The Art of Patience and Its Impact on Our World

Practicing patience is one of humanity's greatest challenges. Yet, every moment we manage to hold back, we contribute to making the world a better place.

Our sages tell us that even at the dawn of creation, the original sin of Adam in the Garden of Eden was marked by an inability to resist eating from the Tree of Knowledge.

In the Torah portion we read last Shabbat, we're presented with a commandment that teaches this lesson. It instructs us to wait three years from the planting of a fruit tree before we eat its fruits: "When you enter the land and plant any kind of fruit tree, regard its fruit as forbidden. For three years you are to consider it forbid to you; it must not be eaten."

Confronted with the natural inclination toward impatience and the desire to consume the fruit "here and now," these three years address and rectify the fundamental sin of humanity.

Even those who aren't farmers can find meaning in this commandment and practice patience. Whether it's the patience we need for a child growing up, waiting in line at the checkout without frustration, or resisting the urge to check our phones – each small triumph helps repair creation, moving the world one step closer to wholeness.

No need for three years like with the tree; even three seconds can be significant. Take a deep breath and try. Good luck.

A Time of Freedom

Sergeant Idan Alexander is home, thank God. His grandmother, Verda Ben Baruch, delivered two powerful lessons to the global media yesterday amidst the excitement, hugs, and tears. I sat down to transcribe her words, hoping they'll inspire others awaiting good news in their lives.

At one press conference, she said: "Faith, prayers, Psalms – I did everything needed to gain strength for what comes next. The journey has been long, over a year and seven months, and I'm here representing all families of the captives. Today marks 'Pesach Sheni,' a second Passover for those who missed the first – and today Idan enjoys his second Passover, moving from slavery to freedom."

It's remarkable. Thousands of years ago, on the 14th of Iyar, those who couldn't celebrate Passover were granted a second chance. On the 14th of Iyar 5785, Idan's grandmother holds him close after his release, sharing the deep significance of this date with the world.

In another interview, Verda shared words not of her own but from King David's Psalms: a chapter of gratitude called "A Song of Thanks," recited for good tidings: "A Psalm of Thanks. Shout joyously to Hashem, all the earth. Serve Hashem with joy; come before Him with song. Know that Hashem is God; it is He who made us, and we are His, His people and the flock He tends. Enter His gates with gratitude, His courtyards with praise, thank Him, bless His name. For Hashem is good, His kindness endures forever, and His faithfulness for all generations."

May we recite this Psalm often and soon.

Recognizing What's Important

How do we know something is truly important to us? We make time for it in our schedules, prioritize it, and incorporate it into our regular routine.

This simple yet profound principle is found in this week's Torah portion, Emor, which outlines the special days, festivals, and seasons for the Jewish people: Shabbat, Passover, Shavuot, Sukkot, the Omer counting, Rosh Hashanah, and Yom Kippur. Essentially, it "schedules" these sacred days for us.

Since the world's creation, Shabbat has been a day of rest and holiness. Do we remember to keep it and schedule a weekly pause for rejuvenation and connection? On Yom Kippur, we received the gift of forgiveness. Will we reconnect with this holy frequency anew every year?

The answer is yes. It's amazing to see in the portion how, thousands of years later, the Jewish people continue observing these holy days on our shared calendar, drawing strength from them.

Today, there's much talk about "time management," but the Torah portion suggests "value management": the values truly dear to you should be eternal parts of your schedule.

May we insert into our daily lives what truly brings order.

Words of Zalah Gaz, of Blessed Memory

Zalah Gaz, of blessed memory, a resident of Samaria, was tragically murdered on her way to the maternity ward. She was a beloved emotional therapist who aided hundreds in overcoming anxiety and trauma. Here are her reflections shared on the last Memorial Day for Israel's fallen soldiers, capturing the complexities of life and death, and offering a prayer for a different reality:

"This year, not a dry eye in the room.
It's impossible to remain untouched; it affects us all!
This year, I volunteered to read during the ceremony,
and I wasn't sure how I'd manage.
I sat under the speakers,
my heart pounding as if they could hear it too...
And the tears, I managed to hold them back until...
until the film on: how do we hold life and death together?
How do we carry on despite and because of?
And the tears flowed.

This year, I've accompanied many through grief...
And the heart, the heart burns.
There I am in my role,
holding space for pain and a gaping void,
allowing space for functionality, for life continuing,
giving space to fears and tough nights,
allowing space for joy, for strength,
for the ability to be here and live the best life possible.

During therapy, my eyes stay dry, even if my heart cries,
because I'm in my role.
Helping to hold the 'also and also,'
and giving so much space...

I thank Hashem for the strength and the mission,
and even that evening, I succeeded
through mission,
breathing within a pained heart,
managing to fulfill the task with strength.

This year, my heart holds a giant prayer:
Hashem, help all who remain here,
grant strength to live healthy, meaningful lives,
help hold the 'also and also,'
strengthen our souls
and protect all Your people."

Amen.