We need a perpetual reminder that whatever faults we have, they lie only at the periphery, in the very outer garments of the soul which are touched by the ego, the persona and the world in which they are enclosed. The core, however, remains always pure and whole.
Our job then is not so much to repair and renovate as it is to unleash that inner essence. To allow it free passage to the outside, so it may take charge of our thoughts, our words and all that we do.
Even when, only a moment ago, an animal raging within tore us from our true selves—yet, in an instant, we can return with all our heart.
We are like the prince dressed in rags—at any moment able to shed them and adorn the royal garb that brings out his true being. At any point in time we can return to the essential soul that remains untouched, unblemished, unshaken from its intimate bond with the Essence of All Things.
In fact, that is truly the entire purpose of the outer mask and crust that handicap the soul: They are only there as a sort of dam, holding back the mighty waters so as to harness them, to release their power with intensity a thousand-fold.
Sincerely, Rabbi Mendel & Elke Zaltzman
Shabbos Times
Friday, March 15
Candle Lighting: 6:46pm Evening Service: 6:50pm
Saturday, March 16 Tanya Class 9:15am Morning Service: 10:00am Kiddush: 12:15pm Evening Service: 6:35pm Shabbat Ends: 7:46pm
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FAIR LAWN JEWISH DAY CAMP
A BISSELE HUMOR
A yeshiva decides to start a crew team. But no matter how much they practice, they lose every single race. Eventually they decide to send one boy down to the nearby prep school as a spy, to watch their winning crew team and find out what their secret is. After a day of reconnaissance, the boy comes back. “Listen!” he tells his teammates. “I learned how they do it — they have eight guys rowing, and only one guy screaming!”
WEEKLY eTORAH
This week's Parshah continues the theme from the previous Parsha in describing our ancestors' enthusiasm for building the Mishkan (tabernacle) and their exacting commitment to its great detail. After transmitting G‑d's detailed instructions for building the Mishkan the Torah could have simply concluded with the words Vayasu ken, "and so they did." Instead, it describes how the Mishkan was actually made, repeating all the details. Why does the Torah do this when it is usually so economical with its words? Every teacher strives not only to transmit his lesson but also to spark the student's curiosity, to engender within him a desire to follow the instruction. The Torah is no different. Torah is a book of instruction. Thus it endeavors to inculcate within us, its students, affection for its tradition. It is not enough for us to learn the letter of its law — it is imperative that we also develop an appetite for its spirit. Torah wants to nurture within us a thirst for its information, a hunger for its heritage, a yearning for its compelling atmosphere and an appreciation for its sanctity. Thus, the Torah dedicates two full portions to describe the atmosphere of yesteryear. To give us a feel for the ambiance that prevailed in the home of our ancestors, to convey their enthusiasm for the Torah and their adherence to its laws. To teach us not only that they obeyed G‑d’s commandments but also why. Why they found it so compelling. When we set out to teach our children let us remember that commitment is not enough; we must also aspire for conviction.
