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.
by Ner Tamid | Jul 26, 2026 | Sermons
This past Sunday, a woman from the shul called me to ask me a shaila, but before she began, she asked me if my family in Canada was alright. Aside from a lousy economy and rabid antisemitism, I told this woman that my family in Canada was doing just fine. “Why do you ask?”
“Well,” she said. “I came to shul last week and noticed you weren’t there. When I asked someone where you were, this person told me that you went to Canada to save your family from the Canadian forest fires.”
So allow me to clarify. No, I did not go to Canada last week. And no, I am not a fireman.
But it did get me thinking – if I decided to quit the rabbinate, what second career would I pursue?
According to recent data, Google searches for “career change” were at a record high through June, about triple what it was five years ago. With the exception of politicians, who in the words of Nelly Bowles, would rather have a heart attack on C-Span than give up their jobs, most Americans are looking to switch careers.
Parenthetically, the top careers that people were looking to switch into were going into real estate, becoming a social worker, and becoming a… firefighter…
In our tradition, the most impressive, boldest, career changer was Rabbi Akiva. He was a vicious anti-rabbi and desperately poor shepherd for forty years. Until one day he decided to start learning Torah, and became the most famous, accomplished, and wealthy, Torah scholar in history.
We all know the famous story, how Akiva the shepherd saw a rock with a hole in it. And he realized that a small drip of water over years, maybe centuries, created the hole in that rock.
How many people walked by that rock? How many people observed a hole in that rock and never stopped to ask themselves, how did this happen? How many people realized what happened, but never stopped to consider how that holy rock could be relevant to their lives?
Albert Einstein once said: “Creativity is seeing what everyone else has seen, and thinking what no one else has thought.”
That is the greatness of Rabbi Akiva. His defining feature was thinking what no one else had thought. The Talmud tells us that Rabbi Akiva’s specialty was deriving inferences from the crowns over the words in the Torah scroll. For centuries, those crowns were meticulously drawn over certain letters, but no one ever stopped to ask why; what do they mean? Rabbi Akiva saw what everyone else saw and thought what no one else was willing to think.
The most famous story of Rabbi Akiva has him standing over the ruins of the Bais Hamikdash with his colleagues. They see the ruins and cry; he laughs. They are astonished; how could you laugh when coming face to face with such devastation? He responds by connecting two seemingly unconnected verses and extrapolating that somehow the fulfillment of the destruction prophecies will lead to a fulfillment of the rebuilding prophecies. His colleagues reply, Akiva, nichamtanu, Akiva, nichamtanu. You have comforted us.
Notice how his comfort does not come by seeing something new; it comes about by thinking new thoughts. This is the essence of true Torah learning, chiddushei Torah. In response to Jewish thinkers who tried changing the fabric of Judaism by advocating for changes in Jewish law, Rav Soloveitchik beautifully distinguished between shinuyim and chidushim. A shinuy, a change, is a distortion of Judaism; it dismisses the sacred and eternal nature of G-d’s word. A chidush is the essence of Judaism; it reminds us that each precious word is packed with infinite meaning, waiting for the next generation of Torah scholars to mine its eternal message. A few decades before Einstein’s formulation, the great Sefas Emes taught his students that “A chiddush, a new Torah insight, is not creating something out of nothing; it is revealing the hidden light that was always there.”
Many people make changes; far fewer innovate. A change, a shinuy, is moving from one set of circumstances to another. Making aliyah, taking a new job, or getting remarried are all profound changes, but they can still be little more than replacing one address, one office, or one relationship with another. It’s not working out with this spouse; let me find another. This job is too taxing; maybe being a fireman will be less demanding. I don’t have any friends here: I’ll move somewhere else and hope for the best. That’s change; shinuy.
Chiddush, innovation, is different. It is the willingness to create a new way of living. The successful innovator doesn’t simply move, find a new job, or remarry. They build a new reality shaped by the wisdom, scars, and growth of the past. Change alters our circumstances; innovation transforms the person living within them.
This Shabbos we are celebrating two wonderful and amazing couples. Jon and Rachel Groner joined our shul a few years ago. They were both retired, having dedicated decades of their lives to professional accomplishments and community building. They had a lot of experience and yet, there was one question that they would always ask me, “How are things done over here at Ner Tamid?” They wanted to help, but they didn’t want to recreate Ner Tamid. Rachel and Jon appreciated what we have going here and within those parameters, they applied themselves. In the few years they were here, they were on countless committees, always volunteering to help, leading the Sisterhood, sitting on the Israel committee, and more. You did not make changes, you innovated, and in doing so, you transformed our shul.
And during this time, you also transformed. The dedication to Torah study, which was dormant, was awakened; you learned together as a couple, you came to every class you could. You didn’t run away from your past; you embraced what you had before you and evolved. And now, you are off to the next step in your journey; one that you never saw coming, but you opened yourself up, and allowed the power of chiddush to take you to Israel.
We are also celebrating the upcoming wedding of Mark Schwartzman to Julie Katz. Mark is probably one of the most long-standing members in this shul today. He is also one of the most creative people I know. Through the 13 years I have known him, he has constantly come up with new ideas. As creative as those ideas were they were always sober – he was very cognizant of what Ner Tamid is, where Ner Tamid is located, how we can evolve without losing the spirit of our beloved shul.
And now, I have had the pleasure of watching you evolve. Since meeting Julie, you have become a new person. Not because you have changed, but because your bride has brought out the most beautiful traits that were always there, they were just waiting for Julie to breathe new life into them.
There is an age-old question that is asked about this Shabbos, Shabbos Nachamu. How could we go so quickly from sitting on the floor reflecting on the most horrific moments of Jewish history, highlighting the brokenness that exists in the world, to a Shabbos in which we are expected to be overjoyed, to a weekend in which concerts are taking place all over the Jewish world, a Shabbos of unbridled simcha? Did anything change? Can we just forget the Holocaust? Can we just ignore the raging antisemitism in America?
The answer is clear. We don’t just walk away from Tisha B’av. Shabbos Nacahmu is a time to reveal the hidden light that was always there.
It’s a time to say that yes, Jewish history is tragic, filled with persecution. But it is also filled with people who had the courage to rebuild.
It’s a time to say yes, the political climate is frightening; more and more Americans are turning to antisemitism. But there are also more and more Jews who have been awakened to the beauty that Torah Judaism has to offer.
It’s a time to say yes, my life is imperfect. I feel stuck. I feel lost. I feel down. But as a Jew, as a disciple of Rabbi Akiva and the holy Sefas Emes, I have the ability to reveal hidden light that is always there.
Mark and Julie, nichamtanu – you have brought us comfort. Rachel and Jon, nichamtanu – you have brought us comfort. May we all find the hidden light within our history, our relationships, and ourselves, and may we have the courage not merely to change our circumstances, but to reveal what was waiting there all along. And may the day soon come when Rabbi Akiva’s laughter is fully understood, when every promise of rebuilding is fulfilled, and when Hashem transforms our mourning into joy and brings true comfort to the Jewish people.
by Ner Tamid | Jul 5, 2026 | Sermons
Mazel Tov Eli on your Bar Mitzvah! You did a fantastic job reading the second to longest parsha in the Torah. Does anyone know how many pessukim there are in this week’s parsha?
Wrong.
There are 167 and a half pessukim.
There is one word in this week’s parsha that has a VAV in it. Instead of a regular vav, which is essentially a line, there is a crack in the line – a vav ketuah. In Teshuvos Binyan Av, Rav Doron tells a story about a shul in which the Baal Koreh did not realize the vav was supposed to have a crack in it. The Baal Koreh saw the letter had a crack in it, stopped reading, thinking it was an invalid Torah, and had the Torah returned to the Aron. They took out another Torah and also found a crack in the vav. They finally took out a third Torah in which the VAV did not have a crack and read from it, not realizing that it was the third Torah that was actually invalid.
In 1743, in Rovigo, Italy, a young rabbi was double-checking the Torah scroll before Shabbos and found that the VAV in this week’s parsha had no crack in it and decided to not use that Torah. The community members were up in arms, claiming that their custom was to write the VAV regularly, with no crack. They sent the question to the rabbis of Venice for a ruling, and they affirmed that it was indeed an Italian custom to write a regular VAV. Other rabbis got involved. A rabbi from Padua vehemently disagreed and declared all those Torahs with a proper VAV to be invalid. Rabbis from Amsterdam and from Poland even got into the mix. (h/t Rabbi Josh Flug)
Does anyone know which word in this week’s parsha is the center of this controversy?
Ironically, the word that caused so much dispute and disagreement is none other than the word Shalom, peace.
Last week’s parsha concludes with a Jewish prince committing a horrible crime in public. He takes a Midyanite woman into his tent but not before taunting Moshe in full view of the Jewish People. His actions have the potential of totally undermining Moshe’s authority and with that, the stability and unity of the Jewish People. But Moshe is frozen. The Torah tells us that he was overwhelmed, he was crying in despair. Pinchas, Moshe’s nephew, enters the scene, he grabs a spear and kills this Jewish prince.
Our parsha begins with G-d declaring that what Pinchas did was noble and as a reward, he will receive “brisi shalom, a covenant of peace.” It is that word shalom, the gift given to Pinchas, in which the letter VAV is cracked.
Why?
Rabbi Berel Wein suggests a simple and relatable answer. Peace is fragile. It’s all too easy for familial relationships to unravel, for friendships to go cold, for neighbors to stop talking to one another. All it takes is one careless remark, one inconsiderate action, and it all comes undone. Shalom is written with a broken letter to remind us how careful we must be to maintain peace.
Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch has a very different approach that is both profound and especially pertinent:
He observes that many people see peace as a soft value. Meaning, peace is attained when people look the other way, when people don’t bother arguing with one another, when societies adopt a live and let live philosophy. That, he argues, is false and it’s dangerous. That’s not peace; it’s a lack of conviction.
250 years ago, to this day, a group of men declared independence from British rule and in doing so declared war against the English. There were many who argued that what were doing was foolish. Why couldn’t they just put their heads down and accept the current reality? But those men were anything but foolish; they were filled with conviction. Were they looking to fight? No. They were looking for peace. But they were driven by deeply held convictions about how a society should function, that all men are created equal, that no man is above the law, and that everyone should be treated with respect. They understood that the only way to get that result was through war. (h/t Rabbi Josh Flug)
In the early 1940’s this debate raged once again. Should the US enter the war theater in Europe or should they stand by? Yes, the axis of evil was… evil, there was no doubt. But why should the US get involved? It’s not our fight! Thank G-d, men of conviction stepped up, sending hundreds of thousands of American soldiers into war, and through their intervention bringing about true peace. Had they not done so, I, and many others in this room, would not be standing here today.
It’s an argument that is once again ripping apart this country as we debate the value of crushing evil regimes across the world.
Shalom, peace, says Rav Hirsh, is too often a reflection of weakness, physical and moral weakness. Hence, the word Shalom is written with a broken VAV. Remove the VAV and what you have is Shaleim – perfection, conviction, strength. Torah-driven peace is not weak; Torah-driven peace is driven by superhuman strength. Moshe stood still and cried. But Pinchas armed himself, he shed blood, and in doing so brought about true and lasting peace.
Anyone who knows Eddie and Ita Rosenblatt knows that they are the nicest, kindest people around. Always with a smile, always ready to help, always peaceful. But if you really know Eddie and Ita, you would know that their peace is driven by conviction. Theirs is not the soft-everything-goes type of peace. They are warriors. They fight for their children, they fight for what they believe in, they fight to do what’s right – they are shaleim, and that’s why they are b’shalom, that’s why they are so peaceful.
Eli, you have so many talents and skills; you’re bright, you’re good at math, you love to learn Torah, you’re curious, and you come across as incredibly sweet. And yet, when your parents were singing your praise, one of the words that they used is that you are a gavra, from the word, gibbor. You have a quiet, understated strength that drives you. Like your parents, you understand that true peace is fueled by conviction.
Allow me to conclude with story that some of you may know but every time I think about it, I am moved. Just over a month ago, in Monsey, New York, a terrible tragedy unfolded. Yudi Herzberg was picking his son up from school when he received a call from his wife. She was frantic, she could hardly speak, something about their daughter being hit by a car. Yudi raced home and found his eight-year-old daughter, Charlotte, on the street surrounded by members of Hatzalah.
He immediately noticed his best friend and next-door neighbor, who was also a member of Hatzalah, and that made him feel a little more comfortable. Knowing that his friend was there meant that his daughter would receive the best possible care. Only that Yudi noticed something was wrong. His friend saw him but did not come over, he avoided eye contact and quickly looked away. And then it clicked. The car on the street right next to Charlotte’s motionless body was the car of his best friend.
Hatzalah whisked his daughter away and sped to the nearest emergency room. They worked on her for over 40 minutes, but tragically, Charlotte would not make it. On June 3rd, Charlotte was laid to rest.
At the funeral, Yudi got up to speak. He spoke about his precious daughter, her smile, her energy. He thanked the many people who tried to help her. And then he acknowledged the elephant in the room. “I’ve been wondering to myself,” he said, “how this could have happened. Not just the tragic death of my daughter. But how could it be that my closest friend, the man I speak to whenever I need advice, the nicest guy I know could have caused this?”
“It must be,” he continued with a crack in his voice, “that there was a conversation up in heaven. G-d was boasting about how peaceful our community is, how much shalom there is between neighbors, how different types of Jews could all get along. And the Satan came along and said, ‘Big deal. The only reason there is shalom is because they’ve never been tested.’ And Hashem gave Satan permission to test us. This is the only plausible reason I could come up with.”
And then Yudi’s voice rose to almost a yell. “But Satan,” Yudi said, “you underestimated us! We will not fall for your trap! We will not point fingers! We will not spread stories! We will not allow this terrible incident to rip us apart! We will double down in how loving we are with one another! I bear no grudge against my friend; he is still my best friend! And I ask you,” he concluded, “to join me in bringing more shalom to the world.”
Tell me that shalom is soft. It is not. Shalom is made of steel. Shalom demands superhuman inner strength.
But I can’t help but wonder if Yudi Herzberg got the details of his heavenly story somewhat wrong. I can’t help but wonder if after October 7th, G-d was boasting at how unified the Jewish People were, how we all came together as one family, across religious divides, across continents. I can’t help but wonder if the Satan was given permission to test us, in Israel, in Baltimore, all over the world, to see if we could really hold it together.
The Herzberg family launched a campaign this past week called Shalom for Charlotte. They are asking people to commit to one act of shalom. These are not weak acts; they are acts that demand strength. Stop waiting for your friend to apologize and take the first step yourself. Call the sibling you haven’t spoken to in years. Take some time to better understand a fellow Jew who has an opinion you believe to be wrong. LINK: https://shalomforcharlotte.com/
As we start the Three Weeks of Mourning, a time to reflect on the cause of the destruction of the Bais HaMikdash there is no greater time to learn from the Rosenblatt’s and to learn from the Hertzberg’s, to find the courage to make peace, the strength to forgive, to make Shalom for Charlotte.
by Ner Tamid | Jun 21, 2026 | Sermons
In Parshas Korach, a portal to hell opens up in the ground. I could only imagine the shock of the onlookers, watching as this portal sucked in everything and everyone in its vicinity. The noise! The ground shaking, the screams; it must have been so frightening and unsettling for the Jewish People.
And then the sense of relief when it finally closed. It’s over. We’re done. We could stop clutching our children; we’re safe.
That’s an image that kept popping up in my head this week, but in the inverse:
About three months ago, a portal to Olam Habbah, to the Messianic Era, was opened in the heavens. When the American and Israeli governments attacked Iran at the end of February, killing the Ayatollah, severely damaging their weapons, and crippling their economy, peace and security for the Jewish People was finally in sight. Hamas was decimated, Hezbollah was shutting down, and now their great sponsor, the Iranian regime, was finally getting their due. This was how Mashiach was going to go down.
The portal cracked open 78 years ago, when the State of Israel was formed. Two decades later, the Har Habayit was back in our hands and that hole to heaven expanded, and now, after so much bloodshed, we were finally going to have peace.
I felt drawn into that portal in the most beautiful way. Mashiach was coming; you could just feel it. I would tell my kids every Friday night that I was nervous that Mashiach would come on Shabbos, just as a way to stick it to those of us who chose to live outside of Israel. All of us outside of Israel would be late to the party.
Either way, I could hear the intro music; we were really almost there.
And then, with the stroke of a digital pen on a pathetically weak Memo of Understanding, everything changed. Just like that, the Iranians were gifted billions of dollars which will end up arming Hamas and Hezbollah, they were given the green light to continue building “peaceful nuclear reactors,” and they were given permission to continue stockpiling missiles which will likely end up in Israel. Not to mention the heartbreaking infighting between Jewish brothers playing out on the streets and highways of Israel. And not to mention, the anti-Israel and antisemitic sentiment that exploded during these past months. JD Vance was right when he said no one likes the Jewish State right now. We are not back where we started. We have gone backward. The expanding portal of Olam Habah has slammed shut in our face. I imagine I am not alone in feeling this way.
The question is, what did we learn from this experience?
The first and most obvious lesson is “Al tivtichu bindivim.” King David warned us thousands of years ago not to place our trust in political leaders. For too long, way too many people in the Orthodox community have placed their faith in mortal man. On the streets of Tel Aviv and Jerusalem, banners were raised with the words, “Thank you, G-d, and thank you, President Trump.” We forgot that “Man is like a fleeting breath, his days are like a passing shadow.” The early Zionists erased G-d from the Declaration of Independence and denied His existence; the later Zionists believed in G-d but equated Him to a man. I’m not sure which one is worse.
How did this happen?
In my opinion, we lost the script on politics.
Let me share with you a conversation I had with someone I love and respect. A few weeks ago, this person texted me with the following question. He understood that as a resident of Maryland for his vote to count, he had to switch parties and register as a Democrat. And he was really bothered. To quote: “I’m uncomfortable registering as a Democrat because many of the values associated with the party do not align with my beliefs. How can I switch parties when I don’t identify with the party?”
We could debate which party has more values that we do or do not identify with, but that is really not that point, and I beg you to not get distracted by his position. What I was troubled by was the notion of identifying with any party. No one here is a Republican and no one here is a Democrat. The party you vote for is not your identity.
By extension, our politicians are not our heroes; they are our public servants. You know who else is a public servant? The sanitation crew who picked up the recycling from in front of my house this morning.
Obviously, it would be ideal if the sanitation crew members were all outstanding citizens. An honest sanitation crew member would do a better job if he was a good person. But if my best option is a crook and he gets the job done, I will hold my nose and begrudgingly thank him for getting the job done. That is true for the president of the United States, and it is true for any elected official.
When the Orthodox community elevates public officials into gedolim, into heroes, when Orthodox magazines imply that one party is our identity, they are distorting Jewish values.
This is obviously a timely message for our community as elections are taking place this week. I urge you to vote; it’s critical that we have a large turnout. Who you vote for is obviously your choice. But when you vote, don’t forget that your only real identity is a Jew who lives in America. Full stop. You are not voting for a hero or even a role model and I do not believe that this is a sell-out of our values. On the contrary, I believe that thinking your representative is meant to be a role model is a sell-out of our values. Instead, you are essentially voting for the sanitation worker you believe will best represent the needs of the Baltimore community; the Jewish community, the Black community, the Baltimore community-at-large.
The second lesson I hope we can learn from the Messianic portal closing is that this is an opportunity for real growth.
It’s easy to believe in G-d when all is going well. It’s easy to believe in a positive future when our enemies are being bombed to smithereens. And right now, it’s hard to see the good, you might even feel that it’s hard to see G-d.
But what that means is that this is a real opportunity to deepen our faith; to be inspired by tens of generations of our ancestors who said Shema as they were burned in the auto-de-fe, who sang ani maamin in the gas chambers.
So let’s be honest and say out loud that it is hard to believe in a Messianic era; do we really believe in it?
Let’s be honest and say out loud that it comes across as naïve to talk about a new world order with open miracles; I am sure this whole conversation is making some of you a little uncomfortable.
And – let’s use this vulnerable opportunity to be honest and say that if we truly believe in G-d, if we truly believe in a good G-d, then a world of corruption, a world of dishonest political leaders, a world of pain, a world of hurt cannot be what He has in mind.
If we truly believe in G-d, in a G-d that created the world, then that G-d can just as easily snap His fingers and bring about a totally new reality.
Yes, a portal has closed, but a new one has opened. And this new portal that is opening before us is one that demands of us to strengthen our Emunah, to think about G-d more not less, to double our commitment to living lives that will contribute to a new world order, to believe in a Messianic era from a place of true faith, be’emunah sheleima.
The gemara in Sanhedrin tells us that the portal that swept up Korach into the depths of hell was left open a tiny crack. The gemara informs us that if you find that crack and put your ear to the ground you can hear Korach and his followers proclaiming, Moshe emes v’toraso emes, Moshe and the Torah he taught us are real. Korach learned his lesson and was able to declare his belief in G-d and in His torah.
Are we in heaven? Are we in hell? I don’t know. But let’s join them and proclaim from the depth of our hearts that we too believe.
by Ner Tamid | Jun 7, 2026 | Sermons
Everyone seems to be weighing in on AI these days. The Pope shared his view two weeks ago, l’havdil, the Satmar Rebbe spoke about AI this past week. It is most definitely an important topic but one that I do not yet feel qualified to share any thoughts on in a meaningful fashion. Today, I want to focus on one very limited element of AI and that is modality of speech; the way we talk to AI and the way AI can help us speak.
A little while ago, someone posted the following to X: “I wonder how much money OpenAI has lost in electricity costs from people saying ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ to their models.” Every word we use adds to the cost of processing replies and this X-user was highlighting the potential waste of money to AI companies caused by our politeness.
The next day, Sam Altman, the CEO of OpenAI responded: “Tens of millions of dollars.” And then he added, “It’s tens of millions of dollars that are well spent.”
In Jewish tradition, our ability to speak is seen as the defining feature of humankind. When the Torah describes the soul blown into the nostrils of Adam, Targum Onkelos translates the word Neshama as ruach m’ma’l’lah, a speaking spirit. The ability to communicate is something we share with the animal kingdom, but refined speech, saying please, saying thank you, that is something that sets us apart. Tens of millions of dollars that are well spent.
I recently learned that AI is helping many people refine their language. I don’t mean the many rabbis who are using AI to write their sermons. I am referring to a number of divorcees I have heard from who tell me that when they need to communicate a message to their ex, they run their message through AI, instructing AI to write their message in a polite fashion and not passive-aggressively. They put in: “Are you kidding me?! What are you thinking?!” And AI rewrites that to: “That’s so interesting. I wonder if there is another way to think about this?”
That’s a good usage of AI.
It got me thinking and I realized that there may be a market for a chatbot called, KvetchAI. It would be used by virtually ever Jew:
You would say, “Rabbi, that sermon was way too long,” and KvetchAI would say, “You gave us a lot to think about this week.”
You would say, “Where is the guy davening Mussaf running to?” and KvetchAI would say, “Wow, he sure has a lot of energy.”
You would say, “My children only call when they need money,” and KvetchAI would say, “Thank G-d, my children remember my number.”
It would kill the comedy scene. Imagine Jackie Mason or Jerry Seinfeld would have nothing to kvetch about. That would be a disaster.
There is an entire episode of Seinfeld dedicated to a made-up-holiday called, Festivus (Festivus for the rest of us!). The main ceremony of Festivus is an opportunity to kvetch – to go around the table and air your grievances about others who are sitting with you.
If you were ever looking for a Biblical precedent for Festivus it would be this week’s Torah portion. It is by far the kvetchiest parsha of all. The Jews complain, Miriam and Aharon complain, and even Moshe complains. But there is a strange inconsistency in how G-d responds to kvetching. When the Jews complain, G-d punishes them, when Moshe complains, G-d listens and solves his problem. Why is that?
The answer, it would seem, is that kvetching is not all that bad. It depends on how you do it. There is constructive kvetching and destructive kvetching. Some people complain because they like to complain; they’re not looking for a solution, they’re looking to get things off their chest, they’re using a cheap tool to make conversation, they’re trying to be witty. There are others who complain because they’re looking to change a bad situation.
When Moshe kvetches about his inability to lead the people on his own, he cares deeply about the Jewish People and he wants to see them succeed. In response, Hashem provides him with 70 helpers, an entire staff of qualified managers who can help him lead. When the Jewish People kvetch they do so because they like to kvetch. The Kotzker points out that the Torah describes the Jewish People’s kvetch in a telling fashion: Vayehi ha’am k’mis’onenim, literally, the nation acted like complainers. It doesn’t say they complained; complaining was their identity.
The litmus test of a good kvetch vs a bad one is whether you are willing to do something about it. Every shul leader knows the best way to respond to a kvetch is to acknowledge and offer the complainer the opportunity to fix it. What happens next is the ultimate tell; if they roll up their sleeves to help, they are a mench. If they stare at you blankly, they’re just a kvetch.
But there’s a level beyond kvetching like a mench and that brings us to the Bates family.
I don’t know if the Bates family uses ChatGPT, but if they did, they would probably cost the company millions of dollars on their own with all their ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous.’ I have never met a more refined, polite, and kind group of people.
On Thursday, I sat down with Abby, who is celebrating her Bat Mitzvah today and I learned about all of her skills; she is athletic, energetic, and in the words of her parents, “will do anything for anyone.” I am looking forward to all of you hearing her beautiful D’var Torah and learning about the very special chesed project she did for her Bat Mitzvah.
What really struck me though is when I asked Abby about school. Some kids love school, some kids don’t. When I asked Abby about school, it became clear that she was probably in that second camp. But instead of telling me what she doesn’t like about school, she kind of smiled.
When you say something to AI, it says something back. Every time. It doesn’t know how not to respond. But the greatest, most refined, most G-dly mode of speech, is having what to say and saying nothing at all. In the words of Rumi, the Sufi mystic, “Silence is G-d’s first language. Everything else is bad translation.”
The Alshich writes that Moshe was present when Aharon and Miriam spoke about him. This is why the Torah tells us that ‘Moshe was the most humble of all.’ When he heard his brother and sister disparage him, he had the best possible defense available to him – he knew his level of prophecy was radically different than theirs. And yet, he chose to bite his tongue. Abby, you exemplify the highest form of human speech.
I want to share with you a story I recently heard from my friend, Rabbi Avi Goldstein: There was once a yeshiva student who came to take a farher, an admission test, at the Philadelphia Yeshiva. Philadelphia Yeshiva is very hard to get into and the person delivering the exam was a great Sage and torah scholar, Rav Elya Svei zt”l.
The exam typically focuses on what the student studied the year before. This boy just had learned Meseches Chulin in his school, a difficult tractate that deals with ritual slaughter amongst other things.
Rav Elya asked him which chapter in Chullin did you learn this past year? The boys father was there and he replied, “My son learned the chapter of HaKol Shochtin.” The father left the room and the exam began.
Question after question and the boy did not do well. He couldn’t answer anything. After twenty minutes, Rav Elya Svei called the boy’s father in and informed him that his son would not be accepted into the school.
The drive home was tense, as you can imagine. At one point the father turned to his son and asked him: “I’m just confused. You did so well last year in school. What happened at the exam?”
And the son explained to his father that last year in school he learned the chapter called HaShochet, not HaKol Shochtin. His father turned pale. “I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I told Rav Svei the wrong chapter. But why didn’t you speak up? Why didn’t you tell him that you learned a different chapter? Why didn’t you correct me?!”
And the son sheepishly replied, “I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of such a great Torah scholar.”
The father pulled over to the side of the road, called Rav Svei and told him what happened. Rav Svei was so impressed with this boy’s middos that he accepted him on the spot.
Kvetching is not all that bad, but we cannot allow it to become our identity. If you need to kvetch, kvetch like a mench; kvetch with kind words and kvetch constructively, be ready to not only identify the problem but solve it. But most refined of all is the golden silence of this young boy, of Moshe Rabbeinu, and of Abby Bates.
Abby, may you continue to walk in the beautiful path of your parents and may you continue to use your many talents to make the world a little brighter and kinder. May you always have the wisdom to know when to complain – and how, and in a world filled with noise, the strength to remain silent when silence is the noblest response. Mazel Tov.
