Home  Torah Lamplighter |
Volume 28 Issue 24
July 19-25, 2026 - 5-11 Av, 5786
Torah Reading: Vaeschanan
Candle Lighting: 8:08 PM
Shabbos Ends: 9:05 PM
Pirkei Avos: Chapter 3
Shabbos Nachamu
Parsha Synopsis · A Word From the Rabbi
Essay · Thoughts That Count
Once Upon A Chassid · Tid Bits · Happenings · Notes From Israel
Parsha Synopsis
Vaeschanan
Dueteronomy 3:23-7:11
The name of the Parshah, "Va’etchanan," means "I entreated," and it is found in Deuteronomy 3:23.
Moses tells the people of Israel how he implored G‑d to allow him to enter the Land of Israel, but G‑d refused, instructing him instead to ascend a mountain and see the Promised Land.
Continuing his “review of the Torah,” Moses describes Exodus from Egypt and the Giving of the Torah, declaring them unprecedented events in human history. “Has there ever occurred this great thing, or has the likes of it ever been heard? Did ever a people hear the voice of G‑d speaking out of the midst of the fire . . . and live? . . . You were shown, to know, that the L‑rd is G‑d . . . there is none else beside Him.”
Moses predicts that in future generations the people will turn away from G‑d, worship idols, and be exiled from their land and scattered amongst the nations; but from there they will seek G‑d, and return to obey His commandments.
Our Parshah also includes a repetition of the Ten Commandments, and the verses of the Shema, which declare the fundamentals of the Jewish faith: the unity of G‑d (“Hear O Israel: the L‑rd our G‑d, the L‑rd is one”); the mitzvot to love G‑d, to study His Torah, and to bind “these words” as tefillin on our arms and heads, and inscribe them in the mezuzot affixed on the doorposts of our homes.
Sitting in the Warsaw ghetto were a father and son. It was Pesach and they were having a Seder. Both were frail and ill and longing to discover new hope amidst the familiar pages of the Haggadah.
When the time for the Four Questions had come, the boy asked them beautifully. As the father was about to turn the page, the boy suddenly said: “Father, I have one more Question.”
“Go ahead my son,” the father hesitantly replied. The child continued, “Father, my fifth question is the following: Can you promise me that you will be alive next year to answer my Four Questions?” Can you promise me that I will be here next year to ask them?”
As the angels themselves were silent and peering down at this holy feast, the father paused and said, “Mein Tayereh Kihnd (my precious child), I cannot lie to you. While I hope, along with you, that you and I will survive this Hell for another year, a promise I cannot make. But here is a promise that I can make to you: Maybe you will live maybe not, maybe I will live maybe not, but I promise that next year and in all future years there will be a child somewhere asking his father the Four Questions. I promise that we as a Torah nation will never perish.”
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The Tzemach Tzedek, who used to refer to the R’ Yisrael of Ruzhin as "the holy Ruzhiner,” once related: “The holy Ruzhiner Rebbe would not tolerate any melancholy, even if his Chassidim would become somewhat playful as a result.
One Tisha B'Av they occupied themselves for a while tossing burs at each other. They then decided to clamber on to the roof of the study hall and to lower a noose over the entrance. Whoever walked in the door could then be lassoed and promptly hoisted on to the roof.
The prank succeeded until, sure enough, who should walk in but their Rebbe, the Ruzhiner. From up there it was hard to-tell one hat from another and only when the Tzaddik was halfway up did they identify him. When they had lowered him to the ground he exclaimed: “Master of the Universe! If your children do not observe this Yom-Tov of yours, then take it away from them!”
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What a difference a week can make! Last Shabbos was Shabbos Chazon, the height of the Three Week period of mourning. On Shabbos Chazon we read the third of the three Haftorah’s of rebuke, in which the prophet Yishayahu forewarns about the impending disaster that was about to befall the Jewish people as a result of their sins.
It was only a few days ago did we observed the saddest day in the Jewish calendar – Tisha B’av – a day that G‑d has ordained as a time of weeping for generations to come, because of the rebellious behavior on the part of the people of the desert in rejecting the Promised Land 3000 years ago on this very day.
Tisha B’av is the day on which, according to our tradition, both the first and second Temples in Jerusalem were destroyed (in 586 BCE and 70 CE respectively), when we lost our independence and we were exiled from our land leading to countless tragedies in Jewish history.
Yet this Shabbos, only one week after Shabbos Chazon and a mere few of days after Tisha B’Av, the mood is drastically altered. Despite the overwhelming sadness of Tisha B’Av, the Shabbos immediately following is called “Shabbos Nachamu,” (Shabbos of consolation).
Shabbos Nachamu takes its name from the Haftorah of the Book of Yishayahu that speaks of "Comforting" the Jewish people for their suffering: “Be consoled, be consoled my people said the Lord,” read the opening words of the prophet Yishayahu, (Isaiah 40:1). On this Shabbos G‑d comforts his people over all the Tzaros that have befallen them. As of this Shabbos the three Haftorahs of rebuke are followed by seven Haftorahs of comfort.
The inevitable question is how we can move from the overwhelming sadness and mourning of a day like Tisha B’Av to a Shabbos of happiness and consolation? How can we cry over the countless tragedies of Jewish history on one day and then be consoled the next? What is the source of this consolation? The Beis Hamikdash has, after all, not yet been rebuilt; things have not changed.
Moreover, how can the prophet Yishayahu command Jews in every generation to be comforted; feel optimistic; think up-beat? Especially in light of the difficult times in which they may find themselves and that might lie ahead of them.
What’s more is the notion that the fast of the ninth of Av will, one day, be transformed into a holiday as the prophet Zecharia declares: “So said the Lord of Hosts: The fast of the fourth [month], the fast of the fifth [month], the fast of the seventh [month], and the fast of the tenth [month] shall be for the house of Judah for joy and happiness and for happy holidays-but love truth and peace.” (Zecharia 8:19)
How can Tisha B'Av become a festival? Our Festivals are marked by unique, joyous and even miraculous events. Why would anyone eternalize the day of horrific destruction for our people? What can be the possible justification for endowing such a day with the inherent sanctity of a Jewish Festival?
The answer is that the lines of sadness and joy; of mourning and consolation, within our Jewish ethos, are not as clear-cut as one would think. When you consider the day of Tisha B’Av and you consider our overall Jewish history, you find that both elements of sadness and joy are highly prevalent, significant and intertwined. The sadness of so much of our sorrow and destruction is laced with the joy of seeing our people survive and flourish despite it all. Perhaps that is why the line between mourning and consolation is so thin.
Both the Babylonians and the Romans could easily have wiped out not just our buildings of stone and wood, but a living breathing nation, were it not for the protection of the Almighty. Yes, being exiled from our land, wandering the four corners of the earth, suffering countless pogroms and persecutions is horrifying, but our survival through it all is miraculous! It not only mitigates our sadness, but gives profound meaning and purpose to our long history of trial and misfortune.
The Chasam Sofer interprets the difficult reference to Tisha B’av (in Megillas Eicha) as a “Moed” (festival), to serve not just as a hint to a future time when the day will be transformed into a holiday, but an allusion to the present as well.
He asserts that the fact that after 3000 years from the sin of the spies and two millennia from the destruction of our Temples we are still mourning; still effected, is reason to view this day, to some degree, as a festival.
The fact that we are still willing to see Jewish misfortune not solely as existential problems that arise in a vacuum – to view them exclusively through the cold prism of political and geopolitical studies – but as the continuation of our story as a nation… this is reason to marvel, to perceive the day in a more positive light.
By choosing to utter the word “Nachamu” twice, the prophet, reminds us that while complete comfort is still pending, for some it is already here in the present. We just have to open our eyes to the positive.
We find this very same idea in this week's Parsha; Vaeschanan, a part of which is actually read on the day of Tisha B'Av. During Moshe’s extensive farewell monologue to the Israelites, before his passing-on and prior to their entry into the Promised Land, he includes a remarkable prophecy of their future history. In this divination he offers an unwavering declaration of faith in the invincibility and eternity of the children of the Divine Covenant.
Moshe does not hide from them the fact that after several generations in the Promised Land they will act waywardly in the eyes of the Lord and will consequently be exiled. He furthermore prognosticates that, as a minority nation scattered from pillar to post; wandering amongst larger rapacious idolaters and immoral Gentile nations, they will naturally assimilate into the majority culture and descend into idolatry and impurity (Deuteronomy 4:25-28).
But what is most remarkable and important about Moshe’s legendary farewell speech is the fact that he declares and affirms that the Israelites would never disappear as a separate nation with a unique mission, despite the improbability of such endurance. He forecasts their continued existence in defiance of all of world history.
From every logical, historical and sociological perspective, Israel should have ceased to exist as a separate ethnic entity, if not within their first exile of fifty years in Babylon-Persia, then certainly within the first one-hundred, or so, years of the second arduous exile, which lasted almost 20 centuries (and counting) forcing small groups of Jews to seek safe havens from persecution in all four corners of the world, as distant from each other as Ethiopia and Australia.
Indeed, the very Torah, which hardly ever paints a very rosy picture of its "Chosen people – who all too often debase and disregard its birthright – does unequivocally promise our continued survival and ultimate redemption: "And you shall seek out the Lord your G‑d from the (depths of your exile) and you shall find Him ... When you are in narrow straits of tragedy, all of these (Divine) words will find you at the end of the days, and you shall return to the Lord your G‑d and listen to His voice" (Deuteronomy 4:29, 30).
Two merchants from a small town set off on a long business trip. They were traveling together, but their reasons for taking the trip were different. Solomon was a well-to-do merchant who decided to travel to get a break from his wife's bad temper and constant bickering. His friend Jacob, on the other hand, was not well off. Jacob worked hard to eke out a living, and took the trip to investigate new markets and possible job opportunities.
Several months passed, with no word from the two men. Finally a visitor arrived in town bearing a letter from each one. Their two wives were very eager to read the letters, but the visitor was exhausted from his travels. He pleaded with the women to let him settle down and organize his things. First thing in the morning, he promised, he would find the letters and deliver them.
Despite the messenger's protests, the wife of Jacob (the poor merchant) insisted on getting her letter right away. "Why can't you wait until tomorrow, like Solomon's wife?" asked the visitor. "Our situations are completely different," Jacob's wife explained. "I am living from hand-to-mouth, and I need to know how my husband is doing and whether he has found a decent job."
"Solomon's wife, on the other - she has all her needs taken care of. Her only concern is that maybe her husband has decided never to return because he is fed up with her behavior. For my neighbor, it was enough that her husband took the trouble to write her a letter. The contents of the letter, how his business deals are faring - that is of secondary importance."
The Jewish people are like the wife of the wealthy merchant. We are not concerned whether G‑d can provide for us. Our only worry is that perhaps due to our actions, He has exiled us forever. Therefore it is enough just to hear the word “Ami” – “My people.” The very fact that the prophet has brought G‑d's message to us, and G‑d still calls us "My people" - that is already a tremendous consolation for us .
Perhaps this was the idea of Moshe, while having his prayers to enter the Land rejected, being commanded (3:27) to view Israel from the crest of a mountain. For Moshe, like for Solomon's wife, (in our story) that was enough.
The question we are left with on this Shabbat of Consolation is now that we have seen the tragedy and the consolation, now that we have seen ourselves survive, what will we do with the chance we have been given? Will we laugh or cry? Will we move past survival and see things in a cosmic light?
Will we dream, thrive, grow, and look forward to the day that is filled with everlasting peace and tranquility, or will we (heaven forbid) focus on the immediate narrow picture; the particular pain of the present moment and take it out of context – allowing it drag us down and miss the whole point?
Let us merit Nachama in its truest sense and suffer no more tragedy. May we merit to celebrate Tisha B’av next year in Jerusalem with the coming of the righteous Moshiach BBA.
Shabbat Shalom!
Rabbi Kahanov is the founder/director of Chabad in Northeast FL, consisting of 6 Chabad Centers
He is also the author of "What Chabad Really Believes"
If you like this, you might be interested in purchasing his book click here for more information
Spiritual Overdose
"One should never deviate from the customs of the place he visits."
This quote is from:
a) Lonely Planet (popular travel guide)
b) American Airlines commercial.
c) Charles Veley (self-proclaimed "world's most traveled man"—the youngest recorded person to visit all countries of the world)
The correct answer is:
d) None of the above.
This equivalent of "When in Rome do as the Romans do" is actually a Jewish teaching, quoted in some of the foremost sources of Jewish wisdom: The Zohar, Talmud, and Midrash.
But isn't the idea of conformity completely out of character, if not antithetical, to Judaism, a religion whose Book and People distinguish themselves by their ability to fight ignoble ideas and practices prevailing throughout history, no matter the circumstance or consequence? Were not G‑d's people chosen to be the salmon that swims upstream?
Are not the Jewish people intact today only because of men like Abraham who took on the entire world, defying ancient schools of thought and behavior? In fact, the very word for Jew in Biblical narrative, Ivri ("Hebrew"), means "on the other side." A fitting way to describe a people always ready to take a stand "on the other side"!
Imagine if we had "never deviated from the customs of the places we visited" since our inception and throughout our drawn-out exile; we would long have assimilated into oblivion…
But as we shall see, the seemingly puzzling statement teaches a profound lesson about transforming, rather than advocate for conforming.
A Remake
Reading the Bible, one is struck by the fact that its most monumental event, the Sinaic Revelation and accompanying Ten Commandments, turn up twice; first in Exodus and then in Deuteronomy.
(Don't panic, same ten.)
If the event happened once, why tell it twice?
The mystics explain: While the Torah was given once, it was received twice, or in two phases.
There was something very powerful about the Divine revelation at Sinai. Too powerful, in fact. We, the world and its inhabitants, were overwhelmed by G‑d. At the time, all physical properties were out of order and sync, neutralized by occupying Divine forces.
No doubt it felt good, as we ascended and transcended time, space and body. At that spiritual altitude and aptitude, G‑d's existence was unequivocal and concrete; it was actually material existence that suddenly came into question. We were high on a spiritual drug, experiencing a state of altered reality.
At Sinai, the Jewish people "saw that which is usually heard and heard that which is usually seen." The material world was under general anesthesia, unconscious as the Almighty operated.
But then we woke up, bruised and hurting. The experience had been too intense.
Ever have a deeply personal and meaningful conversation with someone, so intense that when you see that person next, both of you cringe and recoil, as you recall the potency of your exchange? That's exactly what happened on the morrow of Shavuot; we suffered from post-Sinai trauma.
Indeed, the story of our people's challenging desert travels bears testimony to that trauma. We were simply reacting to too much exposure. Our spiritual senses were dulled by being overly stimulated during that deeply personal and meaningful conversation with G‑d at Sinai.
(Does this offer insight into the enigmatic behavior of the Jews who sinned so terribly and consistently soon after experiencing lofty revelations?)
When our souls returned from their spirit-fest to our human faculties, the real work of internalization and integration began. Day-to-day existence resumed and with it the need for dialogue between body and soul.
That healing process would take decades, with Moses serving as physician. Throughout his tenure as their leader he would work hard to nurture their faith as well as provide them with soul/body equilibrium.
Which leads us to the second account of the Ten Commandments in Deuteronomy; less glamorous, but (therefore) more sustainable.
On this occasion, forty years after receiving the Ten Commandments straight from G‑d, the Jewish people heard the Ten Commandments again, but this time as they were processed by Moses, a human being (somewhat) like them. It was there and then that the purpose of Sinai was realized, for at that juncture in Jewish history, G‑d's will and wisdom, which in their raw and undeveloped form overbear all things physical, had successfully learned not to "deviate from the customs of the (physical) place it had visited.
What's in It for Me?
In one form or another, many of us seek to influence, give and share with others. At times we feel like we're giving our all, but getting no response, or worse.
But perhaps the reason we are failing is precisely because we are giving our all. Perhaps the person we'd like to draw close feels like we are smothering them with love. Perhaps in our presence they feel like they cannot breathe, or lack the space to grow. (Too much oxygen is unhealthy, too.)
As any parent can attest, the most difficult acts of love for their children are the ones which demand holding back, for it's unnatural for a lover to withhold anything from their beloved.
But since when is true loving natural?
Rabbi Mendel Kalmenson is the rabbi of Beit Baruch and executive director of Chabad of Belgravia, London, where he lives with his wife, Chana, and children. Mendel was an editor at the Judaism Website—Chabad.org, and is also the author of the popular books Seeds of Wisdom, A Time to Heal, Positivity Bias, and On Purpose.
And I pleaded with the L-rd (va'etchanan) at that time (Deut. 3:23)
One reason the Torah uses this phrase instead of "va'etpalel" ("and I prayed") is that the numerical equivalent of "va'etchanan" is the same as "tefila" ("prayer") and "shira" ("song"). This teaches that it is commendable to pray in a melodious, pleasant voice, utilizing the best of one's G‑d-given abilities for speech and song for a higher purpose. (Pa'aneiach Raza)
You shall not add to the word which I command you, nor shall you diminish from it (Deut. 4:2)
The Torah is a life-giving elixir, a Divine "prescription" for purity and holiness. It is therefore forbidden to add or detract from the Torah's commandments in the same way one mustn't tamper with the proportions of a medicinal compound. Too much or too little of any one element can be extremely detrimental, and the "doctor's" instructions must be followed exactly. (Rabbi Yehonatan Eibeshutz)
Rabbi Ezriel Hildesheimer was once visited by a delegation seeking to "amend" the Torah. There are many Jews, they claimed, who would like to observe mitzvot, but find it difficult to observe all of them. The solution is to alter the Torah and make it less demanding. Countered the Rabbi, "It states, 'Nor shall you diminish from it, that you may keep the commandments of the L-rd your G‑d.' Even for the sake of ostensibly doing mitzvot is it forbidden to decrease their number."
And they will say, "Surely a wise and understanding people is this great nation" (Deut. 4:6)
In a different verse (Deut. 7:7) the Torah calls the Jewish people "the fewest of all the nations." How, then, can they also be "great?" In number, the Jews are a very small people. But by accepting their role of keeping the Torah's mitzvot they become qualitatively great, enjoying an elevated status in society and wielding great influence in all areas of life. (Nofet Tzufim)
The Bottom Line
There is none else beside Him (4:36)
Rabbi Binyomin Kletzker, a Chabad chassid and disciple of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, was a lumber merchant. One year, while he was adding up the annual accounts, he inadvertently filled in under a column of figures: TOTAL: Ein od milvado ("There is none else beside Him").
Upon hearing of Reb Binyomin's "Chabadian slip," a fellow chassid berated him for his absentmindedness. "Don't you know, Reb Binyomin, that everything has its time and place?" he admonished. "There's a time for chassidic philosophizing, and a time to engage in worldly matters. A person's business dealings are also an important part of his service of the Almighty and must be properly attended to."
Said Reb Binyomin: "We consider it perfectly natural if, during prayer, one's mind wanders off to the fair in Leipzig. So what's so terrible if, when involved in business, a machshovo zarah ('alien thought') regarding the unity of G‑d infiltrates the mind?"
Tid Bits
(back to top)
14 Things Jews Should Not Say
We just celebrated the 250th anniversary of America’s independence, including its freedom of speech. But just because you can legally say whatever you want doesn’t mean everything is right or appropriate. Here are 14 things Jews don’t say, for reasons ranging from the religious to the ethical to the esoteric. 1. G‑d’s Names The third of the Ten Commandments instructs, “Do not take the name of the L-rd your G‑d in vain.” We mention G‑d’s name often in prayer and blessings, but we’re careful not to utter any of His names (there are seven in all) anywhere else—and that goes for other languages, too, not just Hebrew. When referring to G‑d outside of prayer, it is customary to say “Hashem,” Hebrew for “the Name.” Other common alternatives are “Oybershter” (“Above”) in Yiddish and “Almighty” in English. Read: What Does Hashem Mean? 2. Hurtful Speech “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will always hurt me.” The Torah prohibits hurtful words, and doubly so toward someone more vulnerable, like a widow, orphan, or convert. We must be sensitive to others’ feelings and avoid anything that might shame, embarrass, or hurt. In fact, our sages teach that someone who embarrasses a friend in public forfeits their share in the World to Come! Read: Hurtful Words 3. Gossip The Torah forbids lashon hara, negative speech about another person, even if it’s true. An innocent-seeming piece of gossip can do real damage, breaking apart families and friendships even when the speaker never meant any harm. Lashon hara is so intolerable that our sages compare it to idolatry! Read: Lashon Hara Kabbalah adds a fascinating layer: words aren’t just passive descriptions but active forces. Speak negatively about a friend, and you actually draw out that negative potential in them. Speak positively, and you help bring out their best. Read: How You Can Bring Out the Best in Others 4. Giving the Satan Bad Ideas “If I get into a car crash, let it be atonement for my sins!” Sounds pious, right? But the Talmud actually discourages statements like this. The Satan—the accusing angel who looks for faults among the Jewish people—can claim to G‑d, “Look, he himself admits he deserves punishment!” It’s always best to avoid predicting or mentioning the possibility of a future negative occurrence, for ourselves or anyone else. Read: Satan—A Test, Not a Trap 5. Euphemisms, Instead of Negative Terminology Maybe this is why Jews often reach for euphemisms instead of harsh terms. When the Talmud talks about punishment befalling the Jewish people, it describes it as happening to “the haters of Israel.” A blind person, in Talmudic language, is sagi nahor, “someone with abundant light.” The practice continues today with phrases like “yene machla” (Yiddish for “that sickness”) instead of naming cancer, and “after 120 years” instead of speaking directly of death. Read: On the Significance of 120 Years 6. Names of Other “Gods” “Do not mention the name of other gods; your mouth shall not cause it to be heard.” Jews avoid saying the names of idols, foreign deities, and related terms, swapping in euphemisms where needed (like the Chabad rabbi in Santa Monica who refers to his hometown as “Simcha Monica”). Such terms shouldn’t even be used as landmarks (“Go down Main Street until the church, then turn left”). 7. Swearing The Torah forbids swearing falsely in G‑d’s name, and actually calls for swearing truthfully—but only in select situations, such as verifying testimony in a Jewish court. Otherwise, swearing is generally frowned upon, even without using G‑d’s name. Maimonides writes: “Children should be taught to speak truthfully without swearing, so they don’t grow accustomed to swearing like the gentiles. This is virtually an obligation on their parents and teachers.” Read: Why and When to Say “Beli Neder” 8. Foul Language Our choice of words reflects, reinforces, and even shapes who we are. When something makes you angry, the Jewish approach isn’t to curse but to accept it as a G‑d-given challenge meant to make you a better person. Read: The Torah on Dirty Words 9. Names of Angels Kabbalistic literature is full of the names of supernal angels—but that doesn’t mean they’re meant to be said. For mystical reasons, the great kabbalist Rabbi Yitzchak Ashkenazi (the Arizal) advised against pronouncing an angel’s full name, preferring a shortened form (like mem tet for Matatron, or samech mem for Samael). This doesn’t apply to names also used for people, like Michael, Gavriel, and Raphael. Read: What Are Angels? 10. “I Want to Convert You to Judaism” You won’t hear a Jew say that to a non-Jew. That’s because we don’t proselytize. In fact, when someone approaches a rabbi or Jewish court wanting to convert, they discourage them at first, pointing out the difficulty of fulfilling all 613 commandments and the antisemitism Jews face. Judaism believes that every person, Jew and gentile alike, has their own Divine mission through which they can find their ultimate fulfillment. Read: Why Do Rabbis Discourage Conversions? 11. Lies The Torah instructs us to “distance ourselves from falsehood,” and the Talmud is filled with exhortations on the importance of speaking truthfully. That’s the Jewish way: truth is a value to be upheld at all costs.
12. “If You Do That, a Dog Will Come and Get You” Scare tactics like this aren’t the Jewish way of raising children. Beyond the trauma this can create, kabbalistic sources describe spiritual forces of impurity associated with the names of non-kosher animals. Threatening with these animals can invoke these forces, causing the child physical or spiritual damage. 13. Greeting a Mourner A warm greeting brings light into someone’s day. In fact, one Talmudic rabbi was known for always being the first to greet another in the street—no one ever managed to beat him to it! And yet, there are moments when greeting is set aside. On Tisha B’Av, when we mourn the destruction of the Holy Temple, we don’t greet one another. The same goes for greeting a mourner during shivah, the seven-day period of mourning after the death of an immediate family member. Read: Greeting a Mourner 14. Negative Swapped for Positive Wherever a negative word can be swapped for a positive one, that’s the Jewish way to go. The Rebbe modeled this beautifully: a hallmark of his speech was replacing “bad” with “not good.” Instead of calling a hospital beit cholim (“house of the sick”) in Hebrew, he coined beit refuah (“house of health”), and instead of nechei Yisrael (“the disabled of Israel”), injured Israeli soldiers became metzuyanei Yisrael (“the exceptional of Israel”). |
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