The Verse states: “If his offering is a burnt offering [Ola] from the herd, he shall make his offering a male without blemish. He shall bring it to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, willingly before Hashem.” [Vayikra 1:3] Rashi derives from the language of the Verse “He shall bring it”; that if one is remiss in bringing the offering he promised, Beth Din must coerce him to bring it. One might think that this means that they shall force him, even against his will! However, the Verse states that it must be offered “willingly”. How is it possible to conciliate both concepts? Rashi answers; They pressure him until he says, “I wish to do it”. This explanation stems from the Talmud Rosh Hashana [6a]. The obvious problem is how can the Torah describe that the person gave the sacrifice willingly, when he was forced to do so? The Talmud said that Beth Din forces him until he says that he wants to, but this does not seem to fully address the problem, as it certainly seems like he is still being coerced to say this. In Alei Shur, Rav Shlomo Wolbe z”l explains that there is a biased concept in every person, which is part of being human. One has desires and logically feels that they are mandatory for him to have a life. Thus, most if not all these desires emanate from the evil penchant, Satan. If one took the time to analyze them, the truth would be blinding. The yetzer hara tricks us into thinking that those desires are our essence, but in truth, our soul is our true essence, and the soul wants to serve Hashem. This is simply verifiable; when one says “I”, who is he referring to? Obviously, not to his body, not to his needs or passions, only to his soul. We are our “soul!” Therefore, when one faces a tragic situation where fear invades every part of his body, at this point the truth is revealed. All life temptations vanish and look vain, as in a time of panic one faces only his soul and his Maker. That’s the reason the Torah was not given in fanfare but in fear. This is the only time when the senses of the body and the soul are in the same wavelength and in complete communion. However, when life seems “monotonous”, or lacks excitement, one will go out of his way to create a thrill, which will last only a moment. In truth, nothing was added to the person and therefore these pleasures are momentaneous and vanish quickly. So, if these efforts fail to add an everlasting pleasure why chase them? The true happiness and contentment is within the person, not outside. Never will one gain happiness, not through wealth or any other shining pleasure. These ideas all emanate from the Yetze Hara. This is how one finds himself in a bubble of lies that spins faster and faster, to the point all his senses are numbed. He then aches to escape this inferno, but it became a second nature to pleasure himself. This is a form of drug addiction. Hashem in His infinite Goodness solved that problem before it started. Chazal teach us that each person is taught all the Torah while in the womb, and when he is born, an Angel comes and taps him above his lip, and he forgets the Torah. However, the Torah does not go away from him, rather it goes deep inside him, and it this deep awareness of Torah that enables countless Jews to return to Torah, because deep down the inherent truth of Torah is a part of them. Now, we understand the wise words of the Talmud, when the outer layers of an onion are bad, it must be peeled off till the good part is exposed. So too, sometimes one surrounds himself with layers of awful habits, and they need to be peeled off to reach the real person. It is a mirage to feel happiness is out there, it is within and very easily reachable. With a simple introspect one can reach his true purpose and a meaningful life. It is the time of the exodus and Hashem promised us that every year the same heavenly gates are open, and the same heavenly lights shine, it is the best opportunity to seek a True Life! Here is an inspirational Pesach story: For the eight days of Passover, Rascov, a small community in what is now known as Transnistria, became a colorful epicenter of Jewish life as guests from the surrounding towns and villages descended upon it. From all strata of society, its visitors had come to absorb the marvelous Seder of Rabbi Yosef, son of the great Rabbi Shabsai. He sat at the table’s head, dressed in a brilliant white robe, his glowing face resembling that of an angel, and his wonderful presence filling every corner of the packed room. The detail that perhaps stood out most in his guests’ minds was the fact that there were no seating arrangements. Whoever arrived first merited to sit by the Rebbe’s side, with no preference given to those guests of greater stature, and a common but unforgettable sight was a simple watercarrier sitting to Rabbi Yosef’s right and a woodchopper to his left. “All Your people are righteous,” Rabbi Yosef repeatedly said: “All come from Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and there’s no need to treat one as an inferior.” The same went for the women, who filled a nearby chamber. There were no reserved seats closest to the Rebbetzin. Everyone sat together, one family, united. Rabbi Yosef read the Haggadah in a loud, clear voice so that everyone was able to hear him, and for the women and children sitting in the adjacent room with his Rebbetzin, he translated every line in Yiddish. He then followed with his novel explanations, either through a Kabbalistic lens or a homiletic one. Every word was uttered with holy conviction and fiery enthusiasm. After concluding the Seder, he began to chant the Songs of Songs [Shir HaShirim] and danced around the table, joined by his many guests. “When Rabbi Yosef sings around the Seder table,” Rabbi Avraham Yehoshua Heshel of Opatow would say, “a Heavenly procession of angels immediately swoops into that room to learn how to praise their Creator. For in those moments, Rabbi Yosef’s soul ascends before the Creator Himself and arouses mercy for those who ask.” For this reason, a follower of Rabbi Yosef always took part of the Rebbe’s Seder. He and his wife were childless, and the two persistently requested a blessing from Rabbi Yosef. Yet his answer was always the same: “Now is not the time.” One year, the couple came to Rascov, their broken hearts buoyed by a sliver of hope. Night fell, and after the evening Passover prayers, the man found a spot behind Rabbi Yosef’s chair while his wife stood near the Rebbetzin in the adjacent room, which opened to the table’s head. Following the Seder, Rabbi Yosef flipped to the Songs of Songs and started belting out the words in his special melody. His singing was mirrored by the crowd, the noise in the room slowly swelling to rapturous heights, as it seemed no one—not even the heavens and earth—was able to resist singing the praises of the Jewish People. When Rabbi Yosef reached the words, “What will you see for the Shulammite, as in the dance of the two camps,” he sprang to his feet and began to dance. Immediately, the guests found themselves joining hands—wealthy and poor, the simpletons and rabbis—circling around the old Rebbe. One man avoided all the excited flurry, his spirit sodden with worry. He occasionally glanced at his wife, who stood in the other room, quietly watching the proceedings with tears streaming down her face. That afternoon, they had once again begged Rabbi Yosef to bless them with children, only to be turned away as usual. The dancing finally stopped. Rabbi Yosef turned to sit back down, but found the sullen woman in his path, unable to contain her silent tears anymore. “Rebbe!” she cried. “I swear that I won’t move from here until you command Heaven to bless me with a child!” Her outburst caused the room to immediately fall quiet. Rabbi Yosef regarded her sadly, and with an overwhelming rush of shame, the woman realized what she had done. But the slight frown on Rabbi Yosef’s face slowly melted, replaced by warm contentment. Rabbi Yosef raised his eyes heavenwards. “Master of the Universe,” he said in a loud voice. “These are the words of our sages recorded in the Mishnah: ‘A glass of wine is poured for him, and the son asks [the Four Questions].’ Every Jew is required to fulfill this commandment, yet I, Yosef the son of Rabbi Shabtai, ask You: Why haven’t You granted this couple with a son of their own who can ask these four questions? “Our sages are also recorded as saying, ‘And we distribute nuts for the children on the eve of Passover to arouse their curiosity.’ Why hasn’t this poor couple of Yours been granted the same opportunity?” Rabbi Yosef swept the room with a look of intense triumph. “Passover is a time of favor for the childless. Sarah, our matriarch, was barren, and our sages say that she had no uterus. Yet, Sarah gave birth on Passover, exactly one year after receiving news that she would bear a son. This is a time for mercy for those in need of children.” As he finished speaking, Rabbi Yosef turned to the woman. “I promise that you’ll be hugging your son next year. Return to your place.” Indeed, the following year, the tzaddik’s blessing came true

By Rabbi Fridmann * [email protected] * 305.985.3461

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