Some of us have the practice that before doing a mitzvah—whether it’s putting on tefillin, lighting candles, or studying Torah—we pause and say a short tefillah: LeShem Yichud Kudsha Brich Hu u’Shechintei. A quiet moment to dedicate what we’re about to do to Hashem, to unite the spiritual worlds.

And even if we don’t say the whole LeShem Yichud, many of us still whisper a familiar line: Vihi Noam Hashem Elokeinu aleinu, u’ma’aseh yadeinu konenah aleinu, u’ma’aseh yadeinu konenehu.

We say it before the mitzvah. But if you look at the pasuk, it’s actually a prayer for what comes after—after the work is done, after the effort is complete.

So why begin with it?

Let’s explore that—because I think it reveals something profound about how we bring Hashem into our lives. Not just when we finish a project or succeed in something meaningful—but from the very first moment we take action.

And to understand that, we have to look at the very first time this pasuk was ever spoken—by none other than Moshe Rabbeinu.

This week’s parsha—Parshat Shemini—

We begin this weeks perasha

וַֽיְהִי֙ בַּיּ֣וֹם הַשְּׁמִינִ֔י קָרָ֣א מֹשֶׁ֔ה לְאַהֲרֹ֖ן וּלְבָנָ֑יו וּלְזִקְנֵ֖י יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃

On the eighth day Moses called Aaron and his sons, and the elders of Israel.

Inspired by Rabbeynu Bachya and Ramban, please join me on a journey—a journey through numbers. But not just any numbers. Two numbers that sit quietly in our tradition, and yet, they pulse with transcendent meaning.

Eight. And fifty.

Let’s start here:

The Hidden Structure of Nisan - A Month Outside of Time

Crazy Week …
I worked on a few classes and articles

I wrote and recorded this Tuesday. On Wednesday, the
President suspended the tariffs for 90 days and the stock market shot up a
record amount for a single day …. what will be tomorow?

Trust in Hashem—A Test for Our Generation

Rabbi Abittan, Zecher sadik livracha,
often reminded us that the great test of our generation is bitachon—trust
in Hashem. He would say that because of the comforts we’ve been blessed with,
it’s easy to fall into the illusion of self-sufficiency. The Torah warns us of
this very mindset:

'Kochi v’otzem yadi asah li et
hachayil hazeh—My strength and the might of my hand made me all this
wealth' (Devarim 8:17).

Even if we don’t say those words, we
often live them—forgetting that all we have is a gift from Hashem. And
so, sometimes Hashem gently—or not so gently—reminds us that He is in
charge.

Just recently, someone panicking at the
tariff announcement and how it would affect his business, reached out to tell
me he had listened to a shiur I gave on the 7th of Nisan in 2020, just as COVID
was beginning. It was our first Zoom class through the Safra Synagogue. The
world had shut down. Orders were canceled. Work stopped. And we were asking
ourselves: What now?

I shared then an idea based on the Haggadah:

'Bechol dor vador omdim aleinu
lechaloteinu'—In every generation, they rise up to destroy us.

But there’s another layer. It’s not only
that an enemy rises—it’s that we feel like the world is ending. And it
seems that it’s not once in every generation; rather in our days, almost every
year we get hit with something that makes us feel the world is ending. Sometimes it’s local, sometimes global and sometimes
personal, but the pattern repeats.

We’ve lived it. After 9/11. During the
Second Intifada. The financial crisis of 2008. Superstorm Sandy. COVID. And
most recently, the horrific events of Shemini Atzeret or October 7th. And in
each moment, the same fear returns: What will be tomorrow?

The Midrash teaches (Shemot
Rabbah 3:5):

'Hakadosh Baruch Hu mit’aveh
le’tefilatan shel tzaddikim'—Hashem desires the prayers of the
righteous.

Why? Because in moments of crisis, we
remember. We turn back. We cry out, 'Ein lanu al mi lehisha’en ella al
Avinu Shebashamayim'—We have no one to rely on but our Father in
Heaven.

That first Chol HaMoed Pesach of 2020,
we buried so many. It was a nightmare. And yet—we are here. We survived.
Like our grandparents who endured the Spanish Flu after WWI. Like generations
before them, who faced plagues, pogroms, exile, and still clung to their
emunah.

Our community in particular has long
been blessed in business. From the days of retail peddling, to wholesale, to
international importing and investing in real estate. And today, that same
world is shaking—tariffs, supply chain breakdowns, volatility. Deals that once
brought profit now bring loss. It feels uncertain. And yet, maybe Hashem is
whispering again: I’m still in control.

The pasuk in Tehillim (20:8)
says: 'Eleh barechev v’eleh basusim, va’anachnu b’shem Hashem Elokeinu
nazkir'—Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we call out in
the name of Hashem our God.

This is the message of bitachon.
And it’s not just theological—it’s historical. In Parashat Beshalach, as
Bnei Yisrael stand before the sea, chased by the Egyptians, they cry out in
fear. And Hashem says:

'Ma titzak elai? Daber el Bnei
Yisrael v’yisa’u'—Why are you crying to Me? Tell Bnei Yisrael to move
forward (Shemot 14:15).

Sometimes emunah means standing
still; sometimes it means marching forward even when we can’t see the path.
But always it means knowing Who is leading us.

Even in October 7th’s darkness, we saw Yad
Hashem—through miracles, survival, unity, and resolve. And perhaps that’s
the silver lining: we remembered that we are not alone.

So with all this in mind, I revisited
that class from Nisan 2020, and I am going to post it again, not just as a record of what we went through, but
as a reminder of what we always come back to: Hashem lo ya’azvenu—Hashem
will not abandon us.

May this
reflection be a zechut for clarity, courage, and geulah, bimheira
v’yameinu, amen.

The Watch and the Worth – A Passover Thought

We begin Vayikra with a mystery:

וַיִּקְרָא אֶל־מֹשֶׁה—with a small aleph.

Chazal teach that Moshe, in his humility, wanted to write וַיִּקָּר—like a casual encounter. But Hashem insisted: no, write וַיִּקְרָא—with a calling. A term of love, of nearness.

Because Hashem valued Moshe—even more than Moshe valued himself.

And that’s the secret of geulah, of redemption.

It’s not just about being taken out of Egypt.

It’s about being told: “You are worthy. You are wanted. I choose you.”

Let me tell you a story.

A grandfather gives his grandson an old watch and sends him to get it appraised.

At the jewelry store: $200.

At the pawn shop: $60, after bargaining.

Then, at a museum, the same watch is valued at $50,000.

The stunned grandson returns, and the grandfather says:

“You see? The watch never changed. But different people saw different worth. Some saw junk. One saw treasure. That’s the lesson—your value doesn’t depend on others’ opinions. It depends on who truly understands you.”

And that’s exactly the message of the Seder.

When we say בַּעֲבוּר זֶה עָשָׂה ה׳ לִי—“Because of this, Hashem did for me”—we’re not telling a story about the past.

We’re standing in the present, in the relationship.

We’re declaring: Hashem sees my worth. He chose me. He brought me out of Egypt.

But here’s the thing: you don’t show up to the Seder cold.

You prepare.

Because when someone of infinite value invites you to a night of connection—

You don’t just toss something together. You get your mind ready. Your heart. Your soul.

We prepare for the Seder not just to clean our homes, but to clear space inside—so we can remember who we are, and who we belong to.

So don’t just get ready for a meal.

Get ready to be seen.

Get ready to be chosen—again.

Get ready to remember what Hashem has always known:

You are priceless.

Be sure to listen to the class - Its All About Me !