by Ner Tamid | Jul 20, 2025 | Sermons
For the past few years, our shul has conducted an auction on Simchas Torah. Though it was new for our shul, the custom of auctioning honors on Simchas Torah goes back hundreds of years and is fairly standard in many shuls. What is not so standard, and something that I believe is unique to Ner Tamid, is that in addition to auctioning off honors, we also auction off the opportunity to choose a sermon topic for one Shabbos. This year, the highest bidder for choosing a sermon topic was Rabbanit Ahava Schachter-Zarembski.
After Simchas Torah, she told me she purchased it for her son, Meshullam, who is eight years old. Last time a parent bought this opportunity for a child, the sermon topic I was given was Marvel vs. DC, which is a far more controversial topic than I ever realized. So Meshullam comes to my office, we make some small talk, and then I ask him, what should I speak about? I’m wondering to myself which videogames he’s into, maybe he’s a sports fan, maybe fantasy books.
Meshullam says, “Can you please speak about Chevron?”
Chevron the superhero or do you actually mean Chevron the ancient city in Israel?
Yes, Chevron the ancient city in Israel.
Well, Meshullam and his brother and mother are moving to Israel in a little over a week, and so it’s time for me to follow through and give a sermon about Chevron. Are you ready, Meshullam? Here we go.
In 1929, one of the most vicious pogroms took place in Israel. Israel was never a safe place for the Jewish People and every now and then, there were attacks on Jews. But as Zionism gathered steam, the Arab population grew quite nervous about the growth of the Jewish community in the Holy Land. On August 24, 1929, a rumor was spread that the Jewish People were trying to take over the Temple Mount. At 8:30 AM, as many men were making their way to shul for Shabbos morning davening, a terrible massacre began. I will omit the details due to the age of the crowd, but 69 Jews lost their lives that day. There had been a Jewish community in Chevron for over 800 years, but after this massacre every single Jew left.
Rav Avraham Yitzchak Kook was the chief rabbi of Israel at the time. When he heard what was taking place he immediately ran to the British High Commissioner, Sir Harry Luke, begging him to send his troops to intercede. The High Commissioner refused. A few days later, the High Commissioner came to visit Rav Kook and put out his hand to greet him. Rav Kook, who was known to be the most loving and forgiving person, refused to shake his hand, stating that he would not shake a hand covered in Jewish blood. (Rabbi Simcha Raz)
Rav Kook gathered the Jewish community together for a memorial service and shared the following message: “The holy martyrs of Chevron do not need a ‘memorial’ service,” he announced. “The Jewish people can never forget the holy and pure souls who were slaughtered by those murderers and vile thugs. Rather, we must remember and remind the Jewish people not to forget the city of the patriarchs. Am Yisrael must know what Chevron means to us.”
He continued: “We have an ancient tradition:‘Maaseh avos, siman lebanim—The actions of the fathers are signs for their descendants.’ When the weak-hearted meraglim, the biblical spies, arrived at Chevron, they were frightened by the fierce nations inhabiting the land. But Calev quieted the people for Moshe. “We must go forth and conquer the land,” he said. “We can prevail!” (Bamidbar, 13:30).”
Concluded Rav Kook: “Despite the terrible tragedy that took place in Chevron, we hereby announce to the world, ‘Our strength is now like our strength was then!’ We will not abandon our holy places and sacred aspirations. Chevron is the city of our fathers and mothers, of Mearas HaMachpela [where our forefathers are buried] … It is the city of King David —the cradle of our sovereign monarchy. עוד תבנה—it will yet be rebuilt—Jewish Chevron will be built again, in all its honor and glory!”
For almost 40 years Rav Kooks’ words rang hollow. Despite the rich history of the city dating all the way back to Avraham Avinu, despite the many whose parents lived in that holy city for over a thousand years, Chevron did not have a single Jewish resident. Until 1967.
After the Six-Day War, Chevron was under Jewish control. However, the government and army prevented any Jews from entering the city. Not to be deterred, a woman by the name of Sarah Nachshon could not be held back. She led a group to the outskirts of the city and established a new Jewish city called Kiryat Arba. But this holy and determined woman was not satisfied. So a little while later, she and a group of women and their children slipped into Beit Haddassah, a deserted hospital in Chevron, and refused to leave until the government allowed them to live in Chevron. The government assumed that after a while the women would give up and leave. But they didn’t. And after a full year of living in this hospital, the government relented and allowed for the Jewish community of Chevron to be rebuilt.
While she was leading this sit-in or live-in in Beit Hadassah, Sarah Nachshon gave birth to a son. And she thought to herself, how can I be so close to the burial place of Avraham Avinu, the first Jew to ever have a Bris, and not have my son’s circumcision in Avraham’s burial place, the Mearas Hamachpeilah? Sure enough, their son, Avraham Yedidia, was circumcised in the Tombs of the Patriarchs.
Tragically, a few months later, this son died. Sarah Nachshon was determined to bury the baby in Chevron’s ancient Jewish cemetery. The government adamantly refused. It would cause an uproar among the Arabs living there. The army was instructed to block the road to the Jewish cemetery knowing that she would try to bury her son. Sure enough, she showed up, carrying her deceased infant in a tallis. The instructions from Tel Aviv were to prevent her from going through. But the soldiers refused. And Avraham Yedidia Nachshon was buried by his mother, Sarah, in the ancient Jewish cemetery of Chevron.
Rav Kook was right. It is a city of strength. And it was a city that would ultimately be rebuilt. Sarah Nachshon, following in the footsteps of King David, in the footsteps of Calev, in the footsteps of Avraham, rebuilt the city of Chevron.
But the question is why? That’s Meshullam’s question. Why have Jews always been so obsessed with this city? Why did Sarah Nachshon go to such great lengths to resettle the city? Why did a small population of Jews live in a predominantly Arab city for centuries? Why did King David need to go there to start his monarchy? Why did Calev pray there? Why did Avraham go to great lengths to bury his wife there? You would imagine all of this should have taken place in Jerusalem. Is that not our holiest city? What is the significance of this city of Chevron?
Here’s where we get a little more mystical, so buckle up. The root of the name Yerushalayim is shalom, which means peace and harmony. The root of the name Chevron is chibur, which means joining together. Both cities represent Divine connection, but that’s where the commonalities end.
Yerushalayim’s most famous structure, the Bais Hamikdash, stood atop a mountain. Chevron’s most famous structure, the burial place of our forefathers is a cave, Mearat Hamachpeila, literally the double cave. It’s called a double cave because it is a cave within a cave. One city’s center was open and elevated, the other city’s center is hidden deep under the ground.
Another contrast – We know of the many prayers said in Yerushalayim, by King David, by King Solomon, by Ezra. But in Chevron, there is mysterious silence. Avraham goes there to eulogize his wife, but the Torah makes no mention of what he says. We know that Calev goes there to pray for strength, but his prayer is only subtly alluded to the text and nothing more.
Rav Moshe Wolfson suggests that while Yerushalayim and Chevron are both cities of connection, Yerushalayim represents an overt and tangible connection to the Divine, whereas Chevron represents the hidden connection.
This idea, I believe, is alluded to in a rather strange passage in the ancient Medrashic work, Yalkut Shimoni. It relates how Adam was looking for a place to bury his wife, Eve. He walked by Chevron, and he smelled a smell that he recognized from the past; Chevron smelled like the Garden of Eden. The Medrash tells us that he started digging so he could reach Gan Eden, but an angel made him stop.
This story represents the essence of Chevron. In Jerusalem you would hear the music of the Leviim and see the beauty of the Temple. In Chevron, you would hear silence and stare at a rocky terrain. The angel prevented Adam from digging all the way to Gan Eden, because Chevron is needed to remind us that there is a form of spirituality, I would argue a more elevated form of spirituality, that remains hidden away.
We live in an era of extreme superficiality. Whether it’s social media which filters away our flaws, or it’s the unprecedented materialism that we both enjoy and are overwhelmed by. In a world of so much externality, we crave for something deeper. Most people will tell you the antidote to superficiality is being authentic, being real, saying whatever is on your mind, sharing and over-sharing until there is nothing hidden at all.
But Chevron tells us that is wrong. And I’ll share personally here – as someone who tries to share their inner world with others, you, I will tell you that I often second-guess myself. I do find value in sharing my inner experience but sometimes it leaves me depleted, empty.
We are not supposed to dig all the way to Gan Eden; we need to appreciate the rich spiritual world that lives inside.
Those feelings of intense emotions that you cannot articulate, the small joys that no one else will understand, the deep pain which no one can relate to, the yearnings for G-d and for growth, as fleeting as they may be, Chevron reminds us to savor them, to swish them around in our mind and our heart, to allow them to breathe in their natural hidden habitat. That’s where real spirituality lives and thrives; hidden away. I used to think it was a tragedy that there are parts of us that can never be understood by others. But I was wrong. Chevron teaches us that this part of us, that cannot be shared, is a gift from G-d.
Meshullam, I imagine you chose this topic of Chevron because someone you know quite well embodies these ideas – your mother. Like Calev, she is a fighter and able to hold her own. Like Sarah Nachshon she yearns to live in holiness as difficult as it may be, and that’s why you and your family are making Aliyah. And like the city itself, she has a deep and powerful inner world. We have had the opportunity to learn from your mother – she has given numerous classes in our shul during your short time here. Thank you for giving us a taste of Chevron here in Baltimore. And we wish you so much success in Israel.
We are in the midst of the Three Weeks. It’s a time we mourn for the loss of the Bais Hamikdash, that holy edifice in Yerushalayim, that was destroyed. There is only one ancient building from the times of the Temple that has not been destroyed, and that is – Mearat Hamachpeila in Chevron. Being authentic and ‘putting it out there’ may feel strong, but it’s depleting, and ultimately, it is susceptible to destruction. Our inner world, our precious yearnings and feelings, our Neshama, our hidden connection to G-d, like the city of Chevron, is unbreakable and can never be destroyed.
by Ner Tamid | Jul 13, 2025 | Sermons
What a time to be alive.
I spent the past week reading – that is my ideal vacation. I don’t need to go anywhere fancy; I just need a stack of books. News alert, your rabbi is a big nerd.
Most of the books I read were about antisemitism. Second news alert, your rabbi has a really warped sense of what a relaxing vacation should look like.
In these books on antisemitism there were a few consistent themes. One, we were hated throughout almost all of history. Two, it wasn’t that hard to act out on antisemitism. If someone did not like us, they would attack us. It was as simple as that.
Nowadays, we spend so much time discussing how to combat antisemitism. Imagine discussing how to fight antisemitism with your great-great-grandparents. You know how they combatted antisemitism a hundred years ago? They ran for their lives.
But now, our enemies cannot just attack us; we have an army that fights back. Jihadists like Ahmed Al-Sharaa, the leader of Syria, are meekly turning to Israel with the hope that Israel will offer them peace. We have come to a point where we are so strong, that one of the roles of the IDF is to restrain Jews from fighting back.
What a time to be alive.
I believe the last time we had such security, security to the point that the nations around us were scared to attack us, probably goes back 3297 years to the year 1272 BCE, the year the Jewish People stood on the banks of the Jordan, after defeating the nations of Sichon and Og, the two mightiest armies in the region.
And here’s where history has a funny way of repeating itself. What do you do when you can’t attack with knives and swords? What do you do when your nuclear capabilities are severely limited and your weaponry can’t match up to the Jewish State?
You start a war of words.
Moav and Midian, two countries who hated the Jewish People, realized they did not stand a chance going to battle against the Jews, and so they employed Bilaam, a master orator, to disparage the Jewish People, to curse them and to highlight their every flaw.
What’s fascinating is that if you review many of the classical commentators, they all ask variations of the same question: Who cares if Bilaam cursed the Jewish People? Why do we have an entire Torah portion dedicated to this lowlife? Why does G-d perform crazy miracles, like a talking donkey and preventing Bilaam from cursing the Jews? What’s the big deal?
I don’t blame these rabbis from the Middle Ages for asking this question. Because they lived in a time when if someone did not like us, they killed us. Our enemies did not have to resort to words to hurt us. But I don’t think you and I have this question. Because we live in a time in which they cannot just attack us physically. And so instead, we have experienced time and time again, the lethal power of words.
- How chants of “From the River to Sea,” on college campuses led to physical violence against Jewish students.
- How groups like In Our Lifetime that chant, “Globalize the Intifada,” then go ahead and list addresses of major Jewish organizations and leaders, all but telling their followers to take “justice” into their own hands.
- How on May 20th, the under-secretary-general of the UN issued a dire warning on a BBC interview how “there were 18,000 Gazan babies who would die in 48 hours.” And although the absurd claim was immediately debunked, the next day, two Israeli embassy staffers were shot dead in Washington, DC.
- How just a few days later, a man who yelled, “How many children [have] you killed?” firebombed a group of Jews in Boulder, Colorado, injuring 15 people, and ultimately, killing Karen Diamon.
One commentator understood this. The Abarbanel argues that Bilaam’s curses had no power at all. But had he been successful in cursing the Jewish People it would have galvanized the enemies of the Jews to attack them physically. In 2025, we know all too well what that looks like.
And so instead of just ignoring the “meaningless” words of Bilaam, the Torah records this entire episode, as if to say, there will be a time, thousands of years from now, when the Jewish People will once again be in a position of power, the Jewish People will once again be in a position in which our enemies will be scared to attack, but there will be Bilaams who will attack you with words – Bilaams like Mahmoud Khalil in Columbia chanting death to the Jews, or Bilaams like Tucker Carlson or Candace Owens who platform antisemitic conspiracy theories, or Bilaams like Kanye West and the rapper, Vylan, who lace their music with hatred. The story of Bilaam is a warning – do not ignore those hateful words; they have power.
To further illustrate how powerful words can be, G-d does something rather intriguing. G-d does not just prevent Bilaam from speaking, Bilaam is not kicked off of Twitter and forced to stop sharing his hate. Instead, G-d turns Bilaam’s curses into blessings. Rashi explains that G-d took each of Bilaam’s attempted curses and showed how that curse can actually be a blessing.
If Bilaam were alive in 2025, it does not take much of an imagination to know what he would want to say. I imagine that if Bilaam were around today, he would probably try to claim the Jewish People have outsized influence and control world politics. He would probably claim that we are racist. And he would probably claim that the IDF kills Arabs indiscriminately.
If Bilaam were alive in 2025, if G-d were to take his curses and turn them into blessings, this is probably how Bilaam’s curses-turned-blessings would sound:
“Hen am l’vadad yishkon, it is a nation that lives alone.” The Jewish People are not looking for world dominion; they are looking to be left alone, to live in peace. There are no Elders of Zion plotting world dominion. The wealthiest people on earth are not Jews. But the Jews do indeed have an outsized influence. We have made outsized contributions to the field of life-saving medicine. We have an outsized representation in the realm of social justice. We give more dollars per capita to charity than any other faith group. Our stated mission is to support and elevate the nations around us. Bilaam of 2025 would affirm the outsized positive influence of our nation.
He would then be forced to continue:
“Mah tovu oholecha, how beautiful are your tents!” Like the tents of Avraham, opened on four sides to every passerby regardless of their faith, regardless of their race. Judaism is not racist. On the contrary, it is the only faith that believes that it does not have a monopoly on heaven. Ours is a tradition that does not call others dhimmis or sinners; instead it coins terms like tzadikei umos ha’olam, righteous gentiles. Spend a moment in Israel and you will meet millions Jews of all colors.
And then finally, Bilaam of 2025 would concede:
“Kara shachav ka’ari, the Jewish People crouch like a lion.” That yes, we attack, yes, we fight, yes, we bomb. But our preferred state is that of a crouching lion, of not attacking at all. As Paul Johnson once noted, it was the Jews who taught the world that peace is not a sign of weakness, it is a sign of strength. In our tradition, the word we use for peace, Shalom, is also a name of G-d. We cannot finish a single prayer without beseeching G-d for peace. We are obsessed with peace.
Sometimes we have to kill. And sometimes our army makes mistakes, let’s be honest with ourselves. But warfare as a value?! Killing children as something to glorify?! There is nothing further than the truth. As Golda Meir so beautifully put it, “We will perhaps in time be able to forgive the Arabs for killing our sons, but it will be harder for us to forgive them for having forced us to kill their sons.”
What a time to be alive.
Like the times of the Bilaam of old, we live in a time of unprecedented Jewish strength.
Like the times of the Bilaam of old, we live in a time when our enemies must resort to words – dangerous, hateful, lethal words.
Like the times of the Bilaam of old, we have internalized the message of our parsha; we know how dangerous those words can be, and we must fight them at every turn.
May we merit to live in a time in which all of Bilaam’s blessings come true, a time in which dorach kochav mi’Yaakov, a Messianic star will shoot forth from Yaakov, and the Jewish value of peace will reign supreme.
by Ner Tamid | Jun 29, 2025 | Sermons
In 1956, Rav Moshe Feinstein, the preeminent Halachic authority of the time, received a fascinating question. There were a group of Orthodox Jews who refused to pray in a certain local shul and wanted to start a breakaway minyan. They were looking for Rav Moshe’s approval for their decision.
Now as well know, it is very easy for Jews to come up with reasons why they won’t daven in a particular shul and why they absolutely must start a breakaway minyan. The mechitza is too tall, the mechitza is too small. There’s too much talking, there is not enough talking. They never have kiddush, they waste their money on kiddush. You name it, if there is a shul, we will find good reason not to daven there. But you will never guess what this group’s issue was.
Their issue was with the Israeli and American flags that stood prominently in the front of the shul. They argued that those flags were objects of worship; it was a form of Avoda Zarah. How could one daven in a room that displayed idolatry? As bizarre as this may seem to you, it’s worth noting that over the past two decades there has been pushback in Christian circles around the placement of flags in churches for the same reasons. (See here: https://thelehrhaus.com/commentary/star-spangled-synagogue-do-national-flags-belong-in-our-houses-of-worship/)
Rav Moshe Feinstein, ultimately concludes his response to this question by stating: “Those who want to make a minyan elsewhere because of this and think they are doing something great, are acting inappropriately. It is politically motivated and driven by the evil inclination and Satan.” Next time someone wants to start a breakaway minyan, show them this piece.
Before you get all excited, it’s worth noting that Rav Moshe does not love the practice of placing flags in a shul. Though he says they should not be removed if it would cause any arguments in the community, he calls the practice of placing flags in a shul a foolish practice.
And it begs the question, where did this practice come from? Some of you who travel to other countries may have noticed that in most countries they do not display flags, certainly not flags of the host country, in their shuls. Why do so may American shuls have American flags? And, should we keep our flag in our shul?
So let’s learn a little history. Americans are known to be the most flag-obsessed country in the world. It was an American flag flying over Ft. McHenry that inspired the star-spangled banner. When the Confederates bombed Fort Sumter in 1861, it caused the main flagpole to break. A picture of the broken flagpole was the image that was used to raise funds for the Union army. At the same time, a law that prohibited bringing American flags to the battlefield was reversed and Union soldiers would regularly march into battle under the red-white-and-blue. Whereas other countries wave their flags on government buildings, in the US, you will find flags on private residences and businesses.
Churches and shuls started placing flags in their sanctuaries around World War 1. In addition to it being a time of nationalistic fervor, it was especially important for religious groups that were being accused of being sympathetic to enemies of the United States demonstrate how patriotic they were. Many shuls which consisted of Russian and German members were extremely careful to show that they considered themselves American.
The next time there was a noted spike in placing flags in shuls was in 1948. After the establishment of the State of Israel, many shuls wanted to show their pride and connection to a Jewish State. But to place a foreign flag in their shul is bad form. So a number of shuls decided to place both an Israeli flag and an American one to show that our connection to Israel does not detract from our connection to America.
Rav Moshe Feinstein was skeptical about the appropriateness of placing a flag in such a holy place. A shul is not a place to make a political statement, even if it’s an important one. A sanctuary is not where we proclaim to the world how connected we feel to this land. If that is the symbolism of this flag then I too, am less than enthusiastic about it being here.
But there is another very famous letter sent by Rav Moshe Feinstein. This letter written in 1984 is addressed to all Jews living in America. He forcefully encourages every Jew to vote in elections, and he sees doing so as an expression of a most fundamental Jewish value: “On reaching the shores of the United States; Jews found a safe haven. The rights guaranteed by the … Constitution and Bill of Rights have allowed us the freedom to practice our religion without interference and to live in this republic in safety. A fundamental principle of Judaism is hakaras hatov — recognizing benefits afforded us and giving expression to our appreciation.”
Ladies and gentlemen, we have a lot to be grateful for. Not only are we grateful for the freedom to practice our faith which has been a centerpiece of the American way since this country came into being. But for a president of the united States to assist Israel in bombing the nuclear plants of Iran – undoubtedly the greatest existential threat we have faced in the past 50 years, despite the pushback that he received from Democrats and Republicans alike, and despite whatever misgivings you may have of him as a person and/ or a politician, to not say thank you at a time like this would be the most un-Jewish thing possible.
In our parsha, Dasan and Aviram, rebel against Moshe and Aharon. “Because you, Moshe, promised to bring us to a land of milk and honey, and we are stuck in the desert for forty years.” And what they said was correct – Moshe did not fulfill his promise to take them to Israel; they were going to die in the desert. What they said was accurate, but they were not right. Because had they had a semblance of hakaras hatov, of gratitude, they would have been overwhelmed by their feeling of indebtedness to Moshe for all the good he did for them and that gratitude would have prevented them from giving voice to their legitimate complaints.
Too often we excuse our lack of gratitude because the same person wronged us in one way or another. The spouse who cooks and cleans was also mean to us. The child who helps was also rude. The friend who is there for us ignored us. Maybe it’s the President of the United States who we may not love for one reason or another. Or maybe, l’havdil, it’s G-d who we have so many questions for. And so we allow our anger and frustration and at times, legitimate, grievances get in the way of us saying, thank you. Dasan and Aviram, who refuse to be grateful are swallowed up by the ground; they are, we are taught (Sanhedrin), left without a connection to the afterlife, another way of saying that gratitude is a core value of our faith.
So no, that flag is not going anywhere. Not only that, but I went ahead and bought myself an American flag magnet for my car. Because we should wave that flag. Whether you feel patriotic or not – as you know, I am not even an American citizen. But I, and all of us, must be so incredibly grateful for the good that this country has brought to the world and brought to us as a people.
by Ner Tamid | Jun 22, 2025 | Sermons
Dear G-d,
Even though I don’t always feel it, I know You could hear me. This is not just a belief; I know with every fiber of my existence that right now, You are entirely focused on the Jewish People. How else can we explain the happenings of the past year? How else can we explain the downfall of virtually every one of our enemies? The emasculation, quite literally, of Hezbollah, the systematic destruction of Hamas, the once-mighty Syrians that we did not even need to fight, and now the Iranians.
People keep using the phrase that we are living in ‘Biblical Times.’ I imagine that you, G-d, bristle at that phrase. Was the bombing of a heavily fortified underground bunker that took out Nasrallah and the beeper attacks less or more impressive than the fall of the walls of Jericho? I’d venture to say it was far more impressive.
Is the iron dome shooting down thousands upon thousands of missiles and projectiles day after day, night after night, more or less impressive than the sun standing still for a few hours?
Was the clearing out of hundreds of ill patients from the Soroka hospital just a few hours before a direct hit from an Iranian missile, saving countless lives, less or more impressive than the Jewish People crossing over the Jordan?
‘Biblical times’ does not do justice to our reality. Thank you, Hashem.
But G-d, I have some questions.
You asked us to be a light unto the nations, to help others, and lead the way in eradicating evil. Have You seen the medical advancements that have come from Your people? The technology that is changing the world for the good? And yes, even this preemptive attack on Iran, to spare the world from a nuclear power intent on using it for evil purposes?
And yet, no matter what we do or say, the world keeps accusing us of genocide, of trying to take over the world, that we are the ones who are evil. We’re pumping millions of dollars into initiatives and ad campaigns to stem the tide of antisemitism. G-d, You know better than anyone how those resources and all that time and energy can be better spent. We’ve done everything we can. Can You help us out? Can You just get our enemies to see the truth?
Antisemitism is a supernatural phenomenon, and we need You, G-d, to provide a supernatural solution. Can You just open their eyes so that we can walk down the street without harassment? So that we can go to a walk for hostages without the fear of being firebombed?
And that’s not all. I have more questions –
To continue reading, please follow the link to Times of Israel: https://blogs.timesofisrael.com/a-letter-to-god-during-these-times/
by Ner Tamid | Jun 8, 2025 | Sermons
Imagine if on Tuesday, Elon Musk picked up the phone and said, “Hey Donald, we need to talk.” Or, if he thought that would go nowhere, instead of publicly posting his displeasure on social media, he made a few calls to key congressmen and senators and explained to them why he thought the Big, Beautiful Bill was not that beautiful.
Imagine if on Thursday, President Trump would have stuck to the script of a boring meeting with the German Chancellor, and spoke about Germany, or Russia, or anything other than Musk. Or, if he had to say something, instead of saying, “Elon and I had a great relationship, I don’t know if we will anymore,” he instead said, “Elon and I had a great relationship, and I hope we can work this out.”
Imagine if a little later that day, instead of starting a dispute about how crucial Musk was or was not for Trump’s election, they both would have stayed focused on what they were actually arguing about, the bill, and not bring the past into this debate.
Imagine if Musk would not have sent out a poll about the need for a third political party and in doing so inviting others to join him in his anti-Trump crusade.
Imagine if Trump would not have shared more dirty laundry, letting the world know that he had kicked Musk out of the administration.
Imagine if Trump did not call Musk crazy, and Musk did not call for Trump’s impeachment.
Imagine if Trump and Musk would have stopped at any point in this feud and had a conversation.
But none of that happened.
Instead, astronauts in the International Space Station had to panic that they were going to be stranded in space, Tesla’s stocks dropped even further, Trump likely lost 100 million dollars’ worth of campaign contributions, Musk will likely be investigated for drug use while part of the administration, and Trump’s bill is now even less likely to pass.
And lest you say, the only losers are Republicans, that’s not true. The country as a whole is once again a laughingstock to the rest of the world, which undermines our power and security. And, public discourse has hit an all-time low.
We have all come out as losers.
Rashi in Parshas Korach comments that “Beis Din, Jewish courts, only punish adults, but machlokes, disputes, even punish little babies.” Arguments are described by our sages as an all-consuming fire. It starts off small and contained, but before you know it, it is completely out of control.
As extreme and comical as this Musk-Trump feud may sound, it’s a story that we are all too familiar with. A husband and wife start fighting about why someone didn’t load the dishwasher and before they know it, they are in a two-week spat in which no kind words are shared between them. A son feels like his father didn’t respect him and so he stops taking his father’s calls. Two siblings can’t agree on how to take care of their aging parents and years later don’t sit shiva together. A friendship is lost over a careless remark and decades of connection are forgotten about and erased from memory.
Nobody wins. Everybody loses. And it’s not just those who are fighting, but everyone around them. Whose side are you on? How could you talk to my ex? How could you say something nice about my sister after what she did to me?
“Beis Din only punishes adults, but machlokes punishes little babies.”
Most often what gets in the way is our ego. “They’re wrong, I’m right, why should I make the first move?” “They’re wrong, I’m right, why should I be the one to apologize?” “They’re wrong, I’m right, and I am not willing to move on until they acknowledge it.”
Our parsha contains one of the most misunderstood Mitzvos in the Torah, the parsha of the Sotah. It’s often framed as a misogynistic attack on women. The alleged female adulterer is paraded for all to see and is punished in a most violent and public fashion. But our Sages in the Talmud take a very different view.
For starters, they pick up on the nuances of the Torah’s text that begin the story by highlighting the inflexibility of the husband. “Ish, ish” by being overly manly, by being so domineering and not being open to the needs and view of his spouse, the Torah takes him to task for pushing his wife to look for connection outside the marriage.
What follows is an escalation where the wife engages in behavior that leads the husband to suspect his wife. It then escalates further when he includes others by warning his wife in front of two witnesses to not seclude herself with her suspected adulterer. She then goes ahead and secludes herself with said suspected adulterer with two witnesses having seen them go behind closed doors. At this point, most marriages would be over. How could they ever trust one another again? How could they ever reconcile after so much distance and distrust?
Enter the Sotah waters. G-d creates a supernatural test to clarify what happened behind closed doors. If she is innocent nothing happens to her, if she is guilty, she suffers a gruesome death. But the objective of the waters is not to punish the wife. If the suspected wife chooses, she could just say, no, I will not drink the water, this marriage is over. She is not compelled to drink the water and take this test. More than that, the Talmud tells us that when adultery was rampant, the sages abolished this entire ritual. And that’s because it was never about punishment.
So what then is the goal of these waters? Explain our Sages, it is to bring peace between husband and wife. The objective is to prove her innocence, to teach us that there is always hope, that haters can become lovers, that no matter how many years of pain and silent treatments and disgust exist between two parties, shalom, peace, is possible. The hope is that she drinks these waters and nothing happens, and in doing so, this paves the way for the husband and wife to reconcile.
G-d conveys this message in the most powerful way. The third commandment is not to use G-d’s name in vain. Jews are hyper-sensitive to writing G-d’s name on a piece of paper because it might end up in the trash, there are no shortage of laws that reflect the reverence we must give G-d. And G-d says, “Take my name, that really holy name, Yud, hey, and vuv, hey, and erase it in the waters that you will give to the Sotah.”
What Hashem is trying to tell us is that His dignity is worth negating if it means bringing peace between two parties. If His dignity is worth negating, what does that tell us about ours? Parshas Sotah is G-d’s way of telling us to get over ourselves, to stop waiting for the other party, to stop standing on principle, to stop holding back just because you might be right.
The Chofetz Chaim related a story that took place in the late 19th century. Two men in a Jewish community got in a fight. One of the men was wealthy and used his wealth to help Jewish boys avoid the Czarist draft. Back then, being conscripted to the army was a death sentence for Jewish boys. His disputant, we’ll call him Reuven, threatened to go to the authorities and let them know that this leader had used his influence illegally. The only problem was that Reuven’s son was saved from the draft thanks to the efforts of this leader. Reuven’s wife turned to him, “Are you crazy? If they go after this guy, that means that our son will be conscripted to the army?!”
Reuven’s response was, “I don’t care.”
We may be right, we may be owed an apology, we may have every justification in the world. Donald Trump and Elon Musk would tell you how it’s important to double down because that’s how you show how strong you are. But they’re wrong. They are destroying themselves and everyone around them.
Making ourselves vulnerable is not a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of G-dliness. Apologizing, breaking the silence, taking the first step forward, getting over our dignity, “erasing our name,” these are signs of greatness.
גדול השלום”
Great is peace,
ששם הקדוש ברוך הוא ימחה על המים להטיל שלום בין איש לאשתו
for the Name of the Holy One Blessed be He, is erased to bring peace between husband and wife.”
by Ner Tamid | Jun 4, 2025 | Sermons
In the early 18th century, there was a fabulously wealthy and powerful Polish family known as the Potocki’s. Count Potocki and his wife were devout Jesuits and used their wealth to support churches all over the continent. They had one son, Valentin; he was bright, handsome, and curious, he had everything going for him. His parents, the religious people that they were, had high hopes that he would one day join the Jesuit order as a priest.
Valentin was sent to Paris where he studied under the greatest Christian teachers. In Paris, he once happened to visit a tavern owned by a Jew. The details are murky, but what we do know is that Valentin was impressed with this tavern-owner, something about him sparked his curiosity. This encounter inspired Valentin to start learning Torah, and after about six months of secretly learning Torah from a Parisian rabbi, Valentin came to the conclusion that he could not in good conscience become a priest. Instead, he wanted to convert to Judaism.
Despite this Parisian rabbi discouraging him from converting – doing so was a capital crime and one which would also endanger the Jewish community, Valentin disguised himself so that his family would not know what happened to him, traveled to Amsterdam, a country in which there were religious freedoms, and converted.
For reasons unknown to us, Valentin, who at this point was renamed Avraham ben Avraham, chose to move back to Poland. We could surmise that one of the things that drew him back to Poland was that the greatest Jewish sage, the Vilna Goan, was living there. The two of them, the towering leader of the Jewish world, and this recent convert met, and the Vilna Gaon walked away from the meeting immensely impressed by the dedication and devotion of Avraham ben Avraham.
Tragically, Avraham ben Avraham’s life was cut short. A Jew informed on him to the authorities. He was first given the chance to ‘repent,’ as the Christian authorities offered him the opportunity to renounce his Judaism, but he refused. His wealthy and powerful family managed to get the church to agree that if Valentin would live his life in a castle on one of their estates, away from the public eye, he’d able to practice Judaism in private and be spared. He refused.
Valentin Pototzky, Avraham ben Avraham, was burned at the stake on the second day of Shavuos, today. For two hundred years, until the Holocaust, a Keil Malei, a memorial prayer, was said for him, in all the shuls of Vilna. And to this day, in shul around the world, including this one, people still tell his story.
This past September I had the privilege of visiting the grave of the Vilna Gaon. There is a sign over the structure of his grave, ‘Here lies the great Vilna Gaon, and here, in the same structure, lies the ashes of Avraham ben Avraham.’ Side by side. This was done with the Vilna Gaon’s directions. It was his way of saying, “Avraham ben Avraham, you may have lived a short life, you may have died without children, historically, you did not have had the same impact as I did. But your life made a difference.”
It’s a fascinating tale of the intellectual honesty of Avraham ben Avraham and the honor and respect given to him by the Vilna Gaon, but there is one person in this story who does not get enough credit and that is the tavern-owner in Paris. We don’t know what he said to Valentin, we don’t know what Valentin saw, but this tavern-owner clearly made a powerful impression. Perhaps he kindly greeted Valetin at the door, looked him in the eyes, and gave him attention like he never received before. Perhaps he saw this old man pull out an old book to study from in between customers. Perhaps he saw how ethical he was in his monetary dealings. What we do know is that this man lived in a way that inspired good, positive, and uplifting change, in those who saw him. And in turn that person’s actions inspired change in all who learned his story.
Today, we read the Book of Ruth. We read this beautiful story today on Shavuos because Ruth exemplifies a deep commitment to Judaism and because Ruth is a convert and we too all converted to Judaism and committed ourselves to G-d at Har Sinai on this very day. But the real heroine of the story is Naami, Ruth’s mother-in-law, and not Ruth. Because you see Ruth did not convert due to any intellectual exercise; she wasn’t a philosopher or a scholar. What drew her to Judaism was her mother-in-law, a person whose name exemplified her character, Naami, from the word neimut, pleasantness, sweetness. Ruth, having witnessed this pleasantness up close for all these years, recognized that Naami possessed something that she did not possess, the Torah. Derache’ha darchei noam, its ways are pleasant, v’chol n’sivoseha shalom, and all its pathways are peace. And Ruth wanted a piece of it.
Listen to the celebrated, poetic words of Ruth, “Where you go, I go,” she says to Naami. “Where you live, I will live, your people, Naami, are my people.” And only then Ruth ultimately says, “Your G-d is my G-d.”
And the amazing thing is that Naami wasn’t perfect. Far from it. She, with her husband, deserted the Jewish People at a time of need during a time of famine. Her sons both intermarried. She describes herself as bitter! And perhaps that’s exactly it. Naami’s greatness perhaps lies in her ability to overcome. To hold her head up high despite the losses she endures. To be loving despite the scorn she receives from others. To hold onto her faith despite her many mistakes. Naami is so pleasant that Ruth cannot imagine a life without her and the value system that Naami is drawing from. (Rabbi Moshe Miller, Rising Moon)
Yizkor is a day not only to remember others, it’s a day to ask ourselves, how we will we be remembered? How are we remembered right now by those around us? Do they see us, do they interact with us, and come away uplifted? Do they wonder what value system is this man or woman drawing from? What magic formula do they have because I want a piece of it? Or do they simply walk on by?
There is an incredibly troubling increase in anti-Semitism these days. Can we take an ounce of the energy we are using yelling and screaming at the anti-Semites and turn it inwards; how are we contributing to a positive version of Judaism? How are we creating a different narrative? Are we a Naami, are we such a pleasant person that when someone meets us, they are so taken that they want to throw away everything they have away to be close to us and our Torah? Are we that Parisian merchant who a future priest can meet and be inspired to give up a life of riches and prestige?
That’s what today is all about. That’s what Shavuos is. It is a day to reflect upon the mission of every Jew, which is that every person who sees us, who speaks to us, who interacts with us at work or at home, or anywhere, would say, Mi k’amcha Yisrael, who is like you among the nations!
A few years ago, a man by the name Levi Welton visited his parents in Sacramento, California. Levi and his wife were living on the East Coast, but his parents just moved to a new community and he decided to visit them for a weekend. Shabbos morning, he went with his father to the shul in their new community and after davening there was a kiddush in honor of a Bat Mitzvha. He decided on a whim to strike up a conversation with the father of the Bat Mitzvah girl, who introduces himself as Chaim Valentzia.
In the course of the conversation, he learned that Chaim was a convert. And so Levi asked him, how did you pick the name Chaim? Most of us are given names at birth by our parents, but a convert has the incredible privilege to name themselves, and Levi was curious how Chaim Valentzia chose his name.
Chaim told him the following story. “I know this going to sound strange but a number of years ago, I was living on the East Coast. I was interested in Judaism, I was studying and exploring what it’s all about. One Friday night, I ended up at the Lincoln Park Jewish Center in Westchester, New York. During services, at the end of L’cha Dodi, the congregants started to dance and so I joined them. And I found myself,” said Chaim, “between the rabbi and an old man. He wasn’t just any old man, I couldn’t take my eyes off of him. He was dancing with such joy, with such purity, with such evident faith, I was smitten.”
“And then, and then I noticed the numbers on his arm. A survivor. A survivor of the Holocaust to have such faith, such joy….! I turned to this old man,” said Chaim,” and I asked him, what’s your name? And he told me his name was Chaim. And I knew right then, that if I convert this would be the name that I would live by, this is the man who I will always look up to. I will perpetuate his greatness.”
Levi, who was listening intently, turned to Chaim, and said, “Tell me, is his name Chaim Grossman?”
Chaim’s eyes popped out, “How did you know?!”
And Levi explained, “I am now the rabbi of Lincoln Park Jewish Center, I know Chaim, or should I say, I knew Chaim very well. But what you don’t know,” Levi added, “and you had no way of knowing is that Chaim – Chaim the survivor – never had any children. He had no one to name a child after him. And now Chaim’s legacy will not be lost. V’yikorei sh’mo b’Yisrael, you have his name, and one day, your great-grandchildren will be named after you, and this legacy, Chaim’s legacy, the life he lived, will be perpetuated for all of time.” (Rabbi Yoel Gold)
Whether you have children or not, whether you have family or you do not have family, we are all charged with one mission – to be memorable people; to never forget that we stand in the presence of G-d and that we represent Him to all who see us. To live an inspired life, and to be an inspiration. To live a devoted and loving life. To live a life that will not be easily forgotten. May we perpetuate the memories of those who came before us and may we, like Naami, like Avraham ben Avraham, like the tavern owner of Paris, and like Chaim the survivor, be worthy of being remembered.
