Nedarim and Aha! Moments

 One of the great mysteries of human growth is why some moments change us forever while others disappear almost as quickly as they arrive.

Scientists have long been fascinated by what they call the "aha!" moment—that sudden flash of insight when something clicks into place. Recent research suggests that these breakthroughs are not random. They are more likely to occur when we step away from a problem, change our environment, encounter new people, or find ourselves in settings where we feel safe, relaxed, and open to new ideas.

In other words, breakthrough moments do not happen only because of what we think. They also happen because of the environments we create.

As I read about this research, I could not help but think of an idea attributed to the Chiddushei HaRim. He explained that the purpose of a neder, taught in Parshat Matot, is to take a moment of inspiration and ensure that it remains potent and finds expression in action. A person experiences a spiritual awakening, a desire to improve, a commitment to grow. The challenge is that inspiration fades. A neder takes a fleeting feeling and translates it into lasting impact. The laws of nedarim teach us that the goal is not merely to be inspired, it is to capture that inspiration before it disappears. Perhaps that is why Judaism places great emphasis on community, sacred time, and sacred spaces. We often assume that growth comes from hearing the right idea. Certainly that matters. But growth also depends on creating the conditions in which those transformative moments can occur. Sometimes an "aha!" moment happens during a shiur. Maybe while participating in a chesed project. Or maybe you feel it at a Shalosh Seudos or Kabbalas Shabbos at shul. Suddenly something clicks. A new appreciation. A deeper understanding. A fresh perspective. Or a clearer vision of the person we want to become. Those moments are precious gifts. But they are also fragile. Those moments need to be validated, nurtured and concretized. When we speak about growth, we are not simply talking about offering more programs. We are trying to create what I would call a "matrix of growth"—multiple pathways through which people can encounter meaningful Jewish experiences and, hopefully, those life-changing "aha!" moments. Each creates another opportunity for a spark of inspiration. But that is only the first step. The next step is helping people leverage those moments into something lasting. If someone discovers a passion for learning, how do we connect them to ongoing Torah study? If someone is inspired by a chesed opportunity, how do we help them make chesed part of their life? If someone experiences a deeper connection to tefillah, how do we help them continue that journey? Inspiration is the spark. Growth is what happens when we build something from that spark. A neder is not all there is to inspiration. There must also be a follow-up decision to ensure that the fleeting moment becomes a lasting reality. The most important question is not whether we will experience moments of inSpiration. Surely we all do. The real question is what we do next. Will we transform an "Aha!" moment into a life of continued growth?

The Legacy of Entebbe

 Today marks the fiftieth anniversary of one of the most daring rescue missions in modern history: Operation Entebbe. On June 27, 1976, an Air France flight traveling from Tel Aviv to Paris was hijacked after a stopover in Athens and diverted to Entebbe, Uganda. The passengers were held hostage by terrorists from a breakaway faction of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine. Soon after arriving in Uganda, the non-Israeli passengers were separated from the Israelis and eventually released. Besides the Israelis and the crew, all other Jews on the plane were also kept hostage, even if they were not Israeli citizens. The images were chilling: Jews singled out and held captive simply because they were Jews.

Back in Israel, plans for a rescue mission were being devised. The military officer overseeing the planning was Ehud Barak, who would later become Prime Minister. Prime Minister Yitzchak Rabin faced enormous pressure to secure the release of the hostages, even if it meant negotiating with terrorists. Ultimately, he gave the order to proceed with the rescue.

The mission itself has become the stuff of legend. Learning that Ugandan dictator Idi Amin would be out of the country, Israeli planners devised an audacious strategy. Four Hercules transport planes would fly more than 2,500 miles to Uganda. One of them would unload a motorcade designed to resemble Amin's own entourage returning from abroad. A black Mercedes was needed to imitate the dictator's vehicle. The Israelis found one—but it was the wrong color. They quickly spray-painted it black.

On Saturday afternoon, a force of more than 200 Israeli soldiers took off for Entebbe under the command of 30-year-old Yoni Netanyahu. Flying extraordinarily low to avoid radar detection, they endured an eight-hour journey into the heart of enemy territory.

The rescue mission succeeded beyond anyone's expectations. All of the hijackers were killed and 102 hostages were freed. Tragically, one Israeli soldier was killed during the operation: Yoni Netanyahu.

The impact of Entebbe extended far beyond that single night. The PLO largely abandoned airline hijackings. Idi Amin would eventually be overthrown. The American commander who oversaw the mission to eliminate Osama bin Laden, Admiral William McRaven, later authored a detailed study of the Entebbe raid. The operation became a model of courage, planning, and determination.

There are many lessons that emerge from Operation Entebbe. Two stand out.

First, Entebbe reminds us that enemies of the Jewish people may be able to hurt us and impede us, but they cannot prevent Jewish destiny from being realized. Reflecting on the rescue shortly afterward, the Lubavitcher Rebbe noted the extraordinary contrast between the ease with which the terrorists succeeded in hijacking the plane and the extraordinary success of the rescue operation itself. Both the crisis and the salvation, he suggested, pointed to the Hand of God.

As David Ben-Gurion famously remarked, "In Israel, in order to be a realist, you must believe in miracles." The same can be said about the ongoing continuity of the Jewish people. The story of Entebbe is a powerful reminder that there is a dimension of Jewish history that cannot be explained by military strength, politics, or demographics alone.

Second, the Entebbe rescue demonstrated the importance of initiative and courageous leadership. As one military analyst observed, the success of the operation itself was not necessarily surprising; the Ugandan forces were outmatched in virtually every respect. What was remarkable was the willingness of Israeli leaders to take the risk, to act decisively, and to do what needed to be done.

Too often we wait for certainty before acting. We hesitate because outcomes are unclear or risks are real. Entebbe reminds us that meaningful achievements often require courage, initiative, and a willingness to move forward despite uncertainty.

As we mark the fiftieth anniversary of Operation Entebbe, we remember not only a remarkable military achievement but also the enduring lessons it teaches. We must never underestimate the role of God in the unfolding Jewish story. At the same time, we must be prepared to act boldly, take responsibility, and do what needs to be done. If the Jewish cause sometimes seems more complicated and the Jewish dream more distant, Entebbe reminds us that nothing can stop Jewish destiny from being realized

Who Will Tell Us?

 One of the challenges of childhood is that adults are constantly telling you what to do. Parents, teachers, coaches, and rabbis all seem to have opinions about how you should behave and what you should change.  One of the challenges of adulthood is that very few people tell you what you need to hear.As children, we often resist correction. As adults, we rarely receive it. Most people are understandably reluctant to point out someone else's mistakes. Nobody wants to appear judgmental, intrusive, or condescending. And most of us are not particularly eager to hear criticism. We become defensive. We explain. We justify. We tell ourselves that everything is fine. As a result, adults can spend years moving in the wrong direction without anyone, or anything, successfully getting them to stop and reconsider.

I think this is one of the powerful lessons of Bilam's story in Parshat Balak. When Balak's messengers arrive and invite Bilam to curse the Jewish people, God does not immediately force Bilam to abandon the idea. Instead, God asks what appears to be a simple question: "Who are these men with you?" Of course, God already knows the answer. The question is not for information. It is an invitation to reflection. We find this pattern elsewhere in the Torah. After Adam and Chava sin, God asks Adam, "Where are you?" After Kayin murders Hevel, God asks, "Where is Hevel, your brother?" In each case, God knows exactly what happened. The question is not meant to uncover facts; it is meant to create self-awareness. It is a final opportunity for the person to stop, reflect, and choose a different path. God's questions sound remarkably similar to the way people who care about us sometimes speak. "Are you sure you want to do that?" "Have you thought this through?" "Is this really the direction you want to be heading?" God preserves human dignity and free will. But He requires the listener to be willing to hear what is being said. Bilam is unable to do this. Even after warning signs begin appearing, he refuses to see them. The irony of the story is that Bilam, the great prophet, cannot see what his donkey sees clearly. His ambitions and desires blind him. He becomes so committed to his course of action that he loses the ability to recognize that he is headed in the wrong direction. Eventually, Bilam finds himself trapped on a narrow road with nowhere to turn. That image is not only Bilam's story; it is often ours as well.

Poor choices rarely trap us overnight. More often, they slowly narrow our options. A bad habit becomes harder to break. A strained relationship becomes harder to repair. A spiritual weakness becomes more deeply ingrained. The road becomes narrower and narrower until we wonder how we got there. Parshat Balak challenges us to ask: Who are the people in our lives who can ask us the difficult questions? Who has permission to tell us what we need to hear, not merely what we want to hear? And perhaps even more importantly, are we willing to listen? The greatest tragedy in Bilam's story is not that he received warnings. It is that he ignored them. The Torah reminds us that growth begins with the humility to hear a question that challenges us. And no matter how narrow the road may seem, as long as we are willing to listen, it is never too late to change course.

There’s No Chazakah When It Comes to Machloket

 It doesn't take long for many of us to form opinions about people. After enough interactions, we convince ourselves that we know exactly who someone is. We know who is generous and who is selfish. Who is easygoing and who is difficult. Who is reliable and who is not. And once those impressions become firmly established, they can be remarkably difficult to shake. Sometimes those assessments are accurate. Patterns of behavior and our experiences matter. If someone has acted a certain way for years, it is reasonable to expect that they will continue to do so. However, Parshat Korach reminds us that while Judaism recognizes patterns, it cautions us against turning them into permanent irreversible verdicts. As Korach's rebellion reached its climax, Moshe made one final attempt to reconcile and restore. The Torah tells us that he sent for Datan and Aviram, two of the instigators, hoping to engage them in dialogue. Their response was unequivocal: "We will not come" (Bamidbar 16:12). Rashi comments that Moshe's actions teach us an important principle: ein machzikin b'machloket”, we should not perpetuate conflict. Even when a dispute appears hopeless, one should make every effort to pursue peace. The Chasam Sofer suggests that the word machzikin can be understood through the halachic concept of chazakah. A chazakah is an established presumption. When something has consistently been true in the past, we assume it will continue to be true until proven otherwise. According to the Chasam Sofer, ein machzikin b'machlokes means that we must never create a chazakah of conflict. No matter how long-running ill will may be, we should never assume that discord is the permanent reality of their relationship. What makes this lesson so powerful is the identity of the people involved. This was not the first conflict for Datan and Aviram. Chazal portray them as long standing rabble rousers whose opposition to Moshe stretched back years. Time and again they challenged, complained, tried to start trouble and unrest. If any pair could be assumed to never change from their cantankerous and argumentative ways it would be Datan and Aviram.  Yet Moshe refused to make that assumption. He approaches them with the hopes of reconciliation. Moshe's efforts ultimately fail. Datan and Aviram do not reconsider. They do not accept his overture. Instead, they double down on their rebellion and ultimately suffer a tragic fate. Had they changed their minds, the lesson would have been clear: Don’t give up on people because people can change. But perhaps the Torah is teaching us here something more profound: Judaism does not require us to believe that people will change. It requires us to believe that they can change. Life teaches us that change is difficult. Yet unlike in the natural world, human beings are endowed with free will and the capacity to change. A person can reflect, mature, and choose differently tomorrow than they chose yesterday. That possibility may not always be realized. But as long as it exists, we are not allowed to dismiss another person's capacity for change. That is the meaning of ein machzikin b'machloket. We never assume we know with certainty what a person will do. We can be realistic about human behavior without losing faith in human potential. While it is true that Datan and Aviram never changed, Moshe refused to assume that they couldn't. And perhaps that is one of the Torah's most enduring lessons: never confuse a person's past performance with their future potential.

Believing Is Seeing

 Parshat Shelach begins and ends on the topic of sight. The Parsha opens with the episode of the spies. Moshe sends ten distinguished Jewish leaders to tour the Land of Israel (perhaps the first Jewish leadership mission to Israel): ַיִּשְׁלַ֤ח אֹתָם֙ משֶׁ֔ה לָת֖וּר אֶת־אֶ֣רֶץ כְּנָ֑עַן  “Moses sent them to scout the Land of Canaan.” The mandate was clear: go and see the land firsthand and report back to the people 1) the beauty/bounty of the land and 2) strategies for victory in the anticipated wars with the current inhabitants. Moshe continues: “וּרְאִיתֶ֥ם אֶת־הָאָ֖רֶץ מַה־הִ֑וא וְאֶת־הָעָם֙ הַיּשֵׁ֣ב עָלֶ֔יהָ הֶֽחָזָ֥ק הוּא֙ הֲרָפֶ֔ה הַמְעַ֥ט ה֖וּא אִם־רָֽב: “You shall see what [kind of] land it is, and the people who inhabit it; are they strong or weak? Are there few or many? The plan here is in line with the expression “seeing is believing”. Moshe’s hope was that by seeing the land, the spies would believe in the goodness of Hashem’s plan. The power of seeing something is well documented within Jewish tradition. At Har Sinai the nation saw a manifestation of God unlike anything in history. Right after the Ten Commandments, Hashem says:

אַתֶּ֣ם רְאִיתֶ֔ם כִּ֚י מִן־הַשָּׁמַ֔יִם דִּבַּ֖רְתִּי עִמָּכֶֽם: “You have seen that from the heavens I have spoken with you.”

According to the Talmud, only eyewitness testimony can be accepted by Beit Din. As to why hearsay cannot be accepted by a court, the Talmud explains: “Eino Domeh Shemiya L’Re’iya”, seeing is much better than hearing. My family and I will, please God, be going to Israel this summer. I am excited about our itinerary, and the potential it has to foster in us an enhanced Chibat HaAretz, a love for the Land of Israel, through the sites that we see. As much as we read an hear about it, nothing beats being in Israel and seeing the Land firsthand.

And yet we all know that our eyes can deceive us. Obi-Wan Kenobi was right when he told young Luke Skywalker, “Your eyes can deceive you, don’t trust them.” Neuroscience has shown that “People rely on their eyes for most tasks, yet the information provided by our visual sensing system is often distorted, unreliable and subject to illusion.”  This is what actually happened with the spies. Because of their fears/ low self-esteem/ ulterior agendas, the spies twisted what they saw into an evil report- leading to catastrophic results.

At the very end of the Parsha; we find a phrase that we read as part of the third paragraph of Shema. In it we are warned: וְלֹֽא־תָת֜וּרוּ אַֽחֲרֵ֤י לְבַבְכֶם֙ וְאַֽחֲרֵ֣י עֵֽינֵיכֶ֔ם אֲשֶׁר־אַתֶּ֥ם זֹנִ֖ים אַֽחֲרֵיהֶֽם “and you shall not wander after your hearts and after your eyes after which you are going astray.”

Rashi notes that the same word is used here and by the spies, hinting at the fact that the sin of the spies, like many other sins, occurred by allowing our eyes to deceive us.

Seeing is not always believing. However, I think the inverse is true much more often: Believing is indeed seeing. What we believe, our assumptions, perspectives and disposition, will greatly impact how we perceive people and relate to events around us. Barry Neil Kaufman in his book Happiness is a Choice tells the story of a young girl named Katie. Katie had severe disabilities, and after years of medical testing had been brought by her parents to Kaufman’s institute in a last-ditch effort for help.  Instead of discussing Katie’s history with his staff or showing them her thick file, Kaufman told the staff to make their own assessment and recommendation, basing themselves primarily on their first-hand interactions with Katie.  At the end of the day, one of the staff members was reviewing her notes with Katie’s parents. She mentioned that she had held one of Katie’s favorite puppets at arm’s length, and encouraged the child to come and get it. “She took almost five steps to reach me,” the staff member said. “She’s a real plugger.” Katie’s father leaned forward aghast and said, ‘But my daughter doesn’t walk.” ‘Oh,’ the staff member said respectfully, ‘I didn’t know…..”

While we should never judge someone until we’ve been in their shoes, it appears that this man viewed his daughter’s limitations as an unalterable fact. The father’s limited perspective became a self-fulfilling prophecy, and it did not reflect reality. Katie had the ability to walk, but her father had difficulty seeing this on his own, because he was unable to perceive that possibility. Believing profoundly impacts what we see. Let us develop the necessary attitudes that will enable us to see the good and great blessings and potential in our lives, in our community, and all around us.

The Fire-Cloud Model of Life

 In Parshat Behaalotecha we learn about the DPS that guided the Jewish People through their journey in the Midbar. Not a Global Positioning System, but a Divine Positioning System. The Torah tells us: "On the day the Mishkan was erected, the cloud covered the Mishkan... and in the evening there was over the Mishkan the appearance of fire until morning." In order to know when to travel and where to travel, Bnei Yisrael followed a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night. Whenever the cloud / fire moved, they moved. Whenever it rested, they camped. Interestingly, the Torah highlights this Divine Guidance System at three pivotal moments: at Yetziat Mitzrayim, at the inauguration of the Mishkan, and here in Behaalotecha as the nation embarks upon its journey toward Eretz Yisrael. The cloud and the fire accompany the Jewish People throughout their nation-building journey from Egypt to Israel. What is the significance of these two elements, fire and cloud, as the Jewish People’s navigation system? First, both clouds and fire possess a duality. On the one hand, they are life-giving. Fire provides warmth, light, and energy. Clouds provide shade and rain. Civilization could not exist without either of them. Yet both can also be destructive. Uncontrolled fires devastate communities. Torrential rains and flash floods can bring damage and loss. Utilizing these two elements to guide us through the Midbar was Hashem’s way of teaching us that growth requires the courage to confront and engage with powerful forces. Follow the cloud. Follow the fire. Learn to harness their energy and their potential for good. Yes, powerful forces can be dangerous. But that is true not only of fire and clouds. It is true of religion. It is true of business. It is true of leadership. It is true of love. Anything powerful has the potential to create and to destroy. The challenge of life is not to avoid powerful forces. Our task is to respect them, channel them, and maximize their positive impact while hedging against their destructive potential. The cloud and the fire taught Bnei Yisrael not to fear greatness, but to follow it responsibly. But there is a second lesson. You cannot touch fire because it burns. You cannot touch a cloud because it is ethereal and elusive. Fire represents passion, inspiration, and idealism. It reaches upward. It excites. It energizes. Clouds provide shade, comfort, and protection. They create a sense of security. The Jewish People had recently stood at Sinai. They had witnessed revelation. They understood the importance of fire. They knew what it meant to be inspired. But Hashem reminds them that inspiration alone is not enough. A person cannot live forever on spiritual highs. We cannot sustain passion without also feeling safe. We cannot remain inspired without also feeling loved.

Many years ago, someone approached Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook with a painful question. He had raised his son with a strong Jewish education and a committed Jewish home. Yet the son had drifted far from Judaism. He no longer observed the commandments and barely identified as a Jew. "What should I do?" the father asked. Rav Kook responded with a question of his own. "Did you love him when he was religious?" "Of course," answered the father. "Then now," Rav Kook replied, "love him even more." Rav Kook understood that fire alone is not enough. Conviction, ideals, and inspiration matter. But they can only endure when accompanied by the cloud; the experience of protection, acceptance, and unconditional love. Hashem did not guide us with fire alone. The journey to the Promised Land required the cloud alongside the fire. The same is true of our own journeys. We all need fire in our lives: passion, purpose, ambition, and spiritual aspiration. But we also need clouds: relationships that sustain us, communities that embrace us, and families that make us feel safe. The lesson of Behaalotecha is that the Divine Positioning System consists of both. Fire may inspire us to move forward, but it is the cloud that allows us to keep going. Fire can lead us, but only when it travels together with the cloud.

The Blessing of Encouragement

 In Parshat Nasso, before Birkat Kohanim is introduced, the Torah uses an unusual phrase: “דַּבֵּר אֶל־אַהֲרֹן וְאֶל־בָּנָיו לֵאמֹר… אָמוֹר לָהֶם” — “Speak to Aharon and his sons saying… say to them.” The words “Amor Lahem” seem unnecessary. The Torah already told Moshe to speak to Aharon. Why repeat the command to “say”? Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev explains that the word “amor” does not only mean “say.” In another context, the Torah uses the same root in the pasuk: “אֶת־ה׳ הֶאֱמַרְתָּ הַיּוֹם” “You have exalted Hashem today.” The word can mean to uplift, distinguish, or make something special. By repeating the word “Amo”r Hashem was not merely instructing the Kohanim to recite words of blessing. He was commanding them to elevate the people, to make them feel valued, cherished, and uplifted. The role of leaders is not only to teach and guide, but to instill confidence and hope. It is not surprising that this lesson of the importance of encouragement is taught specifically to the sons of Aharon. Before Birkat Kohanim, the Kohanim recite a blessing referring to “קדושתו של אהרן” the sanctity of Aharon. What was unique about Aharon? Chazal describe him as someone who loved people, pursued peace, and helped others grow. He strengthened relationships and encouraged people to put past ill will behind them to become better versions of themselves. The Kohanim bless the nation in the spirit of Aharon because true blessing begins with encouraging people, and making people feel valued. Everybody needs encouragement. The Smithsonian Institute has on display the items President Abraham Lincoln was carrying on him the night he was assassinated. Among those items is a worn newspaper clipping praising his accomplishments and calling him one of the greatest statesmen of all time. Even the United States President, arguably the most powerful human on the planet, held onto words of encouragement. A psychology professor once observed that discouragement may be the hardest emotion to deal with alone. Anger and fear contain energy and can rile a person up. While discouragement drains away one’s energy and leaves us deflated. When someone is discouraged, they may need to “borrow” strength from an encouraging friend. The very words themselves tell the story:

“Dis-courage” means to take courage out of someone.
“En-courage” means to place courage into someone.

Most of us can remember years later a casual comment that deflated us and took the wind out of our sails, even if it was a remark that the person barely remembered making. Most of us can also remember a simple word of kindness or belief that restored us when we felt empty. John C. Maxwell once recounted a conversation with the founder of a national restaurant chain. During dinner, the man asked him, “Do you know how to tell when someone needs encouragement?” Maxwell said no. The man answered, “They’re breathing.”  As a Mamlechet Kohanim, a kingdom of priests, this responsibility to encourage and lift others up does not belong only to Kohanim. It is incumbent upon each of us. There are plenty of people in the world prepared to criticize, diminish, and point out faults. The Torah calls upon us to counter that negativity by actively encouraging one another. Mark Twain once said, “I can live for two months on a good compliment.” Words have the ability to carry a person farther than we can imagine. Parshat Naso reminds us that blessings are not only things we receive from Hashem. Sometimes blessings begin with the way we speak to one another. When we choose to uplift rather than discourage, to strengthen rather than diminish, we fulfill our potential as a Kingdom of Kohanim. In so doing we become worthy partners in the Priestly blessing and in making the world a better place.