In last week’s Torah portion of Pekudei, towards the end, we read how Moshe basically finishes building the Mishkan. He stops all donations, no more money is necessary, all the vessels have been constructed, everything’s ready to roll, and they put up the Mishkan. Moshe supervises that, and then it says that the cloud of God, representing the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence, rests on the Mishkan, the tabernacle, and after that, Moshe can no longer enter the tabernacle, because at the end of the day, even though he is the greatest prophet of the Jewish people that ever lived, he’s still not a Kohen, he’s not part of the priestly class, so he’s not allowed to enter into the midst of the Mishkan.
It’s such a powerful lesson that we learn from this, because we see that Moshe, putting all his energy, everything that he has, into building this Mishkan, and at the end of the day, he can’t fully benefit from the fruits of his labor. And, in fact, we see this also later on, where he does everything to bring the Jewish people to the land of Israel, and yet he himself cannot partake in that incredible reward of actually entering the land. And the lesson here is that the purpose of our work, and all the effort that we invest, is not necessarily to enjoy the fruit of our labor, it’s the actual, the work itself, the investment, because what we’re really doing is investing in the next generation, and by them being able to benefit from that, then that’s how we gain our reward, that’s how we partake in the fruit, through our generations, through our children, through our grandchildren.
So, we should just understand that even though we might not see the fruit of our labor, that doesn’t mean that all the effort that we’re expending, all the investments that we’re making, are not worthy. In fact, just the opposite, it’s all the work, the effort that we’re investing, that’s how we get our reward, and the fruits of our investment in our labor will come, God-willing, from our children, our grandchildren, and the generations that we will, God-willing, be leaving behind.
So, may God bless us all to be able to make these kinds of investments, and give us the strength to put the effort in, and that even though we might personally not see the fruits of our labor, that shouldn’t discourage us, but it should give us chizuk, it should give us strength, in the knowledge that we will be benefiting through our children, and grandchildren, and all the generations that we leave behind.

In Parshat Toldot, we learn that Yitzchak became blind in his old age. Rashi cites three explanations from the Midrash and Talmud as to why this happened. One explanation is that Esav’s wives burned incense to idols, and the smoke from that idolatry caused Yitzchak’s blindness. This great tzaddik could not tolerate such tumah—such impurity.
The second explanation is that Yitzchak’s blindness was divine intervention, ensuring he would not recognize Yaakov’s disguise, thereby allowing Yaakov to receive the blessings intended for Esav.
The third explanation is less straightforward. It states that when Yitzchak was bound on the Akeidah and prepared to give his life as a sacrifice, the angels wept. A tear fell into Yitzchak’s eye, and this caused his blindness.
While the first two explanations fit logically within the narrative, the third is more enigmatic. Why would the angels’ tears cause blindness? Why were the angels crying—out of joy, sadness, or something else? And why should Yitzchak be “punished” with blindness as a result?
To understand this, we need to consider the unique relationship between angels and humans. The Midrash teaches that angels have always been in tension with mankind. They often question God’s decisions regarding humanity. For example, when God gave the Torah to the Jewish people, the angels protested, arguing, “Why give it to them? They will make mistakes and fail.”
Angels, unlike humans, are entirely pure. They have no Yetzer Hara (evil inclination), no doubts, and no distractions. Their service to God is absolute, without struggle or deviation. Humans, on the other hand, are defined by free choice—Bechira Chofshit—which means we can overcome challenges, doubts, and inclinations.
At the Akeidah, however, Yitzchak reached an extraordinary spiritual level. He was completely connected to God, free of doubts, and willing to give his life with perfect emunah (faith). In that moment, Yitzchak transcended his humanity and reached the level of an angel. The angels, witnessing this, cried. Why? Because they saw mankind—represented by Yitzchak—rising to their level, closing the gap between human imperfection and angelic purity.
Their tears blinded Yitzchak. What does this blindness represent? Blindness symbolizes a lack of clarity, an inability to see things as they truly are. After the Akeidah, Yitzchak—and by extension, humanity—returned to a state where perfect, unwavering emunah was no longer accessible. Doubts and uncertainties became an intrinsic part of human existence.
This blindness was passed down to his descendants. Yaakov, for example, was “blinded” to Yosef’s fate, believing for years that his beloved son was dead. His grief and uncertainty were part of this legacy of human doubt.
For us, this blindness manifests in the struggle to see the goodness and divine plan behind life’s challenges. Often, things appear bleak or unfair, and our limited perspective clouds the truth that everything God does is ultimately good. Sometimes, clarity only comes generations later, when the full picture is revealed.
We are not angels. We have a Yetzer Hara, and we experience doubt and uncertainty. Our emunah isn’t naturally perfect—it requires effort and growth. But this struggle is precisely what makes us unique. By overcoming doubts and resisting our Yetzer Hara, we engage in the ultimate human endeavor: to strengthen our bitachon (trust) and emunah in Hashem.
The angels’ tears remind us of this paradox. While we may never achieve the perfection of the angels, our ability to struggle, grow, and triumph over doubt is what elevates us. It’s our work—our avodah—to strive for clarity, to strengthen our faith, and to trust in Hashem’s plan, even when we cannot see the full picture.

In Parsha Tetzaveh, the Torah commands us to create clothing, special clothing, for Aaron and his sons, for the Kohanim. And the Torah says the reason for that clothing is l’kavod, for honor, or litifaret, and for beauty. Now, there’s no other mitzvah in the Torah that requires wearing special garments other than the garments of the Kohanim, the priestly garments.
So why do we need special clothing to perform a mitzvah? There’s something interesting about clothing — it’s really a dichotomy — because there are two Hebrew words for clothing, beged and malbush. Both of these words have derogatory connotations. Beged is the word for “boged”, for traitor, and malbush is same root as “busha”, embarrassment.
When was the first time we had clothing? It was after the sin of Adam and Eve. After they sinned, God made them these clothing, these pieces of clothing to cover their nakedness. Therefore, clothing represents the rebellion of man against God because of the sin, that original sin.
The words representing clothing are derogatory., while the clothing we are commanded to make for the Kohanim are for honor and beauty.
So there’s a big difference.
What are the lessons we can learn from this?
Well, first of all, most things in the world can be used for good or bad. So we have this clothing, which initially had a negative connotation, but we can take that clothing, elevate it into something holy, into a mitzvah, which is what the Kohanim do.
The Kohanim are taking clothing, which was used to rebel against God, and are elevating that clothing and making it into something holy, into a tool, into a vehicle of holiness, of connecting with God. Now, one of the reasons we said for the clothing was honor. And we know that clothing represents honor.
A judge wears a judicial robe, and that gives him honor in the eyes of those in the courtroom. An officer wears a dignified uniform, and that gives him honor. And as the saying goes, “clothing makes the man.”
So we know that clothing can give people honor. The purpose of the clothing for the Kohanim was not to give honor to the Kohanim per se, but it was to give honor to God, because the Kohanim were the channel which took the prayers and the sacrifices of the Jewish people and channeled them to God. They were like the pipe that brings water from one place to another.
That’s not to say that every person doesn’t have a direct connection to God, because every person does. But for some reason, God wanted to create these sort of conduits which would give more power to the Jewish people and help them elevate themselves and their prayers and their offerings to an even greater extent. So the first reason for the clothing of the Kohanim was for honor, for honor of God and honor of the Jewish people.
And the second reason was for beauty. And a lot of times, especially in modern days, we think of beauty as something just very superficial. And even in the negative context, like if you were going to describe someone and they might get insulted if you only call them beautiful, like, what about my intellect? What about my emotions, my spirituality? Don’t just focus on my beauty.
But the Torah is saying there is value, there’s great value in beauty. It’s important for a person to look their best. Yes, appearances are important in the Torah.
The Torah wants every person to look beautiful, because as we know, we were all created in the image of God. And so we want to project a beautiful image. And in fact, the Kohanim in the Beit HaMikdash were supposed to project that, an aura of beauty.
If a Kohen had a visible blemish, he was not allowed to serve in the temple service, because the Kohanim need to project beauty.
It’s an important lesson for all of us, because like being spiritual, being religious,

A special Chassidic story that teaches us an important lesson in how to prepare ourselves for Rosh Hashanah, the Day of Judgement.

The Book of Devarim teaches us a very important life lesson about overcoming challenges and obstacles.
Devarim is different than the other five books of the torah because it is a monologue spoken by Moses during the last few days of his life, while the Jewish People were camped in the Plains of Moab on the eastern side of the Jordan River across of Jericho. In this book Moses explains, reviews and expounds upon the commandments and events recorded in the previous four books of the Torah. That is why the Book of Devarim is also called Mishneh Torah — the repetition of the Torah.
There are countless lessons and teachings we can learn from Devarim, but the lesson I’d like to focus on is the fact that the entire book is a monologue given by Moses. Yes, he’s the same Moses who stuttered so badly that he initially refused to follow God’s command for him to speak to Pharaoh to let the Jews out of Egypt. His stutter paralyzed him from acting, and only when God told him that Aaron would speak to Pharaoh for him did he agree to be the savior of his people.
But 40 years later we find Moses, in the Book of Devarim, delivering a speech several days long to the entire nation. What a change!
The lesson here is not that Moses underwent some miraculous event that cured his stutter. Rather, Moses faced his challenge and overcame it. It took him many years to do it, and it most likely was a mighty struggle, but in the end he succeeded in overcoming his challenge.
The truth is, all of our Patriarchs and Matriarchs and many of our greatest Jewish figures faced challenges and impediments that could have defeated and destroyed them. Abraham and Sarah could not bear children until they were in the nineties and hundreds. Isaac and Rebecca were barren for 20 years before they gave birth. Jacob had to work for Laban for over 20 years away from his home, and then he was faced with the death of his beloved Rachel and later the disappearance of his son Josef. Go through a list of Jewish heroes and role models and you will find people who faced immense challenges.
Why, then, did God give these people such challenges? To teach us that just like they overcame their challenges, so too does each of us have the power to overcome our own challenges.
In the Book of Devarim Moses teaches us that a person can overcome even the greatest challenge and obstacle. It might take years of hard work, but in the end, we can succeed.
 

A Yartzeit is the yearly anniversary (on the Hebrew calendar) of a person’s death.  The day is commemorated by the recitation of the Kaddish prayer by the children of the deceased, and by giving charity, performing good deeds and studying Torah. We commemorate the Yartzeits of parents, spouses, family members and great spiritual leaders.
As today, the 18th of Tammuz, is the Yartzeit of my mother (Yehudit bat Elimelech), I decided to share a personal insight into the idea of the Yartzeit.
Isn’t it interesting that Jewish tradition commemorates the day of a person’s passing while the secular world commemorates a person’s birthday?
In the US we commemorate the birthdays of great figures such as George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King Jr., to name a few. We don’t commemorate the day they died. Conversely, in Jewish tradition we never celebrate the birthday of a great personality, only the day of his passing — unless the birthday and day of death happen to be the same date, like in the case of Moses (the 7th of Adar). [1]There’s actually a tradition that dying on ones birthday is a sign of holiness.  jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_536_19_1').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_536_19_1', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });
Why does Jewish tradition commemorate the day of death as opposed to the day of birth? Isn’t celebrating a birthday more uplifting (and fun) than commemorating the anniversary of someone’s death?
To answer to this question we need to analyze what a birthday and a Yartzeit really represent.
A birthday represents potential. When a baby is born, it has the potential to accomplish great things in life. But it also has the potential to do just the opposite. Imagine the joy that the parents of Adolf Hitler felt when they held their newborn baby in their arms for the first time. They saw a child with the potential to become a wonderful adult who would make the world a better place. At that moment they were absolutely correct. But they could never imagine, in their wildest dreams, the carnage, destruction, suffering and pure evil their little baby would thrust upon the world?
Birthdays represent potential, but that potential could develop into good or evil. There’s no way for us to know how that newborn will actualize his or her potential. Jewish tradition doesn’t commemorate the day of birth because we simply don’t know how that person will actualize their potential. We don’t know how their story will end.
The Yartzeit, however, represents the accomplishments of the deceased. It commemorates the good that the deceased brought into the world.
When we commemorate a Yartzeit we reflect upon, and celebrate, the accomplishments of a person — what they did, not what they might have done. [2]The distinction between potential and accomplishment is echoed in a Talmudic dispute between the students of Hillel and Shamai relating to how we light the Hanukah menorah. Shamai taught that we … Continue reading jQuery('#footnote_plugin_tooltip_536_19_2').tooltip({ tip: '#footnote_plugin_tooltip_text_536_19_2', tipClass: 'footnote_tooltip', effect: 'fade', predelay: 0, fadeInSpeed: 200, delay: 400, fadeOutSpeed: 200, position: 'top center', relative: true, offset: [-7, 0], });
Potential is wonderful,

The first prayer in the Jewish siddur is recited when we wake up in the morning, while we're still in bed. Here is my translation of the prayer, from the original Hebrew:Thank you, oh living and eternal God, for mercifully returning my soul to me, great is your faithfulness. Let's break down the prayer and dive a bit deeper into its meaning.

In this podcast episode Rabbi Singer discusses the weekly torah portion (parsha) of Vayakhel and explains a couple of major topics discussed in it. You can apply the important lesson you’ll learn from this teaching to your daily life.