We live in a generation where people are always busy. Homes are full, schedules are demanding, and minds are occupied — and yet many feel an inner distance that is hard to define. A home can function, yet lack warmth. Chinuch can be intense, yet not always uplifting. Even avodas Hashem itself can be careful and correct, yet not fully alive, bereft of joy and rigor.

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Chazal taught that our task is not only to know what is right, but to refine our characters, to continually strive to become better people and to improve our behavior. This lifelong avodah is called tikkun hamiddos — and in the language of pnimiyus haTorah, it is expressed through the Sefiros: Chessed, Gevurah, Tiferes, Netzach, Hod, Yesod, and Malchus

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This sefer was written to help bring the Sefiros closer. The intention is not, Heaven forbid, to simplify Torah — but to bring it down into a form that can be lived.

[From the Preface]

Day 13: Yesod She’b’Gevurah — The Strength to Rebuild

Gevurah is inner strength, discipline, boundaries, and restraint. Yesod is a foundation, the process of transmission, of building something that lasts.

Yesod she’b’Gevurah is the courage to take pain, loss, or disappointment — and build from it a new foundation for the future. It is the strength to rebuild rather than to despair, to shape the future instead of avoiding it.

This is the middah that drives a person who, after circumstances destroy his plans for his life, decides to get up and build something even better than he had planned.

This is one of the most heroic middos in the Torah.

Rabbi Akiva, Rav Aharon, and the Rebbe

Rabbi Akiva built one of the greatest Torah institutions in history, with a student body of 24,000 talmidim. Tragically, in just several weeks, they all perished. The entire Torah world seemed to collapse.

Most people in Rabbi Akiva’s situation would have been shattered and unable to move on. But Rabbi Akiva, with remarkable Gevurah, began anew with five students — Rabbi Meir, Rabbi Yehudah, Rabbi Yosi, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, and Rabbi Elazar ben Shamua. And these five young scholars rebuilt the mesorah of the Oral Torah, תורה שבעל פה.

This is Yesod she’b’Gevurah — the strength to build a new foundation after total devastation.

Fast forward approximately 1,850 years — and we encounter a new Rabbi Akiva, in the form of Rav Aharon Kotler, the founder of Beth Medrash Govoha of Lakewood.

At the beginning of the Holocaust, in 1940, Rav Aharon Kotler arrived in America, shattered. His yeshivah was gone. His talmidim were murdered. His life’s work was utterly destroyed.

America was a spiritual desert, with few yeshivos, and with few willing to support intensive Torah learning. But like Rabbi Akiva, Rav Aharon found five young men to take as his talmidim. He brought them into a tiny room in Lakewood and declared, “We are going to rebuild Torah in America.”

He had no building, no funding — only Gevurah and a vision. Today, the yeshivah he founded and led has more than 10,000 talmidim and has transformed the entire Torah landscape of the Western world.

This is Yesod she’b’Gevurah — the strength to create a foundation, to build a permanent structure.

Another inspiring 20th-century example of Yesod she’b’Gevurah is the Klausenburger Rebbe, who lost his wife and eleven children in the Holocaust. His entire world was destroyed.

And yet, survivors would recall him saying in the displaced persons camps: “If I have lost everything — then from that place, I will begin again.”

He built chadarim in those camps, and he rebuilt his chassidus in America and Israel.

But then he created something truly astonishing — Laniado Hospital in Netanya. Having seen so many people — including loved ones, friends, and young children — die in the concentration camps of typhus and other diseases that could have been prevented through proper medical care, he decided to build in their memory a state-of-the-art hospital that would care for the ill.

A man who lost every member of his own family built a hospital so that other families would not have to grieve.

That is Yesod she’b’Gevurah in its purest form — the courage to build institutions of life from the ashes of death.

This is not emotional strength. Not motivational strength. Not loud, dramatic strength. It is the quiet, stubborn, disciplined strength that says: “The world broke down — but I won’t”; “My plans died — but my mission didn’t. I’ll start again, with five students or five boys or one brick — and I will build the future.”

This is Yesod she’b’Gevurah. It built Torah after Rabbi Akiva’s yeshivah was destroyed. It built Torah again after the Holocaust. And it can rebuild our lives today.

The Rough Kid That Secured the Final Vote

Yesod she’b’Gevurah also refers to the unique strength generated through a close bond.

Strength without connection is just force. Force breaks things. It intimidates, it overpowers, it silences. But it rarely changes minds. And it almost never changes hearts.

Yesod is the quality of deep bonding — the soul-to-soul connection that creates a channel between two people. When Yesod enters Gevurah, something remarkable happens — strength finds its address. It knows where to go, who to reach, how to land.

Yesod she’b’Gevurah is the power of the relationship as the instrument of decisive action.

In 1947, the Jewish People were one vote away from statehood — and one vote away from losing it.

The United Nations was deliberating the partition of Palestine. China, one of the five members of the UN Security Council, had veto power, and was preparing to vote against. Every Zionist diplomat had sought a meeting with China’s representative, General Wu Tieching, but every door was closed. These diplomats had sound arguments. They had data to back them up. They had moral clarity and historical urgency. They had everything — except a relationship.

But then someone remembered Morris Cohen.

Many years earlier, a young Jewish street kid in Canada — Morris “Two-Gun” Cohen — was sitting in a café. He wasn’t a tzaddik. In fact, he was a pretty rough kid.

Suddenly, he saw an old Chinese man being beaten.

Most people in this situation — even good people — would hesitate. They would ask themselves: “Is it my business? Is it safe?”

But Cohen didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even think. He rushed to the scene and fought off the bullies, saving the Chinese fellow. A moment of true Chessed.

The man gratefully bowed to Morris and left.

The story doesn’t end there. That one act created a bond.

Years later, Cohen discovered that the man he saved was none other than Sun Yat-sen, the father of modern China — and Cohen became his bodyguard and trusted aide. Decades later, Cohen became a Major General in the Chinese National Revolutionary Army. He served alongside Wu Tieching for years, and was even the one who appointed Wu as a general, shaping his career.

Cohen didn’t arrive at the UN with a briefcase full of arguments. He arrived with a bond.

He walked into Wu Tieching’s room not as a lobbyist, not as a supplicant, not as an adversary to be outmaneuvered. He walked in as the man who had stood beside Wu when it mattered. He sat across from his old friend and placed on the table a letter from Sun Yat-sen — the father of their shared cause — expressing support for a Jewish homeland.

No speech. No pressure. Just: “You know who I am. You know who he was. Read this.”

Wu Tieching read it.

China abstained. The vote passed. Israel was born.

This is Yesod she’b’Gevurah.

The Zionist diplomats had Gevurah — conviction, urgency, the courage of a people fighting for survival. What they lacked was Yesod — the relational channel through which that strength could actually flow. Cohen had made such a connection, and so he could walk through a door that was closed to everyone else.

He didn’t overpower Wu. He didn’t threaten. He didn’t argue policy or international law. He activated something deeper — memory, loyalty, the weight of shared history between two men who had stood together. That bond was the power.

There is a lesson here that cuts against everything our culture tells us about how change happens.

We are trained to believe that strength means having the better argument. The sharper data. The louder voice. The more aggressive posture.

But the most decisive moments in history — the ones that actually made a difference — often turned on a relationship. On someone being able to walk into a room and say, without words: “I know you, and you know me. And that means something.”

Yesod she’b’Gevurah asks you to build those bonds before you need them. Not instrumentally — not collecting people like assets — but genuinely. Showing up. Taking interest. Standing in the difficult moments together.

Because the day may come when every door is closed and the only key is a human being who trusts you.

What About You?

Today, choose one place where life disappointed you, hurt you, or ruined your plan — and begin again.

• Start learning again.

• Start giving again.

• Start reaching out again.

• Start building again.

It doesn’t have to be big.

Five minutes.

Five dollars.

Five people.

Even one small step.

Because sometimes, the future of the Jewish People begins with just one small, heroic step.

Click Here to order your copy of 49 Gates.

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War. Kids at home. Pesach cleaning. Work deadlines. The kind of month where you look up on a Friday afternoon and genuinely can’t account for where the last six days went.

And yet, this mega-episode happened.

That’s the thing about Shtark Tank. It’s a real time commitment. It asks a lot. But it gives back more than it takes. There’s something about sitting down to work on it — to think about Torah, to hear how other Bnei Torah are wrestling with the same texts and the same questions — that fires me up in a way almost nothing else does.

So even in the chaos, we built something special.

What This Episode Is

This is the Shtark Tank Pesach Mega-Episode: over two hours of divrei Torah for Yom Tov, from a group of Bnei Torah who are also deeply embedded in professional life — real estate, finance, therapy, venture capital, medicine, and more.

Eight contributors. Eight different angles into Pesach. Each one bringing something real.

Here’s what’s inside:

• Rav Yakov Danishefsky — Writing Your Own Story

• Rav Jonathan Livi — The Revolution of Freedom

• Rav Max Berger — Matzah and Authenticity

• Zak Lenik — Freedom or Slavery?

• Mark Tobin — The Holiday of Emunah

• Dr. Mordy Goldenberg — Late Night Vision

• Yoel Van Messel — Understanding Our Goals

• Yaakov Wolff (me) — a conversation originally recorded for The Greatest Parashah Podcast with Raymond Ashkenazie and Emma Dayan

Why This Community

One of the things I’ve always believed about Shtark Tank is that Bnei Torah in the workforce have a particular relationship with Torah. We know what it means to feel pulled between two worlds. And we’re toilinng to figure out what it looks like to live with real avodas Hashem while also building a career, a family, a life.

A Few Thank Yous

To everyone who contributed their time and Torah to this episode — Yakov, Jonathan, Zak, Max, Mark, Joel, Mordy — thank you. I’m grateful that you made time in your busy schedules for this.

To Raymond Ashkenazie and Emma Dayan for generously allowing me to use the recording from The Greatest Parashah Podcast — your show is a gift to the community.

To Shlomo Price for the extra editing help — it made a real difference.

Wishing you and your families a Chag Kasher V’Sameach. May this Pesach bring real clarity, real joy, and — after everything this year has held — real geulah.

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Shtark Tank is a podcast forBnei Torah in the workforce. New episodes drop every Monday. Subscribe to this Substack to get episode updates and exclusive written content.

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The episode has already gotten great feedback, here is a taste.

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Growing Up in a Rabbi’s Home

Yaakov:
You grew up in a rabbinic home. You’re a rabbi’s son. Tell us a little bit about what that was like.

Dov:
Sure. I grew up in Teaneck, New Jersey. My father was Rabbi Yosef Adler, z”l, who was niftar this past September.

Overall, I had a very positive upbringing. I had a brother and two sisters, and my parents never forced anything on us. I think that was really the mantra of the home. And although, understandably, a rabbi is busy day and night, I can tell you it was very different from what I see nowadays, because there were no phones.

I always went to shul with my father, even when I was five or six years old. I sat right next to him in the front, stayed for his derashos and shiurim, whatever I could understand and whatever I couldn’t. To me, it was something I was always proud of.

Of course, there were challenges too. We only took two vacations. I tell my kids this all the time. We went to Eretz Yisrael once when I was a kid, and we went to Orlando once. Every other winter break, we stayed home. Sometimes we’d go to his school, and that was some of the fun. So yes, you can imagine there were financial limitations, but we never felt like we were missing out. We never felt like we didn’t have what we needed.

Did You Ever Want to Become a Rabbi?

Yaakov:
You grew up in a rabbi’s home. Did you ever consider following in your father’s footsteps?

Dov:
Yes—I actually did.

I love teaching. Even as a young adult, maybe twenty or twenty-one, when my father would go away, he would let me give the derashah in Rinat on Shabbos. The first time I did it, I was really nervous. Four hundred families, a lot of talmidei chachamim, a high level of learning in the shul—you have to prepare well.

I would go over what I wanted to say with him in advance, and I realized that this was something I liked and could do.

But I also saw the life of rabbanus: constant busyness, every minute of the day, without the financial reward. I wanted a different kind of balance. So I thought seriously about it, and my father actually set me up with members of the shul to talk about finance, accounting, and different professions.

Two things I knew I did not want to do: I did not want to be a doctor, and I did not want to be a lawyer. After that, the world was more open. I chose accounting because it felt more stable. Every job has ups and downs and busy seasons, but it felt reliable. And I realized I could still be fulfilled in other ways—community involvement, serious learning, and teaching—while building a career.

Entering the Workforce as a Frum Accountant

Yaakov:
Let’s talk about work. What was it like starting out as a young frum guy in the accounting world? What shocks did you encounter?

Dov:
I graduated from YU in 1997 and started at Coopers & Lybrand, before the merger that created PwC. I started as an associate in capital markets, working with financial services clients and then developing an asset management and hedge fund practice.

The first big decision I had to make was whether to wear a kippah. In the late 90s, most people did not. When I got there, nobody was wearing one. Another friend and I talked about it, and I discussed it with my father and understood the halachic issues. At the end of the day, I felt more uncomfortable not wearing it than wearing it.

And I felt it would be a good heker for myself going into the workforce—knowing who I am, representing Torah, representing Hashem. So I wore it.

It definitely had an impact. People looked at you differently. Even if they knew you were Jewish, when you’re wearing a kippah in a conference room with fifteen people and you’re the only one, it’s noticeable.

As I became a manager, I wondered: will this affect whether I make partner? I didn’t think so, but you never know. Baruch Hashem, PwC has been a very diverse environment. I made partner in 2008 and was one of the first partners there to wear a kippah. That made me very proud.

Now, looking back twenty years later, PwC is full of people from Brooklyn, Lakewood, Teaneck, the Five Towns—all over—wearing kippot. I’m proud we helped start that

Work-Life Balance, Busy Seasons, and Torah Learning

Yaakov:
How do you think about work-life balance, especially when work gets overwhelming?

Dov:
One of my early mentors said something I’ve never forgotten: work-life balance is measured on an annual basis, not a daily basis. Sometimes it’s monthly. Sometimes it’s over a three-month period.

When I was twenty-four, I was working from eight or nine in the morning until two in the morning, every day, every February and March. That wasn’t changing. I still tried to squeeze learning in here and there. But could I maintain a regular seder with a chavrusa? Not always. This was before Zoom, before remote learning. If it wasn’t in person, it wasn’t happening.

So during those stretches, some things had to give. But then you have to make sure you pick it back up. When life opens up again, you have to use that time properly.

Rav Neuberger speaks about this a lot: when you do have free time, what do you do with it? If you use that time for learning, it shows where your heart really is. And if your heart is there, then HaKadosh Baruch Hu treats the busy periods differently too.

Loving the Work You Hate

Yaakov:
You once said something fascinating: you hate auditing, but you love your job. Can you unpack that? And more broadly, how should people think about choosing a career?

Dov:
The first thing is to establish your goals. What do you want from your career, both short-term and long-term? And what is your attitude?

When I started working, I was twenty-one, newly married, and I had to pay bills. My number one question was: will this job let me support a family and live with some level of menuchas hanefesh? That was the starting point.

Today, I think we sometimes err too far in the direction of, “If I’m not fulfilled, I’m not doing it.” Of course a job should have some fulfillment. But we all know what the obviously fulfilling jobs are—doctor, rebbe, rav, therapist, and so on. What I try to do is find fulfillment even in a job that doesn’t seem fulfilling on the surface.

I’m an audit partner at PwC, and I say this all the time: I don’t like auditing. I actually hate auditing itself. The technical work, the checking, the opinions—I don’t love that. But what I do love is teaching, mentoring, reflecting, business development, getting new clients, building relationships.

Those are the same skills I enjoy in teaching Torah.

So I tell people: don’t only look for fulfillment in the title of the job. Sometimes you bring the fulfillment into the role through mentoring, helping others, building, teaching, referring people, giving back. At the same time, you have to be realistic. Life is expensive. You need to weigh passion against the actual needs of your family.

Building a Learning Life That Lasts

Yaakov:
Looking back, what helped you maintain Torah learning through the ups and downs of work and life?

Dov:
Consistency. And specifically: having a chavrusa.

You need someone who holds you accountable. Morning or night, you need a fixed relationship with someone. I used to try to learn early in the morning, but that wasn’t always for me. I missed too often. What really anchored me was a night seder.

When you have a chavrusa, your day gets planned around learning. Even today, with Zoom and FaceTime, it’s easier than ever. In earlier years, if you weren’t there in person, that was it.

I also believe a person should have two sedarim: a formal one and an “on-the-go” one. Have a pocket Mishnah. Have something small you can learn while waiting around. People joke about a “shalom bayis seder”—when your wife is getting ready for a simchah, learn another Mishnah.

And as your career progresses, you may get more time back. As kids get older, you may get more time back. Right now, one of the greatest things in my life is that I am my son’s night seder at YU.

At first I wasn’t sure that was the right choice. Maybe he should learn with someone his own age. But Rav Neuberger told me, “If your son is asking you to be his night seder, and you can do it most of the time, grab the opportunity.” So I did.

That’s a tremendous gift.

Don’t Be Afraid to Bribe Your Kids

Yaakov:
You told me once the story of how that learning relationship with your son began. Can you share it here?

Dov:
This is a great story. My son will kill me for telling it, but I’ve already said it publicly enough times.

He was a senior at TABC and, to put it mildly, not so into learning. Great kid, good boy, hockey player—but not so into learning. Around that time he told me, “Abba, I’d love a car as a senior.”

My lease was coming up, and I realized I had an opportunity to bribe him. I grew up in a house where my father was a big briber. For me, it was baseball cards. Come to shul Sunday morning, get two packs of baseball cards. That worked.

So I told my son: if you learn an hour a week with me for the entire year and finish Maseches Taanis, I’ll extend the lease on my car for a year and give it to you.

He thought seriously about it, because he’s a man of his word. Then he said yes. We learned the whole year, finished the masechta, and made a siyum. At the siyum he said, “I started learning for the car. But halfway through, I don’t know when it changed—I just realized I love learning with you.”

That changed everything.

The next summer he went to NCSY Kollel. For the first two weeks in Israel I learned with him in the mornings. Then I came back to America, and he no longer had a chavrusa for the rest of the program. So for three weeks, I went to sleep at eight or nine at night, woke up at one in the morning, and learned with him from two to four a.m. every day. We finished the eighth perek of Bava Metzia.

People told me I was crazy, that I was a legend. But I’m not saying it to praise myself. I’m saying: when kids see that you value learning enough to do crazy things for it, it makes a deep impact.

And yes—don’t be afraid to bribe your kids.

Parenting Without Forcing

Yaakov:
That connects to something bigger. How do you think about being patient with children—allowing for ebbs and flows, not getting too frustrated, staying loving and present through it all?

Dov:
I think the key is to set an example and present alternatives without forcing.

That was how I was raised. My father never forced me to do things, but he always made clear what he thought was right. Every Sunday morning, I wake my son up for minyan. Will he go every single time? No. But I wake him up. He knows there’s an opportunity. He goes a lot.

The same is true in many other areas. I’m not going to pretend I think it’s ideal for a kid to sit in his room on his phone longer than I’d like. Of course not. You need boundaries. Filters matter. Structure matters. But forcing often backfires.

Especially today, when the distractions and the bad influences are so close and so accessible, you cannot afford to turn a child off by pushing too hard.

Rav Druk says a father who spends the whole time shushing his kid in shul will often end up with the exact opposite of what he wants. Better to daven properly yourself, show what it means to stand before Hashem, and let the child absorb it. If the child quietly looks at an English book in shul so that he can be there with you, kol hakavod. Don’t turn it into a war over page numbers in the siddur.

Model what you want. Present what’s right. But don’t force.

Teaching Children to Daven

Yaakov:
That brings me to a personal question. I have little kids, and I’ve been thinking ahead to the challenge of having children in shul while also trying to daven properly myself. How do you think about balancing your own avodah with chinuch?

Dov:
Let me start with a story about my father.

When he was principal of TABC, someone once asked him about a struggling child and said, “How do you get the kids to daven?” My father answered, “Why would a kid want to daven? He has everything he needs. There’s food on the table, his parents have jobs, he has clothes, he has a comfortable life. Why would he feel a need to daven?”

The man walked around the desk and hugged him.

That perspective matters. We have to understand where kids are coming from. Davening is hard. Even for adults. So for kids, of course it’s hard. Why would Refa’einu mean much to them if they never dealt with illness? Why would Bareich Aleinu mean much to them if they don’t feel the pressure of parnassah? Why would Et Tzemach David feel concrete?

So don’t expect them to feel what you feel. Train them slowly. Focus on one brachah. One idea. One point of connection.

Before a hockey game, I tell my son: have a good Shemoneh Esrei today, and in Shema Koleinu ask Hashem to help you play well. I’m not saying hockey is the highest thing in the world. I’m saying: if that matters to him, teach him that davening means asking Hashem for what matters to you.

That builds the muscle memory of tefillah.

Teaching Torah While Building a Career

Yaakov:
You love Torah, public speaking, and teaching. How did that part of your life start expanding, especially while staying busy professionally?

Dov:
I’ve always loved teaching. Three years ago, I gave a shiur between Minchah and Maariv, and someone said, “Would you be willing to give a weekly Chumash shiur?” That became a Thursday night Zoom shiur for Beth Abraham.

I think iyun in Chumash is a bit of a lost art. People focus on Gemara, hashkafah, or hot topics, but every week we take one pasuk, one idea, and really develop it. We get ten to fifteen people live, and then many more listen later on YUTorah.

It gives me a lot of chiyus. And as you become more senior in your career, the pressure doesn’t disappear, but the flexibility changes. I’m not working until two in the morning anymore. So I can use that flexibility for teaching.

It takes a lot of preparation. Giving shiurim is a serious investment of time. But it keeps me focused on the parashah all week. It sharpens me.

I also started two daily WhatsApp chats. One is a short daily Chumash and inyana d’yoma piece—under three minutes, always under three minutes. The other is a daily bitachon chat. We started with Chovos HaLevavos and then moved on. Again: under three minutes. Small, digestible, but consistent.

And I really believe this: the more a person learns, the more HaKadosh Baruch Hu helps him be successful at work. I wouldn’t be able to do this today if I hadn’t put in the work when I was younger.

Why Nonprofit Work Became a Passion

Yaakov:
Let’s shift to the nonprofit side. You’re involved in a lot of initiatives. How did that start, and which projects are you most proud of?

Dov:
I’ve always been involved in nonprofits. Once my daughter started school, I got involved right away. I felt it was important to give back. That came from my parents. My father obviously, but my mother too—she was very involved in schools, PTA, organizations.

Once I started, I realized I really like this work. It fits my personality: helping organizations grow, helping people, building things.

Over the years I became treasurer and later president of Yeshivat Noam, got involved with Maayanot, Beth Abraham, TABC, and other institutions. I also got into fundraising, and I realized that’s a skill I had developed.

I’ve helped fundraise for multiple schools and buildings. I helped lead the campaign for the TABC building, which was named in memory of my father. I helped start Yeshiva Shalshelet for children with language-based learning disabilities. I didn’t have a child who needed it—I was just approached because people thought I could help get it off the ground. Today it has around sixty students and is doing remarkable work.

More recently, I helped start KFAR, an after-school program for children in public school who need more Jewish structure and support. This year we had our first siddur play. Seeing grandparents cry because they never imagined their grandchild in public school would have a full siddur ceremony—that was one of the most emotional things I’ve ever seen.

Listen to the Full Episode

“מְגִלָּה נִקְרֵאת בְּאַחַד עָשָׂר, בִּשְׁנֵים עָשָׂר, בִּשְׁלֹשָׁה עָשָׂר, בְּאַרְבָּעָה עָשָׂר, בַּחֲמִשָּׁה עָשָׂר, לֹא פָחוֹת וְלֹא יוֹתֵר.

כְּרַכִּין הַמֻּקָּפִין חוֹמָה מִימוֹת יְהוֹשֻׁעַ בִּן נוּן, קוֹרִין בַּחֲמִשָּׁה עָשָׂר. כְּפָרִים וַעֲיָרוֹת גְּדוֹלוֹת, קוֹרִין בְּאַרְבָּעָה עָשָׂר, אֶלָּא שֶׁהַכְּפָרִים מַקְדִּימִין לְיוֹם הַכְּנִיסָה:”

“The Megilah [can theoretically be] read on the 11th, 12th, 13th, 14th, or 15th of Adar, no earlier and no later. Large cities walled from the times of Yehoshua read on the 15th. Large unwalled cities as well as rural villages both read on the 14th, just that the villages sometimes read the Megilah a few days earlier on the day of commute to the larger cities.”

To someone familiar with the Purim story, the idea of reading the Megilah a few days early is a little confusing considering that those dates didn’t have any significance in the neis of Purim.

However, the opening Gemara of the Masechtah spends quite a few lines justifying it via allusions in the pesukim of the Megilah themselves proving that the Anshei Kenesses haGedolah always intended for these days to be options for fulfilling the Mitzvah of Mikra Megilah in addition to the classic 14th & 15th.

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So now there are two questions we have to ask:

1. What is the difference between a village and a large city that warrants a difference between them?

2. What is the reason for the takanah?

The Mishnah on 5a seems to address our 1st question:

“אִי זוֹ הִיא עִיר גְּדוֹלָה? כֹּל שֶׁיֵּשׁ בָּהּ עֲשָׂרָה בַּטְלָנִין. פָּחוֹת מִכָּאן, הֲרֵי זֶה כְּפָר.”

“What is a “large city”? Any city with 10 non-working men. A city with less than this is a village.”

Rashi on the Gemara there elucidates this concept of “non-working men”:

“עשרה בטלנין - שבבית הכנסת שהן בטלים ממלאכתן וניזונים משל צבור כדי להיות מצויין בתפלה בבית הכנסת…”

“”These ten non-working men were hired by the town to always be [learning] in the Shul to make sure there is always a minyan ready for tefillah…”

From here alone it seems that the difference between cities and villages is that, unlike the village, the city had a guaranteed minyan, something which is needed for Megilah reading because of Pirsumei Nisa (a minyan is crucial when the Megilah is read before the 14th, and it’s lechat’chilah on the 14th and 15th as well - see Mishnah Berurah 690:61).

Yet, Rashi on the opening Mishnah explains the difference a little differently, and seems to address both of our questions:

“...אלא שהכפרים נתנו להן חכמים רשות להקדים קריאתה ליום הכניסה יום שני בשבת שלפני י”ד או חמישי בשבת שהוא יום כניסה שהכפרים מתכנסין לעיירות למשפט לפי שבתי דינין יושבין בעיירות בשני ובחמישי כתקנת עזרא (ב”ק דף פב.) והכפרים אינן בקיאין לקרות וצריכין שיקראנה להם אחד מבני העיר ולא הטריחום חכמים להתאחר ולבא ביום י”ד…”

To paraphrase: The villages didn’t have batei dinim, so they would generally commute to the big cities on Mondays & Thursdays to go to Beis Din (Ezra decided that batei dinim should convene every Monday & Thursday - see Bava Kama 82a), and the villagers needed the professional baalei kriah in the big city to read the Megilah for them anyway, so the Rabbis were lenient on them and allowed them to read the Megilah early.

However, as Rashba on the Mishnah was asks, the Gemara at the very bottom of 4a explicitly addresses both of our questions and doesn’t seem to say what Rashi said:

“אָמַר רַבִּי חֲנִינָא: חֲכָמִים הֵקֵילּוּ עַל הַכְּפָרִים לִהְיוֹת מַקְדִּימִין לְיוֹם הַכְּנִיסָה כְּדֵי שֶׁיְּסַפְּקוּ מַיִם וּמָזוֹן לַאֲחֵיהֶם שֶׁבַּכְּרַכִּין.”

“R’ Chanina: The Rabbis were lenient regarding the villages in order that they should [be available to] supply food and water to their brethren in the large cities.”

This Gemara leads us to two conclusions:

1. First, on a historical level, we see from here that the villagers were responsible for the supply of food and water to the big cities; they were presumably farmers and ranchers.

2. Secondly, the takanah seems to be for the benefit of the large-city dwellers so that they should be able to enjoy their usual supply of food and water. Presumably, if the villagers also had to worry about their chiyuv of Mikra Megilah, their usual delivery route would be disrupted.

However, the Gemara 4b a few lines later rejects the second conclusion, citing proofs from the continuation of the Mishnah on 2a that this could not have been a takanah for the city dwellers. Instead, they say that the takanah was not “כְּדֵי “שֶׁיְּסַפְּקוּ, but rather “מִפְּנֵי שֶׁמְּסַפְּקִים”. What exactly does this new version mean? Well, it’s a machalokes Rishonim.

Rashba (and Ritva explains similarly):

“...מפני שביום הכניסה מתכנסין לספק מים ומזון לכרכים, והקלו להם לקרות בשעת כניסתן כדי שלא יטרחו ביום פורים ויתבטלו מסעודתן…”

“Because they would anyways typically commute to the big city to deliver food and water on the previous Monday/Thursday, they were lenient on them so that they wouldn’t be too busy on the 14th [because of having to go hear the Megilah in the big city where they have professional baalei kriah*] and end up not having time to travel home and have the seudah.”

*Rashba doesn’t write this explicitly, but it doesn’t seem to me that he would argue with Rashi on this specific point - more on that in a bit.

Rashi:

“שכר הוא להם בשביל שהן מספקין, הלכך, היכא דאין נכנסין לא קולא הוא לגבייהו ואין כאן שכר.”

“It’s a reward for them because they supply the cities with food and water; therefore, if they didn’t anyway commute a few days early, this would neither be a leniency nor a reward.”

This is a very interesting chidush; Rashi describes it not simply as a convenience for them, but as a reward. We’re rewarding these farmers/truckers for their many hours of hard work at the fields, pastures, and reservoirs to provide everyone with food and water by allowing them to read the Megilah even a few days early when they’re delivering the food and water.

So now let’s get back to Rashba’s question: Why does Rashi on the Mishnah describe the takanah differently than here?

Rashba answers that Rashi over there is addressing another type of city in addition to the villages, namely larger cities which still do not have 10 non-working men, which are treated like villages, because, presumably, they also didn’t have professional baalei kriah and would commute to a city with 10 non-working men on leining days.

(We see from here another interesting historical fact that it seems that only those who didn’t work for a living knew how to lein. If anyone has a different explanation, I’d be more than happy to hear it.)

So, to sum it up, we have 2 explanations for what exactly was this takanah of reading the Megilah early:

1. Rashba, Ritva, and Rashi (about cities without 10 non-working men): The takanah was a convenience for those who would commute into the larger cities on leining days so that their Purim celebration would be one without added stress.

2. Rashi on 4b: It was also a reward out of hakaras hatov to the farmers and ranchers for their hard work in providing food and water for the big cities.

And now to one last suggestion that I would like to add to reveal another dimension to this takanah:

“Purim” is an interesting name for the holiday. Why specifically do we highlight the lots that Haman drew?

I believe the answer can be found in the Gemara on 7a:

“שָׁלְחָה לָהֶם אֶסְתֵּר לַחֲכָמִים׃ כִּתְבוּנִי לְדוֹרוֹת. שָׁלְחוּ לָהּ׃ ״הֲלֹא כָתַבְתִּי לְךָ שָׁלִישִׁים״, שִׁלֵּישִׁים וְלֹא רִבֵּעִים…”

“Esther sent to the Anshei Kenesses haGedolah: Write me down [in Tanach] for the generations! They responded: But the pasuk in Mishlei 22:20 says it should be only written three times, not four!”

Rashi there explains that there are already three times in Tanach where we mention fighting Amalek, one at the end of Beshalach (Shemos 17:8-16), a second time at the end of Ki Setzei (Devarim 25:17-19), and a third time by the war of Shaul in (Shmuel Aleph 15:1-33).

We see from here that the significance of Purim is the battle with Amaleik, the battle between “Yehudim” - those who are “modeh” - those who acknowledge Hashem’s presence and providence in this world, and Amaleik - “אשר קרך בדרך” (Devarim 25:18) - who call everything coincidence and nature.

Therefore, we highlight Haman’s signature lottery where he highlighted this trait of Amaleik to strip everything of Divine Providence.

This is also why we read a Megilah which has no mention of Hashem’s name - we’re tasked with reading Hashem into the story ourselves.

In addition, על דרך דרש, Haman tells Achashveirosh about an “עַם־אֶחָ֗ד מְפֻזָּ֤ר וּמְפֹרָד֙ בֵּ֣ין הָֽעַמִּ֔ים בְּכֹ֖ל מְדִינ֣וֹת מַלְכוּתֶ֑ךָ” (Esther 3:8) - a separated nation, one that doesn’t recognize that they are all brothers and bound together in the divine plan.

We can now add that final dimension to the takanah: Purim is a holiday where we celebrate Hashgachas Hashem, and, along with it, ratzon Hashem. As a result, the Anshei Kenesses haGedolah wanted everyone to be able celebrate it comfortably, as everyone in Am Yisrael has their own role and importance, from the Kollel guys sitting and learning all day to the farmers and ranchers spending their days out in the fields. For this same reason, we have the mitzvos of Mishlo’ach Manos and Matanos La’Evyonim - we are displaying that we believe everyone is important and that we want to share in the simcha with them.

This Purim, let us celebrate the importance of every Jew in Hashem’s nation no matter what role they have. Especially when times like these lead to the typical controversial debates surrounding drafting and the like, let us take a step back and start to appreciate each and every one of our brothers.

Chag Purim Samei’ach!

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In Bavli Chullin 139b, the Gemara asks a question that seems utterly bizarre: “Haman min haTorah minayin?” — Where is Haman hinted at in the Torah?

It’s a strange question. The Purim story happened nearly a millennium after the Torah was given at Sinai. Why would Haman be in the Torah?

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The Gemara’s answer seems, at first glance, like a bit of a stretch. It points to the story of the Garden of Eden. After Adam eats from the Tree of Knowledge, God asks him: “Hamin ha’etz asher tzivicha l’vilti achol mimenu achalta?” — “Did you eat from the tree from which I commanded you not to eat?” (Bereshit 3:11). The word hamin (המן - “from the”) shares the exact same spelling as Haman (המן).

Wait, really? A pun? Our Sages were deep thinkers; they didn’t just play word games for the fun of it. My entire life I thought that this was just a cute Rabbinic word game suitable for Purim Torah, until I recently heard in the name of the Vilna Gaon (I have no source and would be very appreciative if someone could provide the mekor) that there actually is a profound psychological insight hidden in this phonetic connection.

The Missing Tile of Eden and Shushan

Let’s look at Adam HaRishon; he was placed in paradise. He had a corner office in Eden with every luscious, exotic fruit at his fingertips—mangoes, pomegranates, figs, you name it. Out of the entire garden, only one tree was off-limits. What did Adam do? He fixated entirely on the one thing he didn’t have.

Now look at Haman. He was the CEO (or at least the Assistant CEO…or the Assistant to the CEO…) of the 127-province Persian Empire. He had unlimited wealth, absolute power, and the terrifying respect of everyone in the corporate hierarchy. As the Megillah tells us, everyone bowed to him—whether they were Chassidish, Litvish, Modern Orthodox, or Reform. Well, almost everyone. There was one guy, Mordechai, who refused to bow.

Haman’s reaction? “V’chol zeh einenov shoveh li...” — “Yet all this is worth nothing to me, so long as I see Mordechai the Jew sitting at the king’s gate” (Esther 5:13).

Haman had the world, but he destroyed his own life because he couldn’t handle the one missing piece.

In psychology, this is known as the “Missing Tile Syndrome.” You walk into a magnificent ballroom with a breathtaking mosaic floor. But in the corner, one tile is missing. Where do your eyes go? Straight to the missing tile. It suddenly ruins the whole room for you.

The Professional Takeaway: Redefining Career Success

As driven professionals, it’s incredibly easy to fall into the Haman Trap. You land a great job, you have a solid income, and your team respects you. But... your colleague got the promotion you wanted. Or your competitor’s firm just hit a valuation milestone you haven’t reached yet. Or you have that one client who is chronically difficult and refuses to “bow” to your expertise.

If we are not careful, that one missing tile becomes our entire universe. We lose sleep over the one Mordechai, completely ignoring the 127 provinces of success we have already achieved.

This Adar, the secret to simcha (joy) is not found in a bottle, and it isn’t found in getting every single thing you want. True joy—the kind that fuels a sustainable, fulfilling career—comes from doing the exact opposite of Haman. It’s about taking inventory of your “trees” and savoring the fruit you can eat.

It is completely fine to strive for more, to aim for that promotion, or to want to fix the missing tiles in your business. Ambition is healthy. But your baseline consciousness—your daily focus—must be anchored in the blessings you already possess. Articulate them out loud. Name your successes.

When you stop fixating on the missing tile, you can finally enjoy the ballroom.

Besorot Tovot to Klal Yisrael and Wishing Everyone a Freilechen Purim!

***

מי ייתן וכשם שבימי מרדכי ואסתר בשושן הבירה עמדת להם בעת צרתם כן יחוס וירחם על עמו ועל ארצו הקדושה במערכה מול שליטי פרס. אנו תפילה שיעשה לנו ניסים כימים ההם בזמן הזה, ונזכה כולנו יחד לשמוע אך ורק בשורות טובות, ישועות ונחמות, ונחגוג מתוך שמחה שלמה ואמיתית. פורים שמח!

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The very last pasuk of the Megillah (10:3) reads as follows:

כי מרדכי היהודי משנה למלך אחשוורוש וגדול ליהודים ורצוי לרוב אחיו…

For Mordechai the Jew was second-in-command to King Achashverosh; he was great for the Jewish People and beloved by the majority of his brethren…

The Gemoro in Megillah 16b derives from this pasuk that whilst Mordechai was indeed beloved by the majority of the nation, to רוב אחיו, he had lost the favour of a minority. This minority, explains the Gemoro, was a few members of the Sanhedrin (מקצת סנהדרין) who looked askance on Mordechai’s political career and deemed him to be guilty of bittul Torah.

In this context, the Gemoro proclaims גדולה תלמוד תורה יותר מהצלת נפשות. Although there is no dispute that one engaged in Talmud Torah must cease learning if an opportunity of הצלת נפשות that no-one else can perform presents itself, the Taz explains that the merit of one who is ‘lucky’ enough to be able to learn undisturbed outweighs the merit of one who is forced to interrupt his learning even for such a praiseworthy cause as saving lives^[1]. Accordingly, whilst these members of the Sanhedrin were cognizant of the fact that Mordechai was engaged in הצלת נפשות, they nevertheless judged him to have undergone a spiritual decline as a result of his lack of learning.

However, Mordechai himself clearly disagreed. And, as many comment on that Gemoro, the majority of the members of the Sanhedrin apparently sided with Mordechai, as only מקצת סנהדרין were critical of his behaviour. What then was their response?

One possible means of explaining this debate is by invoking the machlokes between Rabi Shimon bar Yochai and Rabi Yishmael in Brachos 35b. Rashbi called for single-minded devotion to Talmud Torah (תורה מה תהא עליה), whilst Rabi Yishmael advised the pursuit of Talmud Torah together with Derech Eretz (הנהג בהן מנהג דרך ארץ); the Gemoro concludes with Abaye’s observation that the ruling of Rabi Yishmael best suits the masses, with many meforshim noting that Abaye implicitly appears to endorse the opinion of Rashbi for an elite minority.

Thus, it seems logical to suggest that such was the machlokes between the members of the Sanhedrin at the end of the Purim story. Mordechai, representing the majority opinion amongst the Sanhedrin, ruled in accordance with Rabi Yishmael’s (future) opinion that Talmud Torah should ideally be combined with Derech Eretz; therefore, he opted to retain his position of political influence despite the negative effect it would have on his personal learning. However, a minority of the Sanhedrin maintained, much like Rashbi many centuries after them, that Talmud Torah should optimally be pursued to the exclusion of all else; therefore, they reacted to Mordechai’s career choice with displeasure.

However, in light of another passage in the Megillah, an alternative justification of this debate emerges.

In his slander of the Jewish People to the King, Haman proclaimed the following (Esther 3, 8):

ישנו עם אחד מפוזר ומפרד בין העמים בכל מדינות מלכותך ודתיהם שונות מכל עם ואת דתי המלך אינם עושים ולמלך אין שוה להניחם.

There is a nation scattered and isolated among the nations, in all the provinces of your realm. Their laws differ from those of every other people, they do not observe the King’s laws. It is not befitting the King to tolerate them.

Rav Hirsch (Collected Writings, Adar III) writes that Haman was not incorrect in his description of the Jewish People; in fact, his portrayal of a people who remain a distinct, separate entity despite their dispersion remains strikingly precise to this day. Nevertheless, his hatred and his envy distorted his judgement of the facts, leading him to the conclusion that למלך אין שוה להניחם. Esther, on the other hand, maintained that אין הצר שוה בנזק המלך - Haman was not cognizant of the damage to the King that the destruction of the Jewish People would bring about, and that on the contrary, her people were an integral component of the Persian society.

Rav Hirsch explains that the ability of Klal Yisrael to coalesce as a distinct, separate entity (מפרד) despite being dispersed amongst the many nations of the world (מפוזר) stems from the unique character of their laws (ודתיהם שונות מכל עם) in contrast to all other bodies of law. Secular law is formed by the people; the Jewish People is formed by their law. Secular law serves the people; the Jewish People serve the law. Secular law and many other forms of non-Jewish Religious law are separate institutions, each confining the other to a specific realm; Jewish law, on the other hand, is not confined to the Shul or the study hall. Rather:

“... in the life of the Jew, religious and social life are closely interwoven. There is only a single element of life and all areas of the Jew’s existence and activities are embodied in the one Divine thought of God’s law. It is particularly in these aspects of “secular” life that religion finds its ultimate fulfilment; the Jew considers them religious in nature, considers them religion itself, and they are therefore an integral part of the Law.”

Says Rav Hirsch, it is precisely this all-encompassing nature of the laws of Judaism that maintains the Jewish People throughout the centuries of exile. “If the Jewish law… were to be practiced only in a synagogue… Judaism would have disappeared long ago. The Jews in the diaspora were preserved as an isolated entity not because the practice of their “religion” demands a synagogue but because their law demands purity in marriage and at the table. Judaism as a “synagogue-religion” would not have sustained the nation and would not have preserved its heritage… But תורת ה’ תמימה, the Torah encompasses all of life and elevates it into one continuous Divine service… The Law transforms daily life into a magnificent hymn to G-d. It transforms the Jew into a priest, his home into a temple, his table into an altar, his life into an offering.”

Thus, according to Rav Hirsch, the Mitzvos of the Torah are not to be viewed as divorced from mundane, everyday living. Rather, every single Mitzvah informs and educates towards the sacred task of living one’s every moment in the service of G-d.

Needless to say, this position of Rav Hirsch is not unanimous; many throughout the ages have not shared his understanding of the fundamental role of the performance of Mitzvos in the life of the Jew, nor have they agreed with his assertion that the ultimate expression of religion is in the application of religious principles to ‘secular’ situations. Rather, they have viewed Mitzvos as spiritual islands and Noah’s Arks, providing safe haven from the tempestuous storm of life ‘outside’ that seeks to overwhelm the ‘עבד ה. Therefore, they have sought to limit their encounters with all that is not unadulterated spirituality to an absolute minimum, in order to maximise their engagement with ‘pure spirituality’.

Perhaps this was the dispute between the members of the Sanhedrin. Those that were unhappy with Mordechai’s decisions would have favoured the latter approach, perceiving Mordechai’s forays into the political echelons of Persia as an unfortunate, spiritually risky endeavour. Mordechai and his comrades, on the other hand, would have championed the position of Rav Hirsch, viewing the opportunity to fulfil the dictums of the Torah in the palace of Persia as the ultimate expression and manifestation of Judaism.

As Mordechai is indeed the undoubted hero of the Purim story, we can all draw strength from his perspective as we attempt to follow in his footsteps, each utilizing his own unique life circumstances as an opportunity to perform the Mitzvos of the Torah in their ideal form.

For a thorough Halachic and Hashkafic analysis of the fundamental topics discussed in this Dvar Torah, as well as analysis of many other related topics, such as Secular Studies, Hashgacha and Hishtadlus and Taking Money for Learning Torah, please look out for my upcoming book with Mosaica Press entitled Between Torah and Derech Eretz. The book has just recently gone to print and will B’ezras Hashem be in stores in the coming months.

Purim Sameach!

Rafael Dembovsky

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^[1] This position of the Taz seemingly aligns with the position that the importance of Talmud Torah is independent of the fact that it leads to Mitzvah performance.

However, as many Shtark Tank followers will be familiar with, perhaps the most dominant opinion amongst the Rishonim regarding the supreme value of Talmud Torah is that it is מביא לידי מעשה, in accordance with the Gemoro in :קידושין מ. In which case, the Gemoro in מגילה is rather difficult to understand - how could תלמוד תורה be גדולה than הצלת נפשות, בנין בית המקדש וכיבוד אב ואם? If anyone has an answer I would love to know!

I transcribed the answer using Sofer.ai, pulled the parts that felt most relevant for Bnei Torah in the workforce, rearranged a few sections, and added some of my own notes (including references to relevant Shtark Tank episodes).

Rav Lebowitz was kind enough to review this post and give it his approval.

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1) Life Has Stages — Your Learning Has to Adjust

I’m a big fan of yomi limudim.

It’s not necessarily the way guys learn in yeshiva, nor should it necessarily be the way guys learn in yeshiva, because you have a different misgeret in yeshiva. You have something called morning seder and you have a bekius seder and you have a halacha seder so you have a misgeret in terms of time. But once you get past yeshiva years, your misgeret is not so much time. You need other things to be a program for you.

And having an amount that you have to cover is very very helpful, at least I find it’s very helpful. It’s not a great thing when guys come out of yeshiva thinking that they’re going to learn like they do in yeshiva. I was just talking to Rabbi Isaac Rice about this today, he was telling me that it’s a big avlah when guys come out of yeshiva thinking Simchas Torah has to be exactly the way it was in yeshiva, otherwise it’s a total failure. It shouldn’t be the way it was in Yeshiva because you have children to take care of… there are different stages of life, you have a wife waiting to start lunch and she doesn’t want to start lunch at 3:00 in the afternoon, right? I mean you have different stages of life so there are different things that you do based on different stages of life and things can be meaningful.

So the same is true with limud hatorah. Limud hatorah is is not gonna be the way it was in Yeshiva for most people. So you have to be open to doing a yomi type of limud to sort of keep you on track. It’s a very, very good idea.

This is one of the main themes we discuss on Shtark Tank.

Yeshiva is one stage in the journey. For many of us, it’s a “peak” in terms of time and intensity. But it’s not the finish line, and it’s not the only model for what growth looks like.

Hashem built life with stages. Adapting to new stages is a challenge, but it’s a critical one. This means thinking deeply about how our life can be calibrated around intentional Avodas Hashem. This mindset must be fully compatible with our work and family lives, not an escape from it.

Part of what I’m trying to add to this conversation is: what does Avodas Hashem look like once life gets full?

They don’t teach you how to change diapers in yeshiva. I say that half-joking, but the point is serious: we need a mindset where taking care of our kids, showing up for our wives, and handling normal responsibilities aren’t “distractions from ruchniyus.” They’re part of a full Torah life.

And this plays out in a lot of real questions: What does my Shabbos table look like now? How much should I be learning on a workday? Which minyan makes sense for this season of life? Learning how to switch out of “yeshiva mode” without guilt is a big deal.
[If you haven’t yet listneded to the Shtark Tank with Rav Lebowitz, check it out here]

2) The One Nugget a Day Method

So if you’re gonna do a yomi limud, I would recommend [the following] and I wish, I wish I kept my own advice. Whenever I do keep this advice, it’s a much more meaningful day for me. But I try to recommend try to walk away with a shtikl Torah each day from that limud. And even better than walking away with a shtikl Torah that you’re gonna keep in your mind and that you’ll think about throughout the course of the day, even better than that, repeat it to someone else. If it’s an interesting enough shtikl Torah, you have a raya to some interesting idea in hashkafa or in halacha from the daf yomi, so mention it to someone that day, especially if someone, if it’s someone else who’s doing the daf and it’s practically meaningful to them. And even if it’s not meaningful to them, just the fact that you forced yourself to say it over, that you forced yourself to repeat it, will make it that much more meaningful to you.

This is such a strong approach to learning, especially on a limited schedule.

Here’s how I’d translate it into a simple framework:

First, the “coverage” side: you keep moving. That’s your bekius.

Then, you pull out one idea each day and spend a few minutes understanding it a bit more. That’s your iyun—not “deep lomdus for an hour,” but a small daily push for clarity.

Two things happen when you do that:

1. You pay closer attention while learning, because you’re hunting for something to take with you.

2. You give yourself a daily taste of depth—just enough to feel that you’re not only “getting through,” but actually growing.

This doesn’t have to take long. It can be as simple as reading and highlighting one Artscroll footnote, or sitting with one line for a few minutes during downtime.

And then comes the key step: say it over. Share it with someone. Even a quick voice note counts. The act of repeating it turns it from “something I saw” into “something I own.”

3) You Get Out What You Put In

…I can’t [recommend a specific limmud yomi] because I haven’t tried all of them. [Personally] I do Daf Yomi for many years already... I do Mishnah Yomi for a few years and Mishnah Berurah Yomi for about a year and a half so far… I personally get the most out of the Daf, but I also put the most into the Daf. And that also kind of makes sense, right? Meaning that’s a rule in life: whatever you put the most into, that’s what you’re going to get the most out of.

This part hits hard: what you invest in is usually what pays you back.

There’s a concept called the “IKEA effect”: people value furniture more when they had to assemble it themselves. You can find a similar idea in Chazal, in many different ways—effort creates connection.

And you see this tension in the world of learning programs. A lot of new programs are built around making learning easier and more accessible. That’s not bad. For many people, that’s exactly what keeps them in the game.

But there’s also a place for programs that are demanding: programs that ask you to stretch, review, test, and really commit. There’s a risk of frustration, but there’s also a big reward: that feeling of “I did something hard, and now it’s mine.” Dirshu testing is a strong example of this.

4) Priorities: Not Every Sefer Has the Same Weight

Logically though, logically, and as hypocritical as this might sound, I would think Nach would make the most sense. Because you’re unlikely to learn Nach in a different misgeret. You may learn Nevi’im Rishonim because you remember it from school and it’s easier. Nevi’im Acharonim, as we discussed recently, much much harder to learn through Tehillim, things like that, you learn through Kesuvim, not always so easy. So it’s good to have a misgeret that sort of forces you to learn to learn Nach. It’s also unlikely that you’re ever going to have a chavrusa in Nach. So I would think it would lend itself to a Yomi kind of a misgeret. Now it’s also important to realize like what’s most important to learn.

Look, all of these sefarim are amazing, but like Rav Schachter often points out, that the obligation of Talmud Torah for a Jew is to learn Kol HaTorah Kula. So what does it mean Kol HaTorah Kula? It doesn’t mean every sefer that was ever written. It means Tanach and Divrei Chazal and things like that.

So is Mishnah Berurah and Tanya as important let’s say as Tanach and Talmud Bavli? Probably not, right? Neither of those is... you gotta learn halacha, but you can learn Kitzur Shulchan Aruch, who says it has to be Mishnah Berurah? You have to learn some amount at some point of hashkafa, does it have to be Tanya? Tanya is a very fundamental work in Chassidus, but there are many holy Jews that lived before the Baal HaTanya that lived very full, fulfilled lives and knew a lot of important Torah. And after the Baal HaTanya also, by the way, they never opened the Tanya in their life.

So it’s very enriching, it’s a wonderful, wonderful sefer. It’s probably something you will pick up at some point in your life, but to say that as a Yomi it’s as important to do to make sure that you cover that sefer, you have to prioritize what’s most important for a Jew to learn.

Two ideas here feel especially important.

1. When time is limited, we have to prioritize. It would be amazing to learn everything. But most of us can’t. Even back in yeshiva, I felt this. Torah is so wide that even with a full day of learning, you can end up spreading yourself thin—doing “a little of everything,” but not building something solid.

2. Once you accept that you need to choose, the next question is obvious: how do I decide what to focus on?

Rav Lebowitz brings in Rav Schachter’s framing: what we’re obligated to learn. That word matters.

Of course we want learning that we enjoy. Chazal speak a lot about the sweetness of Torah. But enjoyment can’t be the only compass. There also has to be a sense of duty.

The Torah we’re learning isn’t only inspiration. It’s also instruction: halacha, responsibility, and requirements. Therefore, we must not loose sight of this in our learning itself. In addition to sweetness and inspiration, there is also duty and obligation.

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This Substack has been quiet lately, but I hope to get back to writing here with more regularity. As we transition to a new month, I wanted to share the three most powerful things I learned on Shtark Tank during Shevat. It’s hard to whittle down the list, since each episode was filled with meaningful ideas and practical insights for Bnei Torah in the workforce. But my focus here is on the things I couldn’t stop thinking about.

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1. Sports and a Silver Lining

I spoke with Rav Moshe Benovitz about sports and serving Hashem. We live in a sports-crazed society, where sports is basically a religion for millions of people.

This is pretty obvious to most observers, but if you need any data, think about the salary of a star quarterback compared to the salary of a teacher. The former makes the annual salary of the entire faculty of a mid-sized public school district (based on my rough math).

Where does that leave us as Bnei Torah? Is it permissible to engage in spectator sports if it has religious elements? Even if one is fully committed to Torah and Halachah, isn’t it still considered Avodah Zarah to also participate in other religions?

Rav Benovitz said something very interesting. He certainly didn’t encourage sports as a lechitchaila, but what he did say is that there is a silver lining. Even if there is emotional involvement beyond just an outlet, there is some positive value. Firstly, we learn from sports that our soul yearns for certain things. Rav Benovitz also noted that, while ideally we would have all of these needs nourished in the context of Avodas Hashem, it’s not always practical

.

I received some critical feedback on this point. One listener wanted to know why we can’t find a way to be in awe of our Gedolim and their superhuman accomplishments instead of going crazy about athletic achievements. Personally, I am fascinated by this conversation and don’t have a fully developed approach of my own. Rav Benovitz forced me to think harder about our emotional world and how much of that needs to be nourished by directly religious experiences.

2. It’s Never Too Late

Yossi Landes learns two daf of Gemara every day. He also speaks with great passion about his respect for Gedolim and his personal ambition to know Shas like they do.

But what is most surprising is that Yossi only started to learn seriously well after leaving Yeshiva.

He admitted that his time in Shaalvim was not the most productive, and he only learned there for one year. And yet, he picked up Daf Yomi while living in Munich and working for Microsoft. Before the days of AllDaf and Sefaria, he schlepped Artscroll Gemaras on train rides and started taking things one day and one daf at a time.

After finishing one cycle, he had had enough. It was an intense 7.5-year journey, and he decided to take a break. But after a few weeks, he came to a profound realization: the daf had become a part of him, and he was experiencing withdrawal symptoms. So, he jumped back in.

Later, he realized that he wasn’t just “doing the daf,” but rather, the daf was doing something to him. Two decades after picking up the daf, his passion for learning has only grown. It’s a powerful reminder that our past does not define our future—especially when it comes to Torah. Whether it’s in Munich or Microsoft, a person can always choose to become a Ben Torah.

3. Feel Bad, Don’t Feel Guilty: Keep Striving

Being a Ben Torah in the workforce and being a Ben Torah in the IDF share some similar challenges. They both involve applying values from a sterile Yeshiva atmosphere to a much more complicated reality. Rav Dovid Gottlieb knows both of these worlds well. He is a shul Rav with extensive experience teaching and guiding Baalabatim, and he is also the director of Tzalash, which supports religious soldiers in the IDF.

I asked him about the following “psychological bug/feature” of a Ben Torah: Let’s say I miss minyan or learning due to family circumstances that demand I do so. Intellectually, I know I made the right decision. Yet, emotionally, it is still hard for me to come to terms with missing a part of my Avodas Hashem.

This is something I felt very acutely in the army as well. (I was a “jobnik” and, for various reasons, have not done miluim, so save your applause for the real heroes.) When missing out on Yeshiva experiences like Yom Kippur or Shavuos to be in the army, the same challenge arises. It is certainly justified, but it is still hard.

Rav Gottlieb gave a fascinating perspective. He remembers when he had to miss a nephew’s Bar Mitzvah. He was at a different Bar Mitzvah (a nephew from his sister), while his wife went to her sister’s son’s Bar Mitzvah on the same Shabbos. There is no guilt in this situation, but he still felt bad that he wasn’t at a special simcha involving people he loves.

That perspective alone was very interesting, but it leads to a more important point: allowing space to “feel bad” will also push a person not to go easy on themselves.

Sometimes our other obligations allow us to be lazy.

Let’s take the family example: maybe there is a minyan a bit farther away that I can still make? If we don’t feel bad about missing the minyan, we are more likely to use the legitimate family excuse and give up on it entirely. But if we feel bad about it, we can push ourselves to try and be mekayaim shneihem (fulfill both).

Conclusion

As we enter this new month, my hope for all of us is that we find that “silver lining” in our daily lives. May we have the courage to start something new—even if we think it’s “too late”—and the discipline to stick with it one day at a time.

Were you touched by Shtark Tank recently? Please let me know how, in the comments below!

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Property Value

One of the most famous scenes in the entire Torah only took place because Yaakov Avinu valued his possessions.

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Chazal explain that Yaakov was alone when he encountered the angel since he went to retrieve small vessels. From here the Gemara learns that tzadikim value their possessions more than their own bodies.

תלמוד בבלי מסכת חולין דף צא עמוד א

ויותר יעקב לבדו - אמר רבי אלעזר: שנשתייר על פכין קטנים, מכאן לצדיקים שחביב עליהם ממונם יותר מגופם וכל כך למה - לפי שאין פושטין ידיהן בגזל.

This is a reflection of Yaakov’s decision to risk his life and limb to gather his stuff.

This is a challenging idea that needs to be explained. But it’s also not a lone example. There are other sources in Chazal that echo a similar sentiment. For example,

תלמוד בבלי מסכת בבא קמא דף קיט עמוד א

א”ר יוחנן: כל הגוזל את חבירו שוה פרוטה - כאילו נוטל נשמתו ממנו, שנאמר: כן ארחות כל בוצע בצע את נפש בעליו יקח…

“He who steals a small amount from his friend, it is as if he killed him.”

Rav David Lapin explained that most of a person’s money is earned through hard work. This is especially true of Yaakov, as we saw last week. Since a person puts his body and soul into his work, the compensation is tied back to that original effort. Therefore, a person’s money is valued like their body.

Angel Investment

In between the many dramatic scenes in this week’s parsha, there are also a number of shorter sections that don’t always get so much attention. After traveling to Sukkot, the pasuk says:

בראשית פרק לג פסוק יח (פרשת וישלח)

וַיָּבֹא יַעֲקֹב שָׁלֵם עִיר שְׁכֶם אֲשֶׁר בְּאֶרֶץ כְּנַעַן בְּבֹאוֹ מִפַּדַּן אֲרָם וַיִּחַן אֶת פְּנֵי הָעִיר:

What does it mean that he “encamped on the city”?

The Gemara (Shabbos 33b) has a few opinions

תלמוד בבלי מסכת שבת דף לג עמוד ב

ויחן את פני העיר אמר רב: מטבע תיקן להם, ושמואל אמר: שווקים תיקן להם, ורבי יוחנן אמר: מרחצאות תיקן להם.

We see that Yaakov helped the economic development of this town. Why is this important? The Torah Temimah explains that our obligation to be involved in yishuvo shel olam is based on hakarat hatov. The world provides us with a place to live, and we give back by making the world a better place. (This is why Adam had to work in Gan Eden even before the curse.) Therefore, Yaakov was expressing his appreciation for this place by helping set up better economic systems.

How to Use Money

Yaakov says that he needs to move slowly due to his kids but also due to his “melacha.”

בראשית פרק לג פסוק יד (פרשת וישלח)

יַעֲבָר נָא אֲדֹנִי לִפְנֵי עַבְדּוֹ וַאֲנִי אֶתְנָהֲלָה לְאִטִּי לְרֶגֶל הַמְּלָאכָה אֲשֶׁר לְפָנַי וּלְרֶגֶל הַיְלָדִים עַד אֲשֶׁר אָבֹא אֶל אֲדֹנִי שֵׂעִירָה

Tosefes Bracha (Another work by the Torah Temima, Rav Baruch Epstein, who was also a banker) explains that melacha refers to his wealth. He brings a few other examples of this usage, for example, in Mishpatim:

אם לא שלחו ידו במלאכת רעהו

Then he explains why wealth is referred to as melacha:

וקרוב לומר, כי על כן נקרא כסף וזהב בשם “מלאכה”, משום דתכלית הכסף הוא לעשות בו מלאכה ועסק, ואם לא יעשו בו מאומה יכלה קרנו, וגם תכנית מערכת העולם יהרס

“And it is close to say that this is why silver and gold are called by the name ‘melachah’ (work/enterprise): because the purpose of money is to do with it work and business. And if nothing is done with it, its value will be used up, and the entire plan of the world’s system would be ruined.”

The goal of more money is not to consume more, but to do more good things. And those good things don’t need to be donations; they can be investments and employing other people.

Type B Blessing

In this post and in the previous two installments, we have seen that the Torah values work, money, and economic growth. Yet one final idea from this week’s parsha is critical to getting a complete picture. Yaakov prepares for his fight with Eisav and says that he has gotten smaller due to God’s kindness and truth:

קטונתי מכל החסדים ומכל האמת

Chessed is a kind gesture, but what is the emet that Yaakov is referring to? There are a few opinions, but Onkelos translates

תרגום אונקלוס בראשית פרק לב פסוק יא (פרשת וישלח)

זעירן זכותי מכל חסדין ומכל טבון דעבדת עם עבדך

Even though he usually translates אמת as קושטא, here he understands it as goodness. Why is this so, and how then is chessed different than emet?

The Netziv explains that the chessed is a reference to all of the material blessings in Yaakov’s life. But emet refers to something that lasts forever (as the Gemara in Shabbos states that אמת is eternal). This is the blessing of being the patriarch of God’s nation. All of the financial success is nice and truly important, but what will last forever is the spiritual legacy.

Conclusion

We have seen many sources from these parshiyot which give great value to work, career and money. These teach us that our religous pursuits are not limited to our Torah and Tefilah, but rather we can express holy values in the outside world as well. Our efforts in the office can cerainly be beloved in the eyes of Hashem. But the Netziv reminded us that all of this can be true, yet we still must prioritize our core spiritual values. Money comes and goes, but Torah and Mitzvot are eternal.

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In fact, Rav Chaim David HaLevi writes (Shu”t Mayim Chaim 2:80):

ראויה פרשת עבודת יעקב אבינו בבית - לבן להיות נלמדת ביסודיות ועיון, להפיק ממנה לקחים למען דעת מה הוא “מוסר עבודה” על פי תורתנו הקדושה.

“The section about the work of Yaakov Avinu in the house of Lavan is worthy of being studied thoroughly and in depth, in order to derive lessons so that we may know what ‘work ethic’ is according to our holy Torah.”

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So before we turn our attention to Vayishlach, here is one more idea from yesterday’s parsha. One of the famous sources that highlights Yaakov Avinu’s work ethic is the Rambam at the end of Hilchos Sechirus:

וכן חייב לעבוד בכל כחו שהרי יעקב הצדיק אמר כי בכל כחי עבדתי את אביכן, לפיכך נטל שכר זאת אף בעולם הזה שנאמר ויפרץ האיש מאד מאד.

“A worker is obligated to work with all his strength, for the righteous Yaakov said, ‘For with all my strength I served your father.’ Therefore he received reward for this even in this world, as it is stated, ‘And the man became exceedingly prosperous.’”

A number of years ago, I heard a wonderful explanation of this Rambam from my uncle, Rav Binyamin Wolff, in the name of Rav Don Segal. But since I didn’t remember what the wonderful explanation is, Rav Binyamin was nice enough to remind me.

The Making of a Tzadik

Why does the Rambam refer to Yaakov Avinu as Yaakov HaTzadik? This is not a title the Rambam gives to anyone else!

Rav Segal quotes the Gemara at the end of Makkos that says that

בא חבקוק והעמידן על אחת שנאמר צדיק באמונתו יחיה.

“Chavakuk came and based them all on one (principle), as it says: ‘A righteous person shall live by his faith.’”

According to Chabakuk, a tzaddik is someone who lives with their emunah.

Working Honestly for a Crook

How could Yaakov have worked with complete honesty, integrity, and with כל כחו in a situation where he easily could have rationalized cutting corners? After all, he was being treated with complete unfairness! The answer is that he believed that the only thing that matters is what is right in Hashem’s eyes, and that he will never lose from doing the right thing. If there is a problem with Lavan’s behavior, Hashem will be the one to “settle the score.” Yaakov’s emunah is what allowed him to keep a straight path.

But what we see here isn’t just plain emunah. It’s living with emunah, along with the practical implications in the real, messy world. This is what Chabakuk was talking about. The tzaddik doesn’t have a merely intellectual and spiritual emunah; he lives his emunah — צדיק באמונתו יחיה, “the righteous person shall live by his faith.”

Good Faith Negotiations

That is why one of the first questions we will be asked is נשאת ונתת באמונה? “Did you conduct your business dealings with faithfulness and integrity?”

Why is that so important? Well, the basis of everything is emunah in Hashem, so you will be asked if you had emunah. But it doesn’t say “Did you have emunah?” because of course you would say yes. They ask if you had emunah in your משא ומתן (your business dealings) because that is where you can really see if the “emunah” is just in the mind or if it is real and you actually live with it.

Work Ethic and Yirat Shamayim

And that is the pshat in the Gemara in Brachos: גדול הנהנה מיגיע כפיו יותר מירא שמים.

“Greater is one who enjoys the fruits of his own toil than one who (only) fears Heaven.”

Which appears like a strange thing to say, because why are those two different categories of people? But the “ירא שמים” being referred to is someone who talks a lot about yiras Shamayim, or who expresses it only in the beis medrash. But if one is truly נהנה מיגיע כפיו, with all with all the pressures, temptations and hard decisions that come with real work, that is the manifestation and demonstration of his יראת שמים.

So if the definition of a tzaddik is one whose emunah comes out in the most challenging and tempting parts of life, then Yaakov was indeed Yaakov HaTzadik.

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The Greatness of Work

When Yaakov reflects on his time working for Lavan, he says:

לולי אלהי אבי אלהי אברהם ופחד יצחק היה לי כי עתה ריקם שלחתני את עניי ואת יגיע כפי ראה אלהים ויוכח אמש

“Had not the God of my father, the God of Avraham and the Fear of Yitzchak, been with me, you would now have sent me away empty-handed. But God saw my suffering and the toil of my hands, and He rebuked you last night.” (translation by ChatGPT)

Chazal (Bereishis Rabbah 74:12) point out that hard work is greater than the merits from Avraham and Yitzchak. How could that be?

Rav Dovid Lichtenstein explained that there are two parts of Torah. One is intellectual, ללמוד וללמד. The second is practical, לשמור ולעשות ולקיים. The Torah is meant to be applied in the real world, and work is where we do so. That is why Yaakov’s greatest merit was the hard work that was done honestly and according to Torah values.

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Dealing with Dishonest People

How does one do business with someone who is dishonest? Is it permissible to be crooked with him? At our shiur with Rav Mayer Twersky, someone quoted Rashi in this week’s parsha.

ויגד יעקב לרחל כי אחי אביה הוא וכי בן רבקה הוא ותרץ ותגד לאביה

רש”י: קרוב לאביה כמו (לעיל יג) אנשים אחים אנחנו ומדרשו אם לרמאות הוא בא גם אני אחיו ברמאות ואם אדם כשר הוא גם אני בן רבקה אחותו הכשרה
“‘And Yaakov told Rachel that he was her father’s brother and that he was Rivka’s son, and she ran and told her father.’

“[He said he was] her father’s brother – meaning: a relative of her father, like it says earlier, ‘We are men who are brothers’ (meaning relatives, not actual brothers).

And its midrashic explanation is:

‘If he (Lavan) is coming with trickery – I am his brother in trickery.
But if he is an honest man – then I am the son of Rivka, his upright sister.’”

Rashi seems to say that Yaakov was prepared to beat Lavan at his own game. Does that mean he can match his dishonesty?

Rav Twersky said no. The explanation is that Yaakov was prepared to outsmart Lavan’s shenanigans. But that doesn’t have to include lying. It can mean building in mechanisms and safeguards to prevent any issues, but does not justify crooked behavior.

Nobel Parenting Advice

When speaking with Nobel Laureate Professor Yisrael Aumann, I asked him who his main influences were. He said his mother. And then he quoted Rashi on this week’s parsha.

ותקרא שמו ראובן - (ברכות ז’) רבותינו פירשו אמרה ראו מה בין בני לבן חמי שמכר הבכורה ליעקב וזה לא מכרה ליוסף ולא ערער עליו ולא עוד שלא ערער עליו אלא שביקש להוציאו מן הבור

“She called his name Reuven” –
Our Rabbis explained: She said,

“See the difference between my son and my father-in-law’s son.

My father-in-law’s son (Esav) sold the birthright to Yaakov.
But this one (Reuven) did not sell the birthright to Yosef,
and he did not protest against him.

Not only did he not protest – he even tried to get him out of the pit.”

But how does this make sense? She is referring to an event that takes place decades later?

Professor Aumann explained that parenting is about seeing the positive potential in each child. Leah pushed Reuven to greatness because she saw it in him. This is also how Professor Aumann’s mother influenced him.

Is Yeshiva an Ark?

Rav Moshe Taragin has an amazing sicha he gives every year on this parsha. The pasuk says:

וייקץ יעקב משנתו ויאמר אכן יש יהוה במקום הזה ואנכי לא ידעתי. ויירא ויאמר מה נורא המקום הזה אין זה כי אם בית אלהים וזה שער השמים. וישכם יעקב בבקר ויקח את האבן אשר שם מראשתיו וישם אתה מצבה ויצק שמן על ראשה. ויקרא את שם המקום ההוא בית אל ואולם לוז שם העיר לראשנה. וידר יעקב נדר לאמר אם יהיה אלהים עמדי ושמרני בדרך הזה אשר אנכי הולך ונתן לי לחם לאכל ובגד ללבש. ושבתי בשלום אל בית אבי והיה יהוה לי לאלהים. והאבן הזאת אשר שמתי מצבה יהיה בית אלהים וכל אשר תתן לי עשר אעשרנו לך

The question is, why does Yaakov take this moment of inspiration and start cutting a deal with God? Shouldn’t he embrace this lofty experience? Instead he declares what he needs from God and what he will donate in return.

Rav Taragin explains that life is like a journey in a dark ocean. How can a sailor survive in the harshest conditions? By sitting in a lighthouse and making a plan, then sticking with it.

Rav Taragin explains that this is the role of yeshiva. It gives us clarity about our values. And when we have that clarity, we need to put in mechanisms for when we aren’t so blessed. That is why Yaakov made a contract during his moment of inspiration. He knew that life wasn’t always going to be so clear, so he made an ironclad commitment during that moment.

This resonated with me due to the contrast to Teivat Noach. Many have compared yeshiva to a teivah, and the world outside to a flood. According to this mashal, leaving yeshiva to go to work is a failure. But based on Rav Taragin’s imagery, it’s a challenging but necessary transition.

Summary and Conclusion

Taken together, these pieces from Vayeitzei sketch a very interesting picture of what it means to be a Ben Torah in the workforce. Yaakov’s years with Lavan show that honest, grinding work can be a bigger merit than lofty yichus. His dealings with a crook teach us to outsmart dishonesty without becoming dishonest. Leah and Reuven remind us that seeing greatness in others – especially our kids and students – can literally change their story. And Yaakov’s “deal” at Beit El, as Rav Taragin explains, forces us to treat yeshiva not as an escape pod but as a lighthouse: a place to clarify our values and build concrete commitments that will hold when the sea gets rough.

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But what about my career? Where is the torah’s guidance about that?

There are certainly many sources that shed light on the world of work, but they are scattered in various places. Some of these sources were gathered by Rav Aharon Lopiansky in his sefer Ben Torah for life (highly recommended, although he doesn’t need my haskama) but there are still many more.

When preparing a chaburah last month for parshas bereishis, I realized the the Netzivs commentary on that parsha includes no less than 5 crucial ideas that have direct relevance to our careers. Even though he was writing 150 years ago in Poland, it feels like he’s speaking directly to us.

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1. Is Work a Curse?

It definitely feels that way sometimes — angry bosses, demanding clients, endless deadlines, financial pressure. Many people would say that work is a curse. And on the surface, the Torah seems to agree:

“ארורה האדמה בעבורך... בזעת אפיך תאכל לחם.”
“The ground is cursed for you… By the sweat of your brow you shall eat bread.”

But the Netziv offers a different read. He points out that the word “בעבורך” actually means for your benefit. The pasuk isn’t saying that the ground was cursed because of you — but for you. Hashem made the world this way to benefit mankind.1

How is that a benefit? Because effort, work, and responsibility keep a person grounded, focused, and productive. They help us contribute to society and live meaningful lives. So yes, the ground was cursed — but the “curse” itself is what allows us to experience the blessing of work.
(According to this reading there is no contradiction between these pesukim and the many statements of Chazal that praise the importance of working.)

But what about my boss yelling at me, my client driving me crazy, and all the other stressors of life at the office?

I like to think about it like parenting. Raising kids is one of the greatest blessings in life — but it also comes with plenty of sleepless nights, stress, and frustration. That doesn’t make it any less of a blessing. It’s just part of the reality. The truth is, all meaningful areas of life have some sort of built in tension. A gym where you don’t sweat isn’t going to build any muscle. Work is the same way. It’s a gift that includes challenges. (This also has important implications for our relationship with AI. See this great piece by my friend )

And finally, mindset is really important. If you tell yourself that work is a curse, it will become a self fultilling prophecy. In your mind you will magnify all of the stressors, and will overlook the various blessings: interesting people you might work with, new skills that you build, or the chance to make a kiddush Hashem.

Is work a curse?
According to the Netziv, no.

2. Did Hashem plan on creating balabatim?

Adam’s sin changed human life. According to some sources in chazal, before the sin, man lived in a purely spiritual world. Afterward, he was drawn into the physical. It’s easy to see that shift as a downgrade — parallel to leaving the exalted world of kollel to become a simple bahlabus.

I once spoke with a bochur who said exactly that. He told me he only wanted to learn, and that he’d go to work only if absolutely forced to. Not even as a melamed or a rebbe — he saw all forms of work as a step down.

When I asked why, he said: “We’re supposed to return to the level of Adam before the sin — pure ruchniyus, no physical involvement.”

But the Netziv offers a completely different perspective. This world was created to glorify Hashem. To do that, man needs to be connected to both Heaven and Earth — to tap into spirituality and bring it down into society. Humanity needs both dimensions to fulfill its mission.

Then the Netziv writes something remarkable. If Adam had never sinned, what would have happened? How would spiritual Adam have brought God’s presence into the physical world?

The answer is such a chiddush that I had to reread it several times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

God planned on creating a second person. Adam the first would represent the spiritual, and Adam the second would connect with the physical.2

Once Adam sinned, and was forced to balance both of these roles, there was no longer a need for that second man to be created.

That means the world of work wasn’t a mistake or an afterthought. It was part of the plan all along. The sin just changed how we access that part of life — not whether it should exist. If Adam hadn’t sinned, God would have created the bahlabus anyways.

Did Hashem plan on creating balbatim?
According to the Netziv, yes.

3. How do I Handle Relationships with Secular Coworkers?

Transitioning from yeshiva to the workforce is a major culture shock. One day you’re surrounded by like-minded chevra, focused on Torah, growth, and shared values. The next day, you’re surrounded by people who act differently, talk differently, and dress differently. And its not just different. Those differences are often sharply at odds with our core value of kedusha.

Peer pressure is a basic human phenomenon. We naturally imitate those around us. In yeshiva that’s an asset; at work, it can be a liability.

So how should we think about our relationships at work?

On one hand, we need those relationships for teamwork and connection. On the other hand, we don’t want to absorb language, attitudes, or behaviors that pull us off course.

The Netziv says that Sefer Bereishis is essentially about this very struggle. In his introduction, he explains why Chazal called it Sefer HaYashar — “the Book of the Straight.” The Avos lived among corrupt societies (I have no reason to believe that Sedom was any closer to Torah values than Las Vegas), yet they found a way to engage with the world while staying true to themselves. They didn’t isolate or boycott everyone around them. They helped others where they could — but they never compromised their values.3

That’s the model. It’s not easy, and the Netziv doesn’t give a step-by-step plan. But he reminds us that this tension isn’t new. Living among people with different values without losing our own goes way back. It’s as old as Avraham Avinu. And this is the main theme of the entire Sefer.

How do we relate to secular coworkers?
It’s a tough balance.

4. Is it possible to be spiritual at work?

We usually think of spirituality as something that happens in a beis medrash. Davening, learning, and moments of inspiration happen in the House of Hashem. But can we find spirituality at work too?

The Netziv says yes. He points to the very beginning of Bereishis:

“וינחהו בגן עדן לעבדה ולשמרה.”
“And He placed him in the Garden of Eden, to work it and to guard it.”

This is before the sin. Even in Gan Eden, man had work to do. The Netziv explains that the words לעבדה and לשמרה refer not only to physical tasks but also to spiritual service as well. The fact that the same words carry dual meanings is teaches us that the two go together. The Torah’s message is that human effort and Divine blessing go hand in hand.4

From the start, Hashem designed the world to run on both — our avodah in the office and our Avodas Hashem in the beis medrash. Both matter. Both are holy.

When we understand that, our davening, learning, and working become part of one unified system.

5. Can I Live A Life of Luxury?

How much should we actually work? For some people, it’s not even a choice - they just need to make ends meet. But for others, the question is real. Suppose you’re choosing between two jobs: one with longer hours and higher pay, and another that’s calmer but more modest. What should you do?

It’s tempting to assume the Torah says: work less, earn less, learn more. And the Mesilas Yesharim (chapter 5) seems to point in that direction. But the Netziv offers a more nuanced view.

He explains that Kayin and Hevel represented two different life paths. Kayin worked the fields to provide food for everyone. Hevel, who didn’t need to work for basic survival, became a shepherd — producing milk, wool, and other luxuries.5

So who was right? The Netziv says it depends. Most people need to work full-time, both to contribute and to avoid boredom. That’s why Hashem approved hof his korban. But there are exceptions — people who can live simply and dedicate more time to spiritual pursuits. The key is to know yourself.

That is why Hashem tells Kayin that if you do good, you will rise. There is potential within Kayin’s approach to be successful. But only if you are cut out for it.6

And I’d add — also to know your time in history. Each generation faces its own pressures and realities. Hashem placed us in this world, with these norms. Our job is to live up to Torah values within that reality — not to compare ourselves to other eras or other people. For most of the past 2,000 years Jews lived in abject poverty. The wealth and comfort that we have access to today would have been unheard of for our ancestors.

To Sum It Up

1. Work isn’t a curse — the ground was cursed for our benefit.

2. God planned to create a man who would engage with the work, butt after the sin it was no longer necessary.

3. Bereishis is about living among people with different values — and staying straight.

4. Spiritual and physical work are connected — both are necessary to survive.

5. Career choices depend on who you are and the world you live in.

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Meaningful Work

Though different generations define it differently, most people seem to want “meaningful work.” That might mean work that is challenging or leads to personal growth, or it can mean work that leads to a positive impact in the world and is recognized. In an article I’ve seen referenced often in business books, people who saw themselves as actively crafting their jobs found them more meaningful. The commonly quoted example was custodians in an academic hospital who reframed their roles. They comforted and entertained patients, even though it wasn’t compensated. In another study, Adam Grant found that students soliciting donations for university scholarships raised more money after hearing from one graduate student about how the scholarship directly benefited his life and how grateful he was to the fundraisers. Seeing the impact of work on people is inherently motivating.

My Lack of Meaning

My job defied meaning. I was hired a month out of college after applying to a random role on indeed.com, getting a quick call to schedule an interview and sitting in a boardroom to be asked “Tell me more about yourself” and “Can you start Monday?”

I worked 9-6 with a one-hour break, writing up reports – mostly based on templates – that would be accepted by the US government to support visa applications. Someone else interacted with the law firm (which interacted with the company sponsoring someone’s visa). I then wrote the report and sent it to a proofreader who sent it back to the person interacting with the law firm. I could see the number of cases I had done but had no inkling if my reports were successful or not. It seemed like a box people checked – a cog in the visa machine.

Three weeks into the role I was promoted to work on somewhat more complicated reports and six months later, I became a co-manager of a team (which really just meant I was the team representative to our boss).

During this time, my friends called me a sellout. I took a job to make an income while looking for something else that would better align with my personal nature. The salary increased with the promotions and there were biannual bonuses and a very generous overtime policy. And the work was easy.

Because the reports were based on templates and the more cases one did, the better feel they had for it, I could essentially have a completely productive day while listening to shiurim. When the workday was over – unless I wanted overtime – I could leave the office and not think about it. The overtime was so lucrative that I had colleagues who would work all night and book a hotel in midtown or who would take a day off and then come in anyway to be able to count the entire day towards overtime.

Support from the Sources

Perhaps I didn’t need to derive meaning from work, though. I was dating, was an active member of the community, had chavrutot, and had a meaningful social life. I took solace in Messilat Yesharim (Zehirut): כִּי הִנֵּה הָעֵסֶק מֻכְרָח הוּא לָאָדָם לְצֹרֶךְ פַּרְנָסָתוֹ, אַךְ רִבּוּי הָעֵסֶק אֵינוֹ מֻכְרָח שֶׁיִּהְיֶה כָּל כָּךְ גָּדוֹל עַד שֶׁלֹּא יַנִּיחַ לוֹ מָקוֹם אֶל עֲבוֹדָתוֹ עַל כֵּן נִצְטַוִּינוּ לִקְבֹּעַ עִתִּים לַתּוֹרָה – Working is necessary to for a person’s parnassa but it is not necessary to increase work to the point of not having room for service of Hashem, therefore we are commanded to set times for Torah.

And in Pirkei Avot (4:10) (and also quoted by the Messilat Yesharim): הֱוֵי מְמַעֵט בְּעֵסֶק וַעֲסֹק בַּתּוֹרָה – minimize your (worldly) toil and toil in Torah.

And Messilat Yesharim (Nekiut) questions how many mitzvot are lost and how much learning isn’t done because of overworking to increase wealth. It quotes the gemara in Eruvin (55a) where Rebbi Yochanan says that וְלֹא מֵעֵבֶר לַיָּם הִיא means that Torah is not found in merchants and traders who are constantly busy with travel.

In the gemara in Berachot (35b) Rebbi Yehuda, son of Rebbi Il’ai is quoted as saying that “Earlier generations made their Torah permanent and their work occasional, and therefore they were successful in both. Later generations made their work permanent and their Torah occasional, and were successful in neither.”

Based on these and other teachings, I felt I could “suffer” through working for the salary and live a full life of Torah and community service outside of my job.

My New Role

In the summer of 2019, I interviewed and later got an offer for a job as a conference producer in the life sciences space. This role was much more aligned with my background: I would research industry trends and interview industry leaders to produce conferences and later articles, podcasts, and webinars. But this was also much more involved. I could not listen to a shiur while interviewing someone or trying to write up an agenda. I would have to travel for conferences. The work would be more meaningful: I would see the people I impact and also experience the conferences with them and see how those conferences impacted the industry. But the salary was not internally driven: I couldn’t work overtime doing three more interviews and expect a higher paycheck the way I could expect one when working overtime to do three extra reports.

Shaar HaBitachon

During this time, my chavruta recommended I learn Chovot Halevavot Shaar Habitachon. It was there I noticed what might be perceived as a machloket with Messilat Yesharim. The Chovot Halevavot writes two reasons why work exists.

One: מִפְּנֵי שֶׁחִיְּבָה הַחָכְמָה בְּחִינַת הַנֶּפֶשׁ בַּעֲבוֹדַת הָאֱלֹהִים וּבְהַמְרוֹתוֹ בָּחַן אוֹתָהּ בְּמָה שֶׁמַּרְאֶה זֶה מִמֶּנָּה וְהוּא הַצֹּרֶךְ וְהַחֶסְרוֹן אֶל מָה שֶׁהוּא חוּץ לָהּ מִמַּאֲכָל וּמִשְׁתֶּה וּמַלְבּוּשׁ וּמָעוֹן וּמִשְׁגָּל וְצִוָּה אוֹתָם לְחַזֵּר עֲלֵיהֶם לַהֲבִיאָם בְּסִבּוֹת הַמּוּכָנוֹת לָהֶם עַל פָּנִים מְיֻחָדִים וְעִתִּים יְדוּעִים – Divine Wisdom needs to test the soul in the service of Hashem or rebellion against Him (chas v’shalom). Therefore, G-d tests the choices we make when it comes to needing external things like food, drink, clothing, etc. We are commanded to pursue and acquire them in specific ways and in specific times (i.e. according the halacha and Torah hashkafa).

Two: כִּי אִלּוּ לֹא הֻצְרַךְ הָאָדָם לִטְרֹחַ וּלְחַזֵּר וּלְסַבֵּב לַהֲבָאַת טַרְפּוֹ הָיָה בּוֹעֵט וְרוֹדֵף אַחַר הָעֲבֵרוֹת וְלֹא הָיָה מַשְׁגִּיחַ עַל מָה שֶׁהוּא חַיָּב בּוֹ עַל טוֹבַת הָאֱלֹהִים עָלָיו – If man did not need to work to pursue a livelihood, he would rebel and chase aveirot and would ignore the debt of gratitude to Hashem.

Chovot Halevavot backs up his opinion with Avot as well (2:2): יָפֶה תַּלְמוּד תּוֹרָה עִם דֶּרֶךְ אֶרֶץ שֶׁיְּגִיעַת שְׁנֵיהֶם מְשַׁכַּחַת עָוֹן וְכָל תּוֹרָה שֶׁאֵין עִמָּהּ מְלָאכָה סוֹפָהּ בְּטֵלָה וְגוֹרֶרֶת עָוֹן – Torah with work is pleasant because through involvement of both one forgets sin and any Torah that does not have associated work will ultimately be abandoned and lead to sin.

Later in Shaar Habitachon, the Chovot Halevavot writes about different kinds of occupations – some of which may be more or less physically demanding – and that different people are suited for different kinds of work. He continues

תִּמְצָא מִדּוֹת בְּנֵי אָדָם וְגוֹפוֹתָם מוּכָנוֹת לִסְחוֹרוֹת וְלַמְּלָאכוֹת. וּמִי שֶׁמּוֹצֵא בְּמִדּוֹתָיו וְטִבְעוֹ כֹּסֶף אֶל מְלָאכָה מֵהַמְּלָאכוֹת וְיִהְיֶה גּוּפוֹ רָאוּי לָהּ וְיוּכַל לִסְבֹּל אֶת טָרְחָהּ יְחַזֵּר עָלֶיהָ וְיָשִׂים אוֹתָהּ סִבָּה לַהֲבָאַת מְזוֹנוֹ וְיִסְבֹּל מִתְקָהּ וּמְרִירוּתָהּ וְאַל יָקוֹץ כְּשֶׁיִּמָּנַע מִמֶּנּוּ הַטֶּרֶף בִּקְצָת הָעִתִּים אַךְ יִבְטַח בֵּאלֹהִים שֶׁיַּסְפִּיק לוֹ טַרְפּוֹ כָּל יְמֵי חַיָּיו. וִיכַוֵּן בְּטִרְדַּת לִבּוֹ וְגוּפוֹ בְּסִבָּה מִן הַסִּבּוֹת וְהַסִּבּוּב עָלֶיהָ לַעֲמֹד בְּמִצְוַת הַבּוֹרֵא שֶׁצִּוָּה הָאָדָם לְהִתְעַסֵּק בְּסִבּוֹת הָעוֹלָם כַּעֲבוֹדַת הָאֲדָמָה וַחֲרִישָׁתָהּ וּזְרִיעָתָהּ כְּמוֹ שֶׁכָּתוּב (בראשית ב טו) וַיִּקַּח ה׳ אֱלֹהִים אֶת הָאָדָם וַיַּנִּחֵהוּ בְגַן עֵדֶן לְעָבְדָהּ וּלְשָׁמְרָהּ.

You will find among people character and physical traits suited for certain businesses or activities. One who finds his nature and personality attracted to a certain occupation, and his body is suited for it, that he will be able to bear its demands - he should pursue it, and make it his means of earning a livelihood, and he should bear its pleasures and pains, and not be upset when sometimes his income is withheld, rather let him trust in G-d that He will support him all of his days. And he should have intention when his mind and body are occupied with one of the means of earning a living to fulfill the commandment of the Creator to pursue the means of the world, such as working the land, plowing and sowing it, as written “And G-d took the man and placed him in Gan Eden to work it and to guard it” (Bereishis 2:15).

The Counter-Offer

Perhaps, then – as long as it is l’shem shamayim – I should find work that is well suited for me and feels meaningful, even if my increased involvement with it may decrease my overall Torah learning (especially assuming the salaries would be relatively equal). After discussing with my family, friends, and future wife, I accepted the offer as a conference producer and gave my two weeks’ notice at the law firm.

After meeting with HR at the firm, I was called in for a meeting with my boss who presented a counteroffer effectively doubling my salary if I stayed, with promises for further salary growth as I continued. This led to a more poignant question that I asked my Rav, Rabbi Eliyahu Wolf of YIW and DRS. While I may value doing work that is meaningful to me over a job that is easier and provides me more time for learning, would it be appropriate to accept the new role when I could ostensibly make significantly more money in the old one? Does meaning at work override both salary and time for learning?

Rebbi’s Advice

My Rav spoke through the different elements with me and guided me saying that there were legitimate sources to hold by for either decision and that there may have been other factors to consider:

• One’s parnassa is determined regardless of the work one does. Potentially, the new more meaningful role would later pay more or the seeming promise of a higher salary at the original role would be negatively impacted.

• Rethinking my approach to the Messilat Yesharim: I would have to work regardless and either job was an appropriate amount of hishtadlut. It wasn’t as though I was trading in a job where I worked half a day for a job where I worked 20 hours a day or that I was going out of my way to work longer for the sake of wealth. I could still be koveah ittim and make the Torah primary.

• The impact on mental health: Would doing monotonous work that didn’t provide me with meaning for 8 hours a day drain me mentally in a way work I found more varied and meaningful would not?

I also did some research which led to concerns about counteroffers: when you’ve told your company you plan to leave and they offer you more money, will that actually keep you? What happens next time they need to make cuts? They know you have expressed interest to leave and your salary is now a bigger line on their budget.

With the support of my community (family, friends, future wife, Rav, etc), I accepted my role with the new company.

Conclusion

Looking back at this decision, I hope I can say that I’ve satisfied the positions of both the Messilat Yesharim and Chovot Halevavot. Outside of when I am physically working at my conferences, I am able to work normal hours and have been able to make time around those hours to learn. While working as a conference producer, I have been able to start up mishnah, gemara, and other learning cycles, chavrutot, and chaburot. I have also been able to make Aliyah and involve myself more in the community and shul.

At work, I have been able to build relationships with people across industry, see the impact of my work on individuals and companies, and feel legitimately fulfilled with what I do. I have also seen how things completely out of my control – like Covid or who’s in office – impact both of these potential jobs and their associated salaries. Everything is in Hashem’s hands.

I have come to believe that as long as I can continue to be koveah ittim, it is more important to me to have a career where I do meaningful and interesting work than one that maximizes my per-hour income.

Editors Note:

This seems like a happy ending, almost too happy. Is it really possible to have such a great setup, meaningful work time to learn, and a good Parnassa?

The answer to that question is very personal. Each person’s situation is different, and each year, month and day of our lives is different.

But I think that each and every one of us is obligated to try. To try and maximize the precious time we have on this earth. Taking a cynical approach will prevent a person from ever trying to go through a process like Andrew described here. You miss all the shots you don’t take. It seems like Andrew shot and scored.

-YW

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The responses were fascinating. Rabbi Sacks wrote dozens of books, each one deep, brilliant and beautiful. And while there were certainly common themes, and certain ideas repeated themselves, it is still remarkable to think about the broad range of topics that Rav Sacks tackled in his writings. That’s why I was interested to see how different books resonated with different people.

Michael Bloch

A letter in the scroll, because it really anchored the idea of personal responsibility to hand over the mesorah to the next generation, as well as the pride we should feel to be the inheritors of such a rich and wise inheritance. More broadly Rav Sacks’s Torah brought to the front how much Western civilization owes to Judaism - and we should never feel inferior to other traditions

Allen Pfeiffer

I regularly learn from Covenant and Conversation. I appreciate the depth, simplicity, and yet creativity of the messages on each Parsha along with a broad world perspective. However, a small book, Celebrating Life had a large impact on me, as it provides a personal hashkofa to life’s ups and downs through vignettes.

Rav Gil Student

In terms of what I recommend to others, A Letter in the Scroll is by far the best kiruv book of our generation. Rabbi Sacks avoids a lot of the tricky historical and philosophical issues and instead focuses on the most compelling reason to embrace Judaism — becoming part of this glorious chain of Jews and Judaism. I strongly recommend it. In terms of my own personal understanding, his articles from the early 1990’s about biblical criticism (in The Jewish Action Reader) and against the ordination of women (in the first Orthodox Forum volume) gave me the language and intellectual framework to articulate the traditions I was taught on those subjects.

Rav Chezkie Glatt

There are many excellent ones to choose from, but for me, I would have to say the most impactful book among Rabbi Jonathan Sacks’s vast library is a lesser-known work called Arguments for the Sake of Heaven. You can actually find it for free online on Sefaria.

In it, he explores the history of different Jewish groups and sects, describing how each responded to modernity and how those responses shaped the communities we know today. What’s so striking about this book is that although it was written decades ago, it feels even more relevant now. Rabbi Sacks doesn’t just describe the various worldviews; he examines the roots of the tensions between them and, most importantly, offers guidance on how to bridge those divides. He shows how to have sincere and serious disagreements while still maintaining respect and camaraderie.

He begins and ends the book with the image of a Jewish family, using it as a metaphor to frame his message. At its core, his view is that all Jews are part of one larger family. If we embraced that perspective more deeply, then even with our important differences, we could truly have arguments for the sake of heaven and in doing so, continue to fulfill our destiny as one united nation and family.

Rav Shmuli Sagal

Although I grew up in London during Rabbi Sacks’ chief rabbinate, it was in the Yeshiva University library that I fell in love with Rabbi Sacks’ books. Reading his early books, Traditional Alternatives and Arguments for the Sake of Heaven, gave me a framework to better understand the contemporary Jewish community. With his trademark sophistication and eloquence, Rabbi Sacks explores the major shift Jews experienced due to the enlightenment and emancipation and how the range of significant Jewish thinkers responded to this. In particular, he scopes out the various Orthodox responses to modernity and Medinat Yisrael, demonstrating the strengths and beauty of each approach. In these early books, Rabbi Sacks combines his deep scholarship with a searching spirit to understand and appreciate the Jewish People with all its complexities. Without a doubt, these books encouraged me seek out a way to play my part in reaching out to Jews wherever they may be at.

Rav Sam Fromson

Great Partnership. I first read this book as a natural sciences and physics undergraduate at University of Cambridge. I was surrounded by brilliant people fully immersed in their scientific worldview, while I had just transitioned from Yeshiva. This brilliant book gave me the language and tools to hold on to these different parts of my life, my love of science and my religious worldview. This had a massive impact on my life.

Rafael Dembovsky

One approach in confronting thorny questions is to delve into the realm of intellectual gymnastics and often unsatisfying hair-splitting analysis. Another approach is to define and refine the overarching categories, such that questions simply melt away. Rabbi Sacks’ “The Great Partnership” is a wonderful example of this second approach. His demonstration of the fundamental differences in the objectives of religion and science opened my eyes to new ways of conceptualising and contextualising the various aspects of lived experience, without compromising sacred beliefs or intellectual honesty.

Marc Lesnick

I enjoy Rabbi Sacks writings on the parsha, but one book that stands out is The Great Partnership: Science, Religion, and the Search for Meaning. Often when I engage in conversation with non-religious people they raise conflicts between science and religion. Rabbi Sacks brilliantly explains how the two coincide. One of his famous quotes is: Science takes things apart to see how they work. Religion puts things together to see what they mean. In a nutshell: Science reveals the mechanisms of the universe, religion reveals its meaning and purpose. Conflict arises only when one side overreaches: When science claims to explain moral or spiritual purpose, or when religion claims scientific authority over empirical facts. True wisdom comes from respecting each domain’s boundaries and allowing dialogue between them. Among his many talents, Rabbi Sacks’s ability to bridge the gap between the world of Science and Torah is greatly missed.

Rav Ellie Fischer

I’m not a big Rav Sacks reader, but among his writings, the most impactful one for me was his article “Creativity and innovation in Halakhah” from the Orthodox Forum volume, “Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy” (1992).

It was the first time I encountered a really good argument that halakhah must change not because the Torah changes, but because halakhah is the application of Torah to real circumstances, and circumstances change

Dr. Jonathan Donath

His introduction to davening at the beginning of the Koren Siddur has had the biggest impact on me because it has affected my davening every day.

Rav Simi Lerner

While a great deal of Rabbi Sacks’ work has profoundly shaped my thinking, the one I return to most often is Not in God’s Name. There I first encountered the idea of “leaving space for the other” that Judaism, grounded in deep confidence, does not demand others be like it. There is something profoundly powerful in a worldview that embraces truth with conviction while allowing others their own relationship with the Divine. This confidence without exclusion is a lesson I carry with me always and share often with my students...

Simon Baum

As is well known, Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks Z”L possessed a rare gift: the ability to blend eloquence, scholarship, authenticity, and—most meaningful to me—moral guidance on the ethical challenges of our time. I have been reading Rabbi Sacks’ books and essays for more than thirty years, across different stages of my own religious and spiritual journey. Choosing one particular work as a favourite is therefore no simple task.

If, however, I had to choose the book I return to most often, it would be To Heal a Fractured World. In it, Rabbi Sacks makes a compelling case for living a moral and ethical life as partners with Hashem in the work of mending our society and the world as a whole.

For me, the hidden treasure of this book lies at its conclusion, where Rabbi Sacks presents more than thirty concise, deeply insightful life lessons. He introduces them with characteristic humility: “I make no claim to wisdom, but this I have learned.”

Among them, I am particularly moved by the following:

• “That where what we want to do meets what needs to be done, that is where God wants us to be.”

• “That religions reach their highest levels when they stop worrying about other people’s souls and care, instead, for the needs of their bodies.”

• “That the world is a book in which our life is a chapter, and the question is whether others, reading it, will be inspired.”

• “That those who give to others are the closest we come to meeting the Divine presence in this short life on earth.”

Each reflection is his gift to us — something to return to, to ponder, and to carry as a compass. They remind us to stay focused on what truly matters: not the glitter, not the wealth, not the distractions of the world, but the acts of kindness, purpose, and responsibility that give life meaning and help us make a real difference.

Jonathan Ross

I remember reading more his parshah sheets. One that touched me deeply was about the difference between Religion and Science.

Torah is not meant to be proven in a lab empirically, even though there is a modern tendency to require empirical evidence, seeing is believing and show me the money. Contrast that to the Torah’s focus on listening, as manifested in the Shema.

Yoni Romm

There’s a powerful idea that Rav Sacks writes on Parshas Shelach. The fear of failure causes us to fail. The willingness to fail allows us to succeed. He uses this idea to explain the difference between Yehushoa, Calev and the other spies. I personally avoided taking various risks, because I felt the world around me expects perfection. Even though these decisions would have been good for me, I was afraid of failure. Reading this idea from Rabbi Sacks opened my eyes to a whole different world. The only way to succeed is by being willing to fail. Ever since reading this, it has impacted my decisions on a daily basis.

Rav Shlomo Fishman

One meaningful moment of astute Jewish pride and inspiration that stands out in my mind is the recorded debate he held with Richard Dawkins.

Aaron R. Katz

For me, I’d like to tweak my response to note that that hearing him speak live in person left the biggest impact, because every time he spoke there was such a large crowd that would appear and would listen intently to his magnificent and deeply powerful words. I was lucky to hear him many times across many venues, including a one-on-one talk with Rabbi Lamm zt”l at YU, at community wide events in LA and Chicago, and at OU events in Jerusalem. He truly was an unparalleled public speaker.

Jeremy Lustman

Lessons in Leadership has been the most impactful Rabbi Sacks book for me as it has provided real context and contemporary perspectives on the Torah portion of the week with tangible takeaways on how to improve our strength of character and leadership capabilities. Not only for me, but perhaps most importantly for my family sitting around the shabbat table. In a world where we are always trying to show the relevance of our beautiful Torah for the younger generations, being able to discuss leadership skills, what will help you not only in in your religious world, but also in your personal and professional worlds, and being able to tie it to a Torah figure and incident(s), makes it feel very real, current, and actionable.

Bini Maryles

Lessons in Leadership. The ability to understand, with great depth, the concepts in the world of leadership, and to apply a Torah prism to them, is extremely rare. Add on to that the ability to explain deep concepts clearly, and then expand upon them and make them relevant for leaders in the modern world, is incredibly powerful and beautiful.

Yaakov Wolff

It’s hard for me to single out one book, since so many of then touched me deeply. But I would like to mention Not in God’s Name. My father bought me a copy when it first came out, and for years it sat on my shelf. I was hesitant to read it, because I wasn’t sure what to expect from a book about religous violence. I ended up starting it after one of the ‘minor’ Gaza operations, after numerous trips to the bomb shelter with two young kids. What really shocked me was his ability to take many central stories from Bereishit and turn them upside down. He showed how pshat and drash both leave space for us to empathise with the ‘other son’ who is kicked out. Beyond the brilliant parshanut, it provides a vision for world peace that includes many religous faiths.

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(I would recommend reading the original, for two reasons. The first is that I am just presenting my very basic understanding of these three ideas, and I’m sure the reader will find more depth in Rav Lichtenstein’s penetrating words. And second is that there are other wonderful ideas contained within this same chapter. This is not a comprehensive summary- just a few personal highlights.)

Teshuva for Old Sins

There seems to be a machlokes tannaim (Yoma 86b) about repeating confession for sins that were already confessed in previous years. (And the Rishonim dispute how to pasken.) But Rav Aharon writes that this whole conversation is puzzling. Each of us is on a lifelong journey. Our current state is a result of all of our experiences leading up to this moment. Therefore, can we really say that an old sin has no relevance to our present moment, even though we said viduy for that particular sin way back when? Rather it’s clear that one should remember these sins, and take them into account when making a chesbon hanefesh.

I found this very moving, for a number of reasons. The first is that we rarely take the time and think of our life as one long story. Even though our minds are preoccupied with the hustle bustle of daily life, we shouldn’t lose track of the bigger picture. Being aware of our spiritual history helps us examine our lifelong trajectory as avdei Hashem.

The second thing that struck me about this idea is that certain challenges can reappear at different points of life. I am now at an age where I have seen certain issues take a seat on the bench, leave me alone for a few years, only to hop back into action. Maybe what I thought at one point was sufficient teshuva, is actually still lacking. Additionally, certain sins that at first glance seem disconnected, may actually be tied together on a deeper level. Taking the broader outlook on our entire lives helps put this into context, and allows us to dig deep inside ourselves and experience real growth.

(For a deeper explanation of the machlokes in Yoma, as well as a fascinating proof from Rabbeinu Yonah, see the essay itself.)

Laundry Lists

On a recent episode of Shtark Tank, Simon Baum spoke about a crisis he faced following a massive deal which he had just closed. He surprised me when he seemingly minimized the role of making a cheshbon hanefesh. I pushed back on this, saying that if God Writes down all of our actions, shouldn’t we also keep track of our faults and areas for growth? Simon answered that we need to mainly focus on our relationship with God. And no married couple ever achieved love and connection by keeping a list of every sock left on the floor and garbage bag that wasn’t taken out.

Rav Lichtenestein raises this issue in the essay, and he really struggles with it. (While Rav Lichtenstein uses different terminology, I believe he’s addressing the same core issue.) On the one hand, an unexamined life is not worth living; on the other, a life of constant examination leaves no space to truly live. Therefore, a balance must be struck. Rav Aharon doesn’t give a clear formula, but he does emphasize the need to exercise constant vigilance. We believe in the existence of the yetzer hara, and this obligates us to always be on our toes. We can’t afford to simply say, ‘It’s all good — just live your life and hope for the best.

Confusion

During the viduy on Yom Kippur we confess for sins committed through timhon levav, often translated as inner confusion or bewilderment. Rav Lichtenstein writes that confusion is the enemy of passion. Rav Lichtenstein suggests that this uncertainty often arises among Torah Jews who strive to integrate holiness into all areas of life — not only in the beit midrash, but also in the workplace, family, and broader society.

This idea is very relevant for Bnei Torah in the workforce, like myself. One of the most common themes of the Shtark Tank podcast is how to balance a plethora of good values? How do we manage our time and allocate it amongst many different good things? How do we create an outlook that incorporates all of these things, but also has the proper emphasis and priorities?

This does not mean that any sense of confusion is bad. And this doesn’t mean that we should exchange our outlook for something simpler. But we must remain aware of this dynamic and seek out the clarity and conviction that enable passionate Avodas Hashem.

Summary and Conclusion

Teshuva means looking back at old sins as part of our lifelong story, recognizing how they continue to shape who we are today. It also requires balancing vigilance and reflection with the ability to live fully, without turning our avodah into a tally sheet. And finally, it calls us to push through confusion, finding clarity and conviction so that our many commitments can flow into passionate service of Hashem. May we all be zoche to a wonderful new year.

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The Many Shofarot

The shofar appears many times in the torah in a variety of circumstances. The most famous reference to the shofar is the mitzvah to hear the blowing of the shofar on Rosh Hashana (Bamidbar 29:1). Another well-known passuk describes the shofar being sounded at Har Sinai on the day the Jewish people received the torah (Shemot 19:19). There is also a mitzvah to use the shofar to declare freedom for the slaves during the Yovel (Vayikra 25:10).

Is there any connection between the different usages of the shofar? Indeed, we mention many of the above pesukim in the Rosh Hashana davening. In addition, quite a few halachik details of the shofar blowing on Rosh Hashana are derived from the other shofars mentioned above (see Rosh Hashana 33b-34a).

There seems to be a deeper connection between these different sections of the Torah. What is it?

The Common Thread

I think that the common thread is liberty. During the jubilee year all of the slaves were set free, “proclaim liberty throughout all the land”. The shofar was sounded to declare that the slaves were free from their bondage.

The giving of the torah was also a moment of liberation. Seven weeks after leaving Egypt, we achieved ultimate freedom at Har Sinai. (This idea is found in a number of places, for example Chazal say אין לך בן חורין אלה מי שעוסק בתורה)

We see that both Yovel and Har Sinai have shofar blowing that declare liberty. But what about Rosh Hashana? Rosh Hashana is a day of judgement, of declaring God's Sovereignty, and the day the world was created. What does this have to do with freedom?

Teshuva and Freedom

The Rambam writes that the sound of the shofar is meant to awaken us to do teshuva. Who has the ability to do teshuva? Only a person who is free.

This is why the Rambam breaks in the middle of hilchot teshuva to lay out the fundamental principles of free-will. If a person’s soul is not free, he therefore cannot change his inner-character. Only once we establish that man can choose between good and evil, between right and wrong, then we can say that man has the ability to change. The fact that teshuva is predicated on freedom leads the Midrash (quoted by R’ Yonah, Shaarei Teshuva 1:1) to compare teshuva to escaping from prison.

Conclusion

When we stand in silence and listen to the blare of the shofar, we must liberate ourselves from the doubts that shake our self-confidence. We need to free ourselves from the pessimistic attitude which voids any attempt at self-improvement . We must declare freedom for ourselves.

In addition, we must use these special moments to pray for freedom. First and foremost, for the hostages who have been brutally held for almost two years. Second, for national independence, to allow Israel to do what it needs to without being impeded by other nations. And finally, to pray for the ultimate redemption in the times of Moshiach, as we say every day:

תקע בשופר גדול לחרותנו

Sound the great shofar of freedom.

I answered honestly: I have no idea. But the question stuck with me. We all want to grow, to become better people—so why do we end up stuck in the same rut, year after year?
I posed the question to the Shtark Tank WhatsApp community, and the responses were fascinating.

(For more Yamim Noraim prep, tune in to this week’s podcast with Rav Dovid Lichtenstein)

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The Smaller The Better

One of the themes that came up repeatedly was making very small kabalos. Nachum Goldstein wrote that there's a story about R' Nosson Tzvi Finkel, that he once made a kabbala not to eat taffys. He knew it was easy for him so he took it upon himself, and that way you can start to view yourself as a person who makes kabbalas and sticks to them. Self perception is also a big factor in being able to stick to a kabbala, and by starting small it creates self confidence.

Effy Hochstein wrote to me that Rav Yakov Meidan, Rosh Yeshiva of Har Etzion, also recommends keeping things simple and achievable. The goal is to be able to succeed in the short term, and continue forever.

But is it possible that a really small change will actually be meaningful for our overall spiritual growth? The guys who wrote in had a lot to say about this.

Firstly, yes, even micro changes are meaningful. Change is challenging, no matter the size. Therefore, putting in the effort to make a small improvement is worthwhile.

Second, the small kabala doesn’t have to contradict bigger aspirations. One listener from RBS wrote:
In my experience, choose something, and reduce it to it's minimal commitment with the 'intention' to do more. The balance between a very manageable chiyuv with a framework to do more works well. For example, saying אשר יצר from a text. Commit to do it at least once a week, but intend to do it all the time. The formula has worked pretty well for me across a range of things.

And third, the action itself might be small, but repeating it over and over can have tremendous impact. This is what Adam Lang wrote to me:

I heard from Rav Kellermen how Rav Yisrael Salanter would compare human growth to making sirtut on klaf:

You take the kulmus and run it on the klaf along a ruler. If you use something heavier, it will shred the klaf. The first time you score a line with the kulmus, a moment later you'll see nothing. And the second time. And the third. You keep going until 20, 30, 40 times later, you've made a permanent, visible indent on the klaf.

The nimshal is that with patience and repeated exposure to reading material or practical exercises that involve the desired behaviour improvement, it will ultimately make a lasting impression.

Go Deep

Another common response was to think about the deeper causes behind certain behaviors. This is especially relevant when thinking about a negative kabbalah, refraining from doing something.

Rav Shloimy Eichler wrote as follows:

Understanding the root of the “negative” behavior. Or in other words - understanding why you resort to that behavior when you. Is it because it’s somehow self soothing, comforting, is it driven by past trauma ect?

So for example, one might waste a lot of time and on their phone or watching TV because they use it as a crutch to deal with the stress in their day (they may not even realize that’s why they’re doing it).

In such a case I think the appropriate route would be to identify what’s making you stressed and finding alternative ways of handling it.

But this is not limited to avoiding negative actions. Aleph Lewitt told me: Ask yourself “why” and answer with the value/piece of your desired identity which the kabala speaks to/contributes to. That way the change is being motivated by your loftier aspirations, and will therefore have a better chance of succeeding.

Addition Thoughts

There were many other valuable ideas that were shared with me. Here are a few more. Yoni Romm wrote that the first week is the hardest. If you can push hard, do what it takes, and get past that first milestone, it will become much easier.

A listener from the UK wrote:

Create ritual -manageable action tied to specific place/time of day with clear positive consequence - so requires minimal self-discipline to keep it up (it's focus of Charlie Harary's book Unlocking Greatness). For example, instead of saying "I am going to learn Mishna Yomi" say "after Mariv, I am going to sit down in the back of Shul and learn Mishna Yomi. This allows the new ritual to latch on to an exisiting habit, making it that much easier.

My Kabbala

So what am I going to do with all of this information? I am going to try and come early to mincha. 60 seconds early.
I go to shacharis and Mariv from my house, and with the kids around there are often last second delays. But I daven mincha at work, so I don’t have that excuse. I hope that taking 60 seconds to take a few deep breaths and orient myself will have a positive effect on my tefila.
In addition to the fact that this is a small, hopefully manageable improvement, this change also touches on something deeper. Focus and concentration is an overall challenge that I struggle with, so hopefully this will allow me to carve out a small slice of my day for deeper focus.

I hope you found these ideas helpful. If you have additional tips, please drop them in the comments!

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Therapy for a Burnt Out Bahlabus

Yaakov Wolff:
You wrote Becoming Godly, and in the introduction you bring a case study that really sets the stage. It’s a foundational story that many of us can relate to as Bnei Torah navigating the workforce. Before we get into the frameworks and solutions, can you share that story and how you came to use it?

Yosef Sokol:
Yes. I introduced the book with this case because it frames so much of what follows. A young man came to me for therapy. He had been part of the yeshiva and kollel world, did well, and then began the transition out of kollel. Financial pressures were mounting, and career-wise he knew he wouldn’t end up in chinuch eventually.

But in the meantime, the transition was rough. His jobs weren’t working out, his family life was struggling, and even his marriage was suffering. What struck me was that he didn’t see continuity in his life. He couldn’t connect who he was in yeshiva and kollel with who he was now—or with who he might become. His sense of self had fractured into past, present, and future, without an integrating story.

Yaakov Wolff:
Before we get into his case more deeply—since he came to you as a therapist, but also with a heavy religious element—maybe you can share your own background: psychology, yeshiva, and how the two come together in this book.

Yosef Sokol:
Sure. My “Rabbi Doctor” title feels appropriate here because both parts are relevant. I learned in several yeshivas, starting withTorah Temima, eventually getting Semicha from Yeshiva Bais Yosef in Brooklyn (Rav Drillman’s Yeshiva). Alongside that, I pursued psychology. I earned a PhD in clinical psychology and now serve as a professor in Touro’s PsyD program, training psychologists. I also see patients, and conduct research for VA (Veteran’s Affairs).

Both backgrounds inform how I approach these struggles—and how I wrote this book.

Torah and Psychology

Yaakov Wolff:
There’s a natural attraction between Torah and psychology. Many Rabbanim read pop-psychology, and psychotherapists sometimes pull from Torah ideas. How do you see the deeper overlap?

Yosef Sokol:
It’s true—sometimes people make superficial connections that don’t really hold up. The way I’ve come to see it is that Torah and psychology are two different languages, with different methods for establishing truth. In psychology, it’s empirical studies. In Torah, it’s mesorah from Har Sinai. Very different systems, but both are describing the same objective reality: the human being.

So the two can illuminate each other. Torah explains the purpose of the world—why people are the way they are. Psychology explains how people actually function—how we make choices, how we grow. Together, they give a fuller picture.

Yaakov Wolff:
You mentioned change and growth. These terms get sloganized, but they’re also core to both Torah and psychology. Can you unpack them more deeply?

Yosef Sokol:
From a Torah perspective, growth means becoming similar to Hashem. The Ramchal writes that the world was created so people could become Godly—halachta b’drachav, walking in His ways.

From a psychological perspective, growth means change. We are the sum of our choices; our identity is the story of those choices over time. When those choices connect to a deeper purpose—as Torah explains—then both languages converge: growth means living a purposeful, meaningful life.

And the research backs this up. People who live with a sense of meaning and growth have better mental health and wellbeing.
(YW: To clarify this critical point, the Torah provides us deep meaning. And in psychology we learn of the importance of this meaning. This is how I understood it.)

Creating a Continuous Story

Yaakov Wolff:
So let’s go back to the case you opened with. What exactly was happening for him—Torah-wise and psychologically?

Yosef Sokol:
His struggle was that his life no longer felt like a meaningful story. Humans need to feel like they’re growing. When that stops, we burn out, stagnate, or even fall into depression.

His transition from kollel to the workforce felt discontinuous. In kollel, he was elite—like soldiers in the military, who feel set apart from civilians. Once he left, he felt like “just a baalabos,” which in his mindset meant “less.” Without continuity, he couldn’t project himself into a meaningful future.

Imagine you're reading a book and you just open the book right in the middle, read a bit abd try to guess what will happen next. It’s going to be very hard. But if you read the book slowly and carefully up until the middle and then guess, it's a little easier. When somebody has this meaningful story that they understand, they develop this sense of a future that they work towards.

My work with him was to integrate past, present, and future into a unified story. To see his years in yeshiva as the foundation for what he’s doing now, and his present as the stepping stone to what he can become.

I saw this also in my work with the VA. I saw soldiers who were suicidal, in part becaue they felt like they were disconnected from their elite past. They asked themselves ‘I’m just a civilian now?’ And at a certain point I realized that this was the same as the question ‘I’m just a bahlabos now?’

Yaakov Wolff:
Some might respond by blaming the educational system—that it set him up to think of himself as a prince in kollel, and now he feels like a peasant. What’s your take?

Yosef Sokol:
I sympathize, but it’s complicated. On one hand, yes—the system sometimes teaches only one narrative: Shevet Levi. And when people leave, they feel lost. Psychologically, that can be damaging.

On the other hand, there’s beauty in that pure, simple ideal. My own years in yeshiva were part of my story, even though I didn’t stay in kollel forever. The Rambam writes in pedagogy about starting with simple frameworks before moving to nuance. Sometimes we need that simple clarity first.

So I wouldn’t discard the system. I’d say: yes, it needs more nuance, but don’t lose the beauty either.

Yaakov Wolff:
So what’s the healthier story we should be telling? How can someone leaving yeshiva integrate their past into their present and future?

Yosef Sokol:
It’s about growth, not uprooting. The healthy baal teshuva keeps family ties and adds to them, rather than cutting them off. Similarly, the healthy Ben Torah leaving yeshiva doesn’t discard his past. He carries it with him.

The years in yeshiva are real, and they enable what comes next. They build a person in a certain mold, which carries over in to the career. Torah and avodas Hashem should continue to shape one’s choices and identity, even in the workplace. When people see that underlying unity—that their whole life is one continuous story—they can move forward with meaning and purpose.

The Hashkafa of Growth and Unity

Yaakov Wolff:
Can you give some more mareh mekomos—Torah sources—that speak to this view? Psychologically, I understand striving for integration and using it to grow. But where do we see Chazal framing it in similar terms?

Yosef Sokol:
A central source is Kol ma’asecha yihyu l’shem Shamayim—everything we do should be for the sake of Heaven. The Rambam and many others expand on this at length. Every action, every choice, should be oriented toward Hashem.

The Rambam explains that the highest level of religious growth is knowing Hashem. So even something as basic as sleep should be framed around that goal: sleep enough so that you can learn Torah and think about Hashem, but not so much that you waste time, and not so little that your mind is too weak.

Everything in our lives should be integrated around that central principle: Hashem. Becoming like Hashem, in my language, is the unifying goal. So whether avodas Hashem is expressed in a beis midrash or in a law office, it’s still one avodah. The purpose is the same.

And here’s a deeper point: Hashem is echad. One. Everything about Him that seems multiple—anger, mercy, jealousy—is, as the Kuzari explains, really one. We perceive different aspects depending on context, but Hashem is unified.

So too with us. We should aim to be one, to act as one, and to unify our choices into a coherent whole. That’s why integration isn’t just psychologically healthy—it’s spiritually imperative.

Yaakov Wolff:
What are the keys to really feeling this in your bones? Intellectually, I get it. But let’s say after a long day—kids, family, work—I’m exhausted. I manage to grab a few minutes to learn, and I can tell myself, “Good, I checked the box.” But it doesn’t always feel as geshmak as being free to learn all day.

Yosef Sokol:
That’s very real. And I’ll say: if we didn’t miss that full-time immersion, we’d be missing something important. There’s a beauty in those years of freedom to learn without distraction. It’s natural to long for it.

But to make our current lives meaningful, we need to consciously reflect on why we do what we do. Why do I spend time with my children? Why do I go to work? How do these choices align with the person I’m trying to become? Why do I learn, and what does Torah mean to me in this stage of life?

If you regularly set aside even a few minutes to think about these questions—on a walk, at the end of the day—you begin to see the unity behind your actions. Most of us are motivated by wanting to be good people, to care for others, to do what Hashem wants.

And the way we interpret our actions shapes how we experience them. That’s a core idea of cognitive therapy: it’s not the event itself, but the way we frame it, that affects us. The better we can see our actions as part of a unified framework of avodas Hashem, the more meaning we’ll feel in them, even when life is complex.

Finding Meaning at Work

Yaakov Wolff:
I think for most listeners, it’s not hard to see the meaning in investing in family—spending time with a spouse, with children. Work, though, is more complicated. Personally, I feel blessed to work for an amazing nonprofit, ADI Negev, which does holy work. But let’s take the stereotypical case: someone crunching numbers in a corporate office, helping a few millionaires make a few extra millions. Is there a way to give that kind of work meaning beyond “well, I need the paycheck to support the more important things”?

Yosef Sokol:
Most of our chachamim throughout history worked ordinary jobs. Some were blacksmiths, some chopped wood, some were merchants. Rashi had a vineyard. A few were doctors, which we can easily see as helping people, but many did what we’d consider mundane labor.

So how did they see it as avodas Hashem? The Gemara discusses this: paying workers on time, being honest in business, fulfilling your responsibilities. Yaakov Avinu was a shepherd. Moshe Rabbeinu was a shepherd. Would anyone say their work wasn’t avodas Hashem?

The problem is that we often don’t see Torah in our daily work. But being honest, fulfilling contractual obligations even when no one’s watching, that is embodying Hashem in this world. Many mitzvos are about how we live in the world—bein adam l’chaveiro—not just learning or davening.

So yes, even “helping millionaires make millions” can be avodas Hashem—if you’re doing it as a Ben Torah, with honesty, responsibility, and integrity. Some of the most beautiful Jews I know don’t have prestigious titles. Within their capacities, they live as integrated ovdei Hashem, and that’s deeply meaningful.

And don’t think that having a “religious job” eliminates the challenges. When your paycheck comes from chinuch or rabbanus, it can blur the line between serving Hashem and just doing your job. That comes with its own pitfalls. Every path has its challenges. The key is reframing: seeing work itself as avodah, not as a distraction from it.

Yaakov Wolff:
That’s profound. But one thing I noticed: many of the examples you gave are lo sa’aseh-based—avoiding wrongs like dishonesty. Whereas mitzvos like learning Torah or davening are proactive, pulling us closer to Hashem. Could that be why people have a harder time appreciating their avodah at work? And maybe related to that—someone could succeed 98% of the time, but then one failure in shmiras einayim or another area makes him feel like the whole effort was worthless. How do you think about that?

Yosef Sokol:
It’s a real challenge. Psychologically, we’re biased toward noticing negatives. You can hear 100 compliments and one criticism, and the criticism will weigh just as much as the compliments. That’s how we’re wired.

So yes, we may work on a middah constantly and then stumble once, and suddenly we feel like failures. The dissonance is powerful because we know we’re meant to be aligned with Hashem, so the gap stands out strongly.

But I’d stress two points. First: there are plenty of asehs—positive mitzvos—in daily work. Just today, I spoke with a veteran who was suicidal. My job as a psychologist in that moment was to help him see meaning and purpose in his life. That’s chesed. That’s tefillah—I was silently davening for the right words. That’s avodas Hashem in the fullest sense. And the same applies to lawyers, doctors, businesspeople: if you frame your work as helping others, doing what Hashem wants, you’re surrounded by mitzvos aseh.

Second: failure is built into creation. Hashem gave us a yetzer hara precisely so that growth would mean something. Without resistance, there’s no real becoming. I once spoke to Rav Brudny about helping a bochur struggling with shmiras einayim. He told me: focus first on helping him not feel crushed by guilt. The aveirah itself is one challenge, but the guilt and despair can cause far greater damage. Yes, we work on shmiras einayim, but the bigger avodah is helping a person see that failure is part of the struggle, not proof that he’s worthless.

So yes—we notice negatives more, and we often undervalue positives. But avodas Hashem is about framing: seeing that every effort counts, and that even in failure, the struggle itself is part of the growth.

Yaakov Wolff:
That’s very important. Another related point: humans love comparisons. Dan Ariely’s Predictably Irrational opens with this idea. We compare ourselves constantly. So even if I recognize the avodas Hashem in my own work, I compare myself to my friend who’s a rosh yeshiva, or runs a nonprofit, and suddenly what I do feels lower. Should we see that as a distraction of the yetzer hara to be avoided—or is there a constructive way to think about it?

Yosef Sokol:
Both. On one hand, we need to focus on our own mission. As the saying goes, Hashem won’t ask why you weren’t the Vilna Gaon, but why you weren’t Yaakov Wolff. The story you’re writing is unique. That’s what matters.

On the other hand, a deeper understanding of Torah and humanity shows that every path has its own challenges and opportunities. Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky pointed out: it’s better to be a businessman who yearns to learn more, than to be in kollel wishing you were doing business. Desire and direction matter as much as circumstance.

I treat people in kollel who are unfulfilled, who don’t enjoy learning. That’s tragic. By contrast, a businessman who carves out time to learn because he truly wants it—that yearning brings him closer to Hashem.

So yes, the grass always looks greener. A kollel man may look at nonprofit work and think, “Wow, such clear chesed.” Meanwhile, the nonprofit worker may think, “I barely learn, and I’m distracted.” Every path seems cleaner from the outside. But in truth, no path is simple. What matters most is not which role you have, but who you are within it.

Yaakov Wolff:
As we near the end, I want to touch on another aspect of your book that intrigued me: your theory of identity. You’ve hinted at it, but could you spell it out? What is this methodology, and why is it important?

Yosef Sokol:
Yes. I developed a therapy called Continuous Identity Cognitive Therapy. Its goal is to help people experience a single, unified sense of self over time—seeing themselves as growing, and envisioning a positive future self they’re becoming.

I first developed it for suicidal patients, because my research showed that a fragmented sense of self—no continuity between past, present, and future—was a major risk factor. When people regain continuity, their mental health improves dramatically.

But it applies broadly. I’ve used it in many areas of psychotherapy, and it’s being adopted in the VA and elsewhere. And it aligns beautifully with Torah: a healthy Jew, from a Torah perspective, also sees his life as one continuous story, growing closer to Hashem over time.

Labels, Identity, and Practical Takeaways

Yaakov Wolff:
Up until now, we’ve focused a lot on the “continuous” part of your framework. I want to zoom in on the “identity” part. I thought a lot about how to name or frame this podcast: are we talking about baalebatim, Bnei Torah, post-yeshiva? Labels affect how we see ourselves. How much should we be paying attention to those labels? Are they central to our identity, or are the underlying decisions and emotions more important?

Yosef Sokol:
Great question. People like labels in the abstract, but very few like applying them to themselves. We instinctively resist being put in a box, because we know we’re more than a label.

In one study I did on shidduchim, I asked participants to identify their religious group—“Modern Orthodox,” “Yeshivish,” etc.—and people really disliked the exercise. Given the choice, they’d create endless variations, because each of us is a unique mix.

So yes, labels can be useful shorthand, but they’re oversimplifications. If you think of yourself only as “post-yeshiva” or “balabus,” you lose the richness of who you are. Labels don’t capture our truth. They’re tools, not identities.

Yaakov Wolff:
Fair. But here’s a practical angle. You sit next to a guy at a wedding, you’ve never met, and you want to make small talk. The usual script is: “What’s your name? What do you do?” That’s shorthand, but it reduces identity to profession. Do you have a better suggestion?

Yosef Sokol:
I actually tried something recently that worked well. I asked: “What do you do? And what would you do if you didn’t need to make money?”

That second question opens a much deeper conversation. Some people would actually keep doing what they’re doing. Others light up when talking about something completely different. It gets to their values—what they care about, what they want to become.

Values are like fingerprints. No two people have the same set in the same order. If you want to get to who someone really is, you need to get to their “why,” not just their “what.”

Yaakov Wolff:
Beautiful. Last question for today. As we approach the Yamim Noraim, what’s one thing you’d suggest people do more of, that doesn’t require lots of time but could help them apply what we’ve been talking about?

Yosef Sokol:
Take ten seconds, here and there, to check in on why you’re doing what you’re doing.

Changing a baby’s diaper? Pause for a moment: I’m doing this because I love my child, because I want him to grow. That’s imitating Hashem, our Avinu.

At work? Ask: how does this connect to my values, to who I want to be? Even in simple tasks, if you remind yourself why you’re doing them, you’ll see the deeper meaning.

If you have more time—say, on a walk—reflect on the bigger picture. Why do I learn? Why do I parent? Why do I work? How do these pieces connect to something greater—helping others, coming closer to Hashem?

The more you make this kind of reflection a habit, the richer, more integrated, and more meaningful your life will become.

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Rabbi Berel Wein ZT”L was a world-renowned legend but to me, he was simply my Rebbe. I seeked his advice on issues pertaining to both Halacha and hashkafa for over for 40 years and benefitted greatly from his unique and clear-headed guidance that permeated nearly every aspect of my life.

I was privileged to attend Shaarei Torah, Rabbi Wein’s Yeshiva, for high school, in Monsey and which marked the beginning of my love for learning. Additionally, I developed a deeper appreciation for mitzvos and a keen awareness of how to prioritize different responsibilities in life. When Rabbi Wein taught Gemara, Tanach, Parsha, Pirkei Avos or Jewish History, it always felt like a personalized lesson and always relayed with relevance to my life.

Until this day, I attribute any successes I have to Rabbi Wein’s guidance during my early years.

He encouraged me to focus on chessed and wrote my recommendation to work at Camp Hasc, where I met my wife! He advised me to choose a career that allows me to balance family, learning and career. He knew that I had an affinity for math and suggested that I pursue an actuarial career that provided stability for a young couple getting married right after college. He felt that it could be a springboard for other opportunities, and he was correct as after two years of working as an actuary, I attended Columbia Business School and pursued a career in finance.

As our family grew and I advanced in my career, I would often seek guidance from Rebbe.

First and foremost, in every decision, he would encourage me to think "Vos Zogt Got?" (what does God say?) and that has always resonated with me in life.

Second, he stressed the importance of living in Israel. I recall meeting with Rabbi Wein almost twenty years ago and he told me “don't be like me and wait until you are an old man to move to Israel.” He simply and unabashedly felt that Israel is our destiny (his foundation's name) and that living there is the greatest of privileges.

Third, his advice on parenting was priceless. He encouraged me to give endless love to each child, remind them how precious they are, how proud they should be to a Jew and how much we should believe in them and their abilities at every age.

Countless other attributes of Rabbi Wein have dramatically impacted how I live my life.

Rebbe taught me to think earnestly about hashkafic and halachic decisions. He did not believe in shtick or labels; only pure Halacha, yet he was also nuanced. He was a Rav who could shuttle between the OU and the Agudah convention and taught me how to appreciate and embrace the varying approaches to Torah life.

Rabbi Wein was so incredibly brilliant and multi-talented, yet so humble. He was the penultimate intellectual yet also deeply emotional and thoughtful. Each time he ended our phone conversations, he would say "I love you very much and I am proud of you."

Rabbi Wein appreciated travel and often reminded me of Rav SR Hirsch's comment that Hashem will ask us after 120 "have you seen My Alps".

Rabbi Wein always made clear that family comes first. He would always ask about his granddaughter who taught at RYNJ and I would ask about his son Rav Chaim Wein and son-in-law Rabbi Teitelbaum who were my rabbeim.

I enjoyed when he would come for shabbos to our home, the shiurim including at our own Chanukas Habayis, the lectures in our shul, and the long car rides we had to Monsey or the Five Towns.

Rabbi Wein was provided a charge by Rav Herzog to do the whatever he can for the Jewish people and he encouraged students like me to do the same with sharing Torah, Kiruv and community endeavors. He was indefatigable in his desire to give to others.

I yearn to continue to make Rebbe proud. I will miss Rabbi Wein very much. So much of what I am today I owe to him and his teachings.

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“I remember it like it was yesterday.
The bulldozers that destroyed my school.
The Sifrei Torah being removed from our shul.
The soldiers walking up to my house, telling me and my family that we had to leave.”

— Rav Ari Katz

Rav Ari Katz, now the PR director of the Hesder Yeshiva in Sderot, lived through a modern-day Churban.

The Disengagement from Gush Katif wasn’t just a political crisis—it was personal, traumatic, and life-altering for thousands of families. For Rav Ari, it was the most painful day of his life.

But what happened next is what makes this story unforgettable.

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After the final Mincha minyan in Gush Katif, a man named David Chatuel stood up to address the community. A year earlier, his pregnant wife and all four of his daughters had been murdered by terrorists. And now, as the community faced yet another tragedy, he said:

"When tragedy strikes, you can crawl under your blanket—or you can get up and live."

And that’s exactly what so many of the Gush Katif residents did.

They got up.
They lived.
They rebuilt.

Today, Rav Ari helps lead a city—Sderot—that has itself become a symbol of resilience. A city pummeled by rockets for years, yet still growing, still learning, still believing.

And in the background of Sderot—visible, haunting—is Gaza.
The place where Rav Ari once lived.
The place he still dreams of returning to.

This week’s episode of the Shtark Tank podcast marks 20 years since the Disengagement. As we enter the Nine Days and prepare to mourn the destruction of our Beit Mikdash, I invite you to listen to this story of a modern churban—and unshakable emunah.

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