Rabbi Zechariah Wallerstein zt”l

Hashem Loves You

Many people carry a distorted view of Hashem, and I’ve encountered this often. I once had a conversation with a young woman who was grappling with her emunah. She was navigating a world of pain and uncertainty—hospitalizations, self-harm—and she came into my office and said something striking: “Maybe G-d exists, Rabbi, but if He does, He’s just like us. If you do what He wants, He likes you; if you don’t, He doesn’t. He’s just like any other person.” In her mind, G-d was punitive and transactional, rewarding or punishing based on compliance.

I paused and asked her, “Do you truly believe that? Because if you do, then you’re misunderstanding something crucial about who G-d is.” I could tell her perspective stemmed from a difficult life, and I knew she needed to shift her focus.

“Judaism teaches us that life itself is more important than any mitzvah,” I said. “Hashem gave us His Torah, yes, but He made it clear that its rules account for when they threaten a person’s well-being.” I went on to illustrate with a familiar example: a pregnant woman experiencing a craving. If she develops a strong desire for something non-kosher, even a cheeseburger, because denying her could potentially harm her or the baby, halacha actually requires us to allow her to eat it (Yoma 83a).

“Think about this. Even on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year, we are obligated to fast—unless someone’s health would be compromised. Then, they must eat. Our lives, our health, our very existence are so valuable to G-d that He places them above even His most important mitzvah.”

This perspective seemed new to her, and I could see it beginning to sink in. I went on, emphasizing, “The G-d you envision as punishing and distant is actually the one holding your hand in your toughest moments. Hashem’s love isn’t contingent upon perfection; it’s unwavering and present even when you feel most alone.” I wasn’t done, though.

"There’s a Mishnah (Yoma 83a). Imagine a building collapses, and we have no idea if anyone is trapped inside. We don’t know if the person—if there even is one—is Jewish, and we don’t know if they’re alive. But halacha demands that we break Shabbos, bring in a tractor, and clear the rubble, just in case someone is in danger. Even if we’re uncertain, we act. G-d’s Torah, as important as it is, takes a backseat when there’s a chance to save a life.

"Why is this true? Because Hashem says that nothing is more sacred than a person’s well-being. You think G-d only cares about His commandments, but in reality, if someone’s life or health is at risk, those commandments step aside.”

Then I brought out a Chumash and showed her something else. “Look at Rashi. When Avraham circumcised himself at 99, he was nervous. Understandably, he was frightened, and his hands were shaking. But what does Rashi tell us? That Hashem held Avraham’s hand during the circumcision. G-d didn’t just give him the command and leave; He was there with him, supporting him, holding his hand. That’s the nature of our relationship with G-d. When we’re afraid or overwhelmed, G-d isn’t distant or critical—He’s present, holding us up.

“Hashem’s love is right there. Even when we’re going through unimaginable hardship, He is beside us. This isn’t just about mitzvos; it’s about an unwavering love for us. The Torah may be the blueprint of the world, but when a life is at stake, Shabbos is broken, Yom Kippur is broken. His relationship with us, His love for us, is that great.

“Hashem didn’t give Avraham the bris milah directly. If He had, Avraham wouldn’t have endured the physical pain and recovery. But that wasn’t the point. Hashem doesn’t simply do things for us; rather, He joins in with us, lending support as we make the effort ourselves. He held Avraham’s hand and said, “Let’s do this together;” not, “I’ll do it for you.” Hashem wants us to extend ourselves, to give our best, and in response, He will step in to help us.

“We can’t simply sit back and expect Hashem to handle everything for us. That’s the point of Rashi. We have to be willing to reach out, to put in the effort. That’s why Avraham had to overcome his fear and take the knife himself, even though he was shaking. Hashem steadied his hand, but it was still Avraham’s action. And this isn’t just about Avraham’s strength; it’s about Hashem’s love and the kind of partnership He offers us when we’re willing to try.”

I told her parents this same concept. Their daughter’s life, her very well-being, comes before anything else. She’s struggling, and that means focusing on her needs. Just like Hashem saw that Avraham was scared and lent him a hand, they need to see their daughter’s struggles and prioritize her health, emotional and spiritual. When someone is hurting, as guided by Chazal, their life is more important than any single mitzvah or expectation.

This is the message for all of us: Hashem’s support is there, but we have to be willing to reach out. We can be afraid, as even Avraham was, but we don’t have to face it alone. We just need to put in our effort, and Hashem is there, holding our hand, ready to see us through.

The Chida, in his Sefer Midbar Kedemos, cites a Midrash which discusses a second method of how Avraham Avinu’s bris milah came about. It describes how Avraham, frightened by the thought of performing the bris milah on himself, was helped by a neis (miracle). According to this Midrash, a scorpion appeared and bit him, removing the foreskin, and completing the bris milah.

Finally, a third source adds that Shem, the son of Noach, also played a role in helping Avraham with the bris milah. So, we’re left with three different explanations: one with Hashem’s direct involvement, one with a scorpion, and one including Shem’s assistance.

The Chidah explains that these versions are not contradictory; rather, they represent different stages of the mitzvah’s performance. According to the Gemara, there’s a secondary part of the bris called pri’ah (the uncovering of the circumcision; see Tosafos, Yevamos 71b). The meaning to this all is therefore like this:

Hashem began the mitzvah by steadying Avraham’s hand; then, the scorpion appeared to complete the pri’ah; finally, Avraham was left to fully internalize the mitzvah on his own. All three elements contributed to the fulfillment of the mitzvah, showing a combination of Hashem and Avraham’s partnership.

Some meforshim add that Hashem Himself served as the Sandek, as He held Avraham’s hand during the act. That was the level of Hashem’s commitment to Avraham during this difficult time.

Avraham was genuinely afraid to take on this difficult mitzvah. And his fear wasn’t a flaw; it was an authentic human response. But what did Hashem do? He didn’t chastise or distance Himself from Avraham; instead, He took Avraham’s hand. Feeling fear is natural, but that’s not where it ends. Ask for help. It’s entirely acceptable to ask Hashem for help in facing difficult tasks. When we reach out, Hashem is there to steady us and to share in our struggles, just as He was with Avraham.

The girl left my office with a different understanding. She came in feeling that she was only valued when she was doing all the “right” things—that maybe G-d and her parents only cared when she fit a certain mold. But as she realized, in reality, Hashem puts her well-being first. When our lives are at stake, even on Yom Kippur, He tells us to set aside fasting or mitzvos that might endanger us. Take a diabetic, for instance—they’re not just allowed to eat; it’s a mitzvah to eat on Yom Kippur if it keeps them safe. It’s the same with medicine. My own Rebbe, R’ Gamliel, has to take heart medication on Yom Kippur, and his own Rebbe, R’ Zundel Kroizer zt”l, told him that it’s actually a bigger mitzvah to take the medicine than to fast.

We sometimes think Hashem’s love is only for those who do all the mitzvos perfectly. But here’s the truth: Hashem’s love goes beyond mitzvos. Your life, your health, your sanity—even when you’re scared, or your hands are shaking—are more important to Him than anything else.

This girl had never thought about it that way, and neither do most people. But it’s a fundamental truth: G-d loves each of us more than we can imagine, even more than His Torah.

Avraham Avinu, such a great tzaddik, was still afraid when he had to perform the bris milah, but Hashem didn’t criticize him. Instead He said, “I’ll help you,” and He literally held his hand.

Carry that with you, and know that Hashem is always with you, especially in your struggles.

Rabbi Tzvi Sytner

The Judge Before Me

In the 1970s, a young couple made a daring escape from Russia, their hearts full of hope for a new life in America. They envisioned a bright future, yet the harsh realities soon shattered their dreams. Struggling financially, they found themselves on the brink of starvation, barely scraping together enough to eat, and without a place to call home.

One day, as they sat in their cramped apartment, the woman looked at her husband, her eyes filled with worry. “How are we going to raise a child in this world?” she asked, her voice uncertain. “I don’t know,” he replied. “But we can’t give up hope.”

However, hope soon faded when she discovered she was expecting. Overwhelmed with fear and uncertainty, she realized that raising the child in their dire circumstances was impossible. After giving birth, with tears streaming down her face, she made the agonizing decision to leave the baby at an orphanage. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered as she handed her child over, feeling as though she was giving away her heart. The couple soon parted ways and divorced.

The baby, now orphaned, was passed from one institution to another, facing neglect and hardship at every turn. Each orphanage was a harsh reminder of his parents’ absence. As he grew older, he was expelled from several homes, and eventually was left to fend for himself on the unforgiving streets.

One night, under the glow of a streetlight, he looked up at the stars and thought, “How am I going to survive?” So, with hunger gnawing at his stomach, he turned to theft, convinced he had no other choice. “I have to do what I have to do,” he muttered. And there began his endeavors of stealing food to survive.

But as desperation grew, his petty crimes escalated into serious offenses, culminating in a brazen bank robbery. When caught, he was charged with multiple thefts and armed robbery, his fate resting in the hands of a public defender.

During the trial, the prosecuting attorney—a formidable figure with a reputation for success—relentlessly laid out the evidence against him. Until something changed. Something very important, for that matter.

“Your Honor,” the defense attorney finally said, standing up to address the jury, “I know many of you have been wondering about my silence. I’ve sat here quietly, leaving you all to wonder why I’d not wish to say a word. But there’s a reason for it.” The courtroom fell silent, all eyes fixed on him. He took a deep breath.

“Everyone believes my client committed this robbery, but the truth is, the real culprit escaped to Mexico. I’ve arranged for him to be brought here today.” “What?” someone whispered incredulously.

The defense attorney continued. “I was assured he would arrive by three o’clock.”

At 3:00, the door creaked open. The audience leaned forward, only to see a reporter walk in. “Where is he?” someone murmured, the minutes dragging on.

Finally, at four o’clock, the judge turned to the defense attorney. “What now?”

With calm resolve, the attorney replied, “Your Honor, it is true the actual robber did not appear. But as we all know, in order to convict someone, there must be proof beyond a reasonable doubt. And when I said that man would walk through that door, the faces of everyone in this courtroom were focused on it. This means that, deep down, they believed my client might be innocent.”

The courtroom fell quiet, the weight of his words hanging. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, it’s time for deliberations.”

When the jury returned, the foreman announced, “Guilty of armed robbery.”

“But how can this be?” the defense attorney protested. “Didn’t you see everyone look at the door?” “Everyone except for one,” the foreman replied, pointing at the accused himself. “He didn’t look because he knew he was guilty.”

The accused man stood, the room silent around him. “It’s true, I didn’t look at the door,” he admitted, his voice steady. “But it’s not because I knew I was guilty. When this trial began, I realized I could face years in prison. It made me reflect on my life, my past, and where I came from. I even contacted the orphanage I was dropped off at and did DNA testing.”

He paused, his eyes moist. “The reason I didn’t look is that I was focused on the judge—my father. I knew he would understand my story and the struggles I’ve faced.”

The courtroom erupted in shock, the judge looking at the man—his son—with disbelief and compassion.

In this world and the Next, the judge of our actions is none other than Hashem, our Father. And while His judgment is perfect, leaving no detail—even the slightest—out of the calculation, in accounting our deeds, there is something else: His boundless love and compassion for us, as His beloved and dear children.

And that makes all the difference.  

Rabbi Meir Simcha Sperling

Right This Moment

There’s a profound question we all contemplate from time to time: What is my purpose, my Tafkid, in life? What does Hashem want from me at this moment? This morning, as I was putting on my tefillin during Shacharis, I had a remarkable thought. As I placed the tefillin shel yad, it struck me that, in that moment, there was nothing else in the world I was meant to do but to make the bracha on my tefillin. In that act, I was fully aligned with my purpose for that exact moment. If I were to ask Hashem, “What am I supposed to be doing right now?” the answer would be, “Focus on making the bracha on your tefillin.”

This idea goes beyond just tefillin. When you are saying Birkas Hamazon, that’s your entire purpose in that moment; no other task exists. Likewise, when you’re learning a daf Gemara, that learning is the sole focus of your purpose right then. Hashem wants us to engage completely, giving our all to the daf in front of us.

This concept also extends to challenges and temptations. Imagine walking down the street, encountering a moment that tests your resolve in shemiras einayim (guarding one’s eyes). If you asked, “Hashem, what’s my purpose right now?” the answer would be clear: to look away, to resist, to be strong. In that moment, nothing else matters but overcoming that specific test.

Every mitzvah we perform, every aveira we resist, is a chance to fulfill our Tafkid for that precise moment. Each time we face a challenge or a decision, we can remind ourselves: “Right now, this is my Tafkid in life.” The clarity in knowing that each act is fulfilling Hashem’s will brings an extraordinary sense of purpose.

Let’s strive to carry this mindset with us in every action, in every moment. By focusing wholeheartedly on the purpose Hashem places before us, we can elevate ourselves and make Hashem proud. Together, we can all rise to greatness.

Rabbi Label Lam

Day of Choosing

I wake up one morning in Eretz Israel and there are giant signs all over the place: “Yom Bechirah.” And I wondered to myself, “Every day is Yom Bechira, as the Torah tells us, ‘Nasati lefanecha ha’chaim ve’hamaves u’bacharta ba’chaim—I place in front of you today life and death and choose life.” Someone explained to me that it's Election Day. Now it’s Election Day in the United States, but every day is Yom Bechirah, and we can vote as early or as late or as often or as deeply as we want. For Hashem. And no fool in the universe can possibly cancel out our vote. It always counts. It counts a lot.