by Ner Tamid | Mar 30, 2026 | Sermons
One morning, in a certain yeshiva that will not be mentioned, at some point in my teenage years, I was in middle of shacharis when my Judaic teacher, my rebbi, came storming into the Bais Medrash. To paint a picture, the Bais Medrash had roughly 150 people there at the time and I was sitting all the way in the front. My rebbi rushed over to me in a huff, at this point, the whole room was watching him. He looked me in the eyes and said, “Oysvorf!” Yiddish, for degenerate, “Aroys! Get out!” And he kicked me out of the Bais Medrash in front of the whole school.
About a year ago, the Orthodox Union published the findings of a study on attrition. They were trying to understand why some people stay within the fold of Orthodox Judaism and others leave. One factor that came up over and over again was the impact of good and bad rebbeim on a person’s religious trajectory; Judaic teachers who either kind to their students or those who called them an ‘Oysvorf’ in front of the whole school.
Despite having no shortage of negative interactions with rebbeim, and I’ll admit, some of that was my fault, I had far more positive ones over the subsequent years. A few years later I has a rebbi, Rabbi Motti Rappaport, who walked in the first day and put his number on the chalkboard telling us that if we ever needed anything at all – even to get bailed out of jail, we could always call him (I never took him up on that particular offer). Another rebbi, Rabbi Eliezer Breitowitz, encouraged me to question and to think, and exposed me to the grandeur and profoundity Torah learning. I studied in Israel under Rav Mendel Blachman at KBY, who despite giving one of the most difficult Gemara classes in the world, of which I told him numerous times I did not understand, he always encouraged me to stay in his class until I eventually I did understand – some of what he taught. I studied at Ner Israel where Rav Ezra Neuberger helped me appreciate who I was and what I was capable of. I spent some more time in Israel where I studied in the Mirrer Yeshiva under Rabbi Yosef Elefant who dedicated time almost daily to discuss with me the fine points of the Gemara we were learning and the fine points of life. Thank G-d, for me, the good rabbis far outweighed the bad ones. The positive impact these people had on my life is immeasurable.
But the common denominator of all of these rebbeim is that they impacted me during my high school and yeshiva-college years. And that is fairly typical. When people hear the word rebbi, which literally means, my teacher, rav sheli, they think of a teacher during high school or yeshiva. And that’s a pity. Yes, having positive role models and teachers during those formative years is critical, but I’d like to argue that in many ways, having such role models and teachers as we leave the cocoon of school is even more important. If I had the money, I’d commission a new study, tracking the religious connection of adults who have a rebbi vs. those who do not. My conjecture is that those who have a connection to a rebbi in adulthood are far more connected to G-d, to their community, and to their family.
So let me lay out my objective before I even begin. I’d like us all to walk away from this talk with a greater appreciation of what a rebbi can do for us in our current stage of life. I’d like us all to walk away from this talk with an interest in maybe finding someone who can fill that role. I also want to clarify that this is not one long plug to call me more often. I’m good. Trust me. As we will discuss, your shul rabbi is not necessarily your rebbi. And with that let’s begin:
What is a rebbi? How do you choose a rebbi? Can you have more than one rebbi? What kind of questions do you ask a rebbi? And a pressing question for our times, how does AI impact the need for a rebbi?
As you know, I recently lost my rebbi, Rabbi Moshe Hauer zt”l. He was someone I met when I was starting to leave yeshiva. I continued my relationship with him after I left yeshiva and college, and over the past five years my relationship deepened significantly. My relationship with him was probably the most transformative relationship I ever had. I will be using my relationship with him as a springboard to help explain what a rebbi is and why I believe having one is so valuable.
In the first chapter of Pirkei Avos it says, “aseh lecha rav” not once but twice, in the sixth and sixteenth mishna of the first perek. The Maharal (1:16) explains that this directive is repeated because one can have different rabbis for different needs. For me, I did not ask Rabbi Hauer my Halachic questions. He knew Halacha far better than I could ever dream, but that wasn’t his expertise. And so instead I turned and turn to many others when I have a Halachic question I do not have an answer for; Rav Notta Greenblatt Zt”l, Rav Dovid Cohen, Rav Willig, and others.
I actually almost didn’t get my job here at Ner Tamid because of this. During my interview process in a Q and A with the congregants someone asked me who my rabbi is. I didn’t know how to answer this question. Rabbi Hauer was the person I would turn to to discuss life questions, but the person I turned to the most for Halachic questions at the time was Rabbi Yosef Berger. And so, I said, “Rabbi Berger.” Needless to say, I scared a few people here. I was the only candidate who was given the “honor” of a follow up Q and A session where I was asked questions like, “Will you ban television at Ner Tamid?” “Will you tell the congregation that we cannot use the internet?” (No and no.)
There are different roles that a rebbi plays; one of them is to address Halachic questions. It is critical to have someone who knows you and who knows Halacha who can address your Halachic questions. Can AI do this? To a certain extent but not really.
I once spent time in Rabbi Berger’s office as he was fielding Halachic questions. In the course of an hour, he received the same question about ten times. So I asked him, as a joke, “Why don’t you just get a touch tone service set up? ‘If you washed your dairy dish with a meat sponge press 1. If the water was hot press 4.’ You would save yourself so much time!” I thought it was a cute suggestion. Instead of smiling, he got really serious and said, “Sruli, when two people ask me the same question about a dish they washed, one of them has tears in his eyes and one does not, do you think I answer the question the same way?” AI cannot do that.
But it’s deeper than that.
I recently saw a clip of Yuval Noah Hariri, my least favorite intellectual. Aside from other intellectuals questioning his methodologies, his understanding of religion is extremely cynical and betrays real ignorance. It was an interview in which he was asked how AI impacts the need for a rabbi. He explained that since Judaism is a text-based religion and we now have machines that know all the texts, there is no longer a need for a rabbi to answer our questions. His answer is predicated on a completely incorrect understanding of Judaism. A rebbi, be it someone you could turn to for guidance on how to live your life or someone you ask your Halachic questions, is not just using their wisdom or knowledge to assist you, they are connecting you to G-d. One person who explained this better than anyone else was Rav Yosef Soloveitchik.
In 1975, Rav Soloveitchik gave a talk on the topic of Mesorah, tradition, to the Rabbinic alumni of Yeshiva University. There was a certain rabbi who was attempting to institute a loophole that would solve once and for all the agunah problem. Finding a way to alleviate the suffering of an agunah was of the utmost importance to Rav Soloveitchik and really to any self-respecting rabbi. However, Rav Soloveitchik took issue with this particular rabbi’s approach. While the topic is fascinating and timely, we don’t have the time to properly analyze it. Instead, I’d like to share with you some quotes from that talk:
“Talmud Torah is more than intellectual performance. It is a total, all-encompassing and all-embracing involvement — mind and heart, will and feeling, the center of the human personality — emotional man, logical man, voluntaristic man — all of them are involved in the study of Torah. Talmud Torah is basically for me an ecstatic experience, in which one meets G-d…. American Orthodox Jews have encountered Judaism in the modes of Talmudic analysis through intellectual cognition and cold logic. However, they have not merited to its living ‘sensual’ revelation; shaking and gladdening hearts.”
In his book, The Lonely Man of Faith, Rav Soloveitchik described his experience of learning in the following evocative fashion:
“When I sit to ‘learn’ I find myself immediately in the fellowship of the sages of tradition. The relationship is personal. Maimonides is at my right. Rabbenu Tam at the left. Rashi sits at the head and explicates the text. Rabbenu Tam objects, the Rambam decides, the Ra’abad attacks. They are all in my small room, sitting around my table.”
In other words, learning Torah and ruling on Halacha is more than putting pieces of information together. It is a meeting with G-d. It is the opportunity to sit at a table with people, human beings, with all their greatness and all their limitations, as they analyze Halacha and apply it to our lives. No machine can recreate that experience. No system, no matter how sophisticated, has a right to be at that table.
Rav Soloveitchik continued:
“That is why Chazal stress so many times the importance of humility, and that the proud person can never be a great scholar, only the humble person. Why is humility necessary? Because the study of Torah means meeting the Almighty, and if a finite being meets the infinite, the Almighty, the Maker of the world, of course this meeting must precipitate a mood of humility.”
(https://www.torahmusings.com/2016/05/masorah-teachings-rabbi-joseph-b-soloveitchik/)
Rabbi Hauer was a paragon of humility and yiras shamayim, fear of Heaven. I have never met a person who knew so much, who was so bright, who was brimming with self-confidence, and at the same time, could listen to others with such focus and humility.
A few years ago, a group of young rabbis came to meet with Rabbi Hauer. They didn’t like the way Rabbi Hauer was leading the OU. They took issue with his decision-making process. The meeting was tense. The way they spoke to him was inappropriate. My blood was boiling.
When the meeting was over, I came into Rabbi Hauer’s office to vent and saw him scribbling away on a pad of paper. I asked him what he was writing.
“Their delivery was wrong,” he said. “But they made some very good points. I am going to make some changes on how I do things and I want to organize my thoughts.”
The Gemara in Moed Kattan says that you should only learn Torah from someone who is like an angel. Rabbi Hauer’s ability to override his ego, to separate the garbage from the substance, to have the intellectual honesty to say, I was wrong, I need to change what I do; in that moment I realized that I was working with an angel.
Judging someone’s fear of heaven is a risky business. Only G-d knows what people truly think. But you could learn a lot about a person’s relationship with G-d by watching them pray. In Rabbi Hauer’s davening, there was focus, there was sincerity, there was softness, there was strength. Watching him daven was a masterclass in “shifchi kamayim libeich, pouring one’s heart out like water.” It wasn’t dramatic but it oozed with authenticity. You could also learn a lot about one’s deference to Mesorah in how one relates to Torah scholars. While Rabbi Hauer was a scholar in his own right, while he had opinions that at times would conflict with some of the leading Torah voices, something we’ll talk about soon, when he sat before a Torah scholar, he sat like a thirsty child at the foot of a fountain, he sat with koved rosh, with reverence.
A machine can amass insane amounts of information, it can process questions in lightning speed, but that is not Torah Judaism. Bringing a machine into the Torah conversation is as nonsensical as using a psychological insight to upend a mathematical equation. Torah Judaism, our mesorah, our tradition, is built upon the human wisdom of scholars who are imbued with humility and yiras shamayim. When we think of Mesorah, when we think of how Jewish Law makes its way into Jewish practice, the only people who have the right to be at that table are humans with yiras shamayim and humility. There are many rabbis out there who are brilliant. There are many rabbis who are phenomenal speakers and inspiring. But those are not the qualities we are looking for when we look for a rebbi. What we are trying to find is someone who seems to possess those rare traits of humility and fear of heaven.
***
My relationship with Rabbi Hauer started about seventeen years ago. I was living on Park Heights in a place called the Blair House. My wife and I would call it the Blair Witch Project house. It was section-8 housing, otherwise known as the projects and some of our neighbors were scary as witches. The upside of living there was that it was not too far from Bnai Jacob Sharei Zion, Rabbi Hauer’s shul, where we started davening. I had heard that a few years earlier he would get together weekly with a group of students from Ner Yisroel to share insights about what it means to be a rabbi. At the time I was not yet sure that I wanted to become a rabbi, but I thought it would be a great opportunity to spend time with him. I asked him if he would be open to starting a new chabura and he quickly agreed.
There was one theme that came up many times in our discussions with him, Daas Torah. Daas Torah is usually understood to mean that you are meant to ask rabbis questions about anything and everything. And that you are expected to listen to whatever they say. But this was not Rabbi Hauer’s view of how to live a Torah life.
When asking a question on Jewish law, one is not allowed to ‘shop around.’ But that is not the case when it comes to asking questions about how to live one’s life. When discussing this second category of seeking Rabbinic guidance, Rabbi Hauer would often quote a comment by Rav Chaim Volozhin, the primary student of the Vilna Gaon, on Hillel’s teaching in Pirkei Avos that marbeh eitzah, marbeh tevunah. Rav Chaim writes: “She’al eitzah va’aseh k’chochmosecha, seek out advice and use your own wisdom.” Yes, there is immense value in seeking out the opinions of people who are immersed in Torah, they have a G-dly worldview that illuminates every aspect of life. But at the end of the day, the only person who could really decide what is best for you is you.
The Vilna Gaon writes (commentary to Mishlei, 16:4) that in the times of prophecy, prophets could see deep into your soul and tell you exactly what you should do. But we don’t have prophecy and so although we are all filled with biases and blind spots, we are the only ones who really know what we should do.
This is why whenever I did ask Rabbi Hauer a personal question the first thing he would ask me is, “What do you think?” If I pushed him, he would share his thoughts which were always deep and thoughtful, and then he would say, “aseh k’chochmosecha, follow your own wisdom.”
***
But a true rebbi is not only someone who encourages you to do your own thing. A true rebbi is someone who cares deeply about you and wants you to do what’s right. A true rebbi is someone who takes the time to listen to your point of view, but if they feel that it truly wrong then they let you know.
In all my years having a relationship with Rabbi Hauer there was only once that he firmly told me he disagreed with something I did. I had written an article that was fairly controversial. He saw the piece, called me, and asked me if we could speak in person.
Ler me pause here. This was a signature move of his. Whenever he had to have a difficult conversation with someone, he never wrote it out or even spoke by the phone. He wanted to convey his warm feelings of love and the only way that could take place is by looking someone into their eyes.
It’s important to add that I published it right after I was hired by the OU but before I started working for him. He was encouraged, I found out later, not go through with the hiring. However, he never made any mention of that. Though he felt strongly that I misspoke, he never held the job over my head. Instead, he patiently explained why he thought that some of the things I wrote can be misunderstood and encouraged me to correct them. I wrote a follow up piece. He still felt like it wasn’t enough. A day later, he called me again. Again, asking for an in-person meeting. And explained why he thought I made a mistake.
Humiliating? Yes. But also, the deepest expression of someone who cared so deeply about me, who wasn’t willing to do what I too often do when someone says something I disagree with – “Oh, that’s interesting. Thanks for sharing.” And move on. I treasure that experience with him more than any other. In doing so, he also conveyed to me that every other time he did not voice his displeasure, though I knew he did not agree with everything I did or said, he was implicitly telling me, “It’s okay. You do you. It’s your path and you need to follow it.”
Rabbi Hauer was allergic to people blindly following him. Though he would patiently address any question that came his way, it bothered him when people would ask him questions that he felt they should be figuring out on their own. Rabbi Sacks once said that “Good leaders make followers, great leaders make leaders.” He filled me with confidence, but the only way that confidence meant anything was because I knew he was willing to rein me in. That is a rebbi.
***
What if you can’t find anyone to be a rebbi? What if you know more than everyone else? What if you cannot find someone that you truly respect?
First of all, if you really believe that you are wiser than everyone else, if you really believe that there is no one out there that you can respect, you’re probably just plain arrogant.
But let’s just say it’s true. There is no one that you could really look up to. What to do then?
If I had to pick the brightest of all the rabbis in our history, I would have to pick the Rambam, Maimonides. What he accomplished, what he wrote, what he organized, what he explained, it’s breathtaking. If there is anyone who justifiably struggled with this challenge of finding someone to look up to, it was probably him.
This is what he writes in his commentary of Avos. He is addressing why the Mishna does not say ‘find a rebbi,’ instead it says, ‘make a rebbi.’ Says the Rambam: “[Make for yourself a teacher] means [make him play that role] even if he is not fit to be your mentor. Place him upon you as a mentor, so that you can discuss and argue with him. As a result of this, wisdom will come into your hand. If a man studies on his own, it is good; but if he studies with someone else, the teaching will be better established in his hand and it will be clearer — even if his partner is like him or even below him in wisdom.”
Rabbi Hauer, in a shiur he gave on Pirkei Avos, suggested that this is why the next phrase in the Mishna is ‘judge people favorably.’ He explained that no one is perfect and you will never find a perfect rebbi. He said about himself that he did not have any rebbeim of whom he had no issues or questions. But without judging favorably, without choosing to see the good, we’re left all alone. We’re left thinking everything we say and do is brilliant. We’re left with our egos intact and our character severely flawed. “Make for yourself a rebbi,” even if he or she is not worthy.
***
Rabbi Hauer had an uncanny ability to see a person’s flaws or to disagree vehemently with someone and see the value in who they were and what they were doing. Nothing brought this home to me like the following episode:
Last year, a few days before Purim a certain Orthodox organization wrote a message to its followers that completely ignored and minimized the sacrifice of the soldiers of the IDF. Rabbi Hauer was troubled that this statement of theirs would be seen as representing all of Orthodoxy. A day letter Rabbi Hauer wrote a piece that spoke of the importance of unity and then he wrote:
“The Torah scholars and leaders who guide … speak with their voice, while other great Torah scholars and leaders speak with a different voice. So often and on so many fundamental matters those voices are in harmony, but regarding Israel-related issues those voices are frequently in severe conflict. Especially during the past year and a half, the gedolim who set the tone for us at the OU have spoken with a very different voice about everything from the holiness of the chayalei Tzahal and the victims of 10/7, the obligation to physically defend our land, the efforts of many who deeply value Torah to find a solution for the draft law, and the value of religious partnership in the Zionist movement.
We draw great strength and direction from the beautiful voice of the gedolim that guide our OU community, dedicated without compromise to Torah and to the entirety of Klal Yisrael.”
Though he wrote in a measured fashion, some saw his message as an attack on this organization. A week later he got a call from someone affiliated with that organization letting him know that he was upset. Rabbi Hauer, in his signature style, asked that they meet in person. The individual offered to come to the OU. Rabbi Hauer insisted on going to this person’s office. They met, in person, and with love and respect had a constructive dialogue.
Rabbi Hauer later told me one thing that he shared in that meeting. He told this person that from the beginning of our nationhood there has always been a Beis Shammai and Beis Hillel; one group of leaders who take a hardline approach and another that takes a softer more humanistic approach. Which one is right? Elu v’elu divrei Elokim chaim. They each play a role and, in many ways, balance each other. “You keep being Bais Shammai,” Rabbi Hauer told him, “And we’ll be Bais Hillel.”
I’m profoundly jealous of Rabbi Hauer’s ability to respect people he disagreed with. I am a product of this cynical generation. I struggle mightily to look up to people who I see flaws in. It was not coming from a place of naivete, he was one of the most astute people I ever met, and yet, he was able to see the good everywhere he looked. “Judge favorably” or else you will not have the gift of role models and people to look up to.
***
This ability to see the value in other ways of thinking uniquely positioned him as a bridge builder. His dream was to reunite the Jewish People. He worked tirelessly to connect with Jews who were not Orthodox. One of the first assignments he gave me was to find projects that we can work on with non-Orthodox Jews. I found a coalition of Jews working on renewable energy in Jewish institutions, which he was thrilled about. He developed deep and real relationships with Jews who he could not be more different than. This is what Sheila Katz, a Reform Jew and a self-proclaimed feminist, wrote after Rabbi Hauer’s passing:
“After October 7, we found ourselves advocating side by side at the Department of Education and Department of Justice, in Congress, in the White House, and in the Knesset, determined to show what Jewish unity could look like. It wasn’t unity for its own sake, but unity in service of the Jewish people, to advocate together for Jewish women, for the Orthodox community, and for all of us. Him, an Orthodox male rabbi. Me, a Reform Jewish progressive woman. Together, we were an unlikely duo that came together to advocate against antisemitism, to promote safety in Israel, and for the return of the hostages.
On a bus ride in Israel that lasted more than an hour, we chatted about life and legacy. He talked about his family and his hope to be remembered through them. We exchanged pictures of family members, discussed books we were reading, had a friendly debate on the Torah of reproductive freedom, and genuinely connected. When I mentioned that I sometimes relax by watching Survivor, he reminded me that he doesn’t watch television, but he asked why I loved it and what about it helped me to relax. He always showed genuine interest in the things that animated others.
We learned Torah together. Debated each other. Disagreed often. But agreed even more when we took the time to hear each other. We always came back to our shared Jewish values and our deep love for the Jewish people. What began as simple coalition work became a true partnership and a profound friendship.”
(Facebook post)
These relationships ensured that the rally in Washington conformed to all aspects of Halacha and paved the way for thousands of Orthodox Jews to attend. The organizers had a partner in Rabbi Hauer who they trusted. That said, when he felt he could not partner, he put his foot down. In the lead up to the second rally in Washington, the organizers were getting some pressure to not “capitulate to the Orthodox” and wanted to have women singing at the event. Rabbi Hauer firmly and politely informed the organizers that if they do so the OU would not participate.
I had the pleasure of accompanying him on meetings and trips. He was often the only person in the room with a yarmulka. It seemed to me like many of these leaders were a little intimidated of the man who was so principled. But there was also respect and friendship between Jews of all stripes. That was his dream.
He attempted to use his broad array of relationships to make inroads in Israel between the Charedim and the Daati Leumi community. Unfortunately, that was one area in which he felt like he failed in. He felt like no matter how hard he tried, he could not bring the sides to appreciate one another.
Though I have to add a postscript – he had an idea of bringing Daati Leumi rabbis to America to better appreciate American Jewry; he felt like that too was a divide that needed to be remedied. The trip took place a few weeks after he passed away. The delegation from Israel met with a wide variety of communal leaders and made a stop at Ner Israel where they met with Rav Aharon Feldman. Rav Aharon Feldman has in the past shared views that have not been very positive about serving in the army. I was quite nervous about this meeting as this group of rabbis, all affiliated with communities that send their boys and men to serve in the IDF. I am not going to lie, it got a little heated. But it was also an incredibly fruitful conversation that ended with Rav Shapira, the Rosh Yeshiva of Merkaz HaRav embracing and asking for a bracha from Rav Aharon Feldman.
I left the meeting, sat in my car, and I cried. I so wished for Rabbi Hauer to see the fruit of his labor start to blossom.
***
Herein lies Rabbi Hauer’s greatness. He was one of the most broad-minded people I knew. He cared about the Jewish People. He cared about the human race. He had a schedule that would put any ironman to shame. Somehow he manage to care about Am Yisrael and at the same time, he cared about every member of Am Yisrael, he truly cared for every single person.
After his passing I went into his outbox to see who he emailed on Hoshana Rabbah. Remember, this was one of the most joyous days for the Jewish People. The last of the hostages were returned! People were dancing in the streets. But Rabbi Hauer being Rabbi Hauer knew that for some people the release of hostages would bring immeasurable pain. And so on the last day of his life while he was undoubtedly elated, he sent a short message to Jon Polin, the father of Hersh Polin, Hy”d: “Wishing you much strength. With deep love, Moshe Hauer.”
He would often share a Chassidic thought on why Moshe was chosen to lead the Jewish People. It was the Medrashic episode describing Moshe shepherding his sheep in the desert when one sheep ran off. Moshe was faced with a dilemma. If he chases that one sheep then all the other sheep will have no one watching them. Logic would dictate that he should just let that one sheep go. But logic did not dictate Moshe’s decisions. He was dictated by love. And so Moshe ran off, illogically caring for the single sheep because he cared. It was only then that G-d appeared to Moshe at the burning bush.
This is why Rabbi Hauer answered every single email that came his way. It didn’t matter who it was from, if they had a title or it was just a nudnik asking him silly questions. No person was too small.
This is why in Rabbi Hauer’s office at the OU, though there were very few things hanging on the wall, mostly pictures of his family – I could dedicate an entire talk to that topic, but there was one letter he had pinned over his computer and it read as follows:
Rabbi Hauer,
I read your recent article, Invisible People, with great interest.
As a widow in… a large orthodox community, I was shocked to become invisible with the death of my husband. 8 out of 10 families removed me from their Simcha list. Shabbos invitations became rare.
My single daughter & I spend most shabbosim alone, making our own kiddush, hamotzie, havdalah. I understand that this is not personal. Most widows report the exact same experiences. I have mentioned this to local congregational rabbonim, who express genuine shock & dismay. But there is no initiative to remediate this situation.
Now you have publicly acknowledged this issue. Does it end there? Or will the OU reach out to congregational leaders to include their invisible congregants?
He hung this over his computer to remind him that inasmuch as he had the weight of Klal Yisrael, the Jewish nation, on his shoulders, he could not allow that to cause him to lose sight of a single precious sheep.
***
You may have noticed that all these stories I just shared with you did not involve me asking Rabbi Hauer any personal questions. I could probably count on one hand the number of personal questions I asked him over the past five years. And yet, he impacted me profoundly. And that’s because the value of a rebbi, to me, is to be in the presence of someone who inspires you to grow and to always strive to be the best version of yourself.
For the past five years, I had the opportunity to regularly interact with a person who never ever rested on his laurels. He mobilized the entire Orthodox community to deliver 180,000 letters to the White House and then turned to his team and said, “Nu, what’s next?” That energized me to give as much as I can to the Jewish community.
For the past five years, I had the opportunity to regularly interact with a person who dropped everything for his family because they were the most important people in his life. That reminded me that no matter was I was doing, nothing was more important than my spouse and kids.
For the past five years, I had the opportunity to regularly interact with a person who passionately loved Torah, loved G-d, loved the Jewish People and that infectious love rubbed off on me.
For the past five years, I had the opportunity to regularly interact with a person who represented the greatness of our Mesorah and it deepened my faith in Torah Judaism and in G-d.
For the past five years, I had the opportunity to regularly interact with a person who elevated me, who pushed me, who broadened my horizons, not by telling me what to do, but by allowing me to be in his presence.
Do you need to have a rebbi, a man or woman who inspires you, who could be honest with you, who could lift you up? You don’t need to. Pirkei Avos is not a book of Jewish Law. There is no Halacha to make for yourself a teacher. You don’t have to. But you’d be crazy not to.
***
We live in cynical society unwilling to see the good in people, unwilling to be inspired. We live in a confusing time for the Jewish People and for all of humankind. Pesach reminds us of the importance of tradition, through parents but also through teachers. The one seder depicted in the entire Haggadah involves not parents and children but Rabbi Akiva and his students. Our Torah teachers are the bearers of our rich past, and without a connection to the past we have no future.
In the week of Shiva for Rabbi Hauer’s rebbi, Rav Yaakov Weinberg, Rabbi Hauer went over to a certain rabbi and asked him to study with him on a weekly basis. Rabbi Hauer had the utmost respect for Rav Weinberg, he was dust at his feet, this rabbi he turned to was a gadol, but he was not Rabbi Weinberg. Nonetheless, Rabbi Hauer felt, very much like the Rambam, that every person needs to have a rebbi.
I thought about finding someone to turn to during shiva. I knew the experience I had of such close proximity to greatness was unique, but I also knew that I could still find someone to speak to from time to time. I could still find someone that I might be able to watch from a distance and grow from. I could still find someone who I could develop relationship with who could be honest with me. I thought about it but I didn’t do so and I still have yet to do so.
All of us have the ability to find someone, a man or woman who has yisras shamayim and humility, with whom we could talk to from time to time. All of us could find someone who we could watch from a distance and be inspired to be better. All of us could find someone who could be honest with us and guide us through the challenges of life.
If I am being honest, I shared these thoughts with you today selfishly, to remind me of the importance of having a guiding light in my life, to remind me to keep looking. If Rabbi Hauer felt that he needed a rebbi, then what does that say about me and you? I hope and pray that we each find a rebbi to call our own.
by Ner Tamid | Mar 22, 2026 | Sermons
Those of you who come here regularly know that I like to talk about current events on Shabbos morning. One of the fundamental ideas that I learned from Rabbi Moshe Hauer zt”l is that the Torah is a Toras Chayim, a living Torah. Yes, it was written thousands of years ago, but it was written by G-d who transcends time. And therefore, if there is something going on in the world, the Torah, by definition, has something to say about it. The parsha of the week, in my opinion, is not the portion we read in shul; the parsha of the week is what is on people’s minds, and we turn to the Torah to give us some much-needed perspective and guidance.
There are some weeks when there’s just not a lot going on in the world, and so I struggle to come up with a topic. There are other weeks when there is so much going on that the challenge is to figure out which one of the many big issues on people’s minds I should focus on. This week falls in that second category. Continuously escalating antisemitism in the US putting us all on edge, our brothers and sisters in Israel running endlessly back and forth between their beds and safe rooms, the downfall – we hope and pray – of our greatest enemy, Iran. All of those are worthy of a full-fledged talk. And then there is the stress that so many in this room are dealing with – the pressure of an expensive and labor-intensive holiday. For some, the anxiety around a holiday that is supposed to be filled with family, love, and laughter, and instead is filled with loneliness. That also needs our attention. And then there’s the silly stuff that bounces around my head, like the fact that your rabbi’s favorite hockey team, the Montreal Canadiens, are doing really well, and being that the Safren family lived in Canada for a while, I thought it would be a great time to teach you all about the greatest sport on earth.
Despite all those being appropriate options for the parsha of the week, I will not be speaking about any of them. Instead, I want to discuss the actual parsha of the week, a parsha that is known to be the most boring, most skipped-over, most ignored, most misunderstood of all, Parshas Vayikra, the parsha that Ami just read so beautifully.
I’ll share with you a little trade secret. Rabbis love the fact that the book of Vayikra falls out in such a busy time of the year. Most of the Torah, the books of Bereishis, Shemos, Bamidbar, are filled with great stories. The book of Devarim is filled with beautiful and practical ideas. But not Vayikra. It is really difficult to share meaningful messages about Korbanos, animal sacrifices, something we barely understand and certainly don’t relate to. It is really difficult to share thoughts about Tzara’as, the overwhelming and confusing details of leprosy. And it’s downright boring to discuss the laws of purity and impurity when almost none of it is relevant to us in a world without a Bais Hamikdash. So instead, rabbis will discuss Pesach, the four paryshiyos, hockey, really anything, as long as we are not forced to talk about Vayikra. And honestly, it’s a mistake. If I could be so bold as to say, ignoring the book of Vayikra is rabbinic malpractice.
***
There is an ancient custom recorded in the Yalkut Shemoni (Tzav) still practiced in many day schools that when children begin learning Chumash, they begin with the book of Vayikra. The first words of Chumash that I learned in kindergarten were, “Vayikra Hashem el Moshe.”
Why is that?
In the Warsaw Ghetto, it was forbidden for Jews to gather to pray. If Jews were caught in a minyan, they would be executed. Nonetheless, Jews being Jews did exactly that. Under the machine guns of the Nazis, there were many groups that gathered to daven and learn Torah. One such group would gather around Rav Kloynamous Kalman Shapira, known as the Aish Kodesh, every Shabbos morning. And every Shabbos morning, he would deliver a sermon, a drasha, to inspire the people that gathered around him.
I’ve often wondered to myself, what message would share in such a circumstance? Would I talk about the antisemitism of the Nazis? Would I talk about the debilitating fear they were experiencing over rumors of the crematoria? The starvation? Would I talk about the loved ones they lost?
Rav Shapira chose to talk about none of that. Yes, there were hints and allusions to what was going on around them. But his message, week in and week out, were straight Divrei Torah. He spoke about the parsha. He spoke about G-d. He spoke about what it means to be a Jew. What it means to grow spiritually.
He wasn’t being naïve or putting his head in the sand. He was a brilliant educator and leader. He understood that all day and all night, his followers were surrounded by starvation, beatings, fear, pain. And so, for a few minutes every week, he led them into a sacred space of serenity, of meaning, of G-dliness. He created a space of holiness for their tired souls in the darkest depths of hell.
Some may cynically describe this as escapism. I would describe it as the purest mikvah, giving these broken people a moment of elevation and healing.
The Yalkut says that the reason we teach young children Vayikra before any other section is because “children are pure and the topics of Vayikra are pure.”
I don’t know about you but since October 7th I go to sleep doomscrolling as I read article after article about Israel and national politics. I wake up and, after saying Modeh Ani, I immediately open Times of Israel to make sure that my loved ones are okay. It’s heavy, and it’s draining.
Vayikra is a reminder of a pristine reality. It reminds me that the world is not divided between Republicans and Democrats; it is divided between tahara and tumah, light and darkness. It reminds me that the most important building in the world is not in Washington; it is a Temple that we yearn for; the Western Wall, not the East Wing. It reminds me that behind the smoke of cluster bombs, there is a cloud of glory; that there is a G-d and He runs this world.
Yes, the Torah is a Toras Chayim, it has what to say about everything happening in the world, it can help us navigate these difficult times. But it also has the ability to lift us beyond this world, to remind us of a pure and spiritual reality untainted by current events. The book of Vayikra is a pure Mikvah in a very dirty world.
***
That’s very nice and poetic, you may say. But what about the fact that the laws of Vayikra are so impractical? What if I study these parshiyos and I just don’t get anything out of it?
A little while ago, Yedidia Safren shared with me something profound. Yedidia, Ami’s father, is part of our Amud Yomi chabura. We were listening Meseches Eruvin at the time, and there are some very difficult gemaras. Yedidia admitted to me that he doesn’t always understand sections of the Gemara we’re learning. So why bother, I asked him. Why do you spend the time every day to learn a page of Gemara that you don’t understand? And he explained that it’s the experience of learning Torah that he was after, not the content. What a precious idea.
Too often, we get stuck in a myopic view of Judaism. We focus on the details of Halacha, which are all critically important. However, sometimes those details prevent us from seeing the big picture. Why are we doing these Mitzvos? Who stands behind these Halachos? Because of G-d. Because we are trying to connect to Hashem. That is the big picture.
We may be cleaning for Pesach, and it’s stressful so we get upset at a child, at a spouse, at a friend. Why? Because they’re getting in the way of our Pesach cleaning. Is that really what G-d wants from us? Of course not.
This is not to say the details of Halacha are unimportant; they are critical. It’s that we cannot let them get in the way of the bigger picture. This is why the Rema begins his glosses to the Shulchan Aruch with the words, Shvisi Hashem l’negdi samid. “I place G-d before me always.” He is begging us to not lose sight of that.
And that’s what Yedidia was telling me. It is precisely when we do not connect to the narrative or do not apply the law that we can transcend the text of the Gemara and connect to its Author. In other words, when he listens to the shiur, he’s not listening to me teach, he is not learning the laws of an Eruv, he is sitting together with G-d.
I just celebrated my 18th wedding anniversary. When we were first married, Hindy and I decided to carve out time every evening to study Torah together. Being that I was young and foolish, I chose an impossibly difficult text to study – the Vilna Gaon’s commentary on Megillas Esther. Highly not recommended. To make matters worse, I approached our study session like a regular study session with one of my chavrusas. Hindy would say something and I’d argue and tell her how she completely misunderstood the text. It’s a miracle we made it through that first year… I was young and dumb, and I completely missed the point that those study sessions were a unique opportunity to connect with one another.
We are also celebrating the Aufruf of Chanan Oshry and his upcoming marriage with Chana Herzog. Mazel Tov! This message is for you and all of us who are blessed to be married. In a loving relationship, it’s not about the ideas you share with one another, the places you visit, or your accomplishments. It’s the fact that your loved one was at your side. That you were together.
The book of Vayikra, this highly technical, mostly foreign book, begins with the words, Vayikra Hashem el Moshe. Rashi comments that the word Vayikra is a lashon chiba, a term of endearment. Those words are meant to give context to the entire book. As so as we sit through these next weeks of texts we don’t necessarily understand, instead of saying who cares? We can remind ourselves that I am sitting with G-d. G-d is calling out, not only to Moshe, but to each of us, and saying, “I see you. I care about you. I want you.”
***
Ami, you are a very bright individual. You won the pie competition in OCA (as in 3.14, not apple pie), you are a finalist for the Chidon HaTanach, you are a Rubik’s cube wiz, and in the high track for Gemara – those skills will get you far in life. Thank G-d, you have incredible role models, your parents, Malka Bracha and Yedidia who are sincere, growth-oriented, family-centered, and have worked on themselves continuously to not be caught up in external trappings. They’ve taught you to be sincere and authentic.
Ami, you are becoming a full-fledged member of the Jewish People at a very precarious time. It’s hard to envision what the future has in store for you and for all of us. No matter what happens, I hope and pray that you never forget the message of your parsha – that there is purity, goodness, in the world even when it seems to be caving in, and that if you listen closely you can hear your own personal Vayikra, the voice of Hashem calling you – you, and each and every one of us by name, because He loves us and wants us to spend some precious time together. That is what it’s really all about.
by Ner Tamid | Mar 8, 2026 | Sermons
Does G-d love you? Does G-d, who knows exactly what you did and did not do, who knows what you are capable of and how far you are from where you should be, does He still care about you? Or is He just so disappointed that He has moved on? That’s a question I recently received from a non-Jewish therapist.
He was not asking for himself; he claimed to be agnostic. This therapist, we’ll call him Brian, was asking me this question because he has many Orthodox clients who believe in a G-d that gave up on them. They believed that G-d has seen their dark side and wants nothing to do with them. And so, Brian wanted to know: “Does Judaism only believe in a punitive G-d, or do Jews also believe in a loving G-d, and if so, can you please share sources?”
“Yes,” I explained to him, “contrary to what Christian literature may have you believe, Judaism most certainly believes in a loving G-d and there is no shortage of sources.”
In Devarim (14:1), Banim atem laShem Elokeichem. “You are children to Hashem.”
In Yirmiyahu (31:2), Ahavas olam ahavtich. “My love for you is eternal.”
There is a debate in the Talmud (Kiddushin, 36) if we are still considered G-d’s beloved children when we sin, with one opinion saying that G-d’s love is conditional and the other, Rabbi Meir, arguing that G-d’s love is unconditional. (See Maharal, Netzach Yisrael, 11, who explains that this dispute is about individual sinners.) The Rashba, one of the most influential scholars of the Middle Ages, rules like Rabbi Meir (Shu”t haRashba, 1:194). Yisrael af al pi she’chata Yisrael hu. “Even if you sin, you are still considered a Jew.” We are G-d’s children. No. Matter. What.
But after rattling off a few sources, I stopped. “Brian, do you really think that the reason your clients don’t believe that G-d loves them is because of theology? Like if I just overwhelm them with sources that will change everything?!”
He acknowledged that most of these clients had a parent figure who was domineering, who was unforgiving, who did not know how to show them unconditional love. And so when they think of their Father in heaven, they end up thinking about their father who made their lives a living hell. Of course they had a negative image of G-d. How could they not?
And now I was curious because I too hear from so many people who believe that G-d hates them or wants nothing to do with them, and I was hoping he would have some insight. “How do you reprogram such a person?” I asked him. “How do you spend twenty years of your life being told explicitly or even implicitly by a parent that you are not good enough – that if you want my love you have to earn it, and then be expected to believe that there is a Being out there who loves you no matter what?”
It’s not a new question. It’s a question that, according to Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev (Likutim Chadashim, Ki Sisa, h/t Rabbi Rael Blumenthal), G-d Himself grappled with when we first became a nation. Hashem took the Jewish People out of Egypt, He gave them the Torah, He protected them from the elements and from enemies. But you could imagine these Jews thinking to themselves at every step along the way, “What if we mess up? What if we stop obeying His Torah? Will He still love us?” It’s like the child who comes home every week with an A+ on his test. He wonders to himself if his parents will shower him with the same love if he comes home with a B- or a D. It’s only when he does come home with a bad score, or even better, when he comes home one day after getting into a car accident, and his parents still show him how much they love him, it’s only then that the child knows that the love is real.
Suggests Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, that is exactly what happened with the Golden Calf. G-d caused the Jewish People to sin with the Golden Calf (see Avoda Zarah 4b) to teach them this lesson. That’s right. He knew they were anxious (they’re Jewish after all). He delayed Moshe from coming down the mountain, He confused them, He set them up to sin. Why? So that they could know that they are deserving of annihilation for their terrible sin, and then He could then embrace them and say, but I forgive you. But I still want you. Not only that, but I will build a Mishkan, a home together, even though you’ve strayed so far. In other words, for G-d to convey His unconditional love they needed to experience it, through failure and subsequent embrace, which they did through the episode of the Golden Calf.
Which is all very nice if you lived in the Sinai desert three thousand five hundred years ago. What about this therapist’s clients who believe that G-d is out to get them? What about the many people in this room who grapple with this question – does G-d love me even though I am falling short of what He expects from me daily, if not hourly?
I don’t know how I would have answered that question a few years ago, or even a week ago, but I know how I would answer that today:
There was not a single Jew who did not acknowledge that the infighting among the Jewish People, and the State of Israel’s arrogant complacency contributed to the tragedies of October 7th. That’s why the slogan for the war was b’yachad nenatzeiach, we will win, but only if we are together. That’s why there was such an awakening of spirituality over the past two years. Everyone knew it – we needed more faith in G-d and we needed more unity.
Tragically, not only did it not last; it completely fell apart. Over the past few months, we have witnessed extreme infighting over the Charedi Draft with fatal consequences. Two weeks ago, for reasons completely beyond me, someone decided it would be a great time to bring up one of the most divisive issues in Klal Yisrael – the usage of the Kotel by groups that are not Orthodox. As Rabbi Gil Student pointed out, you could not have chosen a worse time. We forgot the lessons we just learned and fell into old patterns of hate quickly and deeply.
I don’t know about you, but when the US started flooding the region with warships and planes, I was shocked by the confidence of Jews all over the world. The memes that were already celebrating the downfall of Iran, the cavalier attitude of so many Israelis. Personally, I was petrified. Yes, it’s great to have the support of the strongest army in the world. But I thought to myself, are we deserving of victory? Are we, who remind ourselves every year on Tisha B’av how Jerusalem fell over infighting, we, who before the dust had settled from one of the rudest reminders of this terrible lesson already forgot it, are we really worthy of G-d assisting our armies to fight our most powerful enemy in the region?
No, we are not.
We are not deserving. And yet, Ayatollah Khameini, the evil architect of so much bloodshed and evil was eliminated on the first day of battle.
We are not deserving and yet, the campaign against our primary enemy for the past three decades is finally happening and has been wildly successful.
We are not deserving and yet, the casualties in Israel are miraculously low.
We are not deserving and yet, for the first time since King David, we not only have sovereignty, but we have military dominance over all our enemies. There are virtually no enemies left!
If I were to take one message out of the incredible success of this past week it would be that no matter how undeserving I am, He still values me. He still wants to have a relationship with me. G-d loves me, and you, no matter what.
Some of us may have received this message from our parents. Some of us may have not. And that’s terribly painful. It could take a lifetime of internal work to learn how to accept ourselves. But we do not need sources to tell us this truth, we do not need to go back 3500 years to see Hashem’s eternal and unconditional love. What we need to do is recognize that our generation has been chosen, like the generation that left Egypt, to be told through events unfolding right now in the Middle East, that no matter how undeserving we may be, G-d still loves us. All we need to do is open our eyes.
by Ner Tamid | Feb 22, 2026 | Sermons
Contrary to popular belief, ‘what does not kill you makes you stronger,’ was not first coined by Kelly Clarkson. It was Nietzsche who argued that adversity and challenges, while they could be debilitating, can also bring out our greatest strengths. As a people, we have experienced this time and time again; in the aftermath of persecution, there has always been an explosion of creativity and brand-new spiritual horizons. October 7th is no exception. Over the past two years, there has been an awakening among Jews who never practiced Judaism or acknowledged their heritage in public. Led by the likes of Michael Rappaport, Montana Tucker, Jerry Seinfeld, and Gal Gadot, Jewish pride is trending. You see more Magen Dovid necklaces than ever before. More Israeli flags and pins. More Jewish college kids attending Hillel and Chabad. More public high schoolers starting NCSY JSU clubs in their schools. There is a Chabad rabbi on social media who publishes pictures of himself wrapping with celebrities like the rapper, Lil Dicky, the actor, James Franco, the billionaire, Bill Ackman, and the influencers, the Nelk Boys.
All of this is beautiful. But it’s also very public. Much of what has been publicized is, understandably, forward-facing Judaism, Jewish practices in the public sphere. What I’d like to talk about today is Judaism in the private sphere, more specifically, the characteristics of a Jewish home. The Torah places a premium on spiritual practices that are done in private. Public acts can be motivated by public approval; private acts are authentic. Rav Chaim Vital writes that when G-d will judge us on our interpersonal relationships, He will only judge us on how we acted in the confines of our home; because how we act at home is who we really are.
So what does a Jewish home look like?
(If you drive through Pikesville, you would say a Jewish home means ripping down the old home and building something twice the size but that’s not what we’re talking about…)
Allow me to give you a tour of the Jewish home by giving you a virtual tour of the very first Jewish home, the Mishkan.
As you enter, you will notice a table – the Shulchan and on it, loaves of bread. This is actually one of the most radical ideas that Judaism brought into the world. Zoroastrians believed that there was good and evil. Christianity adopted that same binary thinking demarcating between spiritual and physical. But Judaism posits that good and evil all come from the same source, that the physical realm is not evil, it is actually where we have the greatest opportunity for spiritual growth. And so, in Judaism, food becomes a central part of faith. On Shabbos we are commanded to eat and eat well, and every day of the week, we are instructed to work and to use our physical belongings to create a better world.
The dining room table in Judaism is holy. It’s where meaningful conversations are supposed to take place, it’s where mothers express their love through cakes and roasts, and most importantly, it’s where we make space for those outside our family and invite them in and make them feel “like members of our household.” I’ve shared with you before how in certain parts of Germany there was a custom to use one’s dining room table as one’s coffin, as if to say, let this table testify to how I used the material world and my material gifts to serve my fellow Jew and to serve G-d.
On the right is a Menorah. Like in every culture, this candelabra represents the intellect. Whereas in Greek culture, the philosopher walks the streets with the lamp of inquiry, in Judaism, the lamp of intellectual engagement is in the home. V’’dibarta bam b’shivtecha b’veisecha. Rabbi Sacks would often quote Isadore Rabi, winner of a Nobel Prize in physics, who was once asked how he became such an accomplsihed scientist. He replied, “Every other child would come back from school and be asked, ‘What did you learn today?’ But my mother used to ask: ‘Izzy, did you ask a good question today?’ That made the difference. Asking good questions made me a scientist.” In a Jewish home, there is no question that should ever be off-limits. Curiosity and intellectual honesty are hallmarks of our peoplehood.
Even before you see it, you will smell the next piece of furniture in the Mishkan. Further down the corridor, centered between the Table and the Menorah is the small altar on which daily incense was burned. Every home has a smell. I don’t mean that the house smells musty or like someone likes to pour an entire bottle of Tide into the laundry. What I mean is that there is an intangible energy in every home. In some homes you walk through the door and you feel at ease, like you belong there. In other homes, you feel on guard.
To make Ketores, incense, one had to be exceptionally precise; there was little room for failure. One extra kernel of the wrong spice would throw off the entire batch. And the same is true for the emotional energy in a home. Last week we hosted a beautiful roundtable on education. Dr. Schorr talked about the intangible smell of the home but she used a slightly different metaphor – temperature. She encouraged us to constantly take the temperature of our home. Does it feel stuffy right now, like everyone’s walking on eggshells? Does it feel volatile, voices are all climbing in pitch? Adjust the temperature. And if you can’t adjust it, then take a break. One of the silliest pieces of marriage advice I hear people give is never go to sleep angry at your spouse. Did you get the same advice? What if the temperature is at the boiling point, are you sure you want to have a conversation now? No, you do not.
We need to accustom ourselves to taking the temperature or taking a whiff. How does my house smell? The intangible energy of a home is impacting you and everyone inside. If it feels warm, smells inviting and loving, amazing. If it doesn’t and you could change it, great. If not, open a window, take a break, go to sleep, and start over again tomorrow. The avodah beings anew every day.
And now, ladies and gentlemen, we move on to the master suite, the most important room in G-d’s house. The Kodesh Hakadoshim where the Aron resided. It’s a beautiful room, it has the most intricate furniture, but it all revolves around one thing – the Torah, the two tablets and a Torah scroll. And that’s because the true hallmark of a Jewish home is the bookcase filled with Jewish books.
The bookcase in a Jewish home is not a piece of furniture, it is where the past, present, and future of Judaism merge. Dusty books with broken spines inherited from a grandparent. Tear-filled Siddurim into which you poured your greatest dreams. Books with underlines and sticky-notes and pages turned over. The messier the bookcase, the more beautiful; it’s a sign of them being used.
The truth is that even the books never cracked open carry their own quiet beauty. My children sometimes ask whether I have read every volume lining my shelves. Of course not. But books are not only records of what I know; they represent my aspirations. Rabbi Moshe Hauer z”l kept a book about overcoming anger on his desk; he said he never read it, yet its presence alone reminded him to keep his cool. I dream of the day when I have the time to fully immerse myself in the worlds waiting on my shelves, but until then, those books gently call me toward the person I hope to become.
Over the past two years, while many celebrities were powerfully expressing their Judaism in public, many of you were powerfully expressing their Judaism in private. I think it’s safe to say that most of your bookcases have grown these past two years; more volumes of the Talmud, Mishnayos, books like Understanding Your Prayer and Living the Blessing are now on your shelves. And whether you understood or remembered or even read every word, they represent who you want to be. You have transformed your home and in doing so, you have transformed yourself.
Once again, thanks to the vision and determination of Ari Weiss, we are launching another initiative of daily learning. This time we will be studying a beautiful book called Living Chessed. There are flyers that will be handed out during Mussaf that have a QR code on them and after Shabbos, you can order your own copy at the highly subsidized price of $10. I look forward to learning together, to growing together, and to growing my Jewish bookcase, making my home a replica of G-d’s home.
***
Before there was a Mishkan, there was a Jewish home. In Egypt, on Seder night the Jews were instructed to bring an offering but there was no communal temple. Instead, the “doorposts were the altar,” the home was the sanctuary. At the table sat family, friends, and also individuals who had no family and perhaps not too many friends. This was the original Shulchan.
At that table sat children who asked questions, whose curiosity was encouraged, who were not ignored by the adults, but were listened to. The original Menorah.
We can just imagine the tension in the air; the screams outside from the Egyptians, the anxiety around leaving Egypt the next morning. And yet, the parents held it together, ensuring that the environment was loving and warm. The very first expression of Ketores.
And of course, that meal, those children’s questions, the parents calm energy, all became part of the Biblical story, finding a special place in the Aron, and eventually onto the bookcases of our Jewish homes.
by Ner Tamid | Feb 15, 2026 | Sermons
Mazel Tov Sheina on your Bat Mitzvah! We are all so happy for you and excited for this new milestone in your life.
Anyone who knows Sheina’s family knows that they are Lubavitch. Like, very Lubavitch. So, you may be wondering what a Lubavitch girl is doing at Ner Tamid. Let me explain:
You may not know this, but Ner Tamid is actually a crypto-Lubavitch shul. It may look a little different than your typical Chabad house but dig a little deeper and you’ll see what I mean.
According to ChatGPT, in Lubavitch shuls there is a strong emphasis on children’s programming, a wide range of observance levels, and exceptional warmth. Is that not a good description of Ner Tamid?
There’s more.
In Lubavitch shuls the men farbreng. At Ner Tamid, the men go to Kiddush Club.
In Lubavitch shuls, davening on Shabbos morning starts at 10:30 AM. At Ner Tamid, most people believe that davening starts at 10:30 AM.
The Rebbe of Lubavitch lived on President’s street. The rabbi of Ner Tamid lives on Lincoln Ave.
In Lubavitch shuls they have a big picture of their former rabbi in the lobby. At Ner Tamid, we also have a big picture of our former rabbi in the lobby.
In Chabad, we all know the women run the show. And at Ner Tamid, yeah, that’s probably the case as well. Although the sheitels here, for those who wear them, do not reach the women’s ankles.
In Lubavitch shuls, the men look like they just rolled out of bed. Ner Tamid is the only shul where people will literally show up in pajamas.
So basically, this is a Chabad house.
There is actually real history connecting our shul to Chabad.
The very first Lubavitch minyan in Baltimore was established in 1896. They bought a building on 132 South Caroline street and called themselves Agudas Achim Anshe Lubawitz Nusach Ari Congregation. Until 1922, when Tzemach Tzedek opened, this was the only Chabad shul in town. In the 1969, with the changing demographics of downtown Baltimore, the shul merged with a newer shul in Pikesville known as Ner Tamid Greenspring Valley Synagogue. That’s right. Our shul is truly a Lubavitch shul.
For the vast majority of the time that Agudas Achim Anshe Lubawitz Nusach Ari Congregation was in existence the rebbe was the sixth rebbe of Lubavitch, Rav Yosef Yitzchak Schneerson. His son-in-law, Rav Menachem Mendel Schneerson, is the man we all know so much about. I’d like to spend a few minutes this morning talking about the sixth rebbe, Rav Yosef Yitzchak, otherwise known as the Rebbe RaYatz.
Rav Yosef Yitzchak was probably the most arrested Jew in history. He was sent to jail seven times in his life for his promotion of Judaism and support of the Jewish People. The first time was at the age of ten. A Jewish butcher was being beaten by a police officer and Rav Yosef Yitzchak stepped in to defend him, causing him to be thrown into a dark cell for the day. Future arrests would be far more serious.
Shortly after the Bolsheviks took over, they created a police force dedicated to eradicating Jewish life from the USSR. The saddest feature of this group was that it was organized and led by Jews. At the helm was a man Shimon Diamenstein. At one point he had studied in the great Eastern European Yeshivas and got ordained by Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzinksi, the leading Torah scholar of the time, but eventually he left his faith and became an enemy of the Jewish People.
Though the laws against the practice and study of Judaism were initially mild under Communist rule, Rav Yosef Yitzchak saw the writing on the wall, and decided to do something about it. The first thing he did was create very small networks of melamdim, teachers who would study with young children and adults in secret. By decentralizing the system, he ensured that if one person got caught, the damage would be limited. He would use trade schools or farms as a cover for these mini-yeshivas. He sent his followers to build underground mikvahs, baked matzah in secret that was widely distributed, and ensured that there would be shochtim, people able to slaughter meat so Jews could keep kosher.
If anyone was caught engaging in any of these activities, they would be sent to Siberia at best, very often, they would be executed. But Rav Yosef Yitzchak was not only a great manager, he inspired his followers, impressing upon them the importance of their mission, letting them know that the future of Jewry rested on their shoulders.
Most famously, in 1927, he was arrested and accused of espionage. At one point in the interrogations, a Soviet officer pointed a gun at him and threatened: “This toy has made many people talk.”
The Rebbe replied: “That toy can intimidate only a man who has many gods and one world. I have one G-d and two worlds.”
He was sentenced to death and only due to international pressure was he ultimately released and sent out of Russia, eventually immigrating to the United States. Though he was no longer living there, his network remained. Rav Yosef Yitzchak Schneerson’s passion, strength, and vision ensured the flame of Judaism would survive in the cold environs of communism.
Sheina, you were supposed to have your Bat Mitzvah last week, parshas Yisro. That is an exciting parsha – literally lightning and thunder and the greatest spiritual spectacle in history as the Jewish people gathered at the foot of Har Sinai. This week’s parsha is probably the most boring of all. Laws. A whole lot of laws. But that’s precisely the point. A people transformed by a single overwhelming experience can be inspired. A people shaped by daily law can endure. Parshas Yisro is the kumzits, the spiritual high, the euphoria. Parshas Mishpatim is where Judaism transforms from inspiration to implementation and becomes culture. Too many of us get burned out of Judaism because we don’t feel constant excitement. But constant excitement is not real. Har Sinai took place once in history; Mishpatim, the intricate laws of Judaism, is the vessel in which that fire can be contained.
Your Rebbe, the sixth Rebbe of Lubavitch, understood this. When we think of Chabad, we think of the Shlichim who are willing to go to the farthest places on earth to inspire Jews and we give credit to the seventh Rebbe. I would argue that the culture of self-sacrifice really began with Rav Yosef Yitzchak. He understood that communism would last for decades, but that didn’t dissuade him. Because he also understood there needed to be a process, a difficult and long road, but eventually, there will be light. When one of the men he sent to start a small yeshiva complained to him that it was futile, he replied: “You dig a hole and plant seeds, and I will water it with my tears.”
Sheina, you have boundless talents, qualities, and skills. You are a musician, you excel at math, your siblings adore you. You have dreams of using those skills to help children in the future and I am sure you will. Those are all great. But you also have a legacy. You were brought up on a steady diet of perseverance, of overcoming obstacles, of the steady commitment to Judaism. Just last week, I saw your mother as she came into shul. The weather was freezing, your mother looked like she was travelling through the North Pole. But she was here; to daven, to connect, to grow. That was the Chabad legacy coursing through her.
Although we have a lot in common with Lubavitch, one area in which I hope we can grow as a community is the Lubavitch joy and passion. Walk into any Chabad school, shul, yeshiva, it’s in the air. It didn’t start with farbrengins. It started with the cold Russian soil. It continued with individual seeds. It was watered with an endless stream of tears. And today we see how those seeds have blossomed.
The seventh Lubavitcher Rebbe in his talks on Tu B’shvat would often quote the verse from Devarim, “כי האדם עץ השדה.” Man is like a tree. He would remind his followers that most of the tree’s development takes place underground, indiscernible to the naked eye. Sheina, you were born on Tu B’shvat. I hope you and all of us take this legacy, your legacy, our legacy, to heart.
by Ner Tamid | Jan 31, 2026 | Sermons
In honor of Jesse Sipple’s Bar Mitzvah, being that his family has Yekke minhagim, customs that are unique to Jews from German descent, I’d like to spend our time this morning discussing some of those customs with a brand-new gameshow. I am going to describe a custom and the ‘contestants,’ that’s all of you, are going to have decide if it is a genuine Yekke custom, or not. The game is called Yekke or… Shwekey.
Yes, Shwekey, as in the Jewish Orthodox singer, Yaakov Shwekey. Let me explain. You see, Yaakov Shwekey’s mother is Ashkenazi, just regular plain old Ashkenazi. His father is Sefardi, Syrian Jew, who grew up in Egypt. Yaakov Shwekey lived in Israel, went to a Chafetz Chaim school in Rochester, New York, then studied in the Lakewood Yeshiva and now lives in Deal. When he sings, he vacillates between sounding like an Israeli with a TAF and a yeshiva guy with a SAF. In other words, he represents all Jews that are not Yekkes. So yes, Yekke or Shwekey.
I know, it’s not great. But the alternative words that rhyme with Yekke that I could come up with were Becky, Techie, and Keki, which apparently is a Japanese cake. So I’m kind of stuck and we’re just going to go with it. Also, it’s cold outside, my family is in New York for Shabbos, and I’m trying to find any way to avoid talking about ICE on a Bar Mitzvah Shabbos, so cut me slack.
Let’s do a practice round –
Coming on time to a Jewish wedding. Yekke or Shwekey?
That was a trick question. Yekke’s actually come early.
But you get the point. Right? Here we go –
Wrapping the Torah with an oversized scrunchy and an impossible-to-link repurposed belt loop from the 19th century. Yekke or Shwekey?
You may have noticed, if you were actually inside during Hagbah and Glilah, that today, our Torah was wrapped with a very long linen cloth that was designed beautifully by Jesse’s cousins. This Yekke wrap is called a Wimpel.
The custom of the Wimpel is traced back to the Maharil, a 14th century German rabbi who the story goes, was once at a Bris when the Mohel realized he forgot to bring a cloth to wrap the baby’s wound. Whoops. Brace yourself – The Maharil, realizing the baby was in danger, instructed the Mohel to take the wrap from the torah scroll and use it as a bandage for the baby. This somewhat bizarre incident evolved into German Jews placing a linen cloth under the baby who is getting a Bris Milah. I kid you not.
Actually, this baby grew up and wrote a memoir about his experiences. He called it, Diary of a Wimpel Kid… Sorry.
After the bris, they beautify the cloth with all sorts of designs, and on the child’s 3rd birthday, the child is brought to shul wrapped in the wimple and together with his father, they use it for Gelilah. The wimple is then used for the child’s Bar Mitzvah, like we did today, and again, at his Aufruf, which we look forward to celebrating. Weird backstory. Beautiful minhag.
I find it kind of poetic that the most famous Jewish German custom revolves around tying something up really tight. Sort of like the Jewish German personalities…
Fun fact: The name Motzen comes from a German village where my family probably originated from. Don’t kill me. I’m one of you.
Okay, here’s another one: Waiting 3 hours between a meat meal and a dairy meal. Yekke or Shwekey?
My daughters have already informed me that they will be marrying German Jews so they don’t have to wait so long between meat and milk. Where does this custom come from?
The Talmud tells us that after eating a meal of meat, you can only eat dairy at the next meal. Now for most people in the ancient world, they had two meals and there were approximately six hours between those meals. Hence, the six hour wait time that most of us Shwekey’s wait between meat and milk.
In Germany, they had different meal habits. In Germany, there were five meals a day. It would start with fruhstuck, breakfast. Continue with, please bear with me, zwischenmahlzeit, some form of an in-between meal. Then they’d have mittagessen, lunch. Then they’d have kaffe and kuchen, which is… coffee and cake. And then they’d have abendbrodt, dinner. Do the math. There were five meals with approximately three hours between each meal. This is why Yekkes only wait 3 hours.
While my ancestors were living in poverty, eating potatoes and meat for brunch and potatoes and milk for dinner, our German friends were eating like kings five times a day! And they’re the ones who get the 3-hour wait time. Talk about white privilege.
Next question – Not wearing Tefilin on Chol Hamoed. Yekke or Shwekey?
This one is fascinating and rather controversial.
There is a Biblical obligation for men to wear Tefillin every day with the exception of Shabbos and holidays. There is no Talmudic source that says Chol Hamoed, the days between holidays, is included in the no-tefillin days. On the contrary, it is quite clear that one should be wearing Tefilin on Chol Hamoed. But there is a book, one of the most influential books in Jewish literature known as the Zohar, and in the Zohar we are instructed not to wear Tefillin on Chol Hamoed.
What do you do when there is a contradiction between the Talmud and the Zohar?
It depends. It depends on how you perceive the Zohar. The Zohar is a book of Jewish mysticism. Its main thesis is trying to balance our belief in a G-d that is completely beyond our comprehension with a belief in a G-d who has a personal relationship with each and every one of us. It’s a beautiful, deep, and inspiring work.
The Zohar purports to be written by Rav Shimon bar Yochai, a student of the famous Rabbi Akiva, and who lived in the second century. And yet, it was only first published in the 13th century. The reason for this gap is that the Zohar was meant to be a secret collection of teachings that were passed on orally from teacher to student. It was deemed unfit for the masses as there are complicated ideas in the Zohar; ideas which flirt with heresy, and ideas that if misused can lead the masses astray. The most well-known example of this is the false Messiah, Shabtai Tzvi, who corrupted many ideas found in the Zohar to lend himself legitimacy, and caused an incredible amount of harm to the Jewish People.
The thing is that not everyone believed that the Zohar was written by Rav Shimon bar Yochai. Some argued that not only was it a forgery but many ideas found in the Zohar were incorrect and incompatible with Judaism. One such person wrote a book that analyzed the Zohar chapter by chapter, demonstrating how certain ideas could not possibly have been written in the 2nd century, could not have been written in Israel where Rav Shimon bar Yochai lived, and that many of the ideas found in the Zohar are just plain wrong. The author was a man by the name of Rav Yaakov Emden, probably the leading Torah scholars of the 18th century, and as you may have guessed by now, a German Jew.
And so, German Jews, do not adopt customs that are found in the Zohar, certainly not ones that contradict something found in the Talmud. German Jews will therefore wear Tefilin on Chol Hamoed. Most of the rest of us Shwekeys will not wear Tefilin on Chol Hamoed.
Last question – Overly serious, never smile, judgmental, and never exhibiting any emotions. Yekke or Shwekey?
They say Yekkes don’t bottle up emotions, they file them away in labeled folders.
And this is where Jesse Sipple and his family come along.
Jesse Sipple, who has a Wimple and waits three hours between meat and milk and will wear Tefillin on Chol Hamoed, he creates games. Fun games. Yes, they have a lot of rules. But there is a good chance sometime in the next decade you will be playing a game made by Jesse Sipple; you’ll be sitting around with family and friends and laughing and having a good time. And that’s exactly what goes on in the Sipple home all the time. If you ever see the Sipple children they always have a genuine joyful smile on their face because they live in a home with rules, yes, but also a beautiful sense of joy.
There’s more – Although the Sipple family, in good old Germanic fashion, had this Bar Mitzvah planned for quite some time, the entire plan was almost disrupted. Last week I received a frantic call from a family who often davens here, who were planning on having their Bar Mitzvah in Israel. Only that between the fear of an Iranian attack and an insane storm disrupting flights, it did not look like this would happen. They called me asking if they could have the Bar Mitzvah at Ner Tamid. I explained to them that we already have a Bar Mitzvah planned, but I offered to ask the Sipple family what they thought. I sent a message to Naomi and Ian and a little while later I got the reply: Jesse said that he would be very happy to split his Shabbos with this other boy to allow him to have a Bar Mitzvah.
It was beautiful but I wasn’t surprised. I wasn’t surprised because anyone who knows Jesse knows that he is one of the most thoughtful, kind boys you will meet. But also because his parents are the most thoughtful and kind people you will meet. As one small example – whenever there is anyone looking for a meal for Shabbos or Yom Tov, I know I could always count on the Sipple’s to host them.
So thank you, Jesse and the whole Sipple family, for destroying those German stereotypes with your joy and warmth.
***
The Medrash teaches us that when the sea split, it actually divided into twelve separate lanes. Each tribe was given their own lane to travel. This wasn’t just done to enable better traffic patterns, it was done to symbolize that there is more than one legitimate path in Judaism. The Mei’am Loez adds a fascinating detail – the walls between the different tribes were translucent. What this teaches us is that each Jew recognized they had their own path in Avodas Hashem, and at the very same time, they saw and appreciated that other Jews had their own different path in serving G-d that was appropriate for them.
So whether you are a Yekke, a Shwekey, a Beckie, or a techie, there is a path for you, a path for each and every one of us.
Jesse, we hope and pray that you find yours, and that we all find ours, and that all of us to learn to appreciate the path of others.
Good Shabbos. Shabbat Shalom. And as they say in Germany, a guter Shabbis.
