The Angelic Proclamation

2

rabbi-pinchos-lipschutz-By Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz

There are no two words more associated with the deliverance of the Torah on Har Sinai than “naaseh venishma.” However, as intertwined as they are with the Matan Torah described last week in Parshas Yisro, they appear this week in Parshas Mishpotim.

The posuk (24:3) states, “And all the people answered in one voice and said, ‘We will do – naaseh – everything that Hashem has spoken.” The posuk (24:7) says that Moshe read the Sefer Habris to the Jewish people gathered at the foot of Har Sinai. Responding to what he had read to them, the Jews responded, “Naaseh venishma.”

An explanation is for why naaseh venishma is found in Parshas Mishpotim and not in Parshas Yisro, the parsha of Kabbolas HaTorah.

Chazal in Maseches Shabbos (88) recount that when Hashem heard the Bnei Yisroel say, “Naaseh venishmah,” He asked, “Who revealed to the Bnei Yisroel the special secret that is used by angels?”

What is so special about those two eternally binding words that they are described as a phrase more suited to celestial spheres than to our own? Seemingly, the explanation is that they embody the tThere are no two words more associated with the deliverance of the Torah on Har Sinai than “naaseh venishma.” However, as intertwined as they are with the Matan Torah described last week in Parshas Yisro, they appear this week in Parshas Mishpotim.

The posuk (24:3) states, “And all the people answered in one voice and said, ‘We will do – naaseh – everything that Hashem has spoken.” The posuk (24:7) says that Moshe read the Sefer Habris to the Jewish people gathered at the foot of Har Sinai. Responding to what he had read to them, the Jews responded, “Naaseh venishma.”

An explanation is for why naaseh venishma is found in Parshas Mishpotim and not in Parshas Yisro, the parsha of Kabbolas HaTorah.

Chazal in Maseches Shabbos (88) recount that when Hashem heard the Bnei Yisroel say, “Naaseh venishmah,” He asked, “Who revealed to the Bnei Yisroel the special secret that is used by angels?”

What is so special about those two eternally binding words that they are described as a phrase more suited to celestial spheres than to our own? Seemingly, the explanation is that they embody the total subservience of malochim, who follow Hashem’s every command. Man’s recitation of the phrase was an implicit agreement to follow Hashem’s commandments without understanding their rationale.While blindly following is the definition of an eved Hashem, the people who had just witnessed Hashem’s splendor and power over all creation, and had been redeemed from Mitzrayim and seen great revelations, had to be overawed by His power and splendor at the sea. Of course they would accept His word. They didn’t have to rely on anyone’s testimony regarding Hashem’s mastery of the world. They had seen it with their own eyes, they had heard it with their own ears, and they had felt it in their hearts and souls.

Of course, they would accept Hashem’s word on everything. What, then, is so remarkable about their unconditional acceptance of Hashem’s rule?

It would appear that the greatness of the term of acceptance inherent in the words of naaseh venishma is deeper than acknowledging the obligation to follow the rules of the Creator they had heard about ever since their youth and now seen in action.

Perhaps through the story of Yisro, related in last week’s parsha, we can gain greater insight into these concepts. Yisro, a leader in Midyan, undertook a life-altering journey that brought him to his destiny. The posuk states that what set him on his path was his ability to hear. “Vayishma Yisro” is literally translated to mean that Yisro heard of all the great things that Hashem did for the Jews. Upon hearing those things, he left his native land and traveled to join a recently formed nation of freed slaves, camped in tents in a barren desert.

The man who had achieved power, fame and stature in Mitzrayim and Midyan was so impacted by the accounts of the Bnei Yisroel’s miraculous journey that he made the decision that would forever change his life and the lives of his offspring.

All because of “vayishma.”

We can understand that the reason the parsha of Kabbolas HaTorah is named for Yisro and begins with the story of his “shmiah” is because it is integral to understanding what Kabbolas HaTorah necessitates. The same “vayishma” that lay at the root of Yisro’s conviction depicted the greatness of the Bnei Yisroel when they said “venishma.”

Just as Yisro’s “vayishma” led him to forfeit the prestige and importance he had earned over a lifetime to move to a desert encampment because he felt that the truth dwelled there, Bnei Yisroel, when they said “venishma,” were proclaiming their willingness to follow Hashem regardless of the impact on their physical situations.

When they said “venishma,” they were committing themselves to doing all Hashem asked, whether or not they understood it, even if following the word of Hashem would mean living a life of depravation and isolation, just as Yisro had done.

Thus, by responding, “Naaseh venishma,” they were using language normally used by malochim, whose total purpose is to serve the Creator. Through their own bechirah, the Bnei Yisroel chose to suppress their natural inquisitive and independent-minded impulses and affirmed in a homogenized and amalgamated fashion that they would sacrifice all to follow the word of Hashem.

Like Yisro, they wouldn’t only follow the letter of the law, but would travel to the ends of the world and give up everything they had spent a lifetime acquiring in order to follow the devar Hashem. They wouldn’t question or demur. The Torah would be their roadmap through life and they would follow it scrupulously.

Perhaps the words naaseh venishma appear in Parshas Mishpotim to hint at another truth. The Torah guides and speaks to us in the very earthy realm, a practical guide for every moment of our lives. The true test of whether a person is sufficiently devoted to the word of Hashem and possesses the proper degree of fidelity to Torah is the way he acts with respect to the laws taught in Parshas Mishpotim.

The way a person conducts himself in business dealings with other people demonstrates his true level of religiosity. One who cheats, steals and lies in the course of his financial dealings shows that he is not really a believer and thinks that he must bend the law in order to earn the money Hashem sends him.

One who is dishonest and defrauds people is in essence denying the laws of the Torah, which define how we must conduct ourselves. He thinks he will get away with it and ignores the punishments the Torah prescribes for those who harm others. In a sense, he also rejects the basics of emunah: that Hakadosh Boruch Hu is zon umefarneis lakol and that each and every person has his allotted portion. A person who has faith in Hashem is faithful in his business practices, for he knows that what he will earn in any given year is predetermined. The money that is meant to come his way will come his way and he gains nothing by engaging in acts of subterfuge, cheating others for financial benefit.

The epic declaration of naaseh venishma is the Jewish mission statement, our promise to work without making cheshbonos and petty calculations. Our job is merely to do, following His will and laws.

Baalei mussar point out that a young man on the cusp of his journey to spiritual growth is referred to in Hebrew as a “bochur,” which literally means a chosen one. They explain that the significance of the title with which a young man is crowned is the fact that in order to triumph over the many serious spiritual trials this world presents, a person needs to decide early on who he is and which path he will follow through life.

Once a person is on the path that strengthens his core, it is easier for him to stand tall in the face of temptation. Once he has chosen who he is and where he would like to be headed, he can gauge right from wrong and declare that he will not engage in improper actions. His firm identity protects him from activities that would rob him of his future. One who is bocheir, choosing the right path, is a bochur, a chosen one.

A Polish teenager lost everything in the Holocaust. Destitute and broken, with no family, possessions, money or a place to call home, he was determined to make a life for himself. After much deprivation and many odd jobs, he saved two hundred and fifty dollars. He hid the dollar bills in a suitcase and, with some extra money, bought tickets to bring him from war-ravaged Poland to the goldeneh medinah’s northern neighbor.

As he set out on his trip, he was jostled and pushed, and before he knew what happened, someone had stolen his valise and disappeared. The money he had slaved for was gone. All he had were the passage tickets to Canada tucked into his pocket.

With nowhere else to go, the dejected young man got on the ship with no money and only bitterness and anger. He worked very hard for that money. It represented his only hope for the future. Now, he was more alone than ever, sailing the Atlantic, on his way to a foreign land, with no idea what he would do when he got there.

Somehow, he ended up in Montreal and found himself various odd jobs with which to pay for some food and shelter. Once again, he was able to eventually save up two hundred and fifty dollars. This time, he had learned his lesson and didn’t keep it in cash. He was told that Edmonton, Alberta, deep in Western Canada, was the new frontier. His information was that it was a virtually undeveloped city with much economic promise. He reasoned that if he could make his way there, he’d be able to create a life for himself. So, he established an account in an Edmonton bank and sent his money there, planning for the day he’d have enough money to move there and begin anew.

When the day came and he decided that he had enough money deposited in the Edmonton bank, he went to the local tzaddik and asked for a brocha. The Tosher Rebbe listened to the tale of the broken survivor. He heard about the stolen suitcase and the man’s bitterness over the lost dream. He heard the plans to settle in distant Edmonton.

The rebbe urged the fellow not to move. “Edmonton has no kehillah, no thriving shuls and few frum Yidden. Whom will you marry? Where will your children go to school? What will keep you tied to the path of your murdered parents?”

The man listened, but he would not be dissuaded. He was too focused on making real money to hear the rebbe‘s plea. To the broken survivor, economic stability was the only barometer of success.

The rebbe saw that the fellow had made up his mind, so he didn’t argue with him. He just asked him one favor. “You say that you are leaving tomorrow. Please come to my shtiebel for Shacharis in the morning. It might just be the last time you ever daven with a minyan.

The man agreed. He went to the shtiebel the next morning and, after davening, he joined the small group there for a lechayim and a piece of sponge cake. He noticed someone staring at him, and eventually the other man introduced himself.

The gentleman asked our friend where he was from and how he had made his way to Canada. The next thing he said caused the wayward young man to sit up and pay close attention.

“I must tell you something,” the gentleman said, not being able to look the man in the eye. “I am also a survivor. I also lost everything. I saw you in the train station with your valise and my hunger got the better of me. I am the one who stole your suitcase! I found the money and it kept me alive and let me get a new start here. I’m the ganav!”

He pleaded for forgiveness. “Please forgive me for what I did. I was lost and had nothing. We both made it here. It must be min haShomayim that I should spot you here in this shul.”

The gentleman said that he had done well in the new country and would take him to his house and repay the $250 he had stolen from him in the old country. The Edmonton-bound fellow accepted the money, but it was clear that he was still hurt by what had been done to him. The ganav looked at him and said, “What about if I give you another $250? Will you then forgive me?”

With a newfound fortune of $500 in his pocket, he forgave him and made his way to the train station, excited more than ever about Edmonton. He boarded the train for the trip across Canada, but as he shifted in his seat, he found himself haunted by the Tosher Rebbe’s arguments and pleas. The rebbe had insisted that he was throwing away his future and letting down his ancestors for the sake of money.

He began thinking: “The Ribbono Shel Olam sent me $500. He is sending me a message that I will have parnossah in Montreal as well.” At the next stop, he got off the train and bought a ticket back to Montreal.

He stayed in Montreal, got married, and built a family. He did well and was a good provider. He took great pride in what he had been able to accomplish and the stories of his early arrival in the city disappeared from his memory.

Decades later, when his health forced him to move, he reflected on his success and decided that there were two people who played an important role in his remaining religious, the Tosher rebbe and the ganav.

He visited the rebbe, who offered blessings for his next stage in life. Then he went to the ganav. Though he had forgiven him, he kept his distance and had little or no contact with the man who had stolen his suitcase and hard-earned money.

He rang the bell, entered the house, and explained that he had come to say thanks for playing an important role in his decision to stay in Montreal.

“Don’t thank me,” the ganav said. “Thank the Tosher Rebbe, because the truth is that I had never seen you before that morning in the Tosher bais medrash. The night before, the rebbe told me to tell you that I was the one who had stolen your possessions. I protested to the rebbe that I am not a thief and that it would be demeaning for me to present myself as one. The rebbe said that to help another Jew, one must sacrifice himself. The rebbe raised the money and gave it to me. So honestly, the thanks go to him.”

This story is a heartening reminder of how people act when their entire being is all about naaseh venishma. Everything such people do is guided by their personal obligation to keeping the ancient covenant. They are prepared to sacrifice everything and do whatever they can so that another person can keep that promise, as well. Nothing is beneath their dignity and nothing can deter them. Naaseh venishma is what drives them.

Each of us has that responsibility and ability. Once we are bocheir in our path and affirm who we are, we can possess the strength and even temerity to do the right thing for ourselves and for others.

The parsha that contains the declarative naaseh venishma discusses financial matters, for the level of our adherence to those rules is indicative of how deep our commitment really is to following the word of Hashem.

On a deeper level, we can perhaps understand why the parsha begins with the laws of owning an eved ivri, a Jewish slave.

We are all familiar with the Chazal that one who purchases an eved ivri obligates himself to caring for him with great sensitivity. If there is only pillow available, the eved is the one who places his head on the pillow to go to sleep. If there is only one blanket, the master gives it to the eved.

The Ponovezher Rov pointed out that the halacha is always “chayecha kodmin.” A person is obligated to care for himself before caring for someone else. If so, why is the halacha regarding an eved different? Why when there is only one pillow available does the halacha obligate the master to give it to the eved?

The Ponovezher Rov, who helped so many people revive themselves after the Holocaust and gave of his own ruchniyus and gashmiyus to help re-establish Torah, answered that the reason a master gives his one pillow to the eved is because a Yid cannot sleep well if he knows that alongside him is a tired person without a pillow.

A Yid cannot sleep if he knows that in the next room there is a person losing sleep because he doesn’t have a blanket. If there is one pillow, the master gives it to the eved, so that he will be able to sleep with the knowledge that he has enabled someone to rest comfortably.

That is the way a naaseh venishma person conducts himself, ke’ish echod beleiv echod, forfeiting his own property and comfort for the benefit of others.

This is why when the Bnei Yisroel proclaimed naaseh venishma, Hashem said that these are words of angels. This is why when they responded to Moshe’s challenge by saying together as one, “Naaseh venishma,” angels placed crowns on the head of every Jew.

The life of those who adhere to the proclamation of naaseh venishma is the best known to man. Living that life is divine. It brings joy and fulfillment to those who follow it. Naaseh venishma transforms men into angels. May we all benefit from that transformation and the life it engenders.otal subservience of malochim, who follow Hashem’s every command. Man’s recitation of the phrase was an implicit agreement to follow Hashem’s commandments without understanding their rationale.While blindly following is the definition of an eved Hashem, the people who had just witnessed Hashem’s splendor and power over all creation, and had been redeemed from Mitzrayim and seen great revelations, had to be overawed by His power and splendor at the sea. Of course they would accept His word. They didn’t have to rely on anyone’s testimony regarding Hashem’s mastery of the world. They had seen it with their own eyes, they had heard it with their own ears, and they had felt it in their hearts and souls.

Of course, they would accept Hashem’s word on everything. What, then, is so remarkable about their unconditional acceptance of Hashem’s rule?

It would appear that the greatness of the term of acceptance inherent in the words of naaseh venishma is deeper than acknowledging the obligation to follow the rules of the Creator they had heard about ever since their youth and now seen in action.

Perhaps through the story of Yisro, related in last week’s parsha, we can gain greater insight into these concepts. Yisro, a leader in Midyan, undertook a life-altering journey that brought him to his destiny. The posuk states that what set him on his path was his ability to hear. “Vayishma Yisro” is literally translated to mean that Yisro heard of all the great things that Hashem did for the Jews. Upon hearing those things, he left his native land and traveled to join a recently formed nation of freed slaves, camped in tents in a barren desert.

The man who had achieved power, fame and stature in Mitzrayim and Midyan was so impacted by the accounts of the Bnei Yisroel’s miraculous journey that he made the decision that would forever change his life and the lives of his offspring.

All because of “vayishma.”

We can understand that the reason the parsha of Kabbolas HaTorah is named for Yisro and begins with the story of his “shmiah” is because it is integral to understanding what Kabbolas HaTorah necessitates. The same “vayishma” that lay at the root of Yisro’s conviction depicted the greatness of the Bnei Yisroel when they said “venishma.”

Just as Yisro’s “vayishma” led him to forfeit the prestige and importance he had earned over a lifetime to move to a desert encampment because he felt that the truth dwelled there, Bnei Yisroel, when they said “venishma,” were proclaiming their willingness to follow Hashem regardless of the impact on their physical situations.

When they said “venishma,” they were committing themselves to doing all Hashem asked, whether or not they understood it, even if following the word of Hashem would mean living a life of depravation and isolation, just as Yisro had done.

Thus, by responding, “Naaseh venishma,” they were using language normally used by malochim, whose total purpose is to serve the Creator. Through their own bechirah, the Bnei Yisroel chose to suppress their natural inquisitive and independent-minded impulses and affirmed in a homogenized and amalgamated fashion that they would sacrifice all to follow the word of Hashem.

Like Yisro, they wouldn’t only follow the letter of the law, but would travel to the ends of the world and give up everything they had spent a lifetime acquiring in order to follow the devar Hashem. They wouldn’t question or demur. The Torah would be their roadmap through life and they would follow it scrupulously.

Perhaps the words naaseh venishma appear in Parshas Mishpotim to hint at another truth. The Torah guides and speaks to us in the very earthy realm, a practical guide for every moment of our lives. The true test of whether a person is sufficiently devoted to the word of Hashem and possesses the proper degree of fidelity to Torah is the way he acts with respect to the laws taught in Parshas Mishpotim.

The way a person conducts himself in business dealings with other people demonstrates his true level of religiosity. One who cheats, steals and lies in the course of his financial dealings shows that he is not really a believer and thinks that he must bend the law in order to earn the money Hashem sends him.

One who is dishonest and defrauds people is in essence denying the laws of the Torah, which define how we must conduct ourselves. He thinks he will get away with it and ignores the punishments the Torah prescribes for those who harm others. In a sense, he also rejects the basics of emunah: that Hakadosh Boruch Hu is zon umefarneis lakol and that each and every person has his allotted portion. A person who has faith in Hashem is faithful in his business practices, for he knows that what he will earn in any given year is predetermined. The money that is meant to come his way will come his way and he gains nothing by engaging in acts of subterfuge, cheating others for financial benefit.

The epic declaration of naaseh venishma is the Jewish mission statement, our promise to work without making cheshbonos and petty calculations. Our job is merely to do, following His will and laws.

Baalei mussar point out that a young man on the cusp of his journey to spiritual growth is referred to in Hebrew as a “bochur,” which literally means a chosen one. They explain that the significance of the title with which a young man is crowned is the fact that in order to triumph over the many serious spiritual trials this world presents, a person needs to decide early on who he is and which path he will follow through life.

Once a person is on the path that strengthens his core, it is easier for him to stand tall in the face of temptation. Once he has chosen who he is and where he would like to be headed, he can gauge right from wrong and declare that he will not engage in improper actions. His firm identity protects him from activities that would rob him of his future. One who is bocheir, choosing the right path, is a bochur, a chosen one.

A Polish teenager lost everything in the Holocaust. Destitute and broken, with no family, possessions, money or a place to call home, he was determined to make a life for himself. After much deprivation and many odd jobs, he saved two hundred and fifty dollars. He hid the dollar bills in a suitcase and, with some extra money, bought tickets to bring him from war-ravaged Poland to the goldeneh medinah’s northern neighbor.

As he set out on his trip, he was jostled and pushed, and before he knew what happened, someone had stolen his valise and disappeared. The money he had slaved for was gone. All he had were the passage tickets to Canada tucked into his pocket.

With nowhere else to go, the dejected young man got on the ship with no money and only bitterness and anger. He worked very hard for that money. It represented his only hope for the future. Now, he was more alone than ever, sailing the Atlantic, on his way to a foreign land, with no idea what he would do when he got there.

Somehow, he ended up in Montreal and found himself various odd jobs with which to pay for some food and shelter. Once again, he was able to eventually save up two hundred and fifty dollars. This time, he had learned his lesson and didn’t keep it in cash. He was told that Edmonton, Alberta, deep in Western Canada, was the new frontier. His information was that it was a virtually undeveloped city with much economic promise. He reasoned that if he could make his way there, he’d be able to create a life for himself. So, he established an account in an Edmonton bank and sent his money there, planning for the day he’d have enough money to move there and begin anew.

When the day came and he decided that he had enough money deposited in the Edmonton bank, he went to the local tzaddik and asked for a brocha. The Tosher Rebbe listened to the tale of the broken survivor. He heard about the stolen suitcase and the man’s bitterness over the lost dream. He heard the plans to settle in distant Edmonton.

The rebbe urged the fellow not to move. “Edmonton has no kehillah, no thriving shuls and few frum Yidden. Whom will you marry? Where will your children go to school? What will keep you tied to the path of your murdered parents?”

The man listened, but he would not be dissuaded. He was too focused on making real money to hear the rebbe‘s plea. To the broken survivor, economic stability was the only barometer of success.

The rebbe saw that the fellow had made up his mind, so he didn’t argue with him. He just asked him one favor. “You say that you are leaving tomorrow. Please come to my shtiebel for Shacharis in the morning. It might just be the last time you ever daven with a minyan.

The man agreed. He went to the shtiebel the next morning and, after davening, he joined the small group there for a lechayim and a piece of sponge cake. He noticed someone staring at him, and eventually the other man introduced himself.

The gentleman asked our friend where he was from and how he had made his way to Canada. The next thing he said caused the wayward young man to sit up and pay close attention.

“I must tell you something,” the gentleman said, not being able to look the man in the eye. “I am also a survivor. I also lost everything. I saw you in the train station with your valise and my hunger got the better of me. I am the one who stole your suitcase! I found the money and it kept me alive and let me get a new start here. I’m the ganav!”

He pleaded for forgiveness. “Please forgive me for what I did. I was lost and had nothing. We both made it here. It must be min haShomayim that I should spot you here in this shul.”

The gentleman said that he had done well in the new country and would take him to his house and repay the $250 he had stolen from him in the old country. The Edmonton-bound fellow accepted the money, but it was clear that he was still hurt by what had been done to him. The ganav looked at him and said, “What about if I give you another $250? Will you then forgive me?”

With a newfound fortune of $500 in his pocket, he forgave him and made his way to the train station, excited more than ever about Edmonton. He boarded the train for the trip across Canada, but as he shifted in his seat, he found himself haunted by the Tosher Rebbe’s arguments and pleas. The rebbe had insisted that he was throwing away his future and letting down his ancestors for the sake of money.

He began thinking: “The Ribbono Shel Olam sent me $500. He is sending me a message that I will have parnossah in Montreal as well.” At the next stop, he got off the train and bought a ticket back to Montreal.

He stayed in Montreal, got married, and built a family. He did well and was a good provider. He took great pride in what he had been able to accomplish and the stories of his early arrival in the city disappeared from his memory.

Decades later, when his health forced him to move, he reflected on his success and decided that there were two people who played an important role in his remaining religious, the Tosher rebbe and the ganav.

He visited the rebbe, who offered blessings for his next stage in life. Then he went to the ganav. Though he had forgiven him, he kept his distance and had little or no contact with the man who had stolen his suitcase and hard-earned money.

He rang the bell, entered the house, and explained that he had come to say thanks for playing an important role in his decision to stay in Montreal.

“Don’t thank me,” the ganav said. “Thank the Tosher Rebbe, because the truth is that I had never seen you before that morning in the Tosher bais medrash. The night before, the rebbe told me to tell you that I was the one who had stolen your possessions. I protested to the rebbe that I am not a thief and that it would be demeaning for me to present myself as one. The rebbe said that to help another Jew, one must sacrifice himself. The rebbe raised the money and gave it to me. So honestly, the thanks go to him.”

This story is a heartening reminder of how people act when their entire being is all about naaseh venishma. Everything such people do is guided by their personal obligation to keeping the ancient covenant. They are prepared to sacrifice everything and do whatever they can so that another person can keep that promise, as well. Nothing is beneath their dignity and nothing can deter them. Naaseh venishma is what drives them.

Each of us has that responsibility and ability. Once we are bocheir in our path and affirm who we are, we can possess the strength and even temerity to do the right thing for ourselves and for others.

The parsha that contains the declarative naaseh venishma discusses financial matters, for the level of our adherence to those rules is indicative of how deep our commitment really is to following the word of Hashem.

On a deeper level, we can perhaps understand why the parsha begins with the laws of owning an eved ivri, a Jewish slave.

We are all familiar with the Chazal that one who purchases an eved ivri obligates himself to caring for him with great sensitivity. If there is only pillow available, the eved is the one who places his head on the pillow to go to sleep. If there is only one blanket, the master gives it to the eved.

The Ponovezher Rov pointed out that the halacha is always “chayecha kodmin.” A person is obligated to care for himself before caring for someone else. If so, why is the halacha regarding an eved different? Why when there is only one pillow available does the halacha obligate the master to give it to the eved?

The Ponovezher Rov, who helped so many people revive themselves after the Holocaust and gave of his own ruchniyus and gashmiyus to help re-establish Torah, answered that the reason a master gives his one pillow to the eved is because a Yid cannot sleep well if he knows that alongside him is a tired person without a pillow.

A Yid cannot sleep if he knows that in the next room there is a person losing sleep because he doesn’t have a blanket. If there is one pillow, the master gives it to the eved, so that he will be able to sleep with the knowledge that he has enabled someone to rest comfortably.

That is the way a naaseh venishma person conducts himself, ke’ish echod beleiv echod, forfeiting his own property and comfort for the benefit of others.

This is why when the Bnei Yisroel proclaimed naaseh venishma, Hashem said that these are words of angels. This is why when they responded to Moshe’s challenge by saying together as one, “Naaseh venishma,” angels placed crowns on the head of every Jew.

The life of those who adhere to the proclamation of naaseh venishma is the best known to man. Living that life is divine. It brings joy and fulfillment to those who follow it. Naaseh venishma transforms men into angels. May we all benefit from that transformation and the life it engenders.

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2 COMMENTS

  1. What a nechamah reading such a piece!

    I’ve lost so much. Halevai, there are still people like the Montreal person who is willing to give of himself to benefit others.

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