. Your. Gut. #TYG.
This is probably one of the most important messages we need to teach children and remind ourselves, especially as Orthodox Jews.
Because on the one hand, the Torah makes demands on us; though shall, thou shall not. When it comes to Halacha, Jewish practice, our gut doesn’t really matter. I feel bad for you that the laws of Shabbos don’t resonate, I really do, but G-d said so. Our fidelity to the structure of Halacha is an exercise in obedience, submission, humility, all critical qualities in our spiritual development.
But when a rabbi makes a comment that makes us uncomfortable, when a leader does something that doesn’t feel right, or encourages us to do something that doesn’t make sense to us – Trust. Your. Gut.
And I want to be abundantly clear – That doesn’t necessarily mean that our gut is right; but it just might be right for us.
One of the critical elements of sexual abuse prevention is teaching children to trust their instincts. To be able to share with a parent that someone or something makes them uncomfortable. If something feels wrong, children need to know that they could tell someone they trust and they don’t need to prove that their discomfort is justified.
And this is why immediately after crossing the Jordan, the Jewish People gathered at Har Gerizim and Har Eival – to be taught some of the most fundamental lessons of Judaism.
They would need leaders. They would need Kohanim and judges, prophets and teachers. We still do. The Torah asks us to hold our cynicism about leadership at bay and appreciate its value.
But the Torah does not ask us to surrender our judgment to our leaders in the process.
Arur ha’ish. A person can be important and still do something terrible. A person can inspire thousands and still hurt an individual. A person can be a brilliant teacher, a gifted musician, a respected rabbi – or any other admired figure – and still be deeply flawed.
Our children need to know that. And so do we.
Trust your gut does not mean that our gut is always right. It means that when something feels wrong, we don’t silence that feeling simply because the person on the other side is powerful, charismatic, learned, or beloved. We ask. We tell. We take the discomfort seriously.
Judaism demands humility before G-d, submission to His Torah, respect for Torah leaders, but infallibility, that belongs to G-d alone.
by Ner Tamid | Aug 9, 2026 | Sermons
A little over two years ago, I received a call from someone inviting me to come along with him on a trip to Eastern Europe. There is an ancient custom to go to kivrei Tzadikim, the graves of holy people, during the days leading up to Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. This minhag is the basis of the custom that many of you have to visit your parents’ graves during this time.
To be frank, visiting graves of holy people doesn’t appeal to me, but it was a unique experience – and honestly, I needed some content for my High Holiday sermons, so I said yes to this very gracious offer.
It all happened very quickly. I didn’t even have a chance to review the itinerary. After landing in Poland, I found out that one of the places we were visiting, Belarus, has a level four State Department advisory against traveling there – level four being the highest level. In the words of the State Department: “Do not travel to Belarus. The U.S. government has extremely limited ability to help detained U.S. citizens. You may not receive consular access. You could also face arbitrary detention with no contact with the outside world.” Imagine getting arrested in Belarus. That would have been quite the sermon.
I could tell you all about how the Belarus border patrol confiscated my phone and searched my social media accounts another day, what I want to tell you about today is the first stop on this trip, which was in the city of Krakow.
For those who have a very good memory you may recall that that year, two years ago, on the first day of Rosh Hashana, I described the local Krakow population gawking at us identifiable Jews as historical artifacts, and I wondered if one day in the near future that will be the reality in Baltimore, how antisemitism will drive us all away and my great-grandchildren may one day visit the ‘old Baltimore Jewish community.’ So I guess you can say that I found my sermon inspiration. But I realized this past week that there was a far more important message, right in front of me, at the Krakow cemetery, that I completely missed. I’m going to take you on a bit of a journey so please hold on tight.
When you enter the Krakow cemetery, you first encounter the grave of Rav Moshe Isserlis, the Rema, probably the most influential Halachic authority of Ashkenazi Jews. You then see the grave of the Bach, Rav Yoel Sirkis, another exceptionally influential authority, and many other great Torah scholars and Tzadikim. We stood at the graves of these tzadikim, we prayed, we heard some history about these Torah giants. And then our tour guide told us: “By the way, there is another Tzadik buried here, by the name of Rav Yom Tov Lippman Heller. If you want to visit his grave, you have to walk all the way to the other side of the cemetery.” Obviously, it is a little strange that he was buried so far from these other rabbis, but we’ll come back to that soon. Who was Rav Heller?
Yom Tov Lippman Heller was born in 1579, his father died before he was born, he was raised by his grandfather, became a student of the great Maharal of Prague, appointed as a judge, a dayan, of the Prague Rabbinical court at the incredibly young age of 18, and wrote tens of books on all sorts of Jewish topics. Most famously, he wrote a commentary on the Mishna known as the Tosafos Yom Tov. Due to the prominence of this book, many refer to Rav Heller simply as the Tosafos Tom Tov.
In 1629, Rav Heller faced the most traumatic experience of his life. By this point he had been the chief rabbi of Prague for about twenty years and was well-respected, comfortable, and at the height of his career. After the 30-Year War, the government imposed a tremendously large tax on the Jewish population of Prague. Rav Heller led a commission to address the question of how they would raise the funds from the Jewish community, and they decided that they would tax people commensurate to their wealth. The richer the family the more they would pay.
Obviously, the wealthy merchants did not appreciate this. Some went ahead and did the unthinkable. They claimed to the Christian government that Rav Heller was writing anti-Christian literature. These scoundrels even found some equally evil rabbis who they bribed to substantiate their claim. Rav Heller was immediately thrown into jail and sentenced to death.
After a lengthy court case, and a lot of intervention, the judge decided Rav Heller would not be executed but would be fined a ridiculous amount of money and would never be employed as a rabbi again. He spent two years paying off this debt and then left the country for Eastern Europe, where he eventually received a role as the chief rabbi of Krakow.
It’s in Krakow where the most famous Rav Heller story took place. There was a man in Krakow known as Yossele the miser: fabulously wealthy but never gave a penny to anyone in need. The story goes that when he died, as an expression of the community’s distaste for this miser, they buried him at the far end of the cemetery.
Shortly after his shiva, people started lining up outside Rav Heller’s office all needing financial assistance. Every day, the line got longer. Rav Heller started asking these people why they all of a sudden needed his help. One after the other, they explained to him that every single week they would receive a small bundle of money outside their door. They had no idea where it came from, but a week ago, the bundles of money stopped coming.
Rav Heller immediately realized that Yossele the Miser was not a miser. He was a hidden tzaddik. He was supporting all these poor people quietly and now that he had died, there was no one to support them. Realizing how holy this Yossele really was, the Tosafos Yom Tov requested that he be buried at the far end of the Crackow cemetery, right next to Yossele the Miser.
And this is why I found myself trekking across the cemetery to its farthest edge to pray at the grave of the Tosafos Yom Tov, Rav Yom Tov Lippman Heller.
Only that I never got to his grave.
As I got closer, I noticed a huge mass of chassidim surrounding his grave. It turns out that the day we were there, the 6th day of Elul, is his Yahrtzeit. They had set up a tent over his grave; they must have had hundreds of Chassidim there, and one of them, some Rebbe, was giving a talk. I didn’t want to disturb so I walked away.
This past week, I learned that my mother’s mother is a direct descendant of Rav Yom Tov Lippman Heller. Which means that I went all the way to Europe, including risking my life to travel through Belarus, traveled to the cemetery in which my great-great-great-great-grandfather was buried – on his yahrtzeit – In Elul, and I did not even pray at his grave. Ouch.
It seemed so bizarre. I was so close and yet I missed this incredibly special opportunity. Why would this happen? I wonder if maybe I wasn’t worthy of visiting his grave.
You see, the Tosafos Yom Tov was the leading Polish rabbi during the rebellion of the Cossacks led by Bogdan Chmielnicki. During his reign of terror, tens of thousands of Jewish girls were sold as slaves, entire communities were uprooted, and over 300,000 Jews were massacred. Rav Heller led the efforts to provide care for the needy, homes for the homeless, ransom as many young women as they could, and deal with many cases of agunot. It left a deep impression on him.
He decided that one of the reasons that G-d brought this terrible calamity upon them was because the Jews in Poland did not treat shul with the proper decorum. He urged people to not talk at all in shul. He even composed a prayer that was recited every Shabbos, and is still said in many shuls, heaping blessings on those who choose not to talk in shul.
Ironically, that year, on the second day of Rosh Hashana, I spoke about the importance of prayer. I actually began my drasha by lightly mocking those who think the way to a better davening experience is just by getting people to stop talking. I argued that we need more engagement; we need to get more enthused about davening, we need to get people to sing more, to connect more. I tried a daily tefilah email. It fizzled. The whole initiative to elevate the davening in our shul just didn’t work.
This is not a criticism of any of you. Honestly, I see it as a personal failure. Our shul has grown so much, in the number of people in attendance on Shabbos, in the number of people studying Torah daily, in the chesed that is regularly performed. But when it comes to prayer, it’s still a little weak.
And maybe it’s my fault. Maybe I was wrong for arguing against quiet. Maybe we need to start where my great-great-great-grandfather thought we should start – with silence. Maybe the reason I never made it to his grave was because I was not worthy of praying there because I wasn’t willing to take his approach. And maybe just maybe it’s time that I reconsider and appreciate the spiritual power of silence.
Though we Jews like to talk a lot, we are a faith that places a premium on listening. Our parsha begins by describing the fulfilment of the Torah as ‘listening to G-d.’ Twice a day we remind ourselves to listen – Shema Yisrael. Every page of the Talmud invites us to ‘come and listen,’ – ta shma. Instead of learning more about tefilah, instead of singing more, or clapping more, maybe what we really need is to engage in listening, to sit silently in shul, to listen to the words of prayer and to listen to our soul.
There is a Medrash that describes the world going silent when the Ten Commandments were uttered at Har Sinai. The implication is that when G-d spoke the world listened. But Rav Shimshon Pincus says, no. What the Medrash means is that G-d silenced the world. And when there is silence, you could hear the voice of Hashem.
Last week, a number of people forwarded me an ad from a foundation associated with the Tosafos Yom Tov. They are encouraging people to accept upon themselves to choose a particular part of davening – whether it is kaddish, or the Torah reading, or the Chazzan’s repetition – and to commit to not talking for either 40 days or for a year. They have a website where you can fill out what your commitment is. Every commitment is a ticket put into a raffle to win a 1-million-dollar upgrade to your shul. If one of you win, we could skip our next capital campaign!
On Friday, I went on this website and committed to not talking during kaddish for 40 days. I urge you to join me. Yes, it would be wonderful to win that money for our shul. But more importantly, I invite you to join me in making our shul a holier place, a place where we can hear the voice of G-d, a place where we can be proud of our Torah learning, proud of our chesed, and proud of our prayer.
I have no plans on returning to Krakow – I certainly have no plans on returning to Belarus. But I don’t need to go back there. Rav Heller’s powerful advice is right here. We know what he thinks we should do. I hope I don’t miss him a second time.
Sign up here: https://ktyt.org/
by Ner Tamid | Aug 2, 2026 | Sermons
Every year, on Simchas Torah, our shul auctions off the opportunity to choose my sermon topic for one Shabbos. It has an expiry date and honestly, most people forget. We appreciate your donation! This year it was purchased by Boaz and Sarah Edinger, and they did not forget. Boaz reached out to me and asked if this current Shabbos works. ‘No problem. What topic would you like me to discuss?’
Usually when people buy the drasha topic they choose something really out there or a really difficult topic. For example, I once had to give a sermon on superheroes and I spoke about the difference between Marvel and DC; which, by the way, is far more controversial than I imagined. Instead, Boaz asked me to do as follows 1) talk about parenting 2) using a classic question-and-answer dvar Torah style 3) incorporate the concept of nature – that was a nod to his father-in-law, and 4) incorporate a gematria – a nod to his father.
I cannot think of a more difficult ask. I really can’t.
- I’m always happy to discuss parenting one-on-one, but to make grand, sweeping statements, I’d feel a lot more comfortable discussing this topic publicly when my children are all out of the house, assuming they do not have criminal records. But now?
- I have not given a classic question and answer Dvar Torah since my Bar Mitzvah.
- I could talk about nature; that’s fine.
- As I shared with all of you a few months ago, I have a really hard time with gematriyas. I shared with you then that the gematriya, the numerical value, of Ner Tamid is L’doroseichem, which means ‘generations,’ which is so touching and appropriate. But the numerical value of Ner Tamid is also Shaar Gehenom, the gates of hell, and appropriately, Anthony Fauci.
But a deal is a deal so here we go.
By far, the most influential person in history is Avraham Avinu. It’s worth studying the way his parents influenced him to better understand how parents can and cannot affect their children. The Rambam writes that from a very young age, Avraham Avinu started contemplating the existence of G-d. Everyone around him served idols, but he was troubled. It didn’t add up. Something was amiss. He looked out at the sun, the moon, the stars, the weather patterns, he was overwhelmed by the beauty and the clear design in NATURE (!!!!), and could not believe that it just came about on its own.
(Parenthetically, according to the Abarbanel, the intent of the people who built the tower of Bavel was to prevent this from happening. In other words, where do you feel more connected to G-d? In New York City, surrounded by skyscrapers, or in Wyoming, surrounded by mountains?
When you walk through New York City, you see the greatness of man, when you walk through Wyoming, or any other beautiful natural space, you see the greatness of G-d. The evil intention of the people building the tower was to create a human-made edifice to eclipse G-d.)
Avraham, seeing the incredible world that we too often ignore, realized there must be a Creator.
Now how old was Avraham when he made this discovery?
Says the Gemara in Nedarim, the gematria of Eikev – the name of this week’s parsha and a term used in describing Avraham’s commitment to G-d – the numerical value is… 172. How old was Avraham when he died? 175. So how old was Avraham when he started serving G-d?
Bingo.
Nature. Check.
Gematriyah. Check.
The Rambam’s approach of Avraham being only three years old when he began his spiritual journey would seem to teach us that parents have no role at all, that Avraham figured it all out on his own.
But there’s more to the story.
There is nothing written explicitly in the Torah about Avraham’s childhood. We are introduced to him at the age of 75. But in a passage that most of us gloss over, the Torah tells us all about Avraham’s father, Terach. How he traveled from Ur Kasdim, his hometown, to go to Israel. The Torah actually uses identical language to the language that will be used a few verses later in describing Avraham’s journey to Israel. Why? Why does Terach travel there? The Ramban says this was done to save his son, Avraham, who was being persecuted for his religious beliefs. But the Seforno says, no. If that was the reason then all we need to know is that he left Ur Kasdim. Why do we need to know that he tried to travel to Canaan? The Seforno says something incredible. Terach tried to travel to Israel because he recognized there was something G-dly in the land.
We think of Terach as this bumbling foolish idolator. It’s not true. Avraham’s spiritual greatness didn’t emerge in a vacuum. He had a father who was deeply religious and that rubbed off on him. Terach may have been flawed; he never finished his journey to Israel, he likely taught Avraham to do things which were antithetical to the values that Avraham ultimately adopted. But it was specifically in the home of a genuine spiritual seeker that Avraham, the greatest spiritual seeker of all, begins his own journey. (Quick bonus gematriyah – If you take the numerical value of the letter added to Avraham’s name – the hey/ 5 – and add it to the name of Terach, which has the value of 608, you get 613…)
What the Torah is teaching us by highlighting Terach’s life and journey is that values are not taught; they are caught. It wasn’t the particular messages that Terach shared with Avraham; those were ignored. Terach modeled a life of spiritual pursuits, and that created the setting for Avraham’s greatness.
That is the simple meaning of the passage we read every day, from our parsha, v’limad’tem osem es b’neichem, “teach your children [Torah]” How? This is Sarah and Boaz’s question – V’dibarta bam b’shivtecha b’veisecha uv’lecht’cha badrech… By speaking about Torah when you travel, when you lie down, by immersing yourself in Torah and Judaism.
D’var Torah? Check?
Let me give you a wonderful example. My siblings are all here visiting this Shabbos. When we were growing up, our father begged us, pleaded with us, threatened us: do not go into the rabbinate. Stay away from Jewish-related work. It’s stressful, it doesn’t always pay well, you end up travelling a lot. Well guess what happened? My youngest brother is an educator for a local school here called Toras Simcha, my sister works for a Jewish Chesed organization in Toronto called One Toronto, my next brother works for Nefesh B’nefesh, another brother does not formally work in the not-for-profit sector but engages in enough Jewish-related projects on the side that it’s like he works in the Jewish world, and another brother works for Agudas Yisrael. Then there’s me.
So my parents could yell and scream that working in the Jewish world is a really bad idea. But my father and mother had incredible careers in the Jewish world and impacted thousands of people’s lives and that’s what we saw. So guess what we decided to do? Values are not taught; they are caught.
Of course, this could go in the opposite direction as well. We could tell our children how important it is for them to keep Shabbos, do Mitzvos, be a good person, but if we aren’t modeling exactly what we wnat to see in them, we are wasting our breath.
I read a story years ago which took me many years to understand. It’s a story about a couple who were expecting their first child and visited Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, asking him what they should do to be good parents. He answered, if you’re starting now, you’re too late.
I was very bothered by the story; it sounded very defeatist and uncharacteristic of Rav Shlomo Zalman.
Until I realized that what Rav Shlomo Zalman was trying to tell these parents was that if you want a child who will be kind, you need to work on your own kindness.
If you want a child who will have healthy relationships, you need to work on your relationships, with your spouse, with your parents, with your friends.
If you want a child who will be devoted to Torah and Mitzvos, you need to work on your connection to G-d. You can’t outsource their Jewish connection to sending them to Jewish schools or camps. It starts and ends at home.
Parents complain that their kids spend too much time on their phones… Before we start lecturing them, we need to check how much time we spend on our phones each week.
People wonder why their children are not interested in Judaism… How devoted are we?
Parents are bothered by the way their children are cynical, negative, lazy, loud, rude, fill in the blank. And then look in the mirror.
V’shinantem l’vanecha, the only way to teach our children is v’dibarta bam, if it’s real to us. That’s the lesson I learned from my parents, and that’s the lesson I share with you, Sara and Boaz. Sara and Boaz, whose names have the gematria of banim uvnei vanim oskim baTorah uvamitzvos, ohavei Hashem yirei Elokim…. Okay, not really. But may you and all those who are blessed with children merit to be worthy of emulation, and may we live up to the ideals that we dream of seeing in our children.
