Printed fromChabadChaiCenter.com
ב"ה

Rabbi Mendy's Blog

A weekly exploration into the Torah's lessons for life

You might feel far away, but it's like you never left

We find ourselves glued to the news, waiting with bated breath, hoping and praying for military success and the obliteration of the Iranian regime whose stated principle is the destruction of Israel and annihilation of our people. But we find ourselves thousands of miles away; what can we do to help? 

The answer lies in this week's Torah portion Behaaloscha. There, we learn about the Mitzvah of "Second Passover." A year after the Exodus from Egypt, Moses is confronted by a group of people who missed the opportunity to bring the Passover sacrifice on Passover evening. They lament their misfortune and ask for a second chance to get this once-a-year offering. Moshe, in turn, asks Hashem and is introduced to a new tradition, known as the "second Passover," to be held thirty days after the first one, on which anyone who missed bringing the sacrifice is afforded a second chance. 

A closer examination of the dialogue reveals that G-d's response extended beyond Moshe's request. Moses asked for a second chance for ritually impure people, a condition often due to no fault of his own. Understandably, these people might deserve another crack at this Mitzvah. But G-d extends the opportunity to those who took a trip away from the camp and, with poor planning, missed Passover. You might think these people were far away and therefore forfeited the chance to support their people and experience Passover at the Temple. You'd be wrong. Though you may have been far physically, you are and always will be inextricably connected to your people, so here's a second chance to reconnect with them. 

For many of us, we love Israel but can often feel disconnected from what is transpiring halfway around the globe. Perhaps in the past, we neglected to fully support our homeland. No matter what our previous behaviors, even if we allowed ourselves to become far emotionally and intellectually from Israel, we are still united with each other and with our homeland. Today, we are being given a second chance to show our love for our Holyland by doing an extra Mitzvah, saying a prayer, and advocating for our brothers and sisters. Now, we have a second chance to be strong, proud, and bright as we redouble our efforts to banish darkness and illuminate our world. 

G-d is telling us that distance doesn't matter; no matter how far you've been, it's time for you to come back home. Your people and your homeland need you now. We're one; together, we will overcome this evil just as we've done so many times before.

It's not everyone's G-d, it's MY G-d

One of our challenges today is making religion feel relevant and personally meaningful. It's easy to see Torah and mitzvot as distant, rigid rules or ancient customs meant for people in a very different time. Sometimes, it can feel like we're just going through the motions, doing things because we're supposed to rather than because we truly feel connected. 

 The answer to this dilemma lies at the heart of Judaism and is something profoundly personal: I need to have a relationship with my G-d.

Not just "G-d," in an abstract or general sense, but my G-d - who created me, knows me, loves me, and wants to have a relationship with me. This shift in perspective changes everything. It's no longer about checking boxes or fitting into a mold. It's about building a connection and nurturing a bond that is unique and alive. Like any relationship, it takes effort, communication, and presence, but it's also deeply rewarding and real.

This idea is powerfully reflected in this week's Torah portion Naso, in the Priestly Blessing: "Yevarechecha Hashem v'yishmerecha..." – "May Hashem bless you and guard you..." "Ya'er Hashem panav eilecha..." – "May Hashem shine His face toward you..." "Yisa Hashem panav eilecha v'yasem lecha shalom." – "May Hashem lift His face to you and grant you peace."

Notice how the blessing is phrased in the singular you, not you all. It's intimate and individual. G-d isn't blessing the Jewish people as a collective at this moment; He's turning to each one of us personally. When we realize this, religion stops being something we have to do and starts becoming something we're honored to do. It becomes a relationship that empowers, comforts, and guides us. Torah and mitzvot become the language of love between us and G-d—not a burden, but a bridge. 

So the next time you feel like G-d or Judaism is far away, remember the Priestly Blessing. It's not just a beautiful set of words—it's a message from your Creator, saying: I see you. I bless you. I'm here for you. Now it's time for us to respond and say thank you, Hashem; I love you too! 

Looking for older posts? See the sidebar for the Archive.