Rabbi Dovid Orlofsky

The Harmony of Laughter

This week, we’re introduced to Avraham and his family, sparse as it may be at this stage. There’s his wife Sarah, and his other wife, Hagar. Soon, we meet additional figures and notice an intriguing pattern emerge: Sarah embodies the quality of din—strict justice or judgment—while Avraham represents chesed, boundless kindness. Together, they form a dynamic balance, blending justice with compassion. This balance is essential, as each of these qualities—chesed and din—must temper the other. Without chesed, din can be unyielding; without din, chesed lacks structure.

Sarah, embodying din, emphasizes this aspect when she asks for judgment, expressing “Let Hashem judge.” Later, Avraham is instructed by G-d to listen to Sarah and to send Hagar and her son away. Hashem’s instructions underscore the necessity of moderating Avraham’s kindness with Sarah’s justice—a theme that carries forward in the generations that follow. It is fitting that Yitzchak, Sarah’s son, and the representation of din, will eventually marry Rivka, a woman who balances this quality of din with compassion.

Yitzchak, Sarah’s son, is given a curious name: Yitzchak, meaning “laughter.” Yet, as we see in the text, Yitzchak is not a particularly light-hearted figure. Why, then, is he called laughter? Laughter arises from the unexpected, from surprise. It’s the twist that catches us off guard, as in humor: A man walks into a bar and orders a drink—not amusing. But a man walks into a bar and says, “Ouch”—now there’s at least the start of a joke, because we imagined a pub, not a physical bar. The unexpected flips our expectations, and that surprise makes us laugh.

In a similar way, Yitzchak represents the paradox of living in a world of din, an unexpected reality that seems incongruent with the concept of strict justice. This paradox deepens in Jewish thought: it’s taught that in the future, after Mashiach comes, the sun will be removed from its sheath, illuminating a world where din and chesed harmonize perfectly. That era will embody din in its purest, most exalted form, where people receive precisely what they deserve—not as dependent recipients, but as individuals standing independently on their own merits.

When this ultimate balance is achieved, it is said that “our mouths will be filled with laughter.” The joy will come from the ultimate surprise—the unexpected beauty of a world in perfect harmony, where chesed and din coexist seamlessly, reflecting the divine vision of completion. This is Yitzchak’s legacy and our aspiration: to bring the world to a state where justice and kindness are perfectly united, and where our joy springs from the delight of a world made whole.

Rabbi Naftali Reich

An Insignia for Life

It is far more challenging to live Al Kiddush Hashem—sanctifying G-d’s name—than to die Al Kiddush Hashem. Death, while profound, is a single act; living, on the other hand, demands a daily, enduring commitment, an unrelenting struggle, and a perpetual test of faith. This truth finds its most powerful expression in the Akeidah, the foundational moment of our Yiddishkeit, when Avraham Avinu, willing to sacrifice his beloved son Yitzchak, hears the angel’s command, “Do not stretch out your hand against the boy; do not do anything to him.” Hashem then declares, “Now I know that you are G-d-fearing, for you did not withhold your son from Me.”

In that intense moment, Avraham Avinu might have felt relief, even pride, for passing this ultimate test. He could have thought, “I succeeded—let me leave before another difficult trial arises.” But instead, Avraham lifts his eyes and sees a ram caught by its horns in the thicket. He takes the ram and offers it as a sacrifice in place of his son. This act, simple yet profound, plants in the soul of Klal Yisroel a dual capacity: the readiness to sacrifice if necessary, and—more importantly—the strength to live each day sanctifying God’s name.

The ram in the thicket symbolizes the Jewish people across the ages. Just as the ram’s horns are entangled, so too are our minds, often ensnared by the distractions and temptations of the yetzer hara. The radiant essence of our neshama—our karnei hod, the “horns of glory”—can feel caught in a web of negative thoughts and influences. Yet, like Avraham, we can lift our eyes, Vayisa Avraham es einav, to see the potential and sanctity within each moment. This is the true essence of not only dying for G-d's name, but living in honor of Him every day.

When we rise to this calling, when we offer up our thoughts, our struggles, our very selves on the fiery altar of our minds to Hashem, we embody the promise made to Avraham. For this, the angel declares, you will be a source of blessing. This is the very insignia, the essence, of our Jewish identity—a life lived Al Kiddush Hashem, illuminating our path with holiness and purpose.

Rabbi Yonoson Roodyn 

Strength Through Struggle

It is remarkable to reflect on how we come to understand our Patriarch, Avraham Avinu, and his relationship with Hashem—a life lived in conscious commitment to the Divine—primarily through his trials and tests. Avraham's journey is defined by challenges, each one a stepping-stone toward a greater fulfillment of his mission. From his initial call to leave his homeland to the many trials along the way, Avraham’s life offers us a blueprint of resilience and faith.

Each challenge appears formidable: the journey into a land unknown, facing the threat of death, and the trials of barrenness and awaiting a promised child. He perseveres, communing with Hashem and embracing each mitzvah, regardless of the hardship. Yet none of these tests compares to the ultimate trial—the Akeidah. Everything in Avraham’s life has been building toward this moment, a test that asks him to relinquish the son through whom his dreams, hopes, and the entire legacy of his faith are to be fulfilled. Can he take Yitzchak, his beloved child, and offer him back to G-d?

One might think, “If I were Avraham, I would do it; after all, G-d commanded me.” But the nature of a true test, the Baal Shem Tov explains, is that all the spiritual achievements, all the hard-won levels of faith, are momentarily set aside. In that moment of testing, a person stands exposed and vulnerable, called upon to respond with the deepest core of their being.

The Midrash likens a nisayon, or test, to a neis—a banner. When a person rises to a challenge, they hoist a banner that proclaims it can be done. They demonstrate what is possible, that human potential can be realized. The purpose of a nisayon is to draw out potential, turning theoretical strength into action, transforming latent qualities into lived experience.

This Parsha centers on the essence of nisayon and the meaning of challenges. Perhaps its most profound message is that Avraham teaches us an enduring truth: true growth comes through adversity. A life devoid of struggle lacks the opportunities for resilience and strength that only trials can build. In the physical world, growth requires resistance—without the challenge of weights at the gym, one’s muscles would never grow. In the same way, spiritual and personal growth occurs only outside our comfort zones.

Avraham Avinu has woven resilience and courage into our very DNA. As his descendants, we too, inherit the potential not only to endure our tests but to emerge stronger from them. This perspective transforms our trials into opportunities—opportunities to develop strength, overcome adversity, and cultivate resilience. In difficult times, whether as individuals or as a community, we can look to Avraham as a source of strength. His unwavering clarity of conviction and deep trust in G-d illuminate the path for us.

May Hashem grant us the strength, clarity, and courage to face our challenges, and in doing so, to fulfill our highest potential. When we overcome our nisyonos, we raise a banner for others, showing that it is indeed possible. And in this way, we contribute to a world transformed for the better, each act of resilience shining as a testament to the enduring strength Avraham has bequeathed to us all.

Rabbi Dovid Goldwasser

Your Gifts, Your Tools

The Mishnah in Avos (3:2) begins with the words of Rabbi Chanina, the S’gan (Deputy) Kohen Gadol, who teaches the importance of praying for the welfare of the government. This teaching emphasizes the role of law and order in providing stability at every level, from nation to community. Rabbi Avigdor Miller zt”l noted that Rabbi Yisrael Salanter would recite this prayer publicly on Shabbos, underscoring the value of asking Hashem to maintain peace and justice.

The Gemara (Gittin 58a) illustrates a profound example of responsibility and insight. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananya, upon visiting a large Roman city, learned about a young Jewish boy imprisoned there who had impressed the locals with his noble appearance and spirit. Rabbi Yehoshua approached the prison, calling out a verse: “Who gave Yaakov over to plunder, and Israel to looters?” The boy, responding from within, said, “Is it not Hashem, against whom we have sinned?” Struck by the boy’s depth of understanding, Rabbi Yehoshua foresaw that he would one day grow into a leader of Israel—a prediction realized when the boy became the great R’ Yishmael ben Elisha.

Rabbi Itzele of Peterburg, the renown Baal Mussar, asks what was so remarkable about the boy’s response that inspired Rabbi Yehoshua’s vision of his future greatness. Rav Simcha Bunim of Peshischa suggests that the boy’s response demonstrated a profound sense of personal responsibility. He understood his own role and purpose, reflecting the idea that each person has a unique mission from Hashem. Often, people may be inclined to take on another’s role, rather than fully embracing their own path.

Each of us is charged to recognize and make use of the gifts Hashem has given, using them for the benefit of Klal Yisrael. Whether through kindness, business wisdom to support Torah, a beautiful voice for prayer, or artistic talent to inspire others, every gift has its own place in Hashem’s plan. An artist, for example, who dedicates his work to portraying scenes that instill Torah values in children—depictions of kindness, learning, and holiness—creates a Kiddush Hashem, drawing others closer to their Creator.

Sometimes, the impact of personal abilities may not be immediately apparent. In one instance, a father sought help from someone in securing his son’s admission to a particular school. Unsure of his ability to assist, the man who had been asked to help put in a simple call to another man he knew. Providentially, this call reached someone with influence, and the boy was accepted. Hashem placed this unexpected opportunity to help in capable hands, and the rest is history.

Everyone is blessed with moments to uplift others and fulfill a unique tafkid—a special purpose. Even when certain talents might seem lacking, Hashem has placed within each person the potential to contribute. By looking inward, finding personal strengths, and dedicating them to the service of Klal Yisrael, each person can leave a lasting impact, often in ways they may never fully realize.

Mr. Charlie Harary

Talking to You

I once attended a Shabbaton where, during a talk on faith and facing life’s challenges, a man raised his hand and asked the rabbi, “But what if the challenges G-d gives are too much to bear?” The man was clearly struggling, seeking a way to make sense of his hardships. Without missing a beat, the rabbi replied, “What if I could take you right now to Yerushalayim, to the Kotel, the Western Wall, and bring you into a room filled with the Divine Presence? Imagine hearing the voice of Hashem saying, ‘This challenge I gave you—you can handle it.’” The man responded, “Well, if Hashem Himself tells me I can do it, then I can. But Hashem isn’t talking to me.”

This week’s Parsha opens in a unique way. Avraham, freshly recovering from his Bris Milah, sits at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day. Hashem appears to him—but instead of introducing Avraham by name, the Torah simply says, “Vayeira eilav Hashem—Hashem appeared to him.” Who is “him”? Why not state directly that Hashem appeared to Avraham? The text seems oddly vague.

Rav Nachum of Chernobyl offers a beautiful insight. The Torah’s language is intentional; it leaves “him” unspecified to convey that Hashem doesn’t just speak to Avraham or the great figures of history. Hashem speaks to each of us, to every “him” and “her.” This subtle ambiguity suggests that the Divine is accessible to all who are open to listening.

We may think that Hashem only speaks to those on Avraham’s level, but Rav Nachum reminds us that the Divine Presence reaches each of us. The challenges we face, the thoughts that arise within us, the moments of inspiration—these are sparks of Hashem’s voice. When we experience hardship or sudden insight, it’s not simply a matter of personal strength or coincidence. Rather, these are divine communications, Hashem’s way of guiding us, urging us forward.

In life, we may wonder if Hashem is truly aware of our struggles. But this teaching tells us that He is ever-present, speaking not in direct commands but through the circumstances of our lives, through feelings, through advice from others. Each challenge and inspiration is a reminder that Hashem is with us, just as He was with Avraham.

This is the message embedded in the words, Vayeira eilav Hashem: Hashem appeared to him. Not just to Avraham, but to every one of us. Hashem doesn’t give us situations we’re not meant to handle. When we understand this, we live as Avraham did, in a constant, silent conversation with the Divine. And as his children, we too, can live in that sacred awareness, knowing that Hashem is guiding us every step of the way.

Rabbi Eli Scheller

The Traffic Lights of Habit

The approach to installing traffic lights, especially in certain counties, offers a valuable lesson about change.

Imagine a busy intersection with new traffic lights—essential for safety, yet unfamiliar to the drivers passing by. The traffic lights are not turned on right away. First, they put up the poles with the lights bagged up, leaving them covered for months. People see the new poles each day, noticing them without yet needing to follow them. Then, they reveal flashing yellow lights, allowing drivers to get used to something new in the flow of their commute. Finally, right before the light goes fully into operation, a big sign warns, New Signal Ahead. By this time, drivers are ready to pay attention, to stop when the red light goes on, because the change has been gradual.

Big changes don’t happen overnight. You can’t just “install” a new habit or a new behavior from one day to the next and expect it to stick. Real change takes preparation and steady repetition.

Building a new habit, like waking up early or increasing patience, takes time and regular effort. At first, it may feel forced or unnatural. But as you keep at it—day after day—it gradually becomes second nature. Like the traffic lights, we can start small and ease into these shifts, allowing ourselves to adjust. And when the habit finally takes root, it begins to shape who we are.

As the quote says so well: “At first, you work hard to build a habit, and then the habit builds you.”