Rabbi Yonoson Roodyn

Our Beloved Land

The Gemara (Menachos 53a) notes that Shlomo Hamelech, who is referenced as a yedid, a beloved, is the one who built the yedid, another name for the Beis Hamikdash, in the territory of the tribe of Binyamin, who is referred by the name yedid.

Not coincidentally, yedid, beloved, is spelled yud-daled-yud-daled, which yields the words yad-yad (hand-hand), and refers to two hands joined together.

On the other hand, quite literally, Yerushalayim was destroyed because of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza (Gittin 55b). Chibur, connection, can become churban, destruction, when one closes his hand—cognate to the names, Kamtza and Bar Kamtza, whose actions wrought the Churban of the Beis Hamikdash. The place of yedidus becomes a churban when our hands are closed.

But there’s more.

Although chaver can become chareiv, a friend can become desolate, when our hands are closed, Eretz Yisrael is meant to be more than that. Rearranging the same root letters of chaver and chareiv, we arrive at rachav, expansiveness. And strikingly, the key to entering Eretz Yisrael in the days of Yehoshua was through Rachav, an innkeeper. Rachav means “broad” or “wide.”

Eretz Yisrael is described as an “Eretz chemda ova u'rechava,” a land of desire, goodness, and breadth. Avraham Avinu is moreover told, "Kum hishalech ba’aretz l’orkah u’l’rachbah—Walk its length and breadth.” The Bnei Yaakov describe Eretz Yisrael as, “Rechavas yadayim,” literally, a land with open hands. It is a land of expansiveness. There is a place and space for every Jew. It is not a place for tzar ayin, for narrow vision or stinginess of spirit. Eretz Yisrael is called Eretz HaTzvi (Yirmiyahu 3:17; Gittin 57a) a land that expands for its children who return home. Every Jew has a place in Eretz Yisrael, because it is an eretz chemda tova u’rechava.

The Gemara (Taanis 5b) takes it a step further and states that someone who says “Rachav, Rachav,” can be stirred to intimate feelings. A person could have an intimate connection with Rachav, even without physical proximity. This is only, however, qualifies the Gemara, if the person knew Rachav.

And so too with Eretz Yisrael.

Eretz Yisrael is so expansive that the Gemara (Kesubos 75a), based on a Pasuk (Tehillim 87:5), teaches: “One who is born in Israel and one who longs to see it are both considered as being there.” Even someone who yearns for Eretz Yisrael, who longs to be there, is considered as if they are already there. Because it is rachav, broad enough to include all of Am Yisrael, even those who don’t have the zechus to be there physically right now.

As the Land of Israel faces threats from all sides, it is time for us to come together. It’s not a place for narrowness. It must come from rechavus, from chaverim, from the nation called Yisrael.

That’s what brings the Geulah. That is what can undo the hold of sin’as chinam, baseless hatred.

Our enemies seek to destroy us, especially when they sense we are weak and divided. If there is one message we can take from the Three Weeks, from this period of mourning, this reliving of destruction born from division within Klal Yisrael, it is this: Eretz Yisrael, Eretz Chemda Tova U’rechava, is a space for every Jew. It is not a land of closed hands or narrowed hearts.

Right now, Eretz Yisrael needs us to feel that. It needs Am Yisrael to come together. To unite as one. Whether you are privileged to be there physically, or you deeply want to be, this is the time to dig deep and ask: what can I do to bring the Geulah? Through our ahavas Yisrael, through our love for every fellow Jew, we can begin to repair the wounds of sin’as chinam.

Rabbi Eliezer Abish

A Perfect World

A close friend of mine once called just days before Tisha B’av and asked if I had an idea for a Tisha B’av presentation. “I want to do something different this time,” he said. “I’m looking for something uplifting.” I asked him what he had in mind so far.

“I’d love to stage a play,” he said, “depicting a day in the life of a young boy living in Yerushalayim when the Beis HaMikdash still stood.”

I was intrigued. “And what would that look like?”

“You know,” he replied, “the miracles that happened daily in the Temple—the smoke rising in a straight column, the fire from Heaven, the absence of flies despite all the korbanos. It would be amazing.”

I paused and asked him, “That’s beautiful, but what about the boy growing up in Haifa? Or Tzfat? Or Netanya? He never witnessed these miracles firsthand. How was his life different? What was he missing when the Beis HaMikdash was destroyed?”

He grew quiet.

As I thought to myself, I was reminded of a story that speaks to this question.

Rav Yisrael Salanter once visited a very wealthy family in London. This couple had been childless for many years, but after many tefillos and much pain, they were finally blessed with a son. Naturally, he was the center of their world, and he grew up surrounded by every luxury imaginable. Servants followed him wherever he went, and he never had to lift a finger. If he dropped something, someone was there to pick it up. If he needed anything, even to scratch an itch, it was done for him.

Rav Yisrael turned to the mother and asked, “Tell me something. If your son wants to take out a handkerchief and he accidentally puts his hand in the wrong pocket, what do you do to prevent that from happening?” The woman laughed. “Rabbi, come on! If it’s not in his right pocket, he’ll just check his left. No big deal!”

Later, Rav Yisrael shared this exchange with a close student, and he began to cry. “Rebbe, why are you crying?” the student asked.

Rav Yisrael replied by quoting a remarkable Gemara (Arachin 16b). The Gemara asks, “How far do yissurim, suffering, extend?” And it proceeds to offer examples seemingly trivial: buying new clothes that don’t fit properly; being served a hot drink instead of a cold one; putting on your shirt backwards. Even something as minor as reaching into your pocket for a dime and accidentally pulling out a quarter, which requires the extra effort to reach back in again. That, says the Gemara, qualifies as yissurim.

Why?

Because Hakadosh Baruch Hu, in His infinite mercy, uses even these tiny inconveniences to atone for our misdeeds in this world, so we need not face punishment in the World to Come.

Rav Yisrael continued. “Look at the world Hashem created. It’s a perfect world. A world where, in theory, every coin should be right where you placed it. Why should anyone have to reach into their pocket twice? Why should milk spoil? Why should children ever suffer, or illness ever exist?”

And the answer is: They shouldn’t.

In a world untouched by sin, in a world fully aligned with Hashem’s will, there would be no cancer, no tragedy, no war, no confusion. No pain.

That is the world Hashem originally created.

But we’ve strayed from that world. Through our actions, we’ve brought distortion, suffering, and chaos into existence. And Hashem, in His kindness, uses even the smallest inconveniences as part of a cosmic accounting.

But when Mashiach comes, when the Beit HaMikdash is rebuilt, all of that ends.

We’ll once again taste the perfection of a world in sync with its Creator. No more spoiled milk. No more reaching into the wrong pocket. Every detail will be in harmony.

That, I told my friend, is what we’re missing. Not just the miracles of the Bes HaMikdash, but the wholeness of the world that it anchored and a world where Hashem’s presence was manifest to perfection.

And that’s what we yearn for. Not just a Temple made of stone, but the restoration of a G-dly world made whole.

Rabbi Joey Haber

The Giver

One of the most extraordinary givers in the history of the Jewish people was a man named Paul Moshe Reichmann, better known as Paul Reichmann. Someone recently shared a remarkable story with me.

At one point, Paul Reichmann approached the Syrian Jewish community to ask for support with a number of projects he was involved in. Now, this wasn’t just anyone walking into a room. Paul Reichmann was one of the wealthiest Jews in modern history; an icon in both the business world and the philanthropic world. Naturally, the community’s prominent businessmen were eager to meet the legend in person.

The meeting took place in the office of Mr. Ike Hidary. Gathered around the table were forty, perhaps fifty, of the community’s most successful figures, each one anticipating words of wisdom, a groundbreaking strategy, a masterclass in building generational wealth. What business secrets would Paul Reichmann reveal? What insight could take them from successful to extraordinary?

My brother-in-law, who was present at the meeting as a young man, described himself as “a fly on the wall,” quietly watching in awe. And he said something that stuck with me: “All I remember is this: Paul Reichmann didn’t speak much. But when he did, it wasn’t to give financial advice. He didn’t say, ‘This is how I made my fortune,’ or, ‘Here’s how you can make yours.’”

Instead, he opened a Gemara.

He read the words of Chazal, and simply said, “We rely on the wisdom of our rabbis.”

That was it.

For a young man sitting in that room, it was a defining moment. He realized that the greatest Jewish businessman of his generation—someone who had built a real estate empire—believed that the source of success wasn’t strategy or luck. It was Torah. Emunah. Values. That’s what makes the water flow.

And that brings us to a vital question. What message do we pass on to the next generation about money and success?

When your child comes home from working at camp with a small paycheck, how do you respond? Do you immediately start with, “Be careful to save every penny and plan for a rainy day”? Of course, financial responsibility is important. But is that the first message?

Or do you say, “Spend a little and save a little. And most importantly, give a little. You now have the power to become a giver. You can walk into shul and see someone who needs help, and be the person who helps.”

There is no greater privilege in the world than being someone who can give. But that privilege doesn’t begin with wealth. It begins with a mindset, with a heart, with an outlook that says, “If Hashem gave me something, even a little, it means He’s giving me a chance to share.”

Some people live that way. They see abundance, even in modest means, and view life as an opportunity to uplift others. And then there are others who see everything as scarce. They’re stuck in fear, and say, “How will I make a living tomorrow? What if AI replaces my job?” But let’s be honest. How did you make a living today?

Look up the average income of an immigrant or an immigrant’s child, and then look at your life. Your home. Your blessings. It’s a miracle.

And if Hashem could create a miracle yesterday, He can surely create one tomorrow.

When you believe that, you stop trying to fight the rock to make the water flow. You understand that the water is already there. You just have to trust Hashem, and be one of the people who has the privilege… to share it.

Rabbi Yaniv Meirov

Filtered Water

One of the stories that never fails to move and inspire is a well-known parable from the Chafetz Chaim.

The story is told of a king who once decided to visit one of his distant provinces. As news spread of his impending arrival, excitement filled the town and the community prepared an elaborate banquet. The finest dishes were prepared and the entire village gathered to welcome their monarch with joy and reverence.

During the meal, the king was served a cup of tea. He took a sip, and immediately spit it out. The crowd fell silent in shock. The king tried another sip, and again, he spat it out.

The mayor rushed over, deeply concerned. “Your Majesty, is something wrong?” The king replied, “There’s something very strange in this tea. It tastes as if there are pebbles or sand inside.”

The mayor calmly explained. “That’s completely normal, Your Majesty. The water from our local well always contains a bit of grit and sediment. That’s just how it is here.”

The king shook his head and said, “But that’s not how it must be. There’s a simple solution: use a cloth as a filter. Pour the water through it. The clean water will pass through, and the sediment will remain behind.”

The community was amazed at the king’s wisdom. What a brilliant and thoughtful sovereign they had.

Weeks later, however, tragedy struck. The king received word that the entire town had been consumed by fire. Immediately, he traveled to the region to witness the devastation for himself. Upon his arrival, the townspeople gathered around him, wailing in anguish.

“It’s your fault!” they cried. “You destroyed our village!” Shocked, the king asked, “My fault? What are you talking about?”

“The fire started in one small house. We rushed to put it out, but it took too long to filter the water, and by the time we were ready, the fire had already spread and engulfed everything.”

The king looked at them and said, “You fools. When there’s a fire, you don’t wait for filtered water. You use any water you have.”

Today, we live in a time of spiritual fire. Flames of assimilation, apathy, and ignorance are burning through the Jewish world. So many of our brothers and sisters are far from Torah, unaware of even the most basic principles of Jewish belief. Many do not know the Aleph-Bet, and have never said Shema Yisrael.

In such a time of crisis, we cannot afford to stand back and wait for “filtered water.”

And yet, that’s what we may say. “I’m not ready to help. I’m not perfect. I have to work on myself first.” Of course, self-growth is vital, and we all must strive to refine ourselves. But if we wait for perfection before we engage in outreach, chesed, or communal responsibility, we will wait forever. And yet, in the meantime, the fire continues to spread.

Each year that the Beit HaMikdash is not rebuilt, our Sages teach, it is as though it was destroyed anew (Yerushalmi Yoma 1:1). And we know why it was lost in the first place: sinat chinam, baseless hatred. A lack of unity. A spiritual and social disconnect that remains with us to this day.

And though we’ve made progress through countless organizations, yeshivot, shuls, kiruv initiatives, and acts of chesed, the Beit HaMikdash has not yet been rebuilt.

We need all of Am Yisrael. Every Jew. Not just the rabbanim, the askanim, the inspired few. We need a collective awakening. A refusal to be satisfied with the status quo, and a passionate commitment to do more for each other, for our nation, and for the Shechinah that still wanders in exile.

It’s time to stop waiting for filtered water. Use what you have.  And b’ezrat Hashem, may that effort, imperfect though it may be, be enough to bring about the final Geulah.

Rabbi Label Lam

Our Mind

It's a good idea to turn down the volume of the complaint channel in our minds. It only makes us students of what's wrong, what's missing from this picture, and whatever we focus on increases. We should rather tune into the gratitude channel. Whatever we appreciate, appreciates. And that invites even more blessing into our lives. It's been said that it's not that happy people are more appreciative. Appreciative people are happier. It's in our hands. It's in our mind.