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.
by Ner Tamid | Jan 25, 2026 | Sermons
I was going to talk about the upcoming storm, but it seems a little frivolous to discuss snow when the world seems to be going up in flames. Aside from the local unrest, which is worthy of its own analysis and drasha, our hearts and minds are always on Israel. Right now, there’s an American war ship making its way across the Atlantic to be stationed near Iran. A general in the Iranian Revolutionary Guard threatened that Iran has its finger on the trigger ready to attack the US and Israel if they are attacked first. And of course, every human being with half a heart, every person who cares about human rights, should be broken over the mass murder of anywhere between 5 and 20,000 Iranian protestors who just want to be free.
Prime Minister Netanyahu, who during past protests, was quite vocal in his support of the protestors, is noticeably silent. According to reports, he asked President Trump not to attack Iran as Israel is not ready for an Iranian assault. That is very unsettling news.
Over the years, when Netanyahu has addressed himself to the Iranian People, he almost always invokes the great historic relationship between Iran and Israel, between the great Persian Empire and the people of Israel. Netanyahu likes to place the blame for all of Iran’s antisemitism at the feet of the Ayatollah. I’d like to take a moment to set the record straight.
While it is true that the Ayatollah is probably the greatest living threat to both Israel and Jewish People, it is not exactly accurate to say that Iran, before the Revolution, was a safe haven for Jews, or that Persia was one of the greatest allies of the Jewish People. It is true, Darius, Emperor of Persia, who according to some traditions was actually the son of Queen Esther, granted the Jewish People the right to return to Israel and rebuild the Temple in the 6th century BCE, and for that we are eternally grateful. And it is true that over the next few hundred years, the Jewish community in Babylon, which was part of the Persian Empire, thrived, setting the stage for the development and recording of the Talmud. But the little love affair between the people of Persia and Jews was ultimately short-lived.
By the 4th and 5th century, Jews were being singled out by the ruler Yazdegerd II and persecuted across the country. From the 7th – 13th century, Jews in Persia were not allowed to ride horses, or bear arms, and had to pay extra taxes and wear identifying clothing. In the 14th and 15th century, not only did the government discriminate against Jews, but converts to Islam were often accused of heresy and killed at the stake. This is what one historian who visited Iran in the mid-19th century had to say about how the Iranians treated the Jewish People:
“The [Jewish People] are obliged to live in a separate part of town … for they are considered as unclean creatures. … Under the pretext of their being unclean… should they enter a street, inhabited by Muslims, they are pelted… with stones and dirt. … For the same reason, they are prohibited to go out when it rains (or snows); for it is said the rain would wash dirt off them, which would sully the feet of the Muslims… Sometimes the Persians intrude into the dwellings of the Jews and take possession of whatever please them. Should the owner make the least opposition in defense of his property, he incurs the danger of atoning for it with his life. … If … a Jew shows himself in the street during the three days of the Katel… he is sure to be murdered.”
During WW2, the Nazis established an informal alliance with Iran and helped the Iranians publish antisemitic textbooks to be used in the schools. After the Six-Day War, all shuls were kept closed for two months for fear of retribution. And even under the rule of the Shah, while the Jewish community prospered, the Shah had Jews executed for conspiring with Israel and he believed that the Jewish community as a whole were trying to have him killed.
With friends like these…
Despite this very dark history, I’d like to believe that the people on the streets of Iran would love to be friends of the Jewish People. And even if I’m wrong, even if the long history of antisemitism is in the blood and soil of Iran, there is still something I believe that every Jew should do for them based on a fascinating insight found in our parsha:
We are all well-acquainted with the image of Pharoah running around the streets of Egypt on the night of Pesach. We know that he finally finds Moshe and begs him to take the Jewish People and leave Egypt immediately. Though in the past he refused to allow the Jews to take their children and cattle and sheep, now, Pharoah tells them that everyone and everything must go. What we often miss is one request that Pharoah makes of Moshe.
In chapter 12, passuk 32, Pharoah says, “Take your sheep, take your flock, like you said, and go!” And then he adds: “וּבֵֽרַכְתֶּ֖ם גַּם־אֹתִֽי” please pray for me. Pharoah asked Moshe to pray for him, for his wellbeing and for his success.
The Ramban writes that of course, Moshe ignored him. There is no way that the Jewish People were going to pray for their arch enemy. That makes a lot of sense.
However, Rav Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin writes, I disagree. אלא ודאי התפללו עליו. “He most certainly prayed for Pharoah.” Meaning, at the same moment that Moshe was holding his hand over the sea, causing the waters of the Yam Suf to drown Pharoah, he was also praying for Pharoah’s wellbeing. How? Why?
The answer can be found in a Gemara in Berachos. Rabbi Meir, the Gemara tells us, had some people in his neighborhood who made his life a living hell. They harassed him and they threatened his life. He had little political power but he was a holy rabbi with spiritual power and so he decided to pray for their demise. However, his wise wife Beruriah, heard him praying and told him that he was mistaken. “Don’t pray for their death,” she said. “Pray for them to change.”
What stands at the core of these two stories is a belief in the ultimate goodness and value of every human being. Yes, someone may be acting in a despicable fashion, someone may be making your life miserable, but they are still a person created b’tzelem Elokim. When we need to, we will fight; we will drown you in the Yam Suf to protect ourselves and we will bomb your headquarters to stay safe. But the Torah is teaching us that at the very same time, we are expected to see the humanity behind even of our greatest enemies.
Daven for the Ayatolah? I don’t know. That’s not something I can bring myself to do. But daven for the people of Iran, even if they aren’t really our friends? Yes. That is something that we can and must do.
As I mentioned this is the approach of Rav Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin. He believed that Moshe was supposed to daven for Pharoah. And yet, the Ramban disagrees. He did not believe we need to go this far. However, there is another current event in the Middle East where I am confident that even the Ramban would agree that we should all be praying for.
This past week, a terrible tragedy took place in Yerushalayim at an illegal Charedi daycare. It’s still not clear exactly what happened, but it seems like there was overheating in this facility and it caused 53 children were admitted to the hospital, and 2 children, one 3 months old and one 6 months old, died.
The tensions in Israel between the Charedi community and the rest of the population are at an all time high. People are understandably furious at this community’s lack of public service, especially after October 7th, when so many soldiers have been killed and so many more have had their lives disrupted due to endless time spent in the reserves. Many people in Israel accused the Charedi population of an overall lack of responsible parenting and saw this tragedy as a result of a culture of lawlessness.
One such person who felt this way is a man by the name of Chaggai Luber. Chagai, a religious Zionist, lost his 24-year-old son, Yehonatan, in Gaza last year. Chaggai has been an outspoken critic of the Charedi world. He has written in the past of his extreme discomfort saying Kaddish for his son in a Charedi shul surrounded by young men the same age as his son who are not serving in the army. And so this past week, Chaggai joined the many Israelis who felt disgusted and, in some ways, smug about the daycare tragedy.
But then his wife, perhaps following in the footsteps of Bruriah, brought something to his attention. Chani Katz, the mother of one the children who died in that daycare, had visited the Luber’s during shiva. Not only that, when she came to the shiva house, she brought with her a heart-shaped necklace bearing Yehonatan’s image — part of a jewelry project she launched after October 7, to commemorate those killed in the war.
Chaggai, in a Facebook post, wrote how in that moment everything changed. The Charedim were no longer a faceless foe. These were people, brothers and sisters, and heartbroken mothers. He writes:
והיא עמדה לפני, אמא במלא כאבה,
במלא צערה.
במלא אובדנה.
“And I saw her standing before me. A mother filled with hurt. Filled with pain. Filled with loss.”
ומה קרה לי, אב שכול שהצטרפתי לחגיגה
ונסחפתי, אפילו במחשבה, לאותו מחול האשמות נורא.
כשהמתים עוד מוטלים לפנינו, עוד לפני הקבורה.
“What happened to me, a bereaved father, that I joined in the celebration [against the Charedim]? I got carried away, even though it was just in thought, to that demonic dance while the dead were still before us, still unburied?”
והתחרטתי וכמעט שקרעתי קריעה
“And I regretted it. And I almost tore my clothes in mourning.”
If the Netziv says we should be praying for our enemies, then we should be praying and most certainly not celebrating the downfall of our brothers and sisters even if we may be ideologically opposed. If the Netziv says we should be praying for our enemies, we most certainly should not be vindicative to those in our own lives who may make our lives difficult and even miserable. They are people. Jews. Brothers and sisters. We must protect ourselves and fight for what we believe in, but we cannot lose sight of their humanity.
***
The Medrash tells us that Moshe’s prayers were successful. Pharoah survived the drowning at the sea. He saw the light; he realized he was wrong, and he became an outspoken advocate for morality, for truth, for all that is good. May goodness prevail, and may our enemies, both nationally and personally, all see the light.
by Ner Tamid | Jan 11, 2026 | Sermons
Throughout our history, some Jews have run from danger and others engaged in battle. Some Jews have built towering walls and others built sturdy bridges. Some Jews lived a life of fear and others lived a life of courage. In this era of extreme unrest in which world order and Jewish order seem to be built on the quicksand of Pisom and Ramses, our community, people like us, have an incredibly important role to play.
Allow me to explain.
This past Sunday, Nicolas Maduro stood in a packed courtroom. The question of whether or not he should have been captured was not up for discussion. The only question was whether or not justice could be served. Who could be trusted to not be swayed by politics in a climate of extreme partisanship? Who has proven themselves able to not settle until justice is served?
92-year-old, Alvin Hellerstein, was chosen as the judge – and for good reason. Despite being a Columbia Law School graduate with impeccable credentials, most firms refused to hire him. After all, he was a Jew, and this was the 1950’s. But he didn’t run away; he engaged, finally finding a place to work and quickly moving up the ladder. In the 70’s, he was an active participant in the fight to free Russian Refuseniks. After 9/11, he presided over all the numerous hearings between victims of the attacks, airlines, and New York City, balancing empathy and justice like no other. He had Harvey Weinstein thrown into jail and Michael Cohen released. Most impressively, he managed to annoy both former President Obama and President Trump.
He is also an Orthodox Jew. He once told an interviewer that he likes to schedule difficult sentencing hearings on Fridays so that he could use Shabbos to reflect on the case. And although he acknowledges that religion has no place in a courtroom, he admits that his Torah values are a part of who he is and make their way into his rulings. In his words, “Part of my accountability is to the Court of Appeals, where I can be reversed, and I often am. Another is my account to the individuals involved directly in the process. And third, I have to account to G-d. My purpose in life is to be as good a judge as I can be, and I have to ask [G-d] for strength and wisdom in performing that job.”
He believes, like we claim to, that Jews should be out and proud in the public square, that Judaism has what to say about every complex issue, and that in a morally-bereft world, it is our responsibility to be in the fray, navigating good from bad. He is a Jew who does not run from danger, but engages in battle, who lives not with fear, but with courage.
On Sunday, while Judge Hellerstein was presiding over this case in New York City, a few miles away, in Lakewood, New Jersey, a group of rabbis were gathering to discuss AI and its impact on the Jewish Orthodox community. They highlighted the fact that AI in particular and technology in general can foster dependency and addiction, can negatively impact human relationships, and can lead people to serious Torah transgressions. I don’t think there is any room to argue with those conclusions.
However, they then unanimously agreed that they have to work harder on eliminating all usages of AI. Unlike Judge Hellerstein, their approach to challenge is to create better walls, and honestly, I do not fault them at the slightest.
Who could deny the terrible impact social media has had on our youth’s self-esteem and well-being? Who could argue that the internet has taken a vice which necessitated going to a convenience store and slickly hiding a magazine under a newspaper, to unfettered access, causing immeasurable damage to the intimate lives of our entire society? The internet is a cesspool of toxicity and immorality. And these rabbis chose to stay away from it.
The question of how to deal with such dangers goes back to the early days of our peoplehood. Egypt was the mecca of corruption and decadence, and our ancestors took two very different approaches in dealing with it. Eleven of the tribes chose to hide far away from the center of Egyptian culture in a city called Goshen. There was no WiFi in Goshen, they dressed differently than all of society, they built their own self-imposed ghetto. And then there was Yosef. He was an Egyptian and dressed the part. He lived in the capital and interacted with the men and women of Egyptian culture. Two models – two legitimate models, for the ages.
I think it’s safe to say that if you are in this room, you identify with Yosef and his attempt to navigate a complicated world. You too want to take the best of American culture and bridge it with the Torah. You too want to engage in technology but expertly separate between the holy and the impure.
Unfortunately, too often that attempt at nuance translates into watering Judaism down. Too often, those of us who try to walk the tightrope end up lazily taking some of Halacha seriously and disregarding the chapters that don’t fit our lifestyle comfortably. Too often, I hear variations of the following type of question: “Rabbi, I don’t want politics. I don’t want stringencies. Is this allowed? And by the way, I’m not really asking for myself, I’m asking for a friend.” You know, just in case the answer’s no. And that only includes the people who are even asking the questions.
What we too often fail to realize, is that to be Yosef Jews, to be Jews who engage in battle, we can’t have less convictions, we must have more.
What those rabbis gathering in Lakewood may not have noticed is that the walls of Goshen have fallen; the ability to separate yourself from society is a farce in the 21st century, whether you live in New York City or Lakewood. But what that means is that we, the Yosefs of the Jewish People, have a greater responsibility to the Jewish community than ever.
We do not agree that our children should not go to college, fine. But that means that we must be preparing our teens to go out into the world and have such strong Jewish convictions that nothing will faze them.
We don’t agree with segregated kiddushes, fine. But that means that we must show the world how people of the opposite gender can interact, being friendly not flirty.
We don’t agree with all-out-internet bans, fine. But that means that we must be honest with ourselves, not just children but as adults, about the internet’s dangers, and take responsible steps to curb them.
We don’t agree with running away from society, fine. But that means that we must be more confident in what it means to live the life of a Torah Jew.
To be a Yosef is awesome. But it necessitates not watering down but being on fire.
Judaism was almost lost on the slave-fields of Egypt. Apathy had set in. Our ancestors were overwhelmed by the stress and were seduced by the pleasure that Egyptian life had to offer. (See Mesilas Yesharim Chapter 2 and Rashi on the “free fish” Bamidbar 11:5). Our Sages teach us that what kept us alive was the nashim tzidkaniyos, the righteous women. You know what they did?
They harnessed the sexuality that was rampant in Egypt and used it for holiness. They met their husbands in the fields, they aroused them and ensured that there would be future generations of Jewish children. They were Yosef Jews who expertly distinguished between the holy and impure and we are here today because of them.
So once again, throughout our history, some Jews have run from danger and others engaged in battle. Some Jews built towering walls and others built sturdy bridges. Some lived a life of fear and others lived a life of courage.
The world today, with its revolutions, unrest, political violence, and extreme moral confusion, needs us Yosefs more than ever. To succeed, the Yosefs of the world do not need less, they need more. More passionate prayer, more fidelity to Jewish Law, more Torah knowledge, more fire. Let’s lead the way.
