By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz
As we move through the summer, enjoying the slower pace, the warmer weather, and the reduced pressure, life as a Yid continues. Our responsibilities don’t lessen just because the pace of life slows. The mitzvos remain the same and our obligations remain unchanged. Only the setting shifts. What changes is how we approach what we are meant to do.
When the weather warms and people ease into vacation mode, everything takes on a more relaxed feel. Work changes, home life is altered, and the kids are in camp. Often, mitzvos are viewed as duties that can be done with less energy and focus.
But we must recognize that just as breathing, eating, and sleeping are not burdens, they are how we stay alive, so too are mitzvos. They are the essence of a Jew’s existence. Yet, just as with food, there’s a difference between merely surviving and thriving. We can live on bland, uninspired meals, or we can make the effort to prepare food that is nourishing and enjoyable. The choice is ours.
If we want our lives to be meaningful and vibrant, we have to invest in them. Apathy doesn’t destroy overnight, but it leads to a dull and disconnected life. Just as the body needs proper nourishment, so does the soul.
That’s how it is with mitzvos. When we perform them with geshmak, we begin to appreciate how they give our lives meaning and depth. But when we go through the motions, treating them like a burden, we strip them of their beauty. The difference isn’t in the mitzvah itself. It’s in our attitude. If we do them with simcha, they uplift us. If we approach them with resentment, they become heavy and draining.
When we open a Gemara or any sefer with excitement, the Torah we learn energizes us. But if we see our learning as a chore, it weighs us down. The yeitzer hora takes advantage of this season, seeking to distance us from the very things that bring our lives meaning, strength, and vitality.
This time of the year also gives us a unique opportunity. With fewer distractions and a calmer pace, we can step back and recalibrate – not necessarily what we do, but how we do it. When we daven, when we learn, when we do mitzvos and acts of tzedakah and chesed, we can use the quieter atmosphere to be more present in heart and mind.
There is a special beauty in the consistency of mitzvos. The same Shema we said during the hectic days of winter, we now say as the summer sun streams through the window. The words haven’t changed, but we can. The way we say them, the kavonah we bring, the care and attention we give, these are in our hands.
Like food that is lovingly prepared, mitzvos done with intention are more fulfilling. The experience becomes richer. When we perform mitzvos with meaning, instead of routine, our lives become deeper and more elevated.
There’s a story told about a man who visited a small town in Europe and decided to stop by the local cheder. He walked in and saw a rebbi sitting on a low bench, surrounded by young boys, patiently teaching them Alef-Bais. The children were squirming, the room was stuffy, and the rebbi looked tired, yet he spoke with warmth and smiled at each child.
After class, the visitor approached the rebbi and asked, “Tell me, with all your effort and how little you’re paid, how do you keep going?”
The rebbi smiled and said, “When I was younger, I thought that my job was to teach children Alef-Bais. As time went on, I realized that I wasn’t just teaching them letters. I was building neshamos. I was creating a foundation for a life of Torah and mitzvos in each one of them. With that realization, I stopped viewing what I do as a job and started seeing it as a zechus. It is an honor and privilege for me to be here every day with these kinderlach, building neshamos and giving them the tools they need to live successful, productive, Yiddishe lives.”
Summer gives us a moment to reflect, to reset, and to refocus. It’s the perfect time to shift from seeing mitzvos as obligations to appreciating them as opportunities. The choice is ours: Do we want a bland, mechanical life, or one filled with richness, joy, and connection?
The answer lies not in the calendar, but in our mindset.
With this in mind, we can draw a powerful lesson from this week’s parshiyos of Mattos and Masei, which recount our nation’s travels through the midbar and the various encampments along the journey to Eretz Yisroel.
Sifrei Kabbolah and drush are filled with deeper meanings and hidden insights regarding each location along Klal Yisroel’s path. This journey – with all its twists, turns, highs, and lows – was essential in preparing the nation to enter and inherit Hashem’s land, Eretz Yisroel. As we study these parshiyos, we pay attention to the mussar and chizuk encoded within them. As we revisit the moments of hardship and triumph, we discover guidance for the masa’os in our own lives.
We go through life experiencing ups and downs. We know that everything along our personal journey is orchestrated by Hashem. Some chapters have concluded, and many more are still to be written. As we move forward, we cannot allow temporary failures or setbacks to throw us off course. Just as our ancestors in the midbar faced challenges and setbacks, they also had moments of greatness and achievement. But their destination and their resolve never changed.
Adam le’amal yulad – man was created to toil. Each of us has our own masa’os, journeys toward our personal destination. Some are smooth and pleasant; others are filled with obstacles, detours, and roadblocks. No matter the nature of the path, our mission is the same: to keep moving forward.
Following the tragic episode of the Eigel, Hakadosh Boruch Hu informed Moshe of His displeasure with Klal Yisroel and His intention to eliminate them, describing them as an am keshei oref – a stiff-necked people (Shemos 32:9). Moshe pleaded on their behalf and they were granted forgiveness. He then asked Hashem, “Please go in our midst, as they are an am keshei oref” (34:9). The very trait cited as justification for their punishment was now invoked as a reason for mercy.
One explanation offered is that Moshe argued that this same middah – their stubbornness – could also serve as the key to their success. He was saying that this trait would be necessary for a nation that pledged itself to Torah and mitzvos to carry faith in their hearts through a long and bitter golus, remaining steadfast in their mission and focused on the ultimate goal.
They were forgiven and have been persistently striving for perfection ever since. We haven’t reached it yet, but with each passing day, we get closer, remaining committed to following Hashem’s path in all situations, whether pleasant or difficult, during busy seasons or quiet ones, in times of work or times of rest.
The Nine Days offer a fitting time to read about Jewish suffering through the ages. While secular historians often depict Jews in golus – in ghettos or concentration camps – as feeble, submissively led to slaughter by their Nazi tormentors, books written by bnei Torah paint a very different picture. These works leave the reader astonished by the unbreakable spirit of our people. The Jew, it becomes clear, was stronger than any Nazi beast. That strength came, in part, from their acceptance of Hashem’s will, His plan, and His design.
When we read the accounts of religious survivors who lived through the horrors of the Holocaust, we are struck by a dual emotion: profound sadness and deep admiration for the majesty of the Jewish spirit. Their stories provide a broader perspective on the tragedy of our entire exile since the churban, while simultaneously revealing the greatness of Am Yisroel, the eternal people.
Their words, forged in the fires of suffering, are infused with spirit, blood, and tears, an elegy not only of death, but of life. So many stories tell of kedoshim marching to the outskirts of towns singing songs of emunah as they headed toward certain death. In the streets of shtetlach, in boxcars bound for Treblinka, Jews died alone and in groups, at forest pits and in ghettos, proclaiming Shema Yisroel and singing words of Hallel, of Ani Maamin, of emunah and bitachon, proud that they were the hunted, not the hunters.
The chevlei Moshiach swallowed them up. In their merit, we now live in freedom and prosperity.
Last week, Yeshivas Telz commemorated the 20th of Tammuz with heartfelt tefillos and stirring divrei chizuk, as it does each year. On that tragic day, the Jewish community of Telz – led by its revered rabbonim and roshei yeshiva – was marched to its death. The way the golus in Telz came to its horrific end is chilling and awe-inspiring, a haunting reflection of the depths of cruelty and the heights of emunah and dignity. It is a story that reveals the worst of what humanity is capable of – and the very best of what it means to be a Jew.
As we remember the kedoshim of Telz, we are reminded that their legacy did not perish in the forests of Lithuania. The blood of Torah giants and innocent neshamos cries out not only in sorrow, but in triumph, because their Torah lives on. The yeshiva they built with such devotion continues to illuminate the world. Their sacrifice obligates us not only to remember, but to live with the same clarity of purpose, the same unwavering commitment to Torah, avodah, and kedusha, especially in a world that so desperately needs it.
The survivors of the killing fields and concentration camps emerged broken in body but unbroken in spirit. If anyone had a reason to despair, it was they. And yet, with remarkable reserves of emunah and inner strength, they chose to rebuild. They carried much pain, but rarely let it show. They did not wallow in what was lost, but planted seeds for what could still grow. In their hearts, they understood that they had left one preordained stop in golus, only to continue the journey through yet another, and then another still, always moving forward, always holding on.
As a people, we have been moving about for thousands of years, from one city to the next, from one country to another. Now we have finally come so close to the redemption that we can hear the footsteps of Moshiach.
As we endure the chevlei Moshiach, the painful, turbulent days that precede the final redemption, we must strengthen ourselves and elevate our kedusha. We live in a time when the pull of distraction is constant, the challenges are relentless, and the temptation to slacken off is real. But now more than ever, we must hold tight. We have to raise our levels of kedusha so that we do not succumb to the forces that seek to hold back Moshiach from redeeming us.
The geulah is near, but only if we remain worthy of experiencing it.
Imagine that you’re on a long journey behind the wheel of a car. You’re tired. The road stretches endlessly ahead. For just a moment, you let go of the steering wheel or you close your eyes. What happens? You drift and veer off course. The same is true in avodas Hashem. Without constant focus on our learning, our tefillah and our mitzvos, we lose direction. We lose momentum.
Throughout history, there have been moments when the gates of geulah cracked open and we weren’t up to the task. We let them slip away.
This week, in Parshas Mattos, we encounter the request of the shevotim of Reuvein and Gad to remain on the other side of the Yardein, outside of Eretz Yisroel, so that they could better provide for their cattle. Moshe rebuked them sharply, for they prioritized what was secondary and minimized that which was important (Rashi 32:16).
The message is timeless. When we mistake the temporary for the eternal, we lose sight of our mission. And if we aren’t careful, we can end up outside the borders, not just geographically, but spiritually.
Parshiyos Mattos and Masei remind us of what it means to be a Jew on the move in golus without becoming disheartened and disoriented. We are never aimless, for we know that every step we take is another step of the journey toward geulah. Every stop, every move, is part of the story.
But for the journey to succeed, we must remain alert. We must know where we’re headed and what it takes to get there. We must keep our priorities straight and not allow ourselves to get detoured by things of temporary value and enjoyment.
So, as we breathe in the clean country air, ride bikes, play ball, shoot the breeze and enjoy the slow rhythm of summer days, let us remember that we are the am kadosh still in golus, but in the home stretch.
Let us not be like those who lost their way in moments of spiritual drowsiness. Let us hold strong to the wheel, with our eyes on the road and our hearts turned upward. And before we pack our bags and head back to the city, may Hashem bring us all the way home with the coming of Moshiach.
{Matzav.com}
