By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz
To say that we are living in historic times would be an understatement. The United States and Israel undertook a major effort to strip Iran of its ability to threaten the world with nuclear weapons. Over the course of more than a month, thousands of sorties were flown over Iranian territory with minimal interference, and over 30,000 bombs were dropped on a wide range of strategic targets. Much of Iran’s military infrastructure was significantly damaged, including key elements of its missile production capability.
However, despite these blows, Iran retains significant residual capacity. It continues to possess enriched uranium necessary for nuclear weapons development, maintains the ability to launch attacks against Israel and several Arab Gulf states, and still holds leverage over global energy markets through its control of the Strait of Hormuz, through which roughly 20% of the world’s oil supply passes.
President Trump and Prime Minister Netanyahu agreed to a two-week ceasefire, which remains in effect as of this writing. However, negotiations stalled over Iran’s refusal to meet key demands, including a full halt to uranium enrichment, the dismantling of its nuclear infrastructure, an end to supporting terrorist proxies, the opening of the Strait of Hormuz, and a broader commitment to regional peace. At this point, it remains unclear whether, or when, the United States and Israel will resume military operations against Iran.
Yet, beyond the strategic developments and geopolitical calculations, as Torah Jews, we know that history is never only shaped on the battlefield. Events of this magnitude tend to sharpen our awareness that beneath the headlines and beyond the arena of nations, there are deeper forces at work. Chazal state (Avodah Zora 2b) that Hakadosh Boruch Hu says, “Milchamos Ani osisi, shene’emar Hashem ish milchomah—Hashem is the one who fights the wars,” though we can affect their outcomes through our actions. Many gedolim have spoken of the correlation between Israel being under attack and the country’s ongoing court-imposed battles against yeshivos.
Shuvu, the network of kiruv schools in Eretz Yisroel, is facing a serious financial emergency, prompting three Gedolim to travel to the New York area this week on its behalf. Rav Moshe Hillel Hirsch, Rav Shimon Galei, and Rav Yehuda Silman addressed gatherings, underscoring the critical importance of sustaining an organization that brings children and their families closer to Torah. Support for Torah causes is always essential, but especially in times of danger, when Klal Yisroel needs added zechuyos. Helping bring children tachas kanfei haShechinah is a unique and powerful source of merit, clearly significant enough for these leaders to undertake the journey to strengthen Shuvu’s vital work.
The war brought to mind the statement of the Pesikta Rabbosi (37:2) which I paraphrase here: Rabi Yitzchok stated that the year in which the Melech HaMoshiach will reveal himself, the leaders of the world will be fighting with each other. The leader of Poras (Iran) will be fighting with the leader of Arabia, and the leader of Arabia will go to Edom for advice and help, and the leader of Poras will seek to destroy the world; the nations of the world will become fearful and fall on their faces as they are overcome with pangs similar to birth pangs.
As we entered Nissan, the month of geulah, we were reminded of this Medrash, and as we celebrated Pesach, which is the Yom Tov of geulah, and the fighting continued and then abated, we were hopeful that the war, its bombardments, and Iran’s refusal to accede to America’s demands—which would be expected of any defeated nation in Iran’s situation—are indications that this conflagration can lead to the arrival of Moshiach, which we all long for.
But we have to prove ourselves worthy. Many times during our history, the time was ripe for Moshiach, but the people weren’t, so the opportunity was lost. The period of Sefirah is a most opportune time for us to rectify the sinas chinom that led to the destruction of the Bais Hamikdosh and our dispersal into the golus which continues to this day.
On Pesach, we celebrated the birth of our nation, the defining moments when we stood together and became Hashem’s beloved people. The Maharal writes that since the world was created for Torah and for Am Yisroel, with the forming of our people at Yetzias Mitzrayim and Krias Yam Suf, creation was complete.
This historic transformation is reinvigorated each year on Pesach, as we each view ourselves as freshly redeemed from Mitzrayim and welcomed into Hashem’s embrace.
During the uplifting days of Yom Tov and Chol Hamoed, we stepped out of the cumulative noise of everyday life and into a world of clarity and connection. Through the Sedorim, the festive meals, the spirited tefillos, and the gift of being unburdened by routine pressures, we were able to breathe again, spiritually and emotionally. We recharged our neshamos and reconnected with what defines us and with who we are.
Pesach reminds us that we are more than individuals navigating our private struggles. We are part of something larger, something eternal. It calls upon us to remember who we are and why we are here, not just in the abstract, but in our purpose in life itself: in the way we live, the way we treat each other, and the way we carry ourselves in the world.
In a displaced persons camp after the war, a group of survivors gathered to conduct a Pesach Seder. They had all lost their families, homes, and everything familiar. The table before them was bare, aside from some matzah and wine, but they were determined to relive the story of Yetzias Mitzrayim, Klal Yisroel’s and their own individual deliverances from death.
The air was charged with emotion, and when they reached Avodim Hoyinu, one of the men rose to speak.
“We say that we were slaves,” he began, his voice unsteady. “But we have just come from a place worse than slavery. We saw what man is capable of doing. And yet, we are still here. We are still together. We are still Hashem’s people. They tried to break us, to separate us, to erase us, but they failed. We are here. We have persevered, as have our forefathers throughout the ages.”
Shebechol dor vador omdim aleinu lechaloseinu. In every generation, people have risen up to destroy us, to wipe us off the face of this earth. Just as each era has its modes of war, of expression, and of speech, so does each generation experience differing methods of hate and means to kill Jews.
Over the past month, and during Pesach, our brethren in Eretz Yisroel retreated to shelters and safe rooms as they sought protection from an array of missiles and drones sent by enemies bent on their destruction. Tragically several people lost their lives. Despite the loss of property across the country, quite miraculously relatively few were harmed, and a ceasefire of sorts settled in, granting at least a temporary reprieve.
And now, as Yom Tov fades and we gently return to our responsibilities, the challenge begins. It is easy to feel elevated within the embrace of the chag, with its special mitzvos, minhagim, celebrations, and kedusha. Our task now is to carry that elevation forward and allow the clarity, joy, and fulfillment of Pesach to charge our daily lives and keep us on the higher levels we attained, so that we can continue our march toward Kabbolas HaTorah and merit geulah as well.
Pesach leads us into the Sefirah period, with its focus on tikkun hamiddos. The parshiyos of Tazria and Metzora, which we lain this week, form a bridge between Pesach and Shavuos. These parshiyos discuss the affliction of tzora’as and the necessity of removing the afflicted person from among the community and placing him in isolation for weekly periods.
The Medrash (Vayikra Rabbah 16:1) teaches that tzora’as is brought on by engagement in any one of seven corrosive traits: haughty eyes, a deceitful tongue, hands stained with innocent blood, a heart that schemes evil, feet that rush toward wrongdoing, false testimony—and, most grievous of all, the sowing of discord between people. This final sin is often carried out through slander and lies—motzi sheim ra and lashon hora. Thus, the Torah refers to the person with tzora’as as a metzora, for the word is formulated from the words motzi sheim ra. Someone who speaks lashon hora is punished with tzora’as.
In this world, there are four elementary forms, each one on a higher level than the one below it: domeim, tzomei’ach, chai, and medaber—the inert, such as stone and dirt; that which grows, such as grass and trees; that which is alive, such as animals; and, above them all, man, who is granted the gift of speech.
The ability to speak allows us to effectively communicate with each other. With speech, we can learn, grow, develop, study Torah, engage in mitzvos, and be part of a cohesive social fabric. Thus, Targum Onkelos famously says that the words in Bereishis that state that man was alive, “Vayehi Ha’adam lenefesh chaya,” indicate that “vehavas b’adam ruach memalela,” man was given the power of speech. The ability to speak gave man his spirit and life.
Life is that ability to connect with other people—the experience of joining with others, interacting with them, and using words to convey emotion. The breath invested into each word is the very essence of life itself.
Humans were given the gift of speech to enable us to live an exalted life, connected with Hashem and Klal Yisroel. Someone who misuses that gift to cause dissension and separate people from each other is therefore isolated from everyone else and set apart.
Bodod. Alone. Because he rejected the gift of life and used his words to create division and hate, he is forced to withdraw from society, deprived of the essential joy of life and social interaction.
We received the Torah when we were united, k’ish echod beleiv echod, and all of Klal Yisroel became areivim zeh bozeh, interconnected. Yisroel v’Oraisa v’Kudsha Brich Hu chad hu. We are connected to each other, to the Torah, and to Hashem as one.
Hatred causes dissension, disconnects people from each other and from Hashem, and prevents Him from returning His Shechinah to us in the Bais Hamikdosh.
Those who recognize that all of Klal Yisroel is one body that is meant to be united are not encumbered by pettiness or jealousy. They understand that our neshamos emanate from the same place beneath the Kisei Hakavod. When they see another Jew, they feel that connection, unfettered by the externals that often distract people from one another.
Man is composed of two parts, chomer and tzurah. Chomer refers to the physical side of a person: the body, material concerns, and the day-to-day demands of life. Tzurah, on the other hand, is the inner essence of a person, the spiritual core: his character, values, and soul.
While both are part of who we are, the true self is the tzurah. That is the deeper identity of a person, the part that gives meaning and direction to everything else. The chomer is only the outer layer, like a garment that covers what is inside. When a person becomes overly focused on his chomer, he becomes absorbed in the external and superficial, losing sight of what life is truly about.
A person who lives only in the world of chomer naturally becomes self-centered. Without a strong inner tzurah, he lacks the depth to properly appreciate others. He may become consumed with comparison, jealousy, and resentment. Other people’s success threatens him rather than inspiring him. Instead of feeling connected to others, he views himself as being in competition with them. This makes genuine unity impossible for him, and he ends up isolated, not only socially, but emotionally and spiritually as well.
That can lead to lashon hora and negativity. When a person is focused only on appearances and externals, he is more likely to judge, criticize, and tear others down, because he sees life through the lens of ego and insecurity rather than truth and connection.
In this sense, tzora’as is not just a physical affliction, but a wake-up call. It forces a person who has become overly focused on external appearances to confront something deeper—namely, his vulnerability and imperfection. Through that experience, he is meant to pause and reflect, to step back from the surface of life and ask what truly defines him.
It is an invitation to rediscover the tzurah within, the inner self that connects rather than divides, that builds unity rather than isolation, and that gives a person meaning beyond the physical world.
The posuk in Bereishis (2:18) states, “Lo tov heyos ha’adam levado—It is not good for a person to be alone.” As Hashem was creating the world, He declared that loneliness is unhealthy for a person, and He therefore fashioned a partner for him. Man is not meant to exist in isolation. He is meant to live in relationship, connection, and community.
This idea is not only spiritual, but also reflects what we see in human experience. Modern research and medical studies have shown that people who maintain friendships and meaningful social bonds tend to live healthier lives. Isolation, by contrast, is damaging to body and soul.
This goes even deeper on a spiritual level. A person who is consumed with lashon hara, hotza’as sheim ra and rechilus ultimately becomes a divider of people. Instead of building connections, he creates distance. Instead of strengthening relationships, he weakens them. And in doing so, he brings about his own punishment, because the world he creates is one of suspicion, mistrust, and loneliness, where people pull away from him in return.
He is, in effect, left alone in the very world he helped shape.
In contrast, a person of tzurah, rooted in arvus and animated by a ruach memalela, is sensitive to the neshomah of another person. He does not merely see people as bodies or external figures, but as inner worlds. He feels connection rather than competition, unity rather than division.
Great people, in this sense, experience genuine joy in being with others. They value being part of something larger than themselves. They look for ways to uplift, to support, and to contribute. They seek out people not to use them, but to help them, because they understand that we are all fundamentally one.
Everyone can use encouragement and some chizuk. Let people know you care. Even a small expression of interest, a sincere question, or a moment of attention can mean a lot to anyone.
A person who speaks lashon hara is not simply speaking negatively about others. He is trying to diminish them, to strip them of their kavod, their self-worth and the respect others have for them. When a person loses the respect of those around him, he often begins to lose respect for himself as well. In that sense, lashon hara can not only damage a reputation, but it can also erode a person’s spirit and cause him to withdraw from others.
This is reflected in the punishment of “vehisgiro shivas yomim,” where the person with tzora’as is confined and isolated, given space away from others until he learns once again how to value them.
With the gift of speech, ruach memalela, we have the ability to build people, restore dignity, and breathe life into someone who is struggling.
During Sefirah, we recall and mourn the talmidim of Rabi Akiva who passed away because “lo nahagu kavod zeh bazeh,” they did not treat one another with proper respect. Kavod—respect, validation and acknowledgment—is not an extra layer of refinement. It is life itself. A person needs kavod, self-worth, and the respect of others in order to function and live.
Just as the destruction of the Bais Hamikdosh was caused by sinas chinom, it will be rebuilt through love and respect for others, through hearts and neshamos that are open to one another.
We can prepare for the coming of Moshiach with every word we speak and every interaction we have. Each moment of restraint from negativity, each effort to uplift rather than diminish, and each act of restoring another person’s kavod is another step toward the coming of Moshiach.
May we merit to internalize the lessons of Tazria and Metzora—the power of speech, the sanctity of connection, and the value of every Yid. And through that, may we strengthen unity among Klal Yisroel and hasten the arrival of the day when sinas chinom will be erased. Let us return to where we were at the time we became a nation, with complete unity, k’ish echod beleiv echod, so that we may merit the arrival of Moshiach very soon.
