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1) Fearless Torah: Learning from Moshe’s Conviction
The Torah promises a navi "like Moshe" (18:15), then later declares that no prophet was ever like him (34:10). Well, which one is it?
Rav Yaacov Haber brings a resolution from the Maharal based on the Sifri: "Like Moshe" means "as fearless as Moshe." The klal: if someone's afraid while teaching Torah, either it's not really Hashem's word, or he doesn't believe it is. Fearlessness proves faith; fear exposes doubt.
Rav Haber shares how discovered this firsthand: He worried new students would bolt when hitting the technical laws of muktzeh or shatnez. Instead, these precise and technical halachos are what grabbed them. Why? The words of Torah carry their own conviction. There's a natural resonance between Torah and the Jewish neshamah.
Here’s the “Elul reflection”: what holds us back from mitzvos is not intellect, not emotion, not even spirituality – it's the fear of other people's reactions. But Rav Haber noticed something crucial: Do mitzvos with courage and sincerity, without disguising them, and reactions are positive. We only get pushback when we act apologetic or ashamed. When we speak or live Hashem's word fearlessly, we have nothing to fear. The Torah itself becomes our strength.
2) God is King, Not Our CEO
The Torah commands appointing a king (17:14-15), yet when Bnei Yisrael actually requested one, Shmuel was furious and Hashem declared: "They have not rejected you – they have rejected Me!" (Shmuel I, 8:7). If it's a mitzvah, why the divine rage?
In a 1965 drashah, Rabbi Lamm zt"l dropped a grammatical bombshell: The Torah says "som tasim alecha melech", place a king upon (על) yourself. But the people asked Shmuel "tenah lanu melech", give us a king for (ל) us.
That single preposition changes everything. A melech al, upon you, has inherent qualities of leadership. He inspires, leads, takes you to new horizons. You follow him. But a melech lanu, for us? This is more like a royal messenger who does our bidding, a leader who merely polls public opinion and goes where the masses want.
This distinction devastates our modern misconceptions. We've turned Hashem into a CEO of the Cosmos, in Charge of Human Happiness. We wake up asking "What have You done for me lately?" as if God needs our votes in some cosmic popularity contest, as if His Kingship was contingent upon our approval of Him, His popularity.
Rabbi Lamm's warning hits hard: If Yiddishkeit can be "reformed" to conform to every intellectual fad and fashion, it reveals an immature conception of God as Divine Servant. But authentic Judaism declares the opposite: man is the ambassador of God, not the other way around.
3) Why Does the Torah Bless the Individual While the Dibros Address Everyone?
This is more relevant to Elul than Shoftim, but tere's a paradox that should bother us: The Torah's brachos and klalos in our parshiyos are written in singular: "Re'eh anochi" (See, I give before you – singular). But the Aseres Hadibros were given in the plural, addressed to all of klal Yisrael together. Shouldn't it be reversed?
Rabbi Zvi Boruch Hollander explains that this apparent contradiction teaches us the dual nature of avodas Hashem. Yes, the Dibros were given to everyone collectively; that's the universal framework, the non-negotiable obligations that unite us as a people.
But here's the chiddush: Torah isn't a one-size-fits-all program. The blessings come in the singular form because each person has their own unique path within that framework. Your nisayon isn't mine. Your spiritual DNA isn't mine. As Rabbi Katz puts it, the Torah teaches fundamentals to everyone, but the actual blessing of a life of spirituality is custom-fit for each individual Jew.
The midrash teaches that at Sinai, every Jew heard the Torah according to their unique abilities. A person might think, "How can I fulfill my special mission in Creation like Moshe did?" The answer: You don't have to be Moshe. You have to be you, with your particular struggles and strengths.
If you’d like an opening hook for this idea as a drashah, click here.
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