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In last week’s Torah portion of Pekudei, towards the end, we read how Moshe basically finishes building the Mishkan. He stops all donations, no more money is necessary, all the vessels have been constructed, everything’s ready to roll, and they put up the Mishkan. Moshe supervises that, and then it says that the cloud of God, representing the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence, rests on the Mishkan, the tabernacle, and after that, Moshe can no longer enter the tabernacle, because at the end of the day, even though he is the greatest prophet of the Jewish people that ever lived, he’s still not a Kohen, he’s not part of the priestly class, so he’s not allowed to enter into the midst of the Mishkan.

It’s such a powerful lesson that we learn from this, because we see that Moshe, putting all his energy, everything that he has, into building this Mishkan, and at the end of the day, he can’t fully benefit from the fruits of his labor. And, in fact, we see this also later on, where he does everything to bring the Jewish people to the land of Israel, and yet he himself cannot partake in that incredible reward of actually entering the land. And the lesson here is that the purpose of our work, and all the effort that we invest, is not necessarily to enjoy the fruit of our labor, it’s the actual, the work itself, the investment, because what we’re really doing is investing in the next generation, and by them being able to benefit from that, then that’s how we gain our reward, that’s how we partake in the fruit, through our generations, through our children, through our grandchildren.

So, we should just understand that even though we might not see the fruit of our labor, that doesn’t mean that all the effort that we’re expending, all the investments that we’re making, are not worthy. In fact, just the opposite, it’s all the work, the effort that we’re investing, that’s how we get our reward, and the fruits of our investment in our labor will come, God-willing, from our children, our grandchildren, and the generations that we will, God-willing, be leaving behind.

So, may God bless us all to be able to make these kinds of investments, and give us the strength to put the effort in, and that even though we might personally not see the fruits of our labor, that shouldn’t discourage us, but it should give us chizuk, it should give us strength, in the knowledge that we will be benefiting through our children, and grandchildren, and all the generations that we leave behind.

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In Parshat Toldot, we learn that Yitzchak became blind in his old age. Rashi cites three explanations from the Midrash and Talmud as to why this happened. One explanation is that Esav’s wives burned incense to idols, and the smoke from that idolatry caused Yitzchak’s blindness. This great tzaddik could not tolerate such tumah—such impurity.

The second explanation is that Yitzchak’s blindness was divine intervention, ensuring he would not recognize Yaakov’s disguise, thereby allowing Yaakov to receive the blessings intended for Esav.

The third explanation is less straightforward. It states that when Yitzchak was bound on the Akeidah and prepared to give his life as a sacrifice, the angels wept. A tear fell into Yitzchak’s eye, and this caused his blindness.

While the first two explanations fit logically within the narrative, the third is more enigmatic. Why would the angels’ tears cause blindness? Why were the angels crying—out of joy, sadness, or something else? And why should Yitzchak be “punished” with blindness as a result?

To understand this, we need to consider the unique relationship between angels and humans. The Midrash teaches that angels have always been in tension with mankind. They often question God’s decisions regarding humanity. For example, when God gave the Torah to the Jewish people, the angels protested, arguing, “Why give it to them? They will make mistakes and fail.”

Angels, unlike humans, are entirely pure. They have no Yetzer Hara (evil inclination), no doubts, and no distractions. Their service to God is absolute, without struggle or deviation. Humans, on the other hand, are defined by free choice—Bechira Chofshit—which means we can overcome challenges, doubts, and inclinations.

At the Akeidah, however, Yitzchak reached an extraordinary spiritual level. He was completely connected to God, free of doubts, and willing to give his life with perfect emunah (faith). In that moment, Yitzchak transcended his humanity and reached the level of an angel. The angels, witnessing this, cried. Why? Because they saw mankind—represented by Yitzchak—rising to their level, closing the gap between human imperfection and angelic purity.

Their tears blinded Yitzchak. What does this blindness represent? Blindness symbolizes a lack of clarity, an inability to see things as they truly are. After the Akeidah, Yitzchak—and by extension, humanity—returned to a state where perfect, unwavering emunah was no longer accessible. Doubts and uncertainties became an intrinsic part of human existence.

This blindness was passed down to his descendants. Yaakov, for example, was “blinded” to Yosef’s fate, believing for years that his beloved son was dead. His grief and uncertainty were part of this legacy of human doubt.

For us, this blindness manifests in the struggle to see the goodness and divine plan behind life’s challenges. Often, things appear bleak or unfair, and our limited perspective clouds the truth that everything God does is ultimately good. Sometimes, clarity only comes generations later, when the full picture is revealed.

We are not angels. We have a Yetzer Hara, and we experience doubt and uncertainty. Our emunah isn’t naturally perfect—it requires effort and growth. But this struggle is precisely what makes us unique. By overcoming doubts and resisting our Yetzer Hara, we engage in the ultimate human endeavor: to strengthen our bitachon (trust) and emunah in Hashem.

The angels’ tears remind us of this paradox. While we may never achieve the perfection of the angels, our ability to struggle, grow, and triumph over doubt is what elevates us. It’s our work—our avodah—to strive for clarity, to strengthen our faith, and to trust in Hashem’s plan, even when we cannot see the full picture.

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In Parsha Tetzaveh, the Torah commands us to create clothing, special clothing, for Aaron and his sons, for the Kohanim. And the Torah says the reason for that clothing is l’kavod, for honor, or litifaret, and for beauty. Now, there’s no other mitzvah in the Torah that requires wearing special garments other than the garments of the Kohanim, the priestly garments.

So why do we need special clothing to perform a mitzvah? There’s something interesting about clothing — it’s really a dichotomy — because there are two Hebrew words for clothing, beged and malbush. Both of these words have derogatory connotations. Beged is the word for “boged”, for traitor, and malbush is same root as “busha”, embarrassment.

When was the first time we had clothing? It was after the sin of Adam and Eve. After they sinned, God made them these clothing, these pieces of clothing to cover their nakedness. Therefore, clothing represents the rebellion of man against God because of the sin, that original sin.

The words representing clothing are derogatory., while the clothing we are commanded to make for the Kohanim are for honor and beauty.

So there’s a big difference.

What are the lessons we can learn from this?

Well, first of all, most things in the world can be used for good or bad. So we have this clothing, which initially had a negative connotation, but we can take that clothing, elevate it into something holy, into a mitzvah, which is what the Kohanim do.

The Kohanim are taking clothing, which was used to rebel against God, and are elevating that clothing and making it into something holy, into a tool, into a vehicle of holiness, of connecting with God. Now, one of the reasons we said for the clothing was honor. And we know that clothing represents honor.

A judge wears a judicial robe, and that gives him honor in the eyes of those in the courtroom. An officer wears a dignified uniform, and that gives him honor. And as the saying goes, “clothing makes the man.”

So we know that clothing can give people honor. The purpose of the clothing for the Kohanim was not to give honor to the Kohanim per se, but it was to give honor to God, because the Kohanim were the channel which took the prayers and the sacrifices of the Jewish people and channeled them to God. They were like the pipe that brings water from one place to another.

That’s not to say that every person doesn’t have a direct connection to God, because every person does. But for some reason, God wanted to create these sort of conduits which would give more power to the Jewish people and help them elevate themselves and their prayers and their offerings to an even greater extent. So the first reason for the clothing of the Kohanim was for honor, for honor of God and honor of the Jewish people.

And the second reason was for beauty. And a lot of times, especially in modern days, we think of beauty as something just very superficial. And even in the negative context, like if you were going to describe someone and they might get insulted if you only call them beautiful, like, what about my intellect? What about my emotions, my spirituality? Don’t just focus on my beauty.

But the Torah is saying there is value, there’s great value in beauty. It’s important for a person to look their best. Yes, appearances are important in the Torah.

The Torah wants every person to look beautiful, because as we know, we were all created in the image of God. And so we want to project a beautiful image. And in fact, the Kohanim in the Beit HaMikdash were supposed to project that, an aura of beauty.

If a Kohen had a visible blemish, he was not allowed to serve in the temple service, because the Kohanim need to project beauty.

It’s an important lesson for all of us, because like being spiritual, being religious, is not a contradiction with taking care of your physical appearance and being beautiful. There’s no mitzvah in castigating yourself and looking poor and disheveled. That doesn’t bring glory to God. What brings glory to God is when we can look beautiful on our outside, but more importantly, on our inside, that we can project this aura of tiferet, of beauty, which is a combination of inner and outer beauty. And the Kohanim represented the best in us, the honor and the beauty.

That’s why we have to make special clothing for them, to help them represent this honor and beauty, to help elevate the Jewish people in their service to God.

So we all have a choice. We can use clothing as a form of rebellion, as a way of embarrassing ourselves, or even to cover up our embarrassment.

Or we can use clothing as a way to honor ourselves and honor God, and also beautify ourselves, but in a way that we can beautify our connection with God and serve him in the most honorable and the most beautiful way. 

We should all merit to be able to be beautiful and honorable on the outside and on the inside.

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The first prayer in the Jewish siddur is recited when we wake up in the morning, while we’re still in bed.

Here is my translation of the prayer, from the original Hebrew:

Thank you, oh living and eternal God, for mercifully returning my soul to me, great is your faithfulness.

Let’s break down the prayer and dive a bit deeper into its meaning.

The first words of the prayer, and therefore the first words that are supposed to come out of our mouth to start our new day, are “thank you.” What a beautiful and meaningful way to start our day! We don’t start off by asking God for something — and there is so much for us to ask for. We don’t cry out to him, or complain, or kvetch. Instead, we say acknowledge the awesome gift of life that He has given us and say Thank You.

Our first thanks are directed to God, the giver of life. But think of all the other people we owe thanks to — our parents, spouse, children, friends, and even random people we interact with who show us kindness. If we direct our awareness to the kindness that others are showing us, then we will be motivated to express our thanks to them. The Modeh Ani prayer is training us to do just that. To be aware of the gifts we receive and then to thank the giver for those gifts.

In the prayer we thank God “for mercifully returning my soul to me.” This refers to the Jewish teaching that our soul leaves our body when we sleep at night, and is returned to us in the morning. In fact, the Talmud refers to sleep as 1/60 of death. We can leave the science of it aside and just focus on the idea that when we wake up for a nights sleep, it’s as if we are being reborn. We are given the opportunity to look at the world with fresh eyes and a fresh outlook. A person who can achieve this state of being, where everyday is a brand new opportunity, is truly blessed, and the God who provides him or her with that blessing is truly merciful.

The final part of the Modeh Ani prayer is a bit enigmatic — “great is your faithfulness.” At first glance the words seem to say that God is faithful or, in simple words, dependable. We can rely on God to be there for us. While this is true, it doesn’t quite fit into the original Hebrew text that reads, “Rabah Enumatecha” or “Great is your faith”.  Hmm…are we saying that God has great faith? In Himself? No, that can’t be right.

So whom does God have faith in? He has faith in us.[1]I heard this explanation from Rabbi J.J. Schachter who said it in the name of his father.

God has faith in us, that we will live another day in a positive manner, by doing good deeds and following His commandments. Like a parent who lets a young child carry a tray of glasses across the room for the first time. The parent knows that the child might fail and that the glasses might all come crashing down, but he also knows that in order for the child to learn he must give the child the opportunity to succeed and show the child that he believes in his ability to succeed. The parent will continue to closely monitor the child to make sure he doesn’t get hurt, but he will give the child the opportunity to succeed or fail, because he believes in the child’s potential to succeed.

He has faith in us, and for that we our forever grateful — and we thank Him for believing in our potential every day we open our eyes.

1. Be aware of the gifts you get and say Thank You to the one giving them.
2. View each new day as a brand new opportunity to accomplish your goals and to make it meaningful.
3. God believes in our potential to to succeed in leading a good, kind and meaningful life. Let’s not let Him down.

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In this podcast episode Rabbi Singer discusses the weekly torah portion (parsha) of Vayakhel and explains a couple of major topics discussed in it. You can apply the important lesson you’ll learn from this teaching to your daily life.

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