Parashat Chayei Sarah: Guiding Our Search for a Soulmate - How Do We Balance Effort and Trust in Hashem When Seeking Our Other Half?

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Parashat Chayei Sarah: Guiding Our Search for a Soulmate

How Do We Balance Effort and Trust in Hashem When Seeking Our Other Half?

How Did My Unexpected Love Story Inspire My Belief in Shidduch Dating?

I was very fortunate – as an immature 19-year-old – that Hashem sent my soulmate knocking at my door. Just starting my journey toward a Torah-observant life, I was far from ready to look for a spouse, let alone know what to look for. When I started taking walks with my future husband, I had no idea that we were dating for marriage. Surprisingly, I was blessed to discover that despite growing up continents apart, our upbringing was very similar, and we had so much in common that it was uncanny. After our initial infatuation wore off, our love deepened its roots. Every year, the love between us grows, especially lately in our 46th year of marriage.

Sadly, not all young people have been blessed as we have. They may meet casually, fall in love, and be attracted to one another due to charisma and a glint in the eye. Some become intimate without first finding deep compatibility and common ground. Once the initial obsession is over, they may wake up and realize that their spouse does not possess the qualities they need in a life partner, and from here their marriage goes downhill until it ends in divorce. This pattern is demonstrated in the statistics confirming that the divorce rates of the secular Jewish communities mirror the 35-50% divorce rate among the general population in the United States.  

Interestingly, clinical psychologist Dr. Yitzchak Schechter, director of the Center for Applied Psychology at Bikur Cholim in Monsey, New York, reports that the overall divorce rate in the American Orthodox community appears to be only around 10 percent, slightly higher among non-Chasidic Orthodox Jews and slightly lower in the Chasidic community. I believe that parental involvement in suggesting suitable matches and supporting the dating process contributes to the lower divorce rate in the Chasidic community.

Although I never went out on a blind date or a shidduch, I strongly believe in shidduch dating, facilitated by professional matchmakers, volunteers, or parents, who suggest suitable matches based on background, values, and life goals. This way of dating is especially suitable within the Torah-observant community – where children trust their parents, who know them better than anyone else and who care more than anyone that their children be happily married. For Ba’alei Teshuva, especially those past their twenties, I often recommend online dating, where you can clearly read the values and goals of a prospective date, and speak with references to get a sense of whether he has the qualities you are looking for. You can also correspond with him before meeting in person. This way, you can prepare yourself and weed out those whom you might have been attracted to if you met casually, but who could turn out to be utterly incompatible as lifelong partners. 

What Did Avraham’s Servant Seek in a Wife for Yitzchak?

In Parashat Chayei Sarah, we learn about the first arranged marriage in the Torah. Avraham sought a suitable match for his son Yitzchak and appointed his most trusted servant to find her. He instructed Eliezer to journey to his birthplace rather than seek a bride among the Canaanites. This teaches us the importance of parental support in finding suitable marriage partners for their children. Although the Talmud and Rashi explain that Avraham sent Eliezer on this mission, his name is curiously absent from the entire narrative spanning no less than sixty-six verses (Bereishit 24:1-66). This absence may indicate that while Eliezer was the person who was sent out to actively seek a suitable wife for Avraham’s son, he was completely subservient to the will and instructions of his master, Avraham.  Avraham directed his search toward a place and family background where he was likely to find the qualities he was seeking for his son. Although considering a prospective spouse’s upbringing, values, and life goals is an important part of discerning compatibility, when Eliezer arrived at the well, he did not begin by investigating anyone’s family. Rather, he prayed for a practical sign that would reveal the character of the woman before him. When Eliezer chose מִדַּת חֶסֶד /midat chesed – ‘the character trait of kindness’ as his decisive test, his choice reflected his loyalty to his master Avraham, whose hallmark is chesed. Likewise, Rashi explains that a woman who performs acts of kindness would be worthy of Yitzchak and worthy of entering Avraham’s household (Rashi, Bereishit 24:14). Since kindness was the foundation of Avraham’s home, the woman who would carry his legacy into the next generation needed to embody this quality in her own actions. Eliezer therefore asked for only a little water for himself, while watching to see whether she would voluntarily offer to water his camels as well.

Rabbi Ephraim of Luntshits contrasts Rivkah’s kindness with the greedy Efron who requested an exorbitant price for the purchase of Sarah’s burial place. The way a person relates to money exposes qualities that gracious words can conceal. Just as silver and gold are tested in a refining vessel, a person’s integrity is tested through financial dealings. Whether someone gives generously or clings to what they possess can reveal the disposition of their heart. Eliezer therefore sought a woman with a good eye, whose generosity would express itself through giving beyond what was requested. Her willingness to offer more would reveal that kindness came from within her, for chesed is the foundation of all good character traits (Rabbi Ephraim of Luntshits, Kli Yakar, Bereishit 24:14). 

In my dating counseling, I therefore encourage women to notice whether their date is generous with both his time and his money. If he is willing to travel to a meeting place more convenient for them and offers to pay for coffee, a meal, or an outing to a museum or zoo, that is an encouraging sign that he, like Rivkah, possesses the character trait of chesed – the most important character trait for a successful marriage.

How Important is Family Lineage When Choosing a Marriage Partner? 

Rivkah’s response to Eliezer’s test revealed not only her kindness in offering to water his ten camels but also her energy to carry it out. She hurried to lower her pitcher, ran back to the well, and continued drawing water until all the camels had finished drinking. She did not merely feel compassion or express a willingness to assist. She undertook a demanding task and completed it. How much can we learn about a prospective spouse by observing his ordinary actions! Does he notice when someone needs something? Does he wait to be asked, or does he take initiative? Does his generosity endure when giving requires time, effort, and inconvenience? A person’s beauty may be immediately apparent, and their family background can be investigated, but the quality of their heart is expressed through their actions.

Rabbi Gavriel Goldfeder offers a further insight into why Rivkah’s response suited Yitzchak in particular. He portrays Yitzchak as someone whose quiet presence and carefully chosen words contain more than they outwardly express. Such a person needs a partner who can recognize the depths within a small gesture and respond to what remains unspoken. Eliezer’s modest request for water became an opportunity for Rivkah to perceive a larger need and expand her response accordingly. She heard a request from one thirsty traveler and recognized that his camels needed water too. This offers a beautiful perspective on compatibility: a suitable spouse can perceive what the other communicates quietly and give it room to unfold. Within marriage, such attentiveness allows us to respond to needs our spouse may find difficult to articulate.
However, the fact that Eliezer gave the bridal gifts before asking about Rivkah’s family, as Rashi explains, suggests that family lineage should not become an absolute prerequisite when seeking a suitable match for one’s children. Rashi attributes Eliezer’s confidence to his trust that Hashem had prospered his journey in Avraham’s merit. Still, it is striking that Rivkah’s kindness had already inspired such confidence before her family identity was confirmed (Rashi, Bereishit 24:23). Family background may guide our search, but we must also recognize the qualities of the individual standing before us. There certainly is room for differences in how much and in which way parents should get involved in selecting suitable marriage partners for their children. Everyone needs to find the right balance of what is suitable for them, with the aim of recognizing and nurturing the foundations upon which a couple can build lasting love.

How Do We Leave Room for Divine Providence in Our Search for a Soulmate?

With all the importance of discerning character, investigating compatibility, and seeking wise guidance, we must not forget Who truly brings two people together. Parents, matchmakers, and dating websites can introduce suitable possibilities, but Hashem is the ultimate Matchmaker. My own unexpected love story reminds me that His ways can reach far beyond our plans. Although I strongly recommend a thoughtful approach to dating, I also believe we must leave room for Hashem to surprise us. Sometimes the person He sends may come through a doorway we never thought to open.

Eliezer’s search embodies this balance between הִשְׁתַּדְּלוּת/hishtadlut – ‘personal effort’ and תְּפִלָּה /tefilah – ‘prayer.’ He undertook a long journey, brought gifts, and carefully considered which qualities would distinguish a suitable wife for Yitzchak. Yet, upon arriving at the well, he turned to Hashem and asked Him to guide the encounter, demonstrating his awareness that success ultimately depended upon Hashem. When Rivkah appeared, he observed her actions, seeking to discern whether Hashem had prospered his way (Bereishit 24:12–21). Recognizing Hashem’s guidance requires an inner openness. We need enough humility to consider that the right person may differ from the image we have formed in our minds.

Rabbi Chaim of Chernowitz adds a further dimension: trust in Hashem’s timing. Why did Avraham receive news of the birth of Rivkah only after the Akeidah? Noting the words “after these things,” he teaches that although Milkah had begun bearing children many years earlier, the news of the birth of Rivkah, Yitzchak’s future wife, reached Avraham only when it became relevant, when Yitzchak – having undergone the Akeidah – was spiritually ready for marriage (Rabbi Chaim of Chernowitz, Be’er Mayim Chayim, Vayera, Bereishit 22:20–21). This teaching invites us to consider our own readiness. Although we may not need to attain Yitzchak’s radical level of self-sacrifice, we still need to work on our own character. As we seek the right person and cultivate the generosity, patience, and emotional openness needed for a shared life, we must ultimately trust Hashem to bring our paths together at the right time. Perhaps this is one of the most important prayers we can offer when seeking a spouse: Hashem, guide my efforts and open my eyes to recognize the qualities that truly matter. Prepare my heart to give and receive love and help me remain receptive to the unexpected ways You may answer me. Eliezer teaches us to do our hishtadlut wholeheartedly while remaining attentive to Hashem’s will throughout. As we prepare ourselves to recognize a giving heart, we leave room for the ultimate Matchmaker to bring our paths together in His time.

Parashat Vayera: Balancing Truth with Compassion - Is Peace Really Greater than Truth, or Can They Be Harmonized?

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Parashat Vayera: Balancing Truth with Compassion

Is Peace Really Greater than Truth, or Can They Be Harmonized?

Must We Always Say Everything for the Sake of Honesty?

Since childhood, I have been unable to lie. I never wanted to, and on the few occasions when someone asked me to, I simply couldn’t. Whatever I said, I knew my clear blue eyes would reveal the truth. I have always valued speaking my truth, though this has sometimes caused conflict when others did not welcome it. Over time, I learned that being truthful does not mean sharing every detail with everyone. Experience has taught me that withholding information can be the right choice when revealing it would needlessly hurt others. Yet, only in my later years have I fully integrated the Talmudic teaching:

תלמוד בבלי, יבמות סה ע״ב

 כְּשֵׁם שֶׁמִּצְוָה עַל אָדָם לוֹמַר דָּבָר הַנִּשְׁמָע, כָּךְ מִצְוָה עַל אָדָם שֶׁלֹּא לוֹמַר דָּבָר שֶׁאֵינוֹ נִשְׁמָע:

Just as it is a mitzvah to say something that will be heeded, so is it a mitzvah not to say something that will not be heeded (Babylonian Talmud, Yevamot 65b).

I have softened over the years and avoided much conflict by holding back from speaking my truth indiscriminately. I have learned to tune in and listen more closely, to consider the person before me, and to filter my words with greater care. I try to adapt both what I say and how I express it to what the other person is ready to hear and accept. Sometimes a concern can be expressed gently at a more suitable moment; at times it is wiser to remain silent and allow the other person space to reach their own understanding. 

When I became Torah observant and learned the laws of shemirat halashon (guarding our speech), I discovered that the truth of a statement alone does not determine whether it should be spoken. The prohibition of Lashon hara (derogatory speech) is defined precisely by being true. False derogatory accusations fall under the still more severe prohibition of motzi shem ra (defamation). This understanding has also helped me become more discerning about what I reveal about myself. Honesty need not become an impulse to confess every mistake, expose every vulnerability, or offer personal details that serve no constructive purpose. I have also learned that it is not always worthwhile or necessary to reveal incriminating information about oneself. Thus, I always tell my students that when dealing with authorities, they need not volunteer every detail that could implicate them. Yet if asked directly, they must always tell the truth.

The same sensitivity belongs in our relationships: we can acknowledge our shortcomings without reducing ourselves to them, just as we can recognize another person’s faults without making those faults our main focus. I am still learning this balance – to speak with integrity while allowing wisdom, kindness, and respect to guide what I share. Parashat Vayera offers a beautiful example of Hashem Himself choosing which words to omit for the sake of peace.

?Must Everything We Hear Be Repeated

Sometimes we hear a remark about someone close to us and feel compelled to pass it on. We may even consider ourselves obligated to give an accurate account of every word. Yet, before repeating something potentially hurtful, we can ask ourselves: What will these words accomplish? In Parashat Vayera, Hashem Himself teaches us to consider how our retelling will affect a relationship: 

ספר בראשית פרק יח פסוק יב וַתִּצְחַק שָׂרָה בְּקִרְבָּהּ לֵאמֹר אַחֲרֵי בְלֹתִי הָיְתָה־לִּי עֶדְנָה וַאדֹנִי זָקֵן:

ספר בראשית פרק יח פסוק יג וַיֹּאמֶר הַשֵׁם אֶל־אַבְרָהָם לָמָּה זֶּה צָחֲקָה שָׂרָה לֵאמֹר הַאַף אֻמְנָם אֵלֵד וַאֲנִי זָקַנְתִּי:

“Sarah laughed within herself, saying, ‘After I have grown old, shall I have renewed pleasure, while my husband is old?’” “Hashem said to Avraham, ‘Why did Sarah laugh, saying, Shall I indeed give birth, when I have grown old?’” (Bereishit 18:12–13). 

When Sarah wondered about her own aging, she added that her husband was old. Yet, when Hashem conveyed her words to Avraham, He omitted her comment about him. Rashi explains that Scripture altered her words for the sake of peace (Rashi, Bereishit 18:13). Bar Kappara emphasizes the greatness of peace: even Scripture changed its account to bring peace between Avraham and Sarah (Pesikta Zutarta, Bereishit 18:13). Hashem addressed Sarah’s laughter without passing on the part of her words that could hurt her husband. We, too, can pause before becoming the messenger of a remark that may create distance between people.

When May We Alter Our Words for the Sake of Peace?

Does protecting peace require compromising truth? The Ramban explains that Hashem’s retelling was entirely true: Sarah’s words about being worn out already referred to her own aging. Hashem omitted only her additional comment about Avraham, rather than reporting that both of them were old (Ramban, Bereishit 18:13). According to this explanation, the change consisted of leaving something out, without saying anything untrue. This offers a deeper understanding of how truth and peace can coexist. Sarah’s concern was conveyed faithfully, even though her exact words were not repeated in full. Hashem conveyed what was necessary to address Sarah’s doubt while omitting her comment about Avraham, teaching us to avoid words that could hurt a husband’s feelings.

The Da’at Zekenim takes this teaching a step further: according to one explanation, while Hashem conveyed only part of Sarah’s words, people are permitted to alter their wording more fully for the sake of peace (Da’at Zekenim, Bereishit 18:13). This requires discernment, especially when we are personally involved. Are we changing our words to protect a relationship, or merely to protect ourselves from embarrassment? Are we helping two people understand one another, or avoiding an uncomfortable admission that could lead to reconciliation? Sometimes preserving peace requires acknowledging a painful truth and taking responsibility for our actions. At other times, repeating a passing criticism gives it a weight and permanence it never deserved. A moment of frustration need not become the lasting picture one person carries of another. The purpose of the change must remain the peace we seek to preserve, guided by sincere concern for the people whose relationship has been entrusted to our words.

How Can We Address a Problem Without Causing Unnecessary Hurt?

Rabbi Yosef Bechor Shor explains that it would have been inconsiderate to reveal to Avraham that Sarah had called him old, lest he take offense (Bechor Shor, Bereishit 18:13). Why would Sarah’s reference to Avraham’s age offend when he already knew how old he was? A fact we readily acknowledge about ourselves can still hurt when we hear that someone we love has spoken of it as a limitation. I recall being deeply touched by a teaching from Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch’s commentary: a husband should never be considered old in his wife’s eyes. Although I have not been able to locate the source again in his writings, this insight has remained close to my heart. Being married to a husband seven years my senior, I have treasured the youthfulness I continue to see in him. I also appreciate his reciprocating by overlooking my wrinkles! There is something beautiful about growing older together while continuing to see the vitality and youthfulness in one another.

The Chizkuni sharpens our understanding of Sarah’s words: Sarah recognized that her own youthfulness had returned, but saw Avraham’s age as the remaining obstacle to having a child. Her words therefore placed the difficulty entirely on him (Chizkuni, Bereishit 18:13). Repeating them could have made Avraham feel blamed. Hashem still addressed the laughter and the doubt it expressed, while withholding the detail that could cause marital hurt. We can learn to distinguish between what needs to be addressed and what needlessly wounds. Before speaking, we might ask: Am I helping this person understand something necessary? Can I convey the concern with greater sensitivity? Especially in our closest relationships, care for another person’s dignity belongs within the way we communicate truth.

How Can Our Words Become a Vessel for Peace and Blessing?

Learning when to speak and when to remain silent is an inner work of bringing different qualities into harmony. Our desire to express truth must meet our compassion and sensitivity to another person’s heart. Rabbi Avraham ben David of Posquières describes shalom as the force that mediates between Chesed (kindness) and Din (judgment), uniting right and left. Peace is an expression of Yesod – the foundation upon which the world stands (The Ra’avad, Sefer Yetzirah 4:1). In our relationships, we can understand this as a call to integrate discernment and compassion. Judgment recognizes what needs correction, while kindness remains attentive to the person who needs to hear it. Peace joins these qualities so that we can address a difficulty while preserving our love and respect for one another. This harmony also prepares us to receive blessing, as our sages teach:

משנה עוקצים פרק ג משנה יב

אָמַר רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן בֶּן חֲלַפְתָּא: לֹא מָצָא הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא כְּלִי מַחֲזִיק בְּרָכָה לְיִשְׂרָאֵל אֶלָּא הַשָּׁלוֹם:

Rabbi Shimon ben Chalafta said: Hashem found no vessel capable of holding blessing for Israel other than peace (Mishnah, Uktzin 3:12).

Just as a vessel enables us to receive and retain what is poured into it, peace allows us to enjoy and sustain the blessings Hashem bestows upon us. Even if a home is filled with material comforts, constant conflict can make it difficult to appreciate them. When there is understanding and goodwill between us, even simple gifts – a shared meal, a quiet evening, or time together – can bring deep fulfillment. 

Rabbi David Leifer teaches that Hashem continually bestows abundance, yet we must become a vessel prepared to receive it. He connects receiving this blessing with going beyond the letter of the law, letting go of resentment, and persevering in our love of peace with others (Ohev Chesed, Parashat Shoftim). Sometimes our insistence on expressing every detail leaves little room for another person. By softening that insistence, we make space for understanding, forgiveness, and renewed closeness. This willingness to forgive and yield opens our hearts to Hashem’s blessing. Rabbi Aharon Perlow explains that our prayers culminate in peace because peace encompasses all the blessings flowing into this world (Beit Aharon, Parashat Pinchas). Returning to Avraham and Sarah, we discover this lofty teaching within the intimacy of marriage. Hashem’s care for Avraham’s feelings – protecting him from words that could wound him – safeguarded their closeness and revealed the preciousness of shalom bayit (peace between husband and wife).  

We, too, can learn to acknowledge a concern without allowing it to obscure the goodness of the person we love. Even as we grow older together, we can continue to regard one another with freshness, appreciation, and hope. Each time we choose our words with care, we help make our relationship a vessel for blessing. May Hashem guide our lips and hearts, so that the truths we speak bring us closer and the words we withhold help our relationships become vessels for His abundant blessings.

Parashat Lech Lecha: Learning from Avraham to Handle Disputes - How Can a Necessary Separation Help Preserve Our Relationships?

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Parashat Lech Lecha: Learning from Avraham to Handle Disputes 
How Can a Necessary Separation Help Preserve Our Relationships?

What Helps Us Learn to Accept Painful Separations?

I have experienced several necessary separations from loved ones, some more painful than others. The hardest was stepping back from a close family member with whom I had shared a beautiful relationship for decades. Over time, that person grew distant and began making unintentionally hurtful remarks about me, each one deepening my wound. Aware of my vulnerability, I realized that although temporarily ending contact would be painful, remaining in a distant and unfulfilling relationship with someone I had once been so close to was even more painful. So, we took a break. I have now worked for years toward reconciliation, and our relationship is gradually improving. I learned to release expectations that close relationships will always remain unchanged. As people move through different stages of life, their needs – and the relationships they seek – also change. I have come to accept that someone I once helped may no longer need my support or friendship in the same way.

The same applies to students: even some of our most enthusiastic students who grew so much in our program under my leadership and through my guidance may at a certain point have received what they need from the midrasha at this stage of their learning. Sometimes they recognize this themselves and decide to move on; at other times, we gently help them recognize that their next step may lie elsewhere. Both situations can be painful, but nevertheless necessary, for the benefit of all involved.   

For decades, a core of beloved staff members brought stability to Midreshet B’erot Bat Ayin. Yet, for some reason, since Corona, staff have come and gone, and I have found myself constantly burdened by the task of training new staff. Yet I do not regret having hired them. I know that Hashem guided me to each staff member, and even if the working relationship didn’t last long, I learned valuable lessons from each of them. I trust that there is a deeper reason why, after having trained a member of my team to finally work totally independently, she would leave for reasons that had nothing to do with the midrasha. If nothing else, at least I have become much more adept at staff training and, perhaps even more important, I have learned patience and gentleness. Who knows, this could be a rectification needed for my prior soul incarnations.  

 

Why Do People Who Love Each Other Sometimes Struggle to Live Together?

Some of our most painful relationship struggles arise with people we have loved and supported for years. We remember our shared journey and wonder what went wrong and how we grew apart. Avraham and his nephew Lot had traveled together from Charan to the Land of Israel, descended to Egypt, and returned. Yet, after their return, the Torah tells us twice in one verse that they could no longer dwell together:

ספר בראשית פרק יג פסוק ו וְלֹא נָשָׂא אֹתָם הָאָרֶץ לָשֶׁבֶת יַחְדָּו כִּי הָיָה רְכוּשָׁם רָב וְלֹא יָכְלוּ לָשֶׁבֶת יַחְדָּו:

“The land could not support them dwelling together, for their possessions were great, and they could not dwell together” (Bereishit 13:6).

 

Why does the verse repeat their inability to live together? The Netziv explains that the difficulty went beyond insufficient pasture. Their natures had grown apart. Lot could maintain a relationship with Avraham from a distance, but their constant proximity had become burdensome. Their extensive possessions brought their households into repeated contact, exposing the differences between them (Ha’amek Davar, Bereishit 13:6). Sometimes we cling to a particular arrangement because we believe that changing it would mean failing the relationship. Yet sharing a home, workplace, or daily routine may place more strain on a relationship than it can bear. Avraham’s experience invites us to consider whether a change in how we relate could help protect the love that remains.

We can glean another layer within their separation from the inner dimension of Torah. Rabbi Yekutiel Zalman Ze’ev Fish reveals in the name of the Arizal that holy souls were concealed within Lot, including Ruth and Na’amah the Ammonite, from whom King David and the continuation of his royal line would emerge. David descended from Ruth; Na’amah became an ancestress of the continuing Davidic dynasty through her marriage to King Solomon.

These souls contained within them further generations of souls and sparks, extending far into the future. Avraham and Lot had begun a process of extracting these sparks during their descent to Egypt. Their subsequent separation formed part of the continuing clarification: Lot’s journey toward Sodom would become the setting from which the souls of David and Mashiach would eventually emerge (Sha’ar HaPesukim, Parashat Lech Lecha, cited and elaborated upon in Sod HaChashmal, Part I, Parashat Miketz, Meraglim Atem – Birur HaNitzotzot B’Mitzrayim).

This hidden process does not make Lot’s choices righteous, but neither did Lot’s spiritual failings erase the holiness concealed within him. Hashem’s purpose can continue unfolding even through human failure and painful separation. Avraham could no longer share his daily life with Lot, yet the latent holiness within his nephew still had a future.

Perhaps this can help us approach our own difficult relationships with greater humility. We may recognize that we cannot continue living or working closely with someone, while acknowledging that we do not see the full purpose of their journey. Creating distance need not mean dismissing the good within them. Sometimes we must release the form a relationship once took and leave room for Hashem to bring forth blessings we cannot yet imagine.

 

How Can We Keep a Disagreement from Becoming a Family Rift?

The dispute began between Avraham’s shepherds and Lot’s shepherds, who allowed their animals to graze in other people’s fields. When Avram’s shepherds rebuked them for this act of robbery, they replied, “The land has been given to Avram, and since he has no son as heir, Lot will be his heir; consequently, this is not robbery.” Scripture, however, states: “The Canaanite and the Perizzite abode then in the land,” so that Avram was not yet entitled to possession (Rashi, Bereishit 13:7).  

Avraham could not preserve harmony by accepting such behavior. Still, he addressed Lot with gentleness:

ספר בראשית פרק יג פסוק ח

וַיֹּאמֶר אַבְרָם אֶל לוֹט אַל נָא תְהִי מְרִיבָה בֵּינִי וּבֵינֶךָ וּבֵין רֹעַי וּבֵין רֹעֶיךָ כִּי אֲנָשִׁים אַחִים אֲנָחְנוּ:

“Please let there be no strife between me and you, or between my shepherds and your shepherds, for we are brothers” (Bereishit 13:8).

Although it was only their shepherds who were quarreling, Avraham foresaw how their dispute could eventually spread to the two of them (Ohr HaChayim, Bereishit 13:8). “The beginning of strife is like letting out water” (Mishlei 17:14). Once water breaks through a barrier, the opening can widen as more water rushes through. Likewise, an unchecked quarrel can grow beyond its original cause and draw others into the conflict (Ha’amek Davar, Bereishit 13:8).

Rabbi Moshe Alshich discerns this danger of escalation in the Torah’s shift fromרִיב/riv – quarrel – to מְרִיבָה/merivah – strife. He interprets the feminine form, merivah, as a quarrel that “gives birth” to further quarrels. What began between a few shepherds could spread throughout both households and eventually divide Avraham and Lot themselves. Avraham therefore pleaded that the existing riv should not become a merivah, multiplying beyond its original bounds (Torat Moshe, Bereishit 13:7–8). His words teach us to address discord while it is still small, before one hurt gives birth to many more. Quarreling is like a poisonous growth: Nip it in the bud!

Rav Tzvi Elimelech of Dinov uncovers a deeper meaning within the word מְרִיבָה/merivah – “strife.” The names לוֹט/Lot and אָדָם/Adam both have the numerical value of 45. The name אָדָם/Adam also forms an acronym for אָדָם/Adam, וִדדָּ/David, and שִׁיחַמָ/Mashiach. Concealed within Lot was the spark of Mashiach ben David, still awaiting its emergence from spiritual concealment.

The word מְרִיבָה contains the letters רִיב/riv – quarrel – within the letters מ and ה, which together also equal 45. Avraham’s plea thus carries a hidden prayer: do not allow the quarrel to enter the inner holiness represented by Adam, the potential for David and Mashiach concealed within Lot (Agra D’Kala, p. 92b).

Avraham recognized the holy potential within Lot even amid their conflict. As he addressed the wrongdoing, he sought to protect that hidden holiness within his nephew. This offers us a deeper reason to keep disagreements from consuming our relationships. When hurt takes over, we may begin to see another person entirely through the conflict, forgetting the good we once recognized in them. We can address what is wrong while guarding our awareness of their deeper worth. Avraham acted while they could still speak to each other as brothers. We, too, can strive to resolve a disagreement before it obscures everything else we know about one another.

 

Can We Create Distance Without Giving Up on a Brother or Sister?

Avraham’s request to separate follows immediately after his affirmation of brotherhood. He wanted to prevent further conflict while preserving his care for Lot:

ספר בראשית פרק יג פסוק ט הֲלֹא כָל הָאָרֶץ לְפָנֶיךָ הִפָּרֶד נָא מֵעָלָי אִם הַשְּׂמֹאל וְאֵימִנָה וְאִם הַיָּמִין וְאַשְׂמְאִילָה:

“Is not the whole land before you? Please separate from me. If you go left, I will go right; if you go right, I will go left” (Bereishit 13:9).

The Netziv notices the kindness within this offer. Avraham did not place the entire burden of moving on Lot. He not only offered to share the inconvenience but also allowed Lot to choose first (Ha’amek Davar, Bereishit 13:9). Rashi reveals a further reassurance within his words: wherever Lot settled, Avraham would remain by his side, ready to protect and help him (Rashi, Bereishit 13:9). Even in separation, Avraham took care to preserve Lot’s dignity and reassure him of his continued support.

Distance was nevertheless necessary for Avraham’s spiritual life. After Lot’s departure, Hashem spoke to him, inviting him to lift his eyes and see the Land, since Lot’s presence had prevented this Divine communication (Rashi, Bereishit 13:14). Avraham needed the freedom to fulfill his calling, yet when Lot was taken captive, he made great efforts to rescue him.  Although Lot had withdrawn from their brotherhood, Avraham still treated him as a brother when he needed saving (Be’er Mayim Chayim, Bereishit 13:10–13).

Even after Lot chose the company of the wicked, Avraham risked his life to save him. Such love can awaken goodness in another person. Later, in Sodom, Lot risked his own safety to welcome and protect his guests. Avraham’s willingness to come to his aid inspired Lot to also extend himself for others. This teaches us never to give up on our brother or sister (Reb Shlomo Carlebach, teaching on Avraham and Lot).

We cannot force someone to remain close to us or choose the path we hope they will follow. We can, however, strive to preserve our faith in the holiness within them. Sometimes we need distance to serve Hashem with clarity, while leaving our hearts open to whatever kindness we can offer.

Avraham’s example gives us hope that love expressed at the right moment can inspire goodness where years of guidance could not. Despite the separation – and perhaps even because of it – we may find ourselves no less connected in spirit, able to help our brother or sister in ways that were not possible when we were closer. We may never see how far that kindness travels, but it can awaken another act of kindness, allowing the goodness we shared to continue growing beyond our time together.

Parashat Noach: Preserving the Divine Image - How Does Modesty Preserve the Dignity of Parents and Mentors?

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Parashat Noach: Preserving the Divine Image 

How Does Modesty Preserve the Dignity of Parents and Mentors?

Why Do I Make an Effort to Keep My Body Covered in Front of My Students?

I participate weekly in our Meditative Movement classes at Midreshet B’erot Bat Ayin. These classes offer a precious opportunity to step away from words and connect with Hashem through movement, breathing, and awareness of our bodies. Although we are only women exercising together in the yurt, and I leave the students free to wear shorts, tank tops, or whatever is comfortable for them, I make a conscious effort to keep my own body covered in their presence. On Tuesdays, I choose a long tunic, skirt, and leggings so that I can move freely while remaining modestly dressed. When we reach the balancing exercises and my skirt gets in the way, I quietly remove it, knowing that my tunic and leggings still provide substantial coverage.

Beyond general modesty and cultivating the awareness that we are always walking before the King of Kings, I am mindful of the special relationship between a Torah teacher and her students. Closeness and warmth are essential to teaching, yet so are the boundaries that preserve respect. Our Sages teach that a son should not bathe together with his father while unclothed, and that a student should not bathe with his Torah teacher unless the teacher needs his assistance (Babylonian Talmud, Pesachim 51a). Although our movement class is a different situation, these teachings deepen my sensitivity to how I present myself before my students. 

In many Jewish communities, men immerse in a mikvah every Friday as a minhag (custom) in honor of Shabbat. I remember my sons taking care to wait until their father returned from the mikvah before going themselves. This quiet consideration expressed their respect for him without diminishing the warmth of their relationship. 

The fifth commandment, “Honor your father and mother…” (Shemot 20:12), calls us to look beyond our parents’ physical presence and recognize the Divine image within them. A parent or teacher is human, with a body, vulnerabilities, and imperfections. Honor and respect involve focusing on a person’s Divine image, which shines through the face and expresses their inner kedusha. Seeing the naked body of a parent or teacher can shift our attention from that spiritual presence to their physical being, diminishing the reverence with which we regard them. Therefore, when I keep my body covered before my students, I seek to preserve their awareness of the Divine image within me and carry myself with the dignity appropriate to the Torah I hope to impart.

Why is it Important to Take the First Step to Protect Our Family’s Dignity?

The Torah gives us a model for how to respond when a parent or mentor becomes exposed. In Parashat Noach, Cham’s response to his father’s nakedness contrasts with Shem and Yefet’s careful covering of him. When a parent or someone we respect behaves in an embarrassing way, we may feel disappointed, uncomfortable, or unsure how to respond. We can draw further attention to the incident by discussing it with others, or we can quietly help the person regain their dignity. Shem and Yefet did more than refrain from mocking their father. They responded to his exposed state with practical care, covering him with a garment.

בראשית פרק ט פסוק כג וַיִּקַּח שֵׁם וָיֶפֶת אֶת־הַשִּׂמְלָה וַיָּשִׂימוּ עַל־שְׁכֶם שְׁנֵיהֶם וַיֵּלְכוּ אֲחֹרַנִּית וַיְכַסּוּ אֵת עֶרְוַת אֲבִיהֶם וּפְנֵיהֶם אֲחֹרַנִּית וְעֶרְוַת אֲבִיהֶם לֹא רָאוּ:

“Shem and Yefet took the garment, placed it on both their shoulders, and walked backward to cover their father’s nakedness. Their faces were turned backward, and they did not see their father’s nakedness” (Bereishit 9:23).

Why does the Torah mention Shem before Yefet, even though Yefet was older as the Torah emphasizes “the brother of Yefet the elder” (Bereishit 10:21)? Shem showed greater diligence in fulfilling the mitzvah and therefore received the greater blessing (Bechor Shor, Bereishit 9:23). Rashi notices a further indication of Shem’s initiative in the word וַיִּקַּח/vayikach – “he took.” The Torah uses the singular rather than וַיִּקְחוּ/vayikchu – ‘they took’ to teach that Shem exerted himself more in the mitzvah (Rashi, Bereishit 9:23). Shem did not wait for his older brother to take responsibility. His father needed help, and he took the first step.

Although Shem took the initiative, both brothers shared equally in covering their father (Pesikta Zutarta, Bereishit 9:23). Each brother placed part of the garment on his own shoulder (Ibn Ezra, Bereishit 9:23). This teaches us that our first step can inspire others to help. Instead of drawing someone into a conversation about a family member’s embarrassing behavior, we can invite them to join us in offering practical support.

How Can We Help Without Focusing on Another Person’s Shame?

Shem and Yefet’s care in covering their father finds an echo in the halachic teachings about preserving respect for parents and Torah teachers. Following Rambam, Shulchan Aruch rules that a student should not enter a bathhouse with his Torah teacher unless the teacher needs his assistance (Rambam, Hilchot Issurei Biah 21:16; Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh De’ah 242:16). Rema clarifies that the restrictions concerning one’s teacher and father apply when nakedness is exposed; when the private parts are covered, entering together is permitted.

Why does the Torah repeat that Shem and Yefet’s faces were turned backward? Having already told us that they walked backward, would we not understand that they avoided seeing their father’s nakedness? Rashi explains that even when they came close and needed to turn their bodies to cover him, they kept their faces turned away (Rashi, Bereishit 9:23). Their concern for his dignity continued through the act of helping. They did not use their good deed as permission to look. 

Rabbi Ovadia Sforno adds a tender insight: even while covering their father, when turning toward him might have seemed necessary, they avoided looking so that they would not add to their own sorrow (Sforno, Bereishit 9:23). Shem and Yefet attended to his need without unnecessarily taking in a distressing sight. This suggests a delicate balance in human relationships. We need enough understanding to offer appropriate help, but we do not always need to know every painful or embarrassing detail. When a parent, spouse, or friend is struggling, concern can easily become curiosity. Shem and Yefet teach us to ask: What do I need to know to help, and what can I leave respectfully unseen?

Rabbi Moshe Alshich deepens this teaching by asking why the brothers walked backward rather than simply approaching with their eyes closed. He explains that their faces bore the holiness of the Divine image. They did not want even their faces turned toward their father’s nakedness, despite having their eyes shut (Alshich, Bereishit 9:23). Their approach reflected an awareness of the holiness within themselves. We, too, can bring that awareness into moments when another person’s vulnerability is placed before us.

Their restraint protected both their father’s dignity and the holiness of their own encounter with him. Applied to our relationships, perhaps this means that respect involves more than withholding a hurtful comment. It also shapes the way we regard others. We can acknowledge a weakness without allowing it to become the defining image we carry of that person.

What Does Another Person’s Weakness Reveal About Our Own?

The words “they did not see their father’s nakedness” can also teach us about how we perceive another person’s shortcomings. Cham responded to his father’s vulnerability with disgrace rather than care. Shem and Yefet, by contrast, took steps to protect his dignity without dwelling on his shame.

They recognized what needed their attention without making his failing the focus of their gaze.
The Ba’al Shem Tov’s teaching that another person can serve as our mirror invites us to examine our response when we notice a fault. Although this does not necessarily mean that we have committed the same act, we may have a trace of that transgression, or something corresponding to it, within ourselves. For example, witnessing idolatry may call our attention to our own anger, which our Sages compare to idolatry (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 105b). We are shown the failing from Heaven so that we will examine ourselves and do teshuvah (Ba’al Shem Tov al HaTorah, Bereishit §129, citing Rav Yeivi, Tehillim 22).

Yet we must distinguish between seeing a flaw that calls for self-examination and recognizing a need that calls us to help the other person. If our attention centers on judging the person, the encounter calls us to look inward. If our attention centers on what we can do to help, the encounter becomes an opportunity to act. Shem and Yefet understood that their father needed covering; they did not dwell on his disgrace (Likkutei Sichot, vol. 10, pp. 24–29, as presented in “To See or Not To See”).

This gives us a practical question to carry into our relationships: Why am I continuing to think about this person’s weakness? Perhaps there is something within myself that needs attention. Perhaps there is something I can do for them. We need not pretend that the difficulty does not exist. Like Shem and Yefet, we can recognize what needs to be covered and repaired while refusing to make another person’s failing the focus of our gaze.

Can One Act of Respect Become a Legacy for Generations?

The garment that Shem and Yefet carried became more than a covering for one vulnerable father. An act performed quietly within a family can have consequences far beyond what we can imagine. Hashem does not withhold the reward of any creature, even across many generations (Pesikta Zutarta, Bereishit 9:23). Because Shem exerted himself in this mitzvah, his descendants merited the tallit of tzitzit. Yefet’s descendants merited burial, another form of dignified covering (Rashi, Bereishit 9:23). The Kli Yakar asks why tzitzit is also a reward for Avraham’s refusal to accept even “a thread or a shoe strap” (Babylonian Talmud, Chullin 89a), when Shem had already earned this reward for his descendants. He explains that Shem’s act earned the garment, while Avraham’s act earned the thread. Before a person can attach tzitzit, Hashem must first provide the garment to which they can be attached (Kli Yakar, Bereishit 9:23).
There is something beautiful in this connection: the garment used to protect a father’s dignity becomes the dignified garment of tzitzit through which his descendants serve Hashem. Covering Noach’s nakedness is also related to the power of tzitzit to guard against forbidden sexual behavior. The covering and its reward both express restraint and the preservation of proper boundaries (Kli Yakar, Bereishit 9:23). We can also understand this as a lesson about the atmosphere we create in our homes. When children see us respond to another person’s embarrassing moment with discretion and practical kindness, they learn how to treat vulnerability. When we resist repeating a humiliating story, offer help discreetly, or preserve respect for a parent despite a painful failing, we pass on a way of relating. We may never know how far that example will travel, but we can choose to leave a legacy of kindness and respect. Whether in a movement class, a family affair, or a moment of another person’s vulnerability, the care we take to honor the Divine image can become a quiet lesson in dignity for generations to come.

Parashat Bereishit: A Taste of the Tree of Life - What Does the Torah Say about Rectified Relationships with Animals?

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Parashat Bereishit: A Taste of the Tree of Life

What Does the Torah Say about Rectified Relationships with Animals?

Can Close Relationships with Animals Replace Human Relationships? 

Proper relationships between people and animals have come up for me lately. That is, various potential students have wanted to not only enroll in the midrasha with their dog; moreover, they consider their dog an inseparable part of themselves, like a life partner. 

One woman described how her dog comforted her after the loss of both parents at a young age and years of longing for a husband and child. After many years of pain, Jackie entered her life. “This doggie healed my heart and soul in a way no human can imagine,” and she no longer feels the “unhealthy desire for a husband or child.” “When I say ‘we,’ I mean it.” She calls Jackie her ‘baby’ and believes the dog has ‘a certain spark of Jewishness in her soul. She moreover declares, “She is Israeli and Me too,” and she longs to build a Jewish life in Israel with her “baby” Jackie. Another woman described rescuing her dog from a house crowded with 120 dogs. She compared the rescue of “Zoey Bracha” to Moshe Rabbeinu searching for and carrying a lost sheep. She also pointed to a tattoo on the dog that “adds up to 18 – Chai” and described Zoey as her emotional support, complete with a badge and a psychiatrist’s letter. She calls her Zoey a “perfect mooksah dog” because no one can touch her. She explained that the dog could remain in a knapsack or stroller – “Viewing only! no touching” – and she can be left in a bedroom as long as she feels safe. This woman wrote me that she hoped I might have “a change of heart” about allowing her to bring the dog to the midrasha. 

Both women speak from real pain, and caring for a vulnerable animal can be a mitzvah. Yet it saddens me to see how disappointment in human relationships can lead someone to despair of finding human closeness and give an animal the place of a life partner. I also find it deeply troubling when care for animals becomes a substitute for human closeness, or when a dog is spoken of as a child, a spiritual companion, or the other half of “we.” 

Parashat Bereishit brings this question into focus: After Hashem brought the animals before Adam, why was none of them found to be an ezer kenegdo – a fitting companion for him? These are just examples of the many women I come across who make me wonder whether an animal is being given a place in their spiritual and emotional lives that the Torah asks us to reserve for human companionship.

Why Couldn’t an Animal Be Adam’s Companion?

ספר בראשית פרק ב פסוק כ 

וַיִּקְרָא הָאָדָם שֵׁמוֹת לְכָל הַבְּהֵמָה וּלְעוֹף הַשָּׁמַיִם וּלְכֹל חַיַּת הַשָּׂדֶה וּלְאָדָם לֹא מָצָא עֵזֶר כְּנֶגְדּוֹ׃

“Adam gave names to all the cattle, to the birds of the heavens, and to every beast of the field; but for Adam, no ezer kenegdo – fitting companion – was found” (Bereishit 2:20).

Ramban explains that Hashem did not create Chava immediately. First, Adam needed to recognize for himself that among all the other creatures there was no appropriate partner for him. Only after encountering the animals and realizing that none could correspond to him did Adam yearn for a companion of his own kind. Thus, the encounter with the animals was actually part of preparing Adam to recognize his need for human companionship (Ramban, Bereishit 2:20).
This is striking because Adam’s conclusion did not arise from failing to appreciate the animals. On the contrary, he understood them so profoundly that he was able to discern the essential nature of each creature and give it an appropriate name. Yet the more clearly Adam understood the animals, the more clearly he recognized that none of them could be his other half.

Rav Hirsch adds that Adam could find no creature corresponding to him who could share in the great responsibility entrusted to the human being created in Hashem’s image. An animal may offer affection, comfort, loyalty, and even emotional healing, but it cannot stand alongside a person as a fellow bearer of human spiritual and moral responsibility (Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch, Bereishit 2:20).

Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin notices that through contemplating the various animals and their distinctive qualities, Adam came to recognize the many different middot contained within himself. Yet the companion he needed was not simply someone who would mirror him. A woman would possess complementary middot, and precisely through being different from him – kenegdo – she could become his true other half. Human relationship therefore includes the challenge of encountering another person who does not always think, feel, or respond as we do. According to Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, that very difference can become a source of help and growth (Ha’amek Davar, Bereishit 2:20). Perhaps this is part of what makes replacing human companionship with an animal so problematic. A relationship with an animal may sometimes feel safer precisely because the animal does not confront us with the same complexity, differences, demands, and reciprocal responsibility as another human being. Yet some of what makes human relationships difficult may be precisely what enables us to grow.

What was the Very First Mistake in the Garden that Caused Humanity’s Downfall?

The Torah’s account of the serpent follows immediately after the creation of Chava as Adam’s unique human companion. Yet the serpent was not content to remain within its proper place in creation: 

בראשית פרק ג  פסוק א וְהַנָּחָשׁ הָיָה עָרוּם מִכֹּל חַיַּת הַשָּׂדֶה אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה הַשֵּׁם אֱלֹהִים וַיֹּאמֶר אֶל הָאִשָּׁה אַף כִּי אָמַר אֱלֹהִים לֹא תֹאכְלוּ מִכֹּל עֵץ הַגָּן׃

“Now the serpent was cunning, more than all the beasts of the field that Hashem G-d had made, and it said to the woman, ‘Did G-d indeed say, “You shall not eat of any of the trees of the garden?’” (Bereishit 3:1).

Rashi, citing the Midrash, explains that when the serpent saw Adam and Chava together, it desired Chava (Rashi, Bereishit 3:1; Bereishit Rabbah 18:6). The Midrash goes even further. Hashem rebuked the serpent, “You sought to kill Adam and marry Chava” (Bereishit Rabbah 20:5). Thus, the very animal that could never become a human being’s fitting companion sought to come between the first husband and wife and usurp Adam’s place.

Chava’s first mistake was engaging the serpent in conversation. Rather than leaving the serpent “to bark,” Chava allowed herself to be enticed by it. The serpent then realized that it had an opening: “Now that she has begun speaking with me, I will tempt her.” Rather than remaining a creature under human dominion, the serpent became a voice Chava listened to and responded to. By entering into dialogue with the serpent, Chava opened herself to its influence (Sefer HaPeli’ah, Vayomer el ha’ishah af ki amar Elokim).

The Tikkunei Zohar describes the serpent’s method of communication as particularly deceptive: Its heart was filled with falsehood, while its mouth enticed Chava with words that sounded true (Tikkunei Zohar, Tikkun 59, 93a). This was not merely a conversation about eating a forbidden fruit. Through the serpent, distorted communication entered the most intimate human relationship. The serpent spoke deceptively to Chava; Chava ate and gave the fruit to Adam; and soon afterward Adam, who had just proclaimed Chava “bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh,” blamed her before Hashem.

The serpent therefore succeeded, at least temporarily, in what it set out to accomplish: it created conflict between Adam and Chava. The first human relationship, created in perfect unity, became infected with deception, blame, and separation. The consequences of that rupture reach far beyond Gan Eden.

Do We Dare to Repair the Interpersonal Rift Initiated by the Serpent?

We are still living with the consequences of what happened in Gan Eden. The serpent introduced deception and distrust into the first human relationship, and Adam and Chava’s original unity gave way to blame and separation. Rabbi Yeshaya Horowitz teaches that the world has not yet reached the original intention of Creation “until the damage is repaired.” When that tikkun takes place, the darkness will return to light, and the resulting light will be even greater than before the sin (Shelah HaKadosh, Toldot Adam, Beit David). This gives us hope that the rifts originating in Gan Eden are not irreversible. We are challenged to repair our relationships by overcoming the yetzer hara that divides us and learning to communicate honestly, forgive, and reconnect.

What Is the Proper Place for Animals in Human Life?

The Torah assigns animals an important place in human life, but not the place of human beings. When Hashem created humanity, He commanded, “Be fruitful and multiply, fill the earth and subdue it, and rule over the fish of the sea, the birds of the heavens, and every living creature that moves upon the earth” (Bereishit 1:28). Animals are to be cared for appropriately while serving the purposes for which Hashem created them. Dogs can guard our homes and communities against intruders and danger; cats can help keep snakes, scorpions, mice, and rats away; and countless animals contribute to human life and the balance of creation in their own ways. We can appreciate animals, protect them from suffering, and benefit from their special qualities without confusing their role with the uniquely human relationship.

This brings us full circle to the close relationships with animals with which we began. Animals can comfort us, bring us joy, and awaken our compassion, but they cannot replace the challenging work of human relationships. It may sometimes feel safer to give our heart to an animal than to risk disappointment, misunderstanding, and hurt from another person. Yet perhaps precisely there lies our tikkun (rectification). Rather than allowing painful human relationships to make us retreat from one another, we are called to heal the separation that began in Gan Eden – and allow ourselves to be vulnerable, take risks, and rediscover the human closeness for which we were created.