Aaron is commanded to light the Menorah every day in the Tabernacle. This comes after the presentation of the gifts of the leaders of Tribes. This is to show that as important as the gifts were, the real holiness is doing the everyday tasks.

A Quick Devar Torah: The Importance of the Everyday

This week’s parsha begins with Aaron being commanded to light the Menorah each day.

The placement of this command is striking. Last week’s parsha ended with the dramatic dedication of the Mishkan. The leaders of the tribes brought their offerings, there was celebration, ceremony, and great public recognition. It was a historic moment.

Yet immediately afterward, the Torah turns our attention to something much quieter: Aaron lighting the Menorah every single day.

The Torah is teaching us an important lesson. As significant as the dedication of the Mishkan was, the real importance lay not in the grand opening but in the daily use of the Mishkan. A building is not made holy by one great ceremony. It becomes holy through the steady, continuous service that takes place within it.

We often overlook the importance of the everyday.

I remember when Rabbi Schwartz finally received a long-awaited hip replacement. He had waited months for the procedure. For him, it was a major event. But for the doctors and nurses, it was simply another day at work. They performed these procedures every day. What was life-changing for one person was part of the daily routine for others.

So much of our lives depends on people who faithfully do their jobs day after day without fanfare.

The Torah teaches that Judaism works the same way. We should celebrate the great moments. Today is the Israel Day Parade, and it is important to participate and show our support. Holidays, special events, and public celebrations all have their place.

But that is not what keeps Judaism alive.

What keeps Judaism alive is that we got up this morning and came to pray. We studied Torah today. We gave tzedakah. We performed acts of kindness. We did what we were supposed to do yesterday, we do it today, and we will do it again tomorrow.

The real mitzvah is found in consistency.

Think about an aircraft carrier. People notice the pilots, but an aircraft carrier may have 100 or 200 pilots and a crew of 5,000 sailors. Thousands of people work every day behind the scenes to make everything possible. Without their daily efforts, nothing happens.

The same lesson appears in our parsha. The tribal leaders deserved recognition for their generous offerings and dedication of the Mishkan. Their names are recorded for all time. But the Torah immediately reminds us that the real work begins the next morning when Aaron lights the Menorah.

The great events matter.

But what matters even more is what we do every day.

The future of Judaism, and indeed the future of any worthwhile endeavor, depends not on occasional moments of inspiration but on daily acts of commitment.

The Menorah was not lit once. It was lit every day.

Something to think about.

Samson is a flawed individual. His story teaches us what happens when a person has power but does not control his desires.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

This week’s haftorah is closely tied to the parashah because the parashah discusses the laws of the nazir, while the haftorah tells the story of Shimshon HaGibor, Samson the Hero.

Shimshon is a fascinating and complicated figure. Unlike the ordinary nazir, who voluntarily takes on the status of nazir for a limited period—usually to correct some personal failing or to achieve greater self-discipline—Shimshon was a nazir from birth. He never chose that path. Before he was even born, his parents were told that their son would be a nazir and would begin the task of saving Israel from the Philistines.

Shimshon possessed tremendous strengths. He was courageous, fearless, and driven by a powerful desire to protect the Jewish people. Yet he was also a man of powerful impulses. Again and again, he made decisions based on his personal desires rather than careful judgment. In the end, those weaknesses contributed to his downfall. Delilah’s persistence eventually wore him down, and he revealed the secret of his strength. Once his hair was cut, he was captured by the Philistines.

Yet even in his final moments, Shimshon fulfilled his mission. By bringing down the Philistine temple, he struck a decisive blow against Israel’s enemies.

What lesson does the haftorah teach us?

One lesson is about leadership. Throughout history, people have often searched for a strong individual who would solve all their problems. The ancient Greeks and Romans sometimes appointed dictators during times of crisis. In more recent times, totalitarian regimes have elevated leaders into objects of near worship. North Korea speaks of its “Dear Leader.” Iran has its “Supreme Leader.” The Soviet Union preserved Lenin in Red Square, while China did the same with Mao. In Nazi Germany, loyalty was pledged not to law or country, but to Hitler himself.

The Torah rejects this idea.

No human being is perfect. Every leader has flaws. The measure of great leadership is not possessing every talent or every answer. Rather, great leaders know how to bring out the talents of others. They surround themselves with capable people, listen to wise counsel, and build institutions that are stronger than any one individual.

A successful president, king, or leader cannot personally master every detail. Success comes from finding the right people, empowering them, and trusting them to do their jobs.

Shimshon was a hero. At that moment in history, he was the hero Israel needed. But he could not be the ultimate savior of the Jewish people because he remained captive to his own weaknesses.

The haftorah reminds us not to place our faith in any single individual. Leaders matter, but what matters even more are the principles, laws, and institutions that endure beyond any one person. A leader must be willing to hear the word “no,” to exercise self-discipline, and to earn authority through responsibility and service.

Something to think about.

The Torah wants us to partake in the pleasures of life but in moderation. That is why the Nazir, a person who denies himself wine, grapes, a haircut or any contact with a dead body usually for a month. After this period, he has to bring a sin offering. It is a sin not to have permitted pleasure.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

In this week’s parsha, we read about the laws of the Nazir — the person who voluntarily takes on extra restrictions. He avoids wine and grapes, does not cut his hair, and distances himself from certain normal pleasures of life.

But the Torah’s attitude toward the Nazir is fascinating. On one hand, there may be a good reason for someone to become a Nazir. A person may realize, “Something in me is out of balance. I need discipline. I need to pull myself back.” The Gemara tells the story of a young man who saw his reflection and became impressed with his own beauty. Realizing that his ego was getting out of hand, he became a Nazir to bring himself back down to earth.

But on the other hand, when the Nazir completes his period, he brings a sin offering. Why? What sin did he commit? One explanation is that he denied himself pleasures that God permitted. Judaism does not believe that holiness means rejecting life. God gave us a world to enjoy — but to enjoy properly, with limits, discipline, and responsibility.

That is the key balance. The Torah does not want us to live like people who say, “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.” That is one extreme. But it also does not want us to deny ourselves everything and act as if pleasure itself is wrong. That is the other extreme.

The Jewish ideal is the golden mean: enjoy life, but within boundaries. Take pleasure in the world, but do not become enslaved by pleasure. Practice restraint when necessary, but do not turn restraint into a permanent way of life.

And this fits the larger theme of Sefer Bamidbar. The Jewish people are being transformed from a mob of former slaves into a nation. A nation needs people who are balanced, disciplined, and levelheaded — not pulled to one extreme or the other.

The Nazir teaches us that sometimes we need to step back in order to correct ourselves. But the goal is not extremism. The goal is to return to normal, healthy, responsible living — enjoying God’s world while staying within the limits that allow society, and the soul, to function properly.

Something to think about.

Every leader of a tribe brings an offering to the Tabernacle. It is the same offering but the Torah records each one. The lesson is that we are different but equal in the eyes of the Torah. The the sum is greater than the whole.

This week’s parsha contains perhaps one of the most boring sections in the Torah: the offerings brought by the leaders of the tribes. Tribe after tribe brings the exact same offering, and the Torah repeats the entire list every single time. The only difference is the name of the tribal leader and the tribe itself.

So the obvious question is: why does the Torah do this to us?

The answer is actually a very deep idea.

Remember, the Jewish people in the wilderness are a nation in formation. We had been a collection of slaves, but now the Torah is transforming us into a people, into a nation. You might call it “the birth of a nation” — though not the movie. That’s a very different theme entirely. Those who understand the reference will understand it. Those who don’t — study history.

But the point is that the Torah is teaching something essential about nationhood.

Each tribe was unique. Every tribe had its own strengths, its own character, its own mission within the larger nation. Yet despite those differences, every tribe brought the same offering. Why? Because while we are different, we are also equal in our importance before God and in our responsibility to the nation.

The Torah is teaching two ideas simultaneously: individuality and unity.

You can actually see a similar principle in the American constitutional system. People complain that every state gets two senators. Wyoming and Alaska have the same number as New York or California. Rhode Island has the same representation as huge states with vastly larger populations. Why? Because the system is trying to balance individuality with unity. The states are different, but they are all part of one union.

The Torah is presenting the tribes the same way. Every tribe matters. Every tribe contributes something unique. But no tribe stands alone. The nation only works when all the tribes work together.

In many ways, society itself functions this way. Think about something as simple as buying milk at a neighborhood store. The store owner depends on the trucking company. The trucking company depends on the processing plant. The processing plant depends on the dairy farmer. The farmer depends on equipment manufacturers, mechanics, fuel suppliers, and countless others. Nobody controls the entire system, yet everybody depends on everyone else.

That is how a nation works.

Each person, each tribe, each group contributes something different, but all are united toward a larger goal.

The Torah’s goal was not simply to create a population. It was to create a holy nation — “a kingdom of priests,” a people whose mission was to show the world that there is a God, that morality matters, and that society can be built around justice, responsibility, and holiness.

That is why the offerings are repeated again and again. The Torah is emphasizing that while each tribe is unique, every tribe is equally necessary. The unity of the nation is greater than the sum of its individual parts.

Something to think about.

The Torah views the family as the basis of society. That is why it goes out of its way to show that falsely accusing a wife of adultery is bad. That if the family breaks down, so does society.

This week’s parsha contains probably one of the strangest mitzvot in the Torah — the law of the Sotah, the woman suspected by her husband of adultery. It’s a very unusual process. The husband makes the accusation, the woman is brought to the Mishkan, later the Beit HaMikdash, the kohanim become involved, her head covering is removed, and eventually she drinks the bitter waters.

But if you look carefully at the process, something very important stands out: all along the way, they are trying to stop the process from happening. The kohanim do not want to carry it out. They repeatedly tell her, “If you did something wrong, confess. Don’t go through this.” In other words, the Torah is not eager to punish. The Torah is trying to prevent the destruction of a family.

What’s going on here?

The husband suspects something improper. He has no concrete evidence. He only knows that she has been associating privately with another man after being warned not to do so. Suspicion alone is dangerous. Jealousy can destroy a marriage, and false accusations can destroy a person’s dignity and reputation. So the Torah creates an extremely serious process, one that forces everybody involved to stop and think very carefully before proceeding.

And there are risks on both sides. If she is guilty, the consequences are severe — and according to the Torah, the man involved is punished as well. But if the husband falsely accuses her, he too bears responsibility. Chazal explain that this process only worked in a society that itself maintained standards of moral behavior. Once adultery became widespread, the Sotah ritual was abolished. A corrupt society cannot sustain institutions built on trust and holiness.

The deeper issue here is the importance of the family. The Torah understands that the basic building block of society is the family — husband, wife, and children. Once trust inside the family collapses, society itself begins to weaken.

And perhaps the most remarkable detail of all is this: the bitter waters included parchment containing the name of God, and that name was dissolved into the water. Normally, erasing God’s name is strictly forbidden. Yet here God says, so to speak, “For the sake of peace between husband and wife, I am willing to allow My name to be erased.”

That is how important shalom bayit — peace in the home — is in the Torah.

So the Torah reminds us to be very careful with suspicion, gossip, and accusations that cannot be proven. Words can destroy families, and families are the foundation of society itself. Something to think about.

Today is Memorial Day in the United States. We have to acknowledge and respect those who gave their lives for us and the Constitution. The two are intertwined.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

Today is Memorial Day, and we should take stock of the fact that we are living in the United States and are able to enjoy freedoms that countless others throughout history never had. Memorial Day is a day to remember the men and women who died defending this country.

What is interesting is that when someone enters the United States military, they do not take an oath to defend a particular leader, nor even simply the land itself. Their oath is to defend the Constitution of the United States — the system of law and liberty upon which the country is built.

That is actually a very Jewish idea.

For us, the central idea is the Torah. In many ways, you could say the Torah is our constitution. The Jewish people did not leave Egypt merely to escape slavery. God did not take us out of Egypt because He had nothing better to do that day, nor simply because we were suffering slaves — there were many slaves in the ancient world. God took us out for a purpose: to receive the Torah at Mount Sinai and to build a society based on justice, morality, and holiness.

That is why the Torah repeatedly reminds us: “I am the Lord your God who took you out of Egypt.” Freedom alone is not enough. A free society must have principles, laws, and responsibilities. We are not truly free until freedom is tied to moral purpose.

The founders of the United States understood this idea very well. Many of them were deeply influenced by the Bible. In fact, scholars have often noted that the Book of Deuteronomy — Sefer Devarim — was among the most influential biblical books during the founding era. The founders looked carefully at the Torah’s description of limited government, especially the laws concerning the king in Parshat Shoftim. Even the American presidency was shaped by the idea that no ruler stands above the law.

After the Constitution was completed, Reverend Ezra Stiles, the president of Yale College, explained the Constitution in biblical terms, comparing aspects of American government to the system described in Sefer Shoftim, the Book of Judges. The founders were not Jewish, but many of them believed that the Bible was the foundation of liberty and moral government.

There is a reason why throughout the United States you find so many biblical place names. The Bible shaped the moral imagination of early America.

There is a famous story about the last surviving veteran of the Battle of Bunker Hill. In the 1840s, people asked him what inspired him to fight. Was it John Locke? Montesquieu? The philosophers of the Enlightenment? He answered, “Never heard of them. It was my Bible.”

That answer says a great deal.

In the United States, the oath is to defend the Constitution — not a king, not a president, not a political party. The idea is to defend a system of liberty under law. That concept has deep biblical roots.

And so on Memorial Day, as we honor those who gave their lives defending this country, we should also remember what they were defending: the ability to live freely, to worship freely, and to build a society based on law, responsibility, and moral purpose.

As Jews living in America, we especially should appreciate that freedom — the freedom to live openly as Jews, to pray, to study Torah, and to contribute to society in accordance with our beliefs.

Something to think about.

We read the Book of Ruth on Shavuout because it ties in all the aspects of the holiday. It concerns the harvest, which begins at this time. It shows that Ruth is the ancestor of King David. And of course, it shows that Ruth accepts the Torah from the outside.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

This Shabbat, we read the Book of Ruth, and it’s interesting that of all the books in Tanach, Ruth is the one chosen to be read on Shavuot. But when you look closely, Ruth ties together almost everything that Shavuot represents.

First, Shavuot is the anniversary of receiving the Torah at Mount Sinai. But it is also a harvest festival, one of the great agricultural holidays of the Jewish calendar. And the Book of Ruth takes place right in the middle of the harvest season.

The story also reflects how the Torah is supposed to shape society. We see Boaz allowing the poor to glean in his fields, following the Torah’s agricultural laws. To him, helping the poor is not something extraordinary — it is simply normal behavior. And that is an important lesson. Many things we take for granted — giving tzedakah, helping others, caring about the vulnerable — feel natural to us because the Torah trained us to think that way. Not every society in history viewed these things as obvious obligations.

The story of Ruth also teaches another powerful lesson. Naomi’s husband leaves the Land of Israel during a difficult period and goes to Moab. Yet from that seemingly bad decision comes an unexpected blessing, because Ruth enters the Jewish people.

When Naomi tells Ruth that she does not need to return with her to Israel, Ruth refuses to abandon her. And finally Ruth makes that remarkable declaration:

“Where you go, I will go. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God.”

In a sense, Ruth accepts the Torah before fully knowing everything it will demand of her. That parallels what the Jewish people said at Mount Sinai: “Naaseh v’nishma” — “We will do, and we will hear.” First we committed ourselves, and then we learned the details.

And of course, the Book of Ruth concludes with the lineage of King David, because Shavuot is traditionally associated with both the birth and death of King David. Ruth becomes the ancestress of the Davidic dynasty.

In fact, there’s an old joke that both the House of David and the old Yankee Stadium were “the house that Ruth built.”

But the deeper point is this: Ruth shows us that Torah is not just about private belief or ritual observance. Torah shapes how we treat workers, the poor, strangers, family, and society itself. It affects economic life, social life, and political life.

And in a certain sense, we are all converts at Mount Sinai. The Jewish people collectively accepted the covenant and took upon themselves a new way of living.

That is really the message of Shavuot: Torah is not only something we believe. Torah is something we live.

Something to think about.

The Torah is to keep all within due bounds, from the most powerful in society to the least. Otherwise, there would be no society.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

As we know, Thursday night and Friday we celebrate Shavuot, the anniversary of receiving the Torah at Mount Sinai. The importance of this event in human history—not just Jewish history—cannot be overstated.

One of the great struggles throughout history has always been the struggle between rulers and the ruled. In many societies, the king made the rules. As the saying goes, “It’s good to be king.” The ruler decided what was right and wrong, and often placed himself above the law.

The Torah comes along and says something revolutionary: the king does not make the rules.

That is one of the reasons dictators throughout history have often opposed religion—at least religions that place morality and law above the ruler. Ancient idol worship was different. In many pagan societies, the king himself was considered divine. And if the king is a god, then the king can do whatever he wants.

The Torah rejects that idea completely.

The king is not above the law. In fact, the Torah places even greater obligations on kings, judges, and priests because leaders set the moral tone for society. If the leadership is corrupt, society becomes corrupt. And once people believe their leaders are corrupt, they lose trust in the entire system.

This idea appears in the opening of the Book of Ruth, which we read on Shavuot. The book begins, “In the days when the judges judged.” But the phrase can also be understood as “in the days when the judges were judged.” In other words, the people no longer respected the judges because they believed they themselves were corrupt.

You see this throughout the First and Second Temple periods as well. At certain points, the priesthood lost the respect of the people because of corruption. The same happened with judges and political leaders.

The Torah in Sefer Devarim makes the responsibility of judges very clear: a judge must not favor rich or poor, powerful or weak. The only thing that matters is justice and the facts of the case.

That is one of the Torah’s great contributions to civilization: everyone, including the ruler, is subject to a higher law.

Interestingly, even modern constitutional systems preserve echoes of this idea. At the coronation of King Charles III, one of the central moments was when he was presented with a Bible and reminded that it represents the foundation of the law and moral order of the kingdom.

The Torah goes even further. It commands that the king write his own Sefer Torah and carry it with him at all times, so that he constantly remembers that he too has limits.

Imagine if every political leader carried a constitution with them everywhere they went.

But the lesson is not only for leaders. It is also for the people. Freedom does not mean doing whatever we want. A just society exists only when everyone understands there are moral limits, responsibilities, and laws that apply equally to all.

That is one of the enduring messages of Sinai—and one of the reasons the giving of the Torah changed the world.

Something to think about.

We learn the Torah all night on Shavuout to emphasize that Torah scholarship is a meritocracy. It does not matter your background, what is important is what you do with the he gifts that God gave you.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

As we know, Thursday night begins Shavuot, and many people have the custom of staying up all night learning Torah. It’s actually a very strange custom when you think about it. You stay up all night, and by Friday you’re exhausted. So where does this custom come from, and what is the point behind it?

The custom of Tikkun Leil Shavuot really develops in the 16th century in Safed among the kabbalists. It is based on a Midrash that says that on the very morning the Jewish people were supposed to receive the Torah at Mount Sinai — the most momentous event in human history — the Jews overslept. Moshe had to go around waking everybody up to prepare to receive the Ten Commandments.

So the kabbalists said: we are going to show our excitement to receive the Torah by doing the opposite. Instead of sleeping, we stay awake all night learning Torah.

But there is something much deeper going on here.

When Jews gather to learn together, they are building community. People go from synagogue to synagogue hearing different classes, meeting friends, discussing ideas, arguing, debating, learning. Torah is not meant to be isolated. Judaism is a religion of study, discussion, and community.

And it also teaches another very important idea: Torah is a meritocracy.

Kingship is inherited. Priesthood is inherited. But Torah belongs to everyone. A person can come from the humblest background and still become one of the greatest Torah scholars. Hillel was so poor that he sometimes could not even afford admission to the study hall, so he listened from outside — and he became one of the greatest sages in Jewish history.

I once heard a rosh yeshiva from Tels say that he did not grow up religious at all. He even joked that pork was a major food in his home growing up. Yet he became a major Torah scholar and eventually a rosh yeshiva. Torah does not ask where you started. It asks what you did with the tools God gave you.

That is one of the great messages of Shavuot: the Torah belongs to every Jew.

And there is another lesson. Judaism is not supposed to be mechanical. The ideal is not simply doing mitzvot automatically because “that’s what we do.” The Torah wants us to learn, to understand, to ask questions, to know why we do things. Because if we understand the mitzvot, then we can pass them on to the next generation in a meaningful way.

When a child asks, “Why do we do this?” the answer should not simply be, “Because that’s what we do.” We should be able to explain the meaning, the values, and the purpose behind it.

That is really the importance of staying up all night on Shavuot. We are showing that receiving the Torah matters to us, that learning matters, that understanding matters, and that God gave us the Torah so we could become better people and build a better society.

Something to think about.

On Shavuout we celebrate receiving the Torah at Mt. Sinai. The importance of the Torah is that it shows us that morality is objective. There is no such thing and individual morality. That goes for leaders as well as followers. We are all called upon to be moral.

As we know, Thursday night, Friday, and Shabbat is the festival of Shavuot. Traditionally, Shavuot marks the anniversary of the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai. And this is an extremely important event — not only in Jewish history, but in the history of civilization itself.

Before the giving of the Torah, the world was filled with idolatrous societies. Every nation had its gods, its rulers, and its customs. What made the Torah unique was not merely monotheism, but ethical monotheism. The Torah established the idea of objective morality: that something is moral or immoral not because a king says so, not because society votes on it, and not because it is politically convenient, but because God says so.

That was revolutionary.

Throughout history, rulers have often disliked religion precisely because religion places limits on power. The great totalitarian movements of the twentieth century — whether communist or fascist — were deeply hostile to religion. Why? Because religion not only constrains the population; it also constrains the leaders. It tells rulers: “You are not above the law.”

The Torah insists that kings, judges, priests, and prophets are all subject to the same divine law.

That is why the story of the prophet Nathan confronting King David is so remarkable. Nathan goes directly to the king and tells him: “You have sinned.” In most ancient societies, that conversation would have ended very quickly — and very badly for the prophet. Kings were treated as semi-divine figures. They were above criticism.

But not in Judaism.

The Torah teaches that no human being is above God’s law.

Even today, you can still see remnants of the old idea of absolute kingship. The Shah of Iran’s official title was “King of Kings.” Think about that title for a moment. The Torah rejects that concept entirely. A Jewish king carries a Torah scroll with him precisely to remind him that he is not supreme.

Years ago, when I would give tours in Safed, Israel, people would notice the large picture of the Lubavitcher Rebbe hanging on the northern wall of the yeshiva. They would ask about it. I would point out something important: when the students prayed, they faced away from the picture. They were not praying to the Rebbe. He was respected, admired, even loved — but he was not God.

Then I would ask them: “What do you think would happen if tomorrow morning people discovered that the Rebbe publicly violated Shabbat?”

The answer is simple: he would lose almost all of his followers immediately. Why? Because the basis of his authority was not that he stood above the Torah, but that he lived by the same Torah as everyone else — only on a higher level.

That is one of the Torah’s greatest lessons: the law applies equally to everyone, from the greatest leader to the simplest person.

This idea even influenced American political thought. In 1799, President John Adams wrote that the Constitution was “made only for a moral and religious people” and was inadequate for any other. In other words, a free society only works when the people — and the leaders — accept moral restraints upon themselves.

That is one of the great messages of Shavuot.

At Mount Sinai, God did not simply give us rituals or ceremonies. He gave us a moral framework for society. The Torah teaches that there is a law higher than kings, higher than governments, and higher than human ambition.

And that law applies equally to all of us.

Something to think about.