By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz
Iran hung over Israel, the United States, and much of the Arab world like an albatross for nearly half a century following the Islamic Revolution of 1979. During those decades, successive American presidents promised to contain the regime, restrain its ambitions, or reform its behavior. None succeeded.
Instead, the ayatollahs grew steadily bolder. They financed and armed terror proxies across the Middle East, spread terror and instability through Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Houthis, threatened shipping lanes and oil supplies, and relentlessly advanced toward nuclear capability. As time went on, Iran entrenched itself even further.
For years, Israeli Prime Minister Binyomin Netanyahu warned the world about Iran and the danger it represented. Most Western leaders treated his warnings with discomfort or irritation. Barack Obama openly despised him and viewed Netanyahu as an obstacle to diplomacy. Joe Biden was similarly distrustful of him and his confrontational approach.
The first American president willing to embrace Netanyahu’s view of Iran was Donald Trump. Together with Israel, the United States eventually crossed a line previous administrations feared to cross, striking Iranian nuclear facilities during last year’s 12-Day War. More recently, they undertook a joint operation to degrade Iran and permanently remove the threat it represented.
Iran suffered devastating blows. Military infrastructure was damaged. The Ayatollah Supreme Leader and senior commanders were eliminated. Yet, authoritarian regimes possess a grim advantage over democracies: They can absorb enormous suffering without changing course. Tyrannies do not answer to public exhaustion, economic pain, or mounting casualties in the same way elected governments do. So regardless of how hard they are hit and how much they suffer, they absorb the blows and continue forward.
The military success exposed an older and more difficult problem: It is relatively easy to begin a war. The hard part is ending it.
Democracies grow weary quickly. Citizens expect results, timelines, and exits. They measure wars in news cycles and election seasons. Dictatorships measure them in generations.
That is the dilemma now confronting Trump and Netanyahu. Bombing campaigns can weaken a regime, but unless the regime collapses or surrenders completely, the question becomes: What comes next?
Trump wants to be remembered not as a wartime president trapped in another endless Middle Eastern conflict, but as a dealmaker and peacemaker. Ceasefires are declared, promises are extracted, negotiations resume, and the cycle begins again.
Trump no longer allows Netanyahu to lead him. He wants a way out, and Netanyahu does not appear to have one. Trump declared a ceasefire many weeks ago. Iran promised to keep the Strait of Hormuz open and negotiate an end to its nuclear ambitions. Neither has happened, and now a new deal is being negotiated that allows the tyrants to remain in power while once again accepting their word regarding keeping the strait open and negotiating an end to their nuclear program.
And perhaps that is the larger lesson.
Human beings often rush into conflicts, relationships, policies, and wars driven by emotion, instinct, or necessity, without seriously considering how they will conclude if events do not unfold according to plan. Beginning something is easy. Ending it wisely is much harder.
Children grab for toys without thinking beyond the moment. They see a toy and want to play with it. If another child has it or wants it and resists, the struggle escalates instinctively. Neither child can yet speak, so they grab and fight.
Maturity means developing the ability to see beyond the immediate impulse, to anticipate consequences, to understand limits, and to recognize that force alone rarely resolves complex struggles.
Growing up means learning to live with insight instead of inclination.
Not every adult fully learns that lesson.
Some people move through life reacting emotionally to every frustration, temptation, and provocation. They begin conflicts without considering how difficult they may be to end. They make decisions based on momentary feelings instead of long-term consequences.
People often rush into things emotionally, impulsively, or reactively, without considering the consequences, the endings, the costs, or whether they even have a plan.
Nations are often not much different.
Military campaigns can begin with dramatic speeches and decisive action. But once events fail to unfold according to plan, leaders suddenly discover that there is no simple exit. Democracies grow impatient. New leaders replace old ones. Temporary victories create new complications; overwhelming power cannot always produce a clean or permanent solution.
And so the world finds itself trapped in cycles that nobody fully thought through from the beginning.
But this problem is not limited to governments and wars.
In truth, people do this every day in their private lives.
A person says something sharp in anger without thinking where the argument will lead. Someone makes a reckless purchase without considering the consequences.
Human beings are often captivated by the immediate moment. We want something, so we reach for it. We are hurt, so we strike back. We are angry, so we react.
But mature thinking involves the ability to pause and ask not only, “What do I want right now?” but also, “Where will this lead?”
Wisdom is not merely the ability to act. It is the ability to think ahead.
Before speaking, before fighting, before committing, before reacting, before investing time, money, or prestige into a project, a person must ask himself: What happens if this does not work out? Where will this step that I am taking lead me? And what will this decision demand of me tomorrow, next month, or years from now?
Anyone can start something. Intelligence and maturity mean understanding the cost of finishing it, and sometimes not getting involved in the first place.
The Brisker Rov would illustrate this idea with a moshol about a young baal agalah whose wagon veered off the road and became stuck in thick mud.
The driver strained with all his might to free the wagon. He whipped his poor horses repeatedly, pushed at the wheels, and tried every trick he knew, but the wagon only sank deeper. Exhausted and frustrated, he realized that he had no choice but to trudge into town to seek advice from the veteran wagon drivers gathered at the local inn.
Spotting one baal agalah who looked particularly seasoned and wise, the young man approached him and poured out his troubles.
“I’ve tried everything,” he said desperately. “Nothing works. Tell me, how do I get out of this mess?”
The older driver listened quietly and then replied: “My dear friend, you are right. Once a wagon sinks that deeply into the mud, it is impossible to get out. But an experienced baal agalah knows that the real wisdom is not in figuring out how to escape the mud afterward, it is knowing how not to get stuck in it.”
That lesson applies not only to wagon drivers, but to nations and individuals as well.
For decades, the world allowed Iran to become entrenched, believing that somehow the problem could always be managed later through diplomacy, sanctions, threats, or limited military action. Now leaders across the world are struggling to answer a question that should have been asked long ago: How do you get out of a situation that was permitted to grow unchecked for nearly half a century?
But the lesson is not only about Iran. It is about us.
In life, people often act first and think later. They speak in anger and only afterward wonder how to repair the damage. They enter conflicts, commitments, and situations without considering where they may lead. Emotion and impulse overpower judgment and foresight.
The wise person tries to think several steps ahead before acting.
Anyone can charge ahead impulsively. Wisdom lies in seeing the mud before the wagon sinks into it.
Chazal reinforce this lesson in this week’s parsha. Rashi (6:2), quoting the Gemara (Sotah 2a), asks why the parsha of nozir immediately follows the parsha of sotah. He explains, “Loma nismicha parshas nozir l’parshas sotah, lomar loch shekol haroeh sotah b’kilkulah yazir atzmo min hayayin — Whoever sees a sotah in her disgrace should forbid himself from drinking wine.”
At first glance, the lesson seems difficult to understand. The person we are referring to has just witnessed the terrible consequences of sin. He has seen humiliation, pain, and destruction. We would think that the experience would strengthen his resolve never to sin.
Yet, Chazal understood human nature differently.
Being exposed to sin, even while witnessing its consequences, can weaken a person’s natural revulsion toward aveirah. The very exposure creates familiarity. The boundaries become less absolute. What once seemed unthinkable slowly becomes imaginable.
Therefore, the Torah says that someone who witnessed the sotah in her disgrace must take protective action. He must reinforce himself before temptation arrives. He must become a nozir and distance himself from wine so that he will not be led to spiritual failure. Transgressing an aveirah begins with small compromises, lowered defenses, and the mistaken belief that “it could never happen to me.”
That is the deeper lesson the Torah is teaching.
A wise person does not merely react once he is trapped in the mud. He thinks ahead and protects himself before reaching dangerous ground.
And if this is true regarding a sotah, where the person who committed the aveirah is disgraced and suffering the consequences, how much more so must a person be careful when surrounded by sinners who appear successful, happy, and carefree. When an aveirah is packaged attractively, when wrongdoing appears glamorous or rewarding, the danger becomes far greater.
The Torah therefore teaches us that a person must always think several steps ahead. We must know where certain roads lead, even when the beginning appears harmless or pleasurable. We must understand that aveirah always leads to kilkul.
Similarly, Chazal teach us in Pirkei Avos, “Hevei mechasheiv hefsed mitzvah keneged sechorah, usechar aveirah keneged hefseidah.”
When it feels difficult or costly to do a mitzvah, Chazal recommend thinking about the eternal reward it brings and recognizing that the temporary sacrifice is insignificant compared to the everlasting gain. And when an aveirah appears profitable, enjoyable, or enticing, think ahead to the spiritual damage, the loss, and the consequences it will inevitably bring.
The Torah is teaching us to live not by impulse, but by thought.
Sinners and fools live only in the moment, swept along by temptation, emotion, and desire. Bnei Torah are meant to live differently. A ben Torah thinks before he acts. He looks beyond the excitement of the moment and considers where a path ultimately leads before taking the first step down the road.
And no person should imagine themself immune to influence.
People often assume that they can read whatever they wish, expose themselves to questionable ideas and lifestyles, and remain untouched by them. They convince themselves that seeing improper behavior, hearing distorted attitudes, or consuming foolishness — and worse — will not affect their thinking or weaken their values.
But the Torah teaches otherwise.
Chazal understood that exposure itself changes a person. What once shocked him slowly becomes normal. What was unacceptable gradually loses its ugliness. The yeitzer hora rarely succeeds through sudden collapse. It works slowly, eroding sensitivities little by little until a person no longer recognizes how far he has drifted.
When the Second World War ended, many of the refugees of the Mir Yeshiva who had survived the war years in Shanghai emigrated to the United States. Among them was the great mashgiach, Rav Yechezkel Levenstein. Yet, he found himself unable to remain here for long.
He explained that when he first arrived in America, the sight of public chillul Shabbos horrified him. Seeing cars driving on Shabbos caused him deep pain. But as time passed, he noticed that he was becoming accustomed to it. The shock was fading. That realization frightened him so deeply that he left America and moved to Eretz Yisroel.
Today, many of us are fortunate to live in neighborhoods where Shabbos is publicly honored and cherished. The streets are quiet, the stores are closed, and the atmosphere itself reflects kedushas Shabbos. But no person should believe that he is beyond influence. Even if our streets are sheltered, our minds and hearts are constantly exposed to a world filled with temptations, distractions, and values profoundly at odds with Torah.
The lesson of the nozir is as relevant today as ever. We must think ahead. We must protect ourselves before the struggle begins. We must recognize which influences strengthen us and which slowly weaken us, even when the damage is not immediately visible.
After having just experienced the beautiful Yom Tov of Shavuos, we should carry this message with us. “Loma nismicha chag Shavuos l’parshas nozir.” At Har Sinai, on Shavuos, we were given a way of life through the Torah that teaches us to live thoughtfully, carefully, and deliberately. We need to ask ourselves where what we are doing will lead, what type of person it will make us, and whether it will bring us closer to Hashem or further away.
The world often glorifies spontaneity and living for the moment. Torah teaches responsibility, foresight, and self-awareness. It teaches us to see the mud before the wagon sinks into it. It teaches us to be a mamleches kohanim v’goy kadosh.
May we all merit living lives of Torah and mitzvos and merit the coming of Moshiach very soon.
