Does the Discovery of the "Altalena" Resurface the Risk of Civil War?

This week, the world was informed of a haunting discovery: using an advanced survey vessel equipped with cutting-edge scanning sensors and innovative underwater mapping, the remains of the infamous ship Altalena were found intact. Resting half a kilometer deep in the Mediterranean, west of the Israeli coast, the ship remains a silent witness to a foundational tragedy.

It was here, in the early days of the State, that 19 Jews were killed at the hands of their brothers-in-arms—the ideological forefathers of those modern descendants who today wave the flags of "democracy" and "tolerance" as little more than empty lip service.

The young State of Israel was then barely a month old, embroiled in a desperate existential war against five Arab armies. During a fragile ceasefire, David Ben-Gurion—seeking absolute control—gave the order to fire upon the ship. In his journals, he framed this as a necessity of "state sovereignty," labeling the Irgun’s attempt to bring in weapons as a threat to the regime.

My revered father, may he live long, still carries that wound in his heart. A seventeen-year-old youth at the time, his voice still trembles when he recalls that horrific night:

"I heard the echoes of gunfire. Whispers of something terrible spread through the streets. I ran with all my might to the Tel Aviv beach. The sight burned into my memory: fire and smoke billowing from the ship, and the 'flower of our youth' leaping into the stormy waves to save their lives—only to be shot in cold blood by the Haganah as they struggled in the water."

The chilling sight of Jews shooting fellow Jews on the shores of Tel Aviv ignited a fear that the nascent State would collapse before it had truly begun.

From the Bleeding Cradle: Begin’s Heroic Restraint

The event left a deep fracture—a burning sense of betrayal among the supporters of the Irgun and its commander, Menachem Begin. They watched through tears as their comrades, many of them Holocaust survivors who had just escaped the European inferno to fight for their homeland, were slaughtered.

From within that bleeding cradle, Begin’s voice rose over the radio in a cry that would define Jewish leadership for generations: "Milchemet Achim (Brotherly War) – Never!" This supreme act of restraint prevented a total bloodbath. Conversely, the Mapai leadership justified the shooting as a necessary step to subdue "the porshim" (breakaways), a justification that reflected the totalistic, Soviet-inspired mindset from which their ideology grew.

How the Liberation of Jerusalem Was Delayed

On the deck of the Altalena were 1,000 rifles and five million rounds of ammunition—existential weaponry desperately needed for the battle over Jerusalem. Those who sought to establish the "State of Tel Aviv" preferred to sink their ideological rivals, even if it meant sinking the arms and the fighters destined to liberate our holy city.

Ben-Gurion, an admirer of the heretical Baruch Spinoza, sought to root the State in a philosophy where nature and G-d are one, effectively pushing the Creator into a corner to free the "new Jew" from the yoke of Torah and the Commandment "Thou Shalt Not Murder."

Jewish history teaches that kitrug (prosecution) and internal dissension delay the Geulah. Just as the sin of the Spies delayed our entry into the Land by 40 years, the Altalena massacre delayed the liberation of Jerusalem. It took another 19 years and the supernatural miracles of the Six-Day War to finally hear the declaration: "The Temple Mount is in our hands."

Is There a Difference Between Then and Now?

Much water has flowed through the Mediterranean since it was mingled with the blood of martyrs. The aura of Socialist Zionism has dissolved. The masses of Klal Yisrael have rejected that path and are returning to their roots. As the Torah promises: "In the end of days, you will return to Hashem your G-d and obey His voice" (Devarim 4:30).

According to a hidden Tzaddik, following the tragedy of October 7th, the Almighty is protecting His children and will not allow a civil war to ignite. Despite the efforts of the Erev Rav to sow destruction, we see a lack of actual loss of life in these internal squabbles—a sign of Rachamei Shamayim.

Why We Must Not Be Paralyzed by Threats

Many on the Right still take pride in Begin’s restraint. However, there is a fundamental difference between 1948 and today. In those days, the Left—though aggressive—represented the majority. Begin understood that he had to work patiently to shift public consciousness.

Today, the situation is reversed. Those who disparage our heritage are light-years away from being a majority. The young Jew in Israel today thirsts for identity, Torah, and a connection to the Creator. The secular minority no longer represents the people, and they have no right to speak in our name.

Threats of "civil war" should no longer paralyze us. The restraint of the Altalena cannot be used as a model for surrender to ideological heirs who seek to impose a minority opinion on a nation. When the judicial system, the Attorney General, and the Military Advocate General place themselves above the law and the will of the people—as seen in the disgraceful "Sde Teiman" blood libel—we must stand firm.

The Law of "Measure for Measure"

The Torah teaches us that the world operates with exact precision (Middah K’negged Middah).

The Act: Yitzchak Rabin was among the commanders who fired upon his brothers at the Tel Aviv shore.

The Result: Decades later, the one who ordered the shedding of his brothers' blood was himself assassinated by a fellow Jew.

This serves as an eternal warning: the fire of violence one directs at his brother ultimately returns to strike him.

A Torah-Based Security Mindset

We must shift away from the "feebleness is strength" mindset. The attempt to show "humanism" by endangering our soldiers for "uninvolved civilians" is a contradiction of Torah values that leads only to disaster. The Middle East views such mercy as weakness.

The Torah commands zero mercy against a cruel enemy. We must impose a full siege—without humanitarian aid, fuel, or electricity—until the enemy is subdued. We must act with pride, without fear of the Court in The Hague, knowing that the world always respects the victor.

The Dawn of Redemption

We are in the midst of the prophecies of the End of Days. The alignment of the nations against us is the groundwork for the War of Gog and Magog. But Israel need not fear: "Their Redeemer is strong, Hashem Tzva-os is His name" (Yirmiyahu 50:34).

In this month of Elul, as we approach the fulfillment of the promise in Parshas Ki Savo—to be set supreme as a holy nation—we must prepare with Teshuvah and an upright stance. The hidden Tzaddik has revealed that great surprises await us in the coming elections; the strength of the believing public will rise meteorically.

Our role is to raise the banner of Torah and Jewish identity. As was said to Yehoshua: "Be strong and courageous; do not be terrified or dismayed, for Hashem your G-d is with you wherever you go" (Yehoshua 1:9).

Amen ve'Amen.

A Sad Person Cannot Make Someone Else Happy

In the closing of this week’s Torah portion, Parshas Ki Savo, we encounter the ritual of Vidui Ma’aser—the "Confession of the Tithes." After completing a three-year cycle of agricultural giving, the Jewish farmer stands before G-d and gives a full accounting of his integrity. He declares that he has not withheld what belongs to the Levi, the poor, or the sacred center of Jerusalem.

He concludes with a bold statement: “I have listened to the voice of Hashem, my G-d; I have acted according to everything You have commanded me” (Devorim 26:14).

Rashi, the quintessential commentator, notes that the phrase “I have acted according to everything You have commanded me” contains a hidden depth. It means: “I have rejoiced (samachti), and I have brought joy to others (seemachti).”

This leads to a profound psychological question. We understand why the farmer must bring joy to others—the Levi and the poor are often in need, and a gift of food provides immediate relief and happiness. But why does the Torah include the farmer’s personal joy (samachti) as a requirement of the commandment? Is personal happiness a religious obligation?

The Psychology of the "Pause"

The answer lies in a subtle grammatical nuance found in last week’s Parsha, Ki Seitzei. Regarding a newly married man, the Torah says: “He shall be free for his house for one year, and he shall gladden [v’seemach] his wife whom he has married” (Devorim 24:5).

In the musical cantillation (trop) of this verse, there is a Tipcha under the word v’seemach. In the grammar of the Torah, a Tipcha acts as a comma—a pause. Logically, the sentence should flow straight through: "He shall gladden-his-wife." But the music forces a stop.

He shall be happy [Pause] and then he shall gladden his wife.

This "pause" contains a transformative insight: You cannot give what you do not have.

1. The "Oxygen Mask" Principle

This is often called the "Oxygen Mask Principle." Flight attendants instruct us that in an emergency, we must fit our own mask before assisting others. This isn't an act of selfishness; it is a prerequisite for service. If you are gasping for air, you are useless to the person sitting next to you.

The Torah is teaching the farmer—and the husband—the same lesson. If you give to the poor out of a sense of cold obligation, bitterness, or "burnout," the recipient feels the weight of your resentment. To truly "gladden" another person, you must first cultivate a state of internal simcha.

2. Emotional Contagion

Self-help experts often discuss "Emotional Contagion"—the scientific fact that humans "catch" the moods of those around them. If a leader, a parent, or a donor is miserable, they transmit anxiety and gloom regardless of how much money or time they give.

By requiring the farmer to say “samachti” (I rejoiced) before “seemachti” (I gladdened others), the Torah highlights that the energy behind the gift is just as important as the gift itself. The farmer’s personal joy creates a "safe container" for the poor person to receive their portion with dignity rather than shame.

3. State Management and the Kohen

This concept is codified in Jewish law regarding the Birkas Kohanim. A Kohen who is mourning or in a state of distress is halachically discouraged from blessing the congregation.

In the world of high-performance coaching, this is called "State Management." To perform at your peak—whether you are a Kohen dispensing G-d’s blessing or a farmer dispensing tithes—you must consciously move yourself into a "state" of abundance. A person in a state of "lack" cannot truly bless someone else, because their internal resources are depleted.

The Message for Us

Rashi’s insight into Vidui Ma’aser reshapes our understanding of spiritual and personal growth. Often, we think that the most "righteous" thing to do is to ignore our own needs and focus entirely on others. We think that being "selfless" means being "self-less"—having no self at all.

The Torah disagrees.

True Vidui Ma’aser—the honest accounting of a life well-lived—requires us to check our own emotional pulse. The "confession" of the farmer is a reminder that our personal well-being is not a distraction from our service to G-d and man; it is the engine of that service.

If we want to bring light to the world, we must first ensure our own flame is burning bright. We must find the simcha in our own lives so that when we turn to help the "Levi" or the "poor" in our circles, we are giving them more than just "tithes"—we are giving them the contagious, life-affirming gift of joy.

הרב ישראל בונם בן חיה רויזא בתוך שח"י

Being A Soleach U'mochel

In our tradition, the time between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is dedicated to Teshuva and Selichah. We know the Halacha: Yom Kippur atones for sins between man and G-d, but for sins between man and his fellow, one must seek and grant forgiveness. Yet, what do we do when the hurt is deep, the resentment is stubborn, and the "roadblocks" feel immovable?

If you find yourself struggling to let go of a grievance before the final blast of the Shofar, here are seven paths to help you cross the finish line of forgiveness.

1. The Virtue of Savlanus (Patience)

Forgiveness is not a light switch; it is a process. Just as Teshuva has stages, so does Selichah. Do not be discouraged if you aren’t "there" yet. Use the middah of patience to view the person who hurt you through the lens of Dan L’Kaf Zechus. What "baggage" is this person carrying? Are they acting out of their own brokenness or a lack of chinuch? Seeing the "full humanity" of the person—realizing they are a struggling Neshamah just like you—is the first small step toward letting go.

2. Strengthen Your Ratzon 

The Yetzer Hara loves to keep a fire of resentment burning; it feels "just" to stay angry. To overcome this, you must cultivate a strong will. Recall times in your life where you showed zerizus and tenacity—perhaps in your learning, your parenting, or your career. Apply that same spiritual grit to your forgiveness. Tell yourself: "I am a person who finishes what I start. I will not let this resentment own a corner of my heart anymore."

3. Practice Ma’avir al Middosav (Overlooking Grievances)

Our Sages teach: "Whoever overlooks his grievances (Ma’avir al middosav), Heaven overlooks all his transgressions." You can "train" for the big acts of forgiveness by practicing on the small irritations of daily life. When someone cuts you off in traffic or a neighbor makes an insensitive comment, consciously choose to stay calm and let it go. By "bearing the pain" of these small slights without reacting, you build the spiritual muscle needed to eventually forgive the deeper wounds from your past.

4. Draw Inspiration from our Gedolim and Heroes

We are a nation of survivors who have mastered the art of moving forward without hate. Think of the Klausenberger Rebbe, who lost his wife and eleven children in the Holocaust, yet spent the rest of his life building hospitals and nursing the physical and spiritual wounds of his people. Or consider the stories of Rav Aryeh Levin, who epitomized the care we must take with the dignity of others. When we see how our leaders transformed immense suffering into acts of Chessed, it gives us the courage to let go of our own smaller, yet painful, burdens.

5. Shift from Self-Healing to Chessed

While we often forgive to find "inner peace," a higher level of forgiveness is to do it L’shem Shomayim and out of mercy for the other person. If you begin to pray for the well-being of the person who hurt you—davening that they find clarity, peace, and the ability to do Teshuva—your own heart will naturally soften. By shifting the focus from "how I was hurt" to "how can I act with mercy," you emulate the Middos of Hashem, who is Channun v’Rachum.

6. Find Meaning Through Emunah

The Sfarim teaches that no one can hurt a person unless it was decreed from Heaven. While the person who hurt you has bechirah and is responsible for their actions, from your perspective, the situation is a challenge sent by Hashem for your growth. Ask yourself: "How has this experience made me more sensitive to others? Have I become a more empathetic person because I know what it feels like to be pressured?" When you find meaning in the suffering, the sting of the injustice begins to fade.

7. Start with the "Easy" Cases

In the Aseres Yemei Teshuva, we don’t always start with our deepest flaws; we build momentum. If forgiving a parent or a former boss feels impossible today, start by forgiving a friend who forgot to call or a spouse who was impatient. Experience the relief of a restored relationship in a low-stakes environment. As you become a "forgiving person" in small things, you will find it much easier to tackle the "roadblocks" blocking your path to forgiving the bigger things.

Conclusion

As we stand before the King of Kings on Yom Kippur, we ask: “S’lach lanu, Mechal lanu” (Forgive us, Pardon us). The Gemara tells us that Hashem mirrors our behavior: if we are exacting and begrudging, the Heavenly Court is exacting with us. But if we are forgiving and let go of our claims against others, Hashem lets go of His claims against us. By taking these steps, may you find the strength to cross the "forgiveness finish line" and enter the new year with a heart that is light, pure, and ready for a Gmar Chasimah Tovah.

Finding the “Bliss of Blamelessness”

A few years ago, I had a sobering realization: not a day went by without me blaming someone for something. Whether it was a family member for a trivial comment, a politician I’d never met, or a total stranger in the grocery store—how loud they spoke or how glued they were to their phones—my mind was in a constant state of finger-pointing.

Our Sages teach us about the beauty of Ayin Tova and the profound peace that comes with being Dan L’kaf Zechus. There is a concept similar to what some call "the bliss of blamelessness." It is the Menuchas Hanefesh that comes when we stop acting as the world’s prosecutor. Living without blame is a tall order, but when I realized that letting go of it would bring me closer to Hashem and my own peace of mind, I decided to try.

One reason I’ve been working on this is that blaming is often a symptom of a lack of Bitachon. When I blame, I am essentially demanding that the world and its people conform to my personal will. But the world runs on Hashem’s will, not mine. Clinging to the "way things should be" is a major source of tza’ar and stress. When people don’t behave the way I want, I feel resentment, and blame is the immediate outlet. This only intensifies my own agitation.

Here is how I practice the avodah of not blaming:

I start by recognizing that, almost always, people’s behavior is the result of a lifetime of "conditioning"—what we might call their הרגל or their upbringing. Even public figures we blame for a lack of integrity may have grown up in homes where blame and judgment were the only languages spoken. They are operating out of their own Nekudas Habechira (point of free-will choice), which may be very different from mine.

Almost every moment of a person's behavior is a product of their past influences and their current struggles. This doesn't mean people aren't responsible for their actions, but it helps me realize that their "rudeness" is often a battle they are losing internally. Practicing Cheshbon Hanefesh helps me pay attention to my own judgmental thoughts and ask why I am so attached to being "right."

When I am free from blaming others, my neshama feels at ease. It feels as if I’ve laid down a heavy burden—the burden of being everyone else’s judge. Life feels lighter when I no longer feel the need to defend my ego. My mind becomes free of the negative "recordings" about others that I used to carry for days. Furthermore, blame is the fuel for כעס—an emotion our Sages warn us is spiritually devastating.

I have a small "experiment" for you to try. For the next 24 hours, take a ta’anis  from blaming. If someone is brusque with you, just notice it and remind yourself that their behavior is likely the result of a long history of struggles you know nothing about. Or, perhaps, they are simply having a difficult day—maybe they are worried about parnassah or a child’s health.

In my experience, as the mind cultivates this sense of Vatranus (yielding/overlooking), being kind and compassionate becomes the natural path. It feels so much better than the toxic heat of judgment. Chazal teach that "one who is merciful to others, Heaven is merciful to him." We are the primary beneficiaries of our own chessed. If I am in a "cranky" mood, blaming others only darkens my world. If I choose to be dan l'kaf zechus, my own inner darkness dissipates.

Of course, we all have a lifetime of habits to overcome. I’ll admit, I rarely make it through a day without a judgmental thought popping up, usually toward someone in the news. Often it’s over something trivial. But the goal is the effort—the ratzon to change.

Not blaming doesn't mean becoming a doormat. You can still set boundaries. You can choose to limit your time with someone whose behavior is harmful. The difference is that you can make that decision based on what is healthy for you, without needing to poison your own heart with blame toward them. If public figures upset you, acknowledge that they too are products of their circumstances, and then simply limit your exposure to the media.

When I am feeling spiritually strong, I’ll even try to look at someone I usually blame and remember that they, too, were created B’tzelem Elokim. I reflect on how, deep down, it cannot feel good to be a person driven by negativity, and I try to feel a sense of rachmanus for their struggle.

I hope you’ll try this 24-hour experiment. Remember that the people who trigger your anger are often acting out of deep-seated patterns. When we refrain from blaming, we gain a heart that is shalom—whole and at peace. As we say in our tfillos, "To those who curse me, let my soul be silent." There is great strength, and great bliss, in that silence.

Finding Your Menuchas HaNefesh: When You Can’t Change Their Defensiveness, You Can Still Free Your Soul

We are often taught that Shalom Bayis (peace in the home) depends on communication. We believe that if we could just find the right words, the right tone, or the right moment, our spouse would finally understand us. We think that if we explain our pain clearly enough, they will stop being defensive and start being supportive.

But for many, the struggle to be "heard" becomes a source of constant agmas nefesh (anguish). In this installment of our series on anger and middos (character traits), we are going to discuss a difficult but liberating truth: You cannot fix your spouse’s defensiveness. However, you can change your relationship with it, and in doing so, find your own yishuv hadaas (peace of mind).

It’s Their Nisayon, Not Your Identity

When a person reacts with disproportionate anger or defensiveness, they aren't actually seeing you. In that moment, you are simply a mirror for their own internal struggles—their own feelings of inadequacy, shame, or lack of control.

While the Torah demands that we treat others with menschlichkeit, someone stuck in a cycle of defensiveness is often unable to do so. Their "fire" belongs to them. It is a reflection of their own yetzer hara and their own internal "galus." It is not a reflection of your worth or the truth of your words.

The Power of Shtika 

Our Sages teach us in Pirkei Avos that "the fence for wisdom is silence." There is a concept from the Stoics that resonates with Torah thought: When someone is shouting or attacking, "listen like a stone."

A stone is unaffected by insults. You can shout at it, and it remains unchanged. When a spouse is in a state of emotional "code red," they are often looking for a reaction. They want you to "bite the hook" so that they can point the finger back at you and say, "See? You’re the one causing the problem." By remaining like a stone—calm, unmoving, and refusing to enter the fray—you stop providing the fuel for their fire. You don't have to defend your emess (truth) to someone who isn't currently capable of hearing it.

Recognizing Emotional Limitations as a P’gam

Much of our suffering comes from the expectation that a rational request should receive a rational response. We think, "If I am being reasonable, they should be reasonable too."

But if a person lacks the emotional keilim to handle feedback, expecting them to be sensitive is like expecting a blind person to describe a sunset. It is a limitation—a spiritual or emotional "disability." When we stop expecting a fragile person to act with strength, our frustration begins to dissipate. We accept the מציאות  for what it is. This doesn't make the situation happy, but it stops the "madness" of hitting your head against a wall and expecting the wall to move.

Guarding Your Neshama

When a spouse withdraws or uses silence as a weapon to punish you, do not chase after them. Do not play the role they’ve written for you in their drama. Instead, turn your attention to your own avodah and your own well-being.

If they switch to "attack mode," hold your ground with simple, neutral language: "That isn't what I said," or "We can discuss my faults at another time, but right now I am talking about this specific issue." Speak in a flat, calm tone. Imagine you are dealing with a toddler in a tantrum. You wouldn't take a three-year-old’s insults to heart; don't take an "adult toddler’s" words to heart either.

Setting a Geder 

You never need permission to exit a conversation that is becoming toxic or damaging to your Neshama. You can say, "I think we both need some space right now; let's try to speak later when things are calmer."

The Torah tells us to "guard your soul exceedingly." You are responsible for your own well-being. No one has a "Torah right" to harm you emotionally. While you may share a home, you do not have to give them access to your internal emotional sanctuary.

A Guide for Navigating the Storm

The "Lo Ta'aseh":

Don't try to force them to "understand" your experience while they are angry.

Don't take responsibility for their mood or try to "fix" their anger.

Don't defend yourself against irrational accusations; it only validates the argument.

Don't feel guilty for having basic emotional needs.

Don't indulge the fantasy that "next time will be different" without a fundamental change in their middos.

The "Aseh":

Do stop trying to make them "hear" you when they are shut down.

Do build your own "inner independence"—focus on your shiurim, your friends, your family, and your own growth.

Do trust your intuition. If a situation feels wrong or hurtful, believe yourself.

Do practice staying quiet and breathing when you feel the urge to scream back.

Do realize that learning to stay calm in the face of conflict is a personal victory and a boon to your middos.

By letting go of the struggle to change them, you finally gain the energy to take care of yourself. You may not be able to fix the relationship single-handedly, but you can certainly set your own spirit free.

ת"ר הנעלבים ואינם עולבים שומעים חרפתם ואינם משיבים עושים מאהבה ושמחים ביסורים עליהם הכתוב אומר "ואוהביו כצאת השמש בגבורתו".

ישנן הדרכות מוסריות כאלה שבתכונתן הן מחלישות את כח העז של החיים ואלה הן לא לרצון לפי הציור של ההשלמה האמיתית שאליה ראוי לערוג ע"פ מגמתה של תורת חיים הבאה מאור אל חי העולמים. אמנם התכונות הנשאות העומדות ברום המעלה ממקור הקודש הנן אלה שעצמת החיים מפכה בהן כח המרץ הנפשי פועם בהן בכל ההוד והמילוי, ודוקא עם זה אור הקודש הוא המעדן אותן ונותן בהן חן תפארתו. לא אמר מי שמעליבים אותם ואינם עולבים, כי אז היה אפשר להכניס בכלל גם את אותן שהושפלה נפשם עד למדרגת ההמתה הרוחנית, באופן שהחוש המרגיש את רגשי ההנאה של הכבוד ורגשי הצער של העלבון נ(ת)טמטם אצלם, ובאמת לא זוהי דרכה של תורה, כ"א שהנשמה תהיה חזקה, כח החיים יהיה במילואו, הרגש של הרגשת הכבוד ומכאוב העלבון הטבעי יהיה במלא בנינו הנפשי, במדה הראויה לאדם מצד צלם אלוקים אשר לו, המופיעה על מעלת נשמתו שהיא כבודו, אבל בכל המעמק של ההרגשה הברורה בצער העלבון, עד שהם נעלבים, בכ"ז רגש המוסר ואהבת הבריות, גם אותם שהעוו את דרכם והעבירו את הדרך עליהם, הוא חזק כל כך עד שהם אינם עולבים, דוקא עם אותו המכאוב הגדול שנפשם מציירת בעלבונם הם משתמשים בו לעצור ברוחם, שלא להיות הם מזיקים ומכאיבים את אחרים אע"פ שהם הם עולביהם עצמם. 

זאת היא גבורת הקודש של החיים. כשם שיש עירות רוח וטמטום רוח, בחיי ההרגשה, שהחיים השלמים של הנעלבים הגיבורים הללו שאינם עולבים, מתגלים בהם השבילים של עירות הרוח מצד הרגשתם המלאה, כן יש עירות הרוח השכלי לעומת טמטומו, השומעים חרפתם, שומעים בשמיעה שכלית ומכירים את התוכן החודר ונוקב שישנו בכל מין ממיני החירופים גם היותר נסתרים שיוכלו כל זדים מחרפים לבטא על ידם את חירופיהם, ובכ"ז אינם משיבים מצד גדולת רוחם וקדושת דעותיהם העליונות, מלאי חיים כאלה, חדי הרגש וזהורי הדעת, הם הם הראויים להכיל בקרבם את מתק האהבה ולגשת עמה אל רום הקודש העליון, עושים מאהבה. ואותם המרגישים את נעימת כל נועם בעלי החושים הגשמיים והרוחניים היותר חדים ויותר מפותחים, הם מרגישים את היסורין בכל מרירותם ואין שום דקירה מדקירותיהם נעלמת מרשת תפיסת החיים שלהם ובכל זה הם שמחים ביסורים, בידעם שהיסורים הם הם שלוחי אל עליון החונן ומרחם, הטוב ומטיב, המנהיג בחסדו כל דור, ומעלה ומצחצח את יצוריו מכל סיג וקדרות להאירם באור חיי האמת המוחלטים. עליהם הכתוב אומר "ואוהביו כצאת השמש בגבורתו", אוהביו אינם מטושטשי החיים, מדולדלי הכח, חסרי דם הרוחני, שבעצמת כשרון החיים, שנכשלים כאלה לפעמים יתראו כצנועים וטהורי המדות, אבל החולשה החיונית אינה האהבה האלוקית, שהיא בתכונה מלאה חיים ועז, רק אוהביו הם כצאת השמש בגבורתו, שבכל מלא זהרו ורב חומו, הוא פועל את מפעלי החיים והאור, ההפראה והברכה על מלא עולם.

1. מוסר של עוצמה ולא של חולשה:

הכותב דוחה את התפיסה שמוסר פירושו החלשת כוחות החיים. השלמות האמיתית דורשת שהאדם יהיה בעל "מרץ נפשי" וחיות מלאה. הוויתור על התגובה אינו נובע מחוסר יכולת להגיב, אלא מבחירה מודעת של נשמה חזקה.

2. "הנעלבים ואינם עולבים" – רגישות מול איפוק:

הנעלבים האידיאליים אינם אנשים חסרי כבוד עצמי שאינם מרגישים את העלבון. להפך, הם מרגישים את מכאוב העלבון ואת הפגיעה בכבודם (מצד צלם האלוקים שבהם) בצורה החריפה ביותר. הגבורה שלהם מתבטאת בכך שלמרות הכאב הגדול, אהבת הבריות והמוסר שבהם חזקים יותר, והם עוצרים את רוחם כדי שלא להזיק לאחרים.

3. "שומעים חרפתם ואינם משיבים" – עירות שכלית:

השתיקה אינה נובעת מחוסר הבנה. אלו אנשים בעלי "עירות רוח שכלית" המבינים היטב את עומק הזלזול והחריפות שבחירופים המופנים כלפיהם. הם בוחרים שלא להשיב מתוך גדלות רוח ודעת עליונה, ולא מתוך בלבול או חוסר הבנה.

4. "שמחים בייסורים" – זיכוך ולא אדישות:

האנשים הללו הם בעלי חושים חדים, ולכן הם חשים את מרירות הייסורים בכל עוצמתם. השמחה שלהם בייסורים אינה מזוכיזם, אלא נובעת מהכרה רוחנית שהייסורים הם שליחות אלוהית שנועדה לזכך ולצחצח את הנשמה, ולהוביל אותה אל "אור חיי האמת".

5. המשל: "כצאת השמש בגבורתו":

הדימוי לשמש מדגיש את המסקנה הסופית: אוהבי ה' אינם אנשים "מטושטשי חיים" או חלשים. כפי שהשמש מלאה באור, חום וכוח המשפיעים על כל העולם, כך גם האדם המוסרי האידיאלי הוא מלא חיוניות, כוח וכישרון, המנותבים כולם לטוב, לחסד ולאהבה אלוהית.

לסיכום: המדרגה הגבוהה של "הנעלבים ואינם עולבים" היא גבורת הקודש. זוהי היכולת להחזיק בכוחות חיים עצומים, ברגשות עזים ובשכל חריף – ולבחור לנהוג מתוך אהבה, איפוק וזיכוך עצמי.

מן המצר: המעבר מנקודת המבט הצרה אל המרחב האינסופי

א. ארכיטקטורה של השופר: פרספקטיבה היא הכל

ההלכה קובעת ששופר חייב להיות צר בנקודת המגע עם הפה ורחב בנקודת היציאה. מי שהופך את השופר ותוקע מהצד הרחב – לא יצא ידי חובה.

הפסוק "מִן הַמֵּצַר קָרָאתִי יָּהּ, עָנָנִי בַמֶּרְחָב יָהּ" הוא לא רק תפילה, הוא הגדרה של המציאות האנושית. חיי האדם, מול הנצח, הם אפילו לא טיפה בים; הם שואפים לאפס מבחינה כמותית.

התורה מציינת שכולם ניצבים לפני ה' – מ"חוטב עציך" ועד "שואב מימיך". לכאורה, אלו מעמדות סוציו-אקונומיים דומים, אז מה הנקודה? המסר הוא שביחס לאינסוף האלוהי, כל הפערים החברתיים שלנו מתבטלים. ההבדל בין המנכ"ל הבכיר לפועל הפשוט הוא זניח כשמסתכלים על התמונה הגדולה.

מבנה השופר משקף את התודעה האנושית: גם האדם החכם ביותר מביט על העולם דרך "חריץ צר" של הבנה. דוקא ה"גאון" הוא זה שמבין עד כמה נקודת המבט שלו מצומצמת ("הצרות"), ומתוך ההכרה הזו הוא מצליח להתחבר ל"מרחב" – לאינסוף. הבעיה מתחילה אצל אלו ש"הופכים את השופר": אנשים שחושבים שהבנתם הצרה היא-היא המרחב האינסופי. עם יוהרה כזו, אין מקום למפגש עם האלוהות.

ב. ענווה כתוצר של גדלות אינטלקטואלית

על משה רבנו נאמר שהיה "ענו מאוד מכל האדם". איך זה מסתדר עם העובדה שהוא היה המנהיג והנביא הגדול ביותר?

ענווה אמיתית אינה חוסר הערכה עצמית, אלא תוצאה של הבנה מעמיקה. בתחילת הדרך, רכישת ידע עלולה להוביל לאגו וגאווה. אך ככל שאדם מעמיק בחכמה, במדע או ברוחניות, הוא מגלה את המרחבים האינסופיים שעדיין לא נחקרו. ככל שאתה יודע יותר, אתה מבין כמה אתה לא יודע.

משה, שהגיע לשיא הידע האנושי, חווה את הביטול המוחלט מול האינסוף. ככל שה"מרחב" התודעתי שלו גדל, כך תחושת ה"מצר" (הקטנות האישית) שלו העמיקה. הגדלות והענווה הם שני צדדים של אותו מטבע.

ג. ה"אני" כמרכז המעבד התודעתי

כל מה שאנחנו יודעים על היקום – מהחוקים הפיזיקליים ועד לתובנות מטפיזיות – עובר דרך פילטר אחד: המילה "אני".

התודעה שלנו היא המרכז. היא ה"מעבד" שמאחד את כל הקלטים מחמשת החושים לרצף אחד הגיוני. בלי ה"אני", אין משמעות לזמן או לזיכרון.

הבעל שם טוב אמר: "דע מה למעלה – ממך". כלומר, דרך חקירת ה"עצמי" שלך, אתה יכול להבין את המבנה של העולמות העליונים. גם הפילוסופיה המודרנית מעמידה את הסובייקט (האני) במרכז. האנושות לא מפסיקה לייצר ידע ומדע, וכל העושר הקוגניטיבי הזה נובע מנקודת המוצא הקטנה של התודעה האנושית.

זהו סוד השופר: השופר הוא ה"אני". אנחנו מכניסים אוויר בנקודה צרה (התודעה האישית) ומוציאים קול למרחב (השפעה קוסמית). עשרת הדיברות מתחילים במילה "אנכי" – הכל מתחיל ונגמר בחיבור שבין ה"אני" האנושי ל"אני" האלוהי.

ד. שופרו של משיח: יציאה מאזור הנוחות

הגאולה, לפי המודל הזה, מחייבת משבר מוקדם. בדיוק כמו ביציאת מצרים – הצעקה הגיעה רק כשהקושי הפך לבלתי נסבל. חז"ל קראו לזה "חבלי משיח".

הבעיה בדורנו היא לא שהמרחב לא קיים, אלא שאנחנו לא מרגישים מספיק ב"מצר". אנחנו "שוקטים על השמרים" בתוך אזור הנוחות שלנו, ולא מבינים שאנחנו בגלות רוחנית או תודעתית.

הנביא ישעיהו מדבר על "האובדים בארץ אשור והנדחים בארץ מצרים" – אם אנחנו לא מרגישים "אובדים", לא נחפש את הדרך הביתה.

לסיכום:

הנוסחה היא ברורה: רק מי שמרגיש את ה"מצר" – את המוגבלות של המציאות הנוכחית ואת הצורך בשינוי – יכול לזכות ל"מרחב יה". השופר קורא לנו להכיר בקטנותנו כדי שנוכל להכיל את הגדלות שתבוא.