The story of Korach and his followers is a common theme throughout history. A prime example would be the Mutiny on the Bounty. What happened to the mutineers tells us what would have happened if Korach had prevailed.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

This week’s parshah, Parshat Korach, contains a lesson that repeats itself throughout human history.

Korach leads a rebellion against Moshe. On the surface, his complaints sound perfectly reasonable. Who appointed Moshe? Why should Aharon be the High Priest? Isn’t that nepotism? If the entire nation is holy, shouldn’t leadership be more democratic?

These are logical questions. The problem, as the Torah makes clear, is that Korach and many of his followers were not motivated by concern for the people. They were motivated by concern for themselves. They dressed personal ambition in the language of principle.

This reminds me of an episode from British naval history: the famous Mutiny on the Bounty.

Captain William Bligh was a strict disciplinarian. After the ship spent months in Tahiti, many of the sailors became attached to the easy life there and no longer wanted to continue the voyage. Under the leadership of Fletcher Christian, they mutinied, seized the ship, and cast Bligh and eighteen loyal men adrift in a small open boat.

What happened next is remarkable. Bligh navigated more than 4,000 miles across the Pacific in terrible conditions and brought almost all of his men safely to civilization. Far from being disgraced, he was acquitted at his court-martial and eventually rose to the rank of Rear Admiral.

The mutineers, meanwhile, established themselves on Pitcairn Island. Yet their rebellion did not produce the paradise they imagined. Violence, murder, and internal conflict followed. Most of the mutineers died violently. The dream of freedom without discipline collapsed into chaos.

Only later did one survivor, John Adams, help establish a stable and religious community on the island.

The story illustrates an important truth. Rebellion is easy. Governing is hard.

Throughout history, people have often become frustrated with leaders and institutions. Sometimes that frustration is justified. But before embracing change, we must ask a simple question: What comes next?

The Russian people were unhappy with the Tsar. The government that followed proved even more oppressive. Many Germans wanted change during the crisis years of the early 1930s. The change they received brought catastrophe. History repeatedly teaches that removing authority is easier than replacing it with something better.

Moshe understood this. He never sought power. At the Burning Bush, he repeatedly tried to avoid the position. Yet when God insisted, Moshe accepted the responsibility because someone had to lead. The same was true of Yehoshua. He did not seek greatness for its own sake. He accepted leadership because the nation needed leadership.

That may be the deepest lesson of Korach. The best leaders are often the ones who never wanted the job in the first place. They take it because it must be done. They understand that leadership is not a privilege; it is a burden and a responsibility.

Korach wanted the honor of leadership. Moshe accepted the responsibility of leadership. The Torah leaves no doubt which model creates a stable society.

Something to think about.

Today is the 3rd of Tamuz, the anniversary of Joshua stopping the sun in the Ayalon Valley. Here we see that Joshua was chosen by God to lead the Jewish people after Moses. Like Moses, he saw that he was a servant, not a ruler.

Now for a Quick Devar Torah

Today is Gimmel Tammuz, the third day of Tammuz, an important date in Jewish history that many people are not aware of. According to tradition, it was on this day that Joshua stopped the sun during the battle in the Valley of Ayalon. The event teaches us something important about leadership.

Joshua inherited the mantle of leadership from Moses. For years he was Moses’ student and disciple. Like Moses, Joshua did not seek power. He did not campaign for leadership or maneuver for position. He became leader because he was chosen by God, with Moses serving as the instrument of that choice.

What stands out about both Moses and Joshua is that neither wanted leadership for its own sake. Moses spent days at the burning bush trying to avoid the job. Yet both men understood that once they were called, they had a responsibility to serve.

This idea appears in this week’s haftarah as well. The prophet Samuel responds to the people’s demand for a king. God allows Saul to be appointed king, but Samuel makes clear what kingship means. The king is not there to enrich himself or to satisfy a desire for power. He is God’s servant and the servant of the people. Leadership is not about privilege; it is about responsibility.

That is the exact opposite of Korach’s mistake.

Korach looked at Moses and saw the trappings of leadership. He saw honor, influence, and authority. Moses, however, saw himself differently. The Torah’s greatest description of Moses is not “ruler” or “commander.” He is called Eved Hashem—the servant of God.

It is fitting that we do not know where Moses is buried. The Torah deliberately conceals his burial place so that we would never turn Moses into an idol. Contrast this with many totalitarian regimes. In the former Soviet Union, in China, and in North Korea, the bodies of founding leaders are preserved and displayed. People are encouraged to venerate the individual.

Judaism takes a different approach. We honor the teachings of our leaders, their character, and their service—not their physical remains. If someone asked us what Moses looked like, we could only guess. Perhaps he had a beard. Beyond that, we do not know, because the person is less important than the mission.

The Torah even tells us that when Moses accounted for the donations to the Mishkan, he was extraordinarily careful to avoid even the appearance of impropriety. Our sages note that he had no pockets in which anyone could accuse him of hiding money. Moses understood that leadership requires transparency and accountability.

This brings us back to Korach. Korach spoke the language of equality and fairness. His argument sounded reasonable: “The entire congregation is holy. Why should Moses and Aaron lead?” But beneath the rhetoric was a desire for power.

History teaches us to be careful when people promise equality as a path to power. The Communist movements of the twentieth century promised equality, yet often produced societies in which everyone was equally poor—except for the ruling elite, who somehow became “more equal than others.”

True leaders do not seek power for themselves. They accept responsibility for others. Moses, Joshua, Samuel, and Saul at his best understood that leadership is service. Korach saw leadership as privilege.

That difference made all the difference.

Something to think about.

Both Moses and Washington were tested on their leadership. Both showed that they did not want the power that came with their positions. They both felt that their job was to lead and when the need for them was over, they stepped down.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

This week’s parsha is Korach. The rebellion of Korach is what might be called a common-sense rebellion. On the surface, Korach’s argument makes perfect sense. He says: We are all holy. The Torah calls us a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. So who are you, Moshe, to place yourself above everyone else? And why is your brother Aharon the High Priest? Isn’t this simply nepotism?

At first glance, it sounds like a reasonable argument. But, as our sages teach, Korach’s true motivation was not equality—it was ego. His real argument was: I should be the leader because I am Korach.

Moshe Rabbeinu was the opposite. At the burning bush, God had to persuade Moshe for seven days to accept leadership. Moshe did not seek power. In fact, he resisted it. Only when he understood that this was his mission from God did he accept the burden and do the best he could.

History teaches us that many rebellions begin with noble slogans but end in tyranny. There is an old saying: “One man, one vote, one time.” A leader promises democracy, gains power, and then never gives it back.

The history of the United States provides an instructive example. In 1783, before the peace treaty with Britain had been signed, the Continental Army was still in the field. Congress had not paid many of the officers for over a year. These men had families and legitimate grievances.

Some officers began discussing a plan to march on Philadelphia and force Congress to pay—or even seize power outright. This became known as the Newburgh Conspiracy.

When George Washington learned of the plot, he asked to address the officers. Many expected him to support them, since throughout the Revolution he had repeatedly pressed Congress to provide for the army.

Washington stood before them and took out a prepared speech. Then he reached for a pair of spectacles and quietly said:

“Gentlemen, you must pardon me, for I have not only grown gray but almost blind in the service of my country.”

Many of the officers had never realized that Washington’s eyesight had deteriorated. The room was moved to tears.

Washington then urged them to reject the conspiracy and submit to civilian authority. He had the power to seize control if he wished. The army loved him. But like Moshe Rabbeinu, he understood that leadership means service, not domination.

After the war, Washington voluntarily returned to his farm at Mount Vernon. When King George III heard this, he reportedly remarked, “If he does that, he will be the greatest man in the world.”

Great leaders know the limits of their power.

Moshe Rabbeinu understood that he was not above the Torah. He was bound by it. His task was to serve as its faithful teacher and guardian, not to override it. Every action had to conform to God’s law.

Korach, by contrast, would likely have treated the law as something to be bent to his own purposes. Moshe never sought ways around the Torah; he sought ways to fulfill it.

Perhaps that is one of the great lessons of Parshat Korach: true leadership is not measured by how much power one possesses, but by how willing one is to place oneself under the rule of law and moral principle.

Something to think about.

One of the differences between Moses and Korach is that Moses didn’t want to be the leader. He had to be convinced that there was no one else who could do the job. That is true leadership.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

In this week’s parsha, Parshat Korach, one of the figures who appears briefly is On ben Pelet. At the beginning of the rebellion he is listed among Korach’s followers, but then something very strange happens: he disappears from the story. When Korach and his followers confront Moshe, On ben Pelet is nowhere to be found.

What happened to him?

The Gemara tells us the rest of the story. On ben Pelet’s wife sat him down and asked him a simple question: “What exactly do you stand to gain from this rebellion? If Moshe remains leader, you’ll still be a follower. And if Korach becomes leader, you’ll still be a follower. Either way, you’re not the one who will be in charge.”

On answered that he had already pledged himself to Korach. So, according to the Gemara, his wife got him drunk, put him to bed, and he slept through the rebellion. By the time he woke up, Korach and his followers had met their fate—and On ben Pelet’s life had been saved.

The Sages praise On’s wife for her wisdom because she saw something much deeper. She understood that Korach’s rebellion was not really about lofty ideals. Korach dressed his arguments in beautiful language: “The entire congregation is holy. Why should Moshe and Aharon rule over us?” He spoke of equality and fairness. He accused Moshe of favoritism and nepotism.

But beautiful words do not always reveal true motives.

Throughout history, people seeking power have often wrapped their ambitions in noble slogans. They speak of equality, justice, or the good of the people. Yet sometimes beneath those words lies a simple desire for power and honor.

The communist movements of the twentieth century often promised a classless society in which everyone would be equal and exploitation would disappear. Those promises attracted millions. But in many places, once power was attained, a small ruling elite emerged while ordinary people remained poor and without freedom. As the old saying went, “All are equal, but some are more equal than others.”

The Sages suggest that had Korach succeeded, his followers would soon have begun fighting among themselves over who should lead. The rebellion was not truly about serving the people—it was about who would hold authority.

Moshe represents the exact opposite model of leadership.

Moshe never sought power. At the burning bush, God had to persuade him repeatedly to accept leadership. Again and again Moshe says, in effect, “Please send someone else.” He did not want the position. But when he realized that the task had to be done and that he was the one capable of doing it, he accepted the burden.

That is the difference between a seeker of power and a true leader.

A seeker of power asks, “What can this position do for me?”

A true leader asks, “What responsibility must I accept for others?”

The Torah describes Moshe as the humblest of men. Yet humility does not mean refusing responsibility. Humility means understanding that leadership is not about personal honor but about service.

Perhaps one of the greatest examples of this outside the Torah was George Washington. After leading the American Revolution, some wanted to make Washington king. He refused. After serving two terms as president, he voluntarily stepped down and returned to Mount Vernon. In fact, he had to be persuaded even to serve a second term. Like Moshe, Washington understood that leadership is a burden to be carried, not an honor to be sought. The true leader says not, “How can I gain power?” but rather, “How can I serve?”

The lesson applies not only to leaders but to all of us. In Jewish life there are mitzvot that need to be done, communities that need support, and people who need help. Sometimes we may prefer that someone else step forward. But if no one else will do it, perhaps that responsibility falls to us.

May we learn from Moshe’s humility, from On ben Pelet’s wife’s wisdom, and remember that true greatness lies not in seeking honor, but in serving others.

Something to think about.

The sin of the Scouts and Korah was that they let their egos rule over their reason. They wanted to be leaders not understanding that a leader is really a servant.

A Quick Devar Torah: Korach, the Spies, and the Dangers of Ego

As we enter the month of Tammuz, we know that in just a few weeks we will begin the Three Weeks, mourning the destruction of the First and Second Temples. It is striking that at this time of year we read Parshat Shelach and Parshat Korach—two parshiyot whose central tragedies are rooted in the same human failing: ego.

The scouts sent in Parshat Shelach were not ordinary people. They were the leaders of their tribes, the elite of the nation. Yet perhaps part of their fear was not simply the difficulty of conquering the Land of Israel. Once the people entered the land, leadership would change. Tribal princes who had been prominent in the wilderness might become ordinary citizens. Their status, influence, and prestige could disappear.

Their objections sounded noble. They claimed they were protecting the people. But beneath the surface may have lurked a fear that their own positions would be diminished. Ego often disguises itself as concern for others.

Korach is another example. His argument sounds democratic and reasonable: “All the congregation are holy—why should Moshe and Aaron lead?” One could almost hear him asking, “Shouldn’t there be elections? Shouldn’t leadership be shared?”

But the Torah reveals what was truly at stake. Korach did not merely oppose concentrated authority; he wanted authority for himself. His challenge was presented as being for the people, but in reality it was for Korach.

On Shabbat I came across a remarkable gematria that puts all of this in perspective. The name Shelach—shin (300), lamed (30), chet (8)—equals 338. The Baal HaTurim notes that this alludes to the destruction of the First Temple in the year 3338. Whether one takes this literally or symbolically, the message is powerful: the sins that ultimately destroy a people often begin from within.

The egotism of the spies and the egotism of Korach weakened the nation from the inside. Later generations would suffer destruction not only from external enemies, but from internal failings.

This brings to mind an interesting story from the founding of the United States. At the Constitutional Convention there arose a new question unknown to monarchies: what do you call a former president? Kings ruled until death. But what happens when a leader voluntarily steps down?

Benjamin Franklin reportedly offered a profound answer. A president, he said, is a servant of the people. When he leaves office, he is no longer a servant—he becomes one of the people. In that sense, he is promoted.

That insight captures the Torah’s vision of leadership. A leader is not a master over the people but a servant of the people. Moshe Rabbeinu embodied that ideal. Korach sought leadership without service.

Perhaps that is one of the lessons as we enter Tammuz and approach the Three Weeks. Societies are not usually destroyed only by enemies from without. Often they are weakened first by pride, ambition, and the inability of leaders to remember that leadership is ultimately an act of service.

Something to think about.

Korach’s argument against Moses seems to make sense. But in reality, it is based on a false notion that everyone was equally holy and Korach knew it. His real desire was power. He had no interest in improving the holiness of the people.

A Quick Devar Torah: The Argument of Korach

At least we got the Torah reading, even if we didn’t get a minyan.

This week’s parsha is Parshat Korach, and one has to wonder whether Moshe Rabbeinu could ever catch a break. He has barely finished dealing with the crisis of the scouts and the people’s rebellion, and immediately a new challenge arises: the rebellion of Korach.

What makes Korach so fascinating is that his argument appears, at first glance, to be perfectly reasonable. Korach says, “The entire congregation is holy. Why should Moshe and Aharon lead? Why shouldn’t leadership be shared more broadly?”

On the surface, it sounds logical. It even sounds democratic. But the Torah teaches us that we must look beneath the surface of every argument.

People who seek power rarely announce, “I want power for myself.” Instead, they present arguments that sound noble and reasonable. The test is whether the argument holds up under closer examination and whether it is truly for the sake of Heaven.

The Mishnah in Pirkei Avot teaches: “Every dispute that is for the sake of Heaven will endure, but one that is not for the sake of Heaven will not endure.” The example of a dispute for the sake of Heaven is that of Hillel and Shammai. The example of one not for the sake of Heaven is Korach and his congregation.

The commentators note something fascinating: Hillel and Shammai debated each other. But the Mishnah does not say “Korach and Moshe.” It says “Korach and his congregation.” Why? Because Korach’s movement was not built on shared principles but on ambition. Had Korach succeeded, his followers would eventually have turned against one another over who would receive power.

That is one of the great lessons of this parsha. Not every argument that sounds righteous is righteous. We must examine motives as well as words. When something seems too good to be true, it often deserves closer scrutiny.

True leadership is not about seeking honor or power. Moshe never sought leadership; leadership was thrust upon him. Korach sought leadership for himself.

The Torah reminds us that the most important question is not whether an argument sounds good, but whether it is truly made for the sake of Heaven.

Just because a problem seems to be impossible to solve does not mean that God wants us to give up. He wants us to try to solve the problem. If we make the effort, then He will help us. If we do not, then He will not.

A Quick Devar Torah: The Sin of the Scouts and the Challenge of Freedom

This week’s parsha continues the story of the scouts. We often ask: What exactly was the sin of the scouts? We know the people’s sin—they believed the evil report. But why did the scouts themselves fail so badly?

The parsha begins with God telling Moses, “Send men for yourself”—not for Me. God already knew what the Land of Israel was like. The mission was not to inform God, but to allow the people to see the goodness of the land for themselves.

The scouts return, and ten out of twelve deliver a devastating report. The people panic. But stop and think about who these people were. This was the generation that witnessed the Ten Plagues in Egypt. They stood at the Sea of Reeds and saw it split before their eyes. They stood at Mount Sinai and heard the voice of God. These were not stories they heard from others; they experienced these events personally.

How then could they believe that God had brought them to the edge of the Promised Land only to die there? How could they say, “We were like grasshoppers in our own eyes”?

The answer lies in understanding slavery.

One of the effects of slavery is that it destroys initiative. A slave does what he is told. He has little reason to plan, dream, or take risks because his future belongs to someone else. If a master commands something foolish, the slave obeys; he has no choice. Initiative is beaten out of him.

The generation of the Exodus had left Egypt physically, but they had not yet fully left slavery psychologically.

Throughout the Exodus story, God repeatedly teaches the Jewish people to take initiative. Before the plague of the firstborn, the Israelites were commanded to place blood on their doorposts. Did God need help distinguishing between Egyptian and Israelite homes? Of course not. God was teaching them that redemption requires action.

At the Sea of Reeds, Moses cries out to God, and God responds: “Why do you cry out to Me? Tell the children of Israel to go forward.” According to tradition, the sea did not split until Nachshon ben Aminadav stepped into the water. First came human initiative; then came divine assistance.

This is the lesson the scouts failed to understand.

Joshua and Caleb saw exactly what the other scouts saw. They saw fortified cities and powerful enemies. But they also understood that with God’s help—and with human effort—the obstacles could be overcome.

God does not ask us to sit back and wait for miracles. God helps those who act. Faith is not passivity.

I once heard someone say that if you are religious, God will reward you with wealth—as though God were an ATM machine. Judaism does not teach that. If a person needs to earn a living, he must work honestly and use his talents. As Pirkei Avot teaches, if one does not teach his son a trade, it is as though he teaches him robbery, because people must support themselves somehow.

This is the message of the spies. Free people take initiative. Slaves wait for someone else to act.

A free society allows people to rise and fall according to their efforts and choices. In many ancient societies—and in some places even today—people were trapped forever by birth or caste. The Torah rejects that idea. God created human beings with dignity, responsibility, and the capacity to build a better future.

The lesson of the scouts is therefore not only about entering the Land of Israel. It is about learning what it means to be truly free.

Something to think about.

Benedict Stambler saved a lot of cantorial music in the 1950s. He knew that if we did not save the music it would be forgotten and we would lose a part of our history.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

This week’s parashah deals with a difficult episode in our history: the delegation of scouts who turned themselves into spies and brought back a negative report about the Land of Israel. It is not one of the most glorious moments in Jewish history, but it is part of our history nonetheless.

One of the important lessons we learn from this parashah is that a people must remember its history—the good and the bad. If you forget your history, you lose sight of who you are, and without a sense of who you are, it becomes very difficult to have a future. Many peoples have disappeared from the stage of history because they forgot why they existed in the first place.

For the Jewish people, memory is central. So many of our customs, holidays, and rituals are designed to help us remember. We remember the Exodus, we remember Sinai, we remember Jerusalem, and we even remember our mistakes so that we can learn from them.

In the 1950s, there was a growing concern that people were forgetting the great chazzanim of the early twentieth century. Instead of listening to cantors such as Yossele Rosenblatt and others who had shaped Jewish musical life, many preferred the newer popular entertainers, such as Mickey Katz, whose humorous and satirical songs were enormously popular.

One man recognized that an important part of Jewish cultural history was in danger of being lost. That man was my father-in-law, Benedict Stambler. He founded Collector’s Guild Records and began reissuing recordings of the great cantors of the 1920s and earlier generations. He was also among the first to make recordings that preserved the music and traditions of Chabad and other Jewish communities.

Like many fathers, he enlisted his children to help with the work. My wife spent time in the New York Public Library researching material for the liner notes that accompanied the albums. The old recordings had to be restored, cleaned up, and preserved for future generations.

Because of his efforts, a tremendous amount of Jewish musical heritage was saved. The music of those cantors was more than entertainment. It reflected the experiences, emotions, hopes, and history of Jewish communities throughout the world. Without those efforts, much of that heritage might have been lost forever.

Today is his yahrzeit, and as we remember him, we can reflect on the lesson of this week’s parashah. Preserving memory is not just about looking backward. It is about ensuring that future generations know who they are and where they came from.

May the memory of Baruch Zalman ben Yehuda Moshe Leib be a blessing, and may the heritage he helped preserve continue to inspire generations to come.

Joshua & Caleb saw the same things as the other scouts. They looked at it through the lens of the Torah. This is why we are commanded to wear Tzitzit. To remind us to look at life through the correct lens.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

One of the interesting sidelights in this week’s parsha is the connection between the scouts and the mitzvah of tzitzit. When Moshe sends the delegation into the Land of Israel, the Torah uses the word latur—to tour or scout out the land. In modern Hebrew, the same root gives us the word for a tourist.

At the end of the parsha, however, we encounter the mitzvah of tzitzit. There the Torah tells us: “Do not follow after your heart and after your eyes.”

What is the connection?

Joshua and Caleb saw exactly the same land as the other ten scouts. They saw the same cities, the same fortifications, and the same giants. The facts were identical. What differed was the lens through which they viewed those facts.

The ten scouts looked at the obstacles and concluded that success was impossible. “We were like grasshoppers in our own eyes,” they said. The challenges seemed insurmountable.

Joshua and Caleb looked at the very same reality and reached a different conclusion. They did not deny the difficulties. They did not claim the conquest would be easy. Rather, they said that God had commanded the Jewish people to enter the land. If God had brought them this far, then they had the ability to succeed. The obstacles were real, but so was God’s promise.

That is the lesson of tzitzit. The Torah tells us to look at the tzitzit and remember the mitzvot. It reminds us that what we see is often shaped by the perspective through which we view the world. Two people can look at the same situation and come away with entirely different conclusions.

There is a story told about a group of Chabad women who attended a convention in Chicago. After Shabbat, a snowstorm prevented them from returning to New York. One of them was the wife of one of the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s secretaries. When the secretary informed the Rebbe that his wife was “stuck” in Chicago, the Rebbe replied, “Stuck? No Jew is ever stuck. If they are there, then God has a purpose for them being there.”

The women took that message to heart. Since they could not leave, they spent their extra time distributing Shabbat candles and candleholders to Jewish women in Chicago. Years later, one of them returned and discovered that some of those women were still lighting Shabbat candles because of that encounter.

One person sees a snowstorm and says, “I’m stuck.” Another sees the same snowstorm and asks, “What opportunity has God placed before me?”

That is the difference between the ten scouts and Joshua and Caleb. It is also the lesson of tzitzit. The Torah teaches us that there is no such thing as mere coincidence. We are challenged to look beyond the surface and ask what purpose and responsibility God is placing before us.

The facts may be the same. The question is: through what lens are we looking at them?

Something to think about.

A majority of the delegation that Moses sent to scout out the land came back with a bad report. Only Caleb and Joshua were positive. They stood by the truth and were proven right.

Good morning. Now for a quick div Torah. And one of the interesting things in this week’s parha, we have the majority of the spies or the delegation as I mentioned before that they give a bad report. But two of them disagree and they give a totally different report. They don’t say that the land is going it’s going to be easy to conquer the land. They don’t say that life in the land will be easy, but they say that we should trust in God. These two are Kellb and Joshua. And we know that Joshua was singled out before the mission by Moses who says his original name was Hosiach. And Moses changes his name to Yahosua. Yahosua or Joshua, you know, from Hosa, Hosea to Joshua. Uh, signaling that he’s going to have a much more important role to play as the story unfolds. Kellb is also with him and together they give a totally different report. They say yes the land is it’ll be hard and everything but the results will be great for us and we can do it because we we have God and remember this is a generation they saw the plagues in Egypt they saw the crossing of the sea of reeds they were there they were at Mount Si this is the generation that not only did they know about this they witnessed it. Uh and Joshua and Kellb uh are in that generation. They know yes, we can do it. What gave them the strength? Well, Kellb had two things in his favor. Number one, he was Moses’s brother-in-law. He was married to Miriam. and she being her his wife gave him a lot of strength to withstand bad advice. The other was when he went into the land of Israel, he separated himself from the other others in the delegation, he went to Hebron to the tomb of the patriarchs and the matriarchs in Hebron. So he wanted to get that spiritual oomph as it were for what he was about to do. Joshua of course was Joshua. He would become the leader of the Jewish people after Moses. And this is an important lesson also in leadership. Now there’s a thing that if you witness something and other people say well you really didn’t see it. After a while, you will deny that you saw it. It’s a sort of psychological thing that we have. They always want to get along. Joshua and Caleb don’t fall into that trap. And because of that, they are basically becoming leaders. A leader has to lead. He has to listen to the people, but he also has to let the people know when they are wrong, when the when it gets really hard. Uh that it’s not going to be easy, but we’re on the right track. uh much like if you look out through American history uh JFK at his inauguration mentioned about the United States going to the moon saying we’re not doing this because it is easy but because it is hard. You know a leader has to stand by his principles. He doesn’t stand by his principles. He’s not a leader. Uh and we see this throughout history. There are leaders who stood by their principles. And we Jews are people also who throughout our history have to stand by principle. There are a lot of things said about us which is which are blatantly untrue and we know them to be untrue. Now there are those who go along with what people are saying and will denounce Israel etc because they want to get along with all their friends. But there are those of us who we feel that if our friends are lying about us then they’re not really good friends. Remember that Abraham was called the Ephree the one who stood on the other side. He knew that adultery was wrong. He knew that ethical monotheism was the way to go. Even though the whole world told him he was wrong, he didn’t care. He knew that everybody in the world was wrong except him. And it turned out that in the end he was the one who was proven to be correct. But we have to be able to withstand bad advice and bad console. We have to stand up for our principles and for what is right. Something to think about.