Moshcheni Acharecha Narutzah

Rabbi Gruen

There are things in life one has to do, and there are things one wants to do. Lucky is the man who wants to do what he must.

The best way to be motivated to do anything is to have the desire to do it, and then you can accomplish it.

When we say “ye’erav na yedidosecha,” we are davening to Hashem that He should help us to want to serve Him and not just observe the mitzvos because we are commanded to.

Likewise, when we daven to Hashem for our children that they should be successful in learning and keeping the mitzvos, we ask “v’ha’arev na Hashem”—it should be sweet for them; they should enjoy what they are doing. A child who is motivated in what they are doing cannot be compared to a child who is not.

Pesach was the time when Hashem gave the Yidden the cheshek to want to go out of Mitzrayim and accept the Torah. Even though they were working hard in Mitzrayim, initially it was hard for them to feel the desire to leave and accept the Torah and mitzvos. Once Hashem planted the seeds of desire within them, their yearning to become closer and more connected to Hashem kept growing and intensifying until they reached the Yam Suf. That’s when it reached the peak: “u’malchuso b’ratzon kiblu aleihem”—their desire to do ratzon Hashem climaxed at this point (Sfas Emes).

This is a theme of Pesach—to want to be connected and pulled toward Hashem and do His ratzon willfully.

It’s the same with any relationship: If you make others want to be around you, they will naturally gravitate toward you without the need of force or convincing.

A story is told about Rav Moshe Leib Sassover, who once encountered a wagon driver in need of assistance. When he told the driver that he could not help, the response was “Możesz tylko nie chcesz—You can, you just don’t want to.” R’ Moshe Leib took this story as a lesson in mussar that this is really how it is in life—whenever we say we can’t do something, it’s really an excuse because we don’t want to do it.

Hashem gave us this gift of wanting to connect with Him, and we daven to Him that He should continue to give us this eager wanting to always strive to become closer to Him, especially in this auspicious time of Pesach.

 

אני ישנה ולבי ער קול דודי דופק פתחי לי

Rabbi Yechezkel Auerbach

Lashon Hakodesh is a language unlike any other. While history has seen the development of hundreds and even thousands of different languages, only Lashon Hakodesh was uniquely crafted by Hakadosh Baruch Hu for the purpose of conveying Torah to Klal Yisrael.

In view of this, it’s not surprising that a broad variety of Rishonim authored sefarim dedicated to unlocking the secrets and directives hidden in plain sight, waiting to be set free, by learning authentic Torah.

The Gemara tells us that the 10 various shirim recorded in the Torah are all kadosh, but Shir Hashirim is “hakodesh hakodshim.” Failing to follow up on this intriguing statement and not trying to ferret out the details of what’s awaiting us in an exploration of this megillah would be depriving ourselves of an unparalleled treasure.

In perek 5, pasuk 2, we’re told that Klal Yisrael declares “Ani yesheinah v’libi eir, kol Dodi dofek, pischi li…” The word “lev” is commonly translated as “heart,” and as such, it would seem to be presenting a bit of poetry—I’m asleep, but my heart is still perceptive. This misses an important point. Lev, in Lashon Hakodesh, refers to the mind, as in lev l’havin and Chovos Halevavos. A Torah Yid must always recognize the dual nature of our relationship with our Beloved…an emotional love and the demand of keeping a searching intellect, forever seeking new and energizing insights into our ever-growing relationship with Hakadosh Baruch Hu.

 

The pasuk concludes with our having achieved a state of “nimla tal—being dampened with dew.” My father explained that the difference between getting caught in the rain and becoming dampened by dew is that rain is clearly seen. Dew, on the other hand, is imperceptible. Stay outside overnight, and without realizing how or when, it creeps up on you. Suddenly, the cumulative experience results in your being aware that you’re covered in dew. So too with avodas Hashem. Little by little, your life as a Yid transforms you into one who has Hashem as “Dodi.”

Bio: Rabbi Yechezkel Auerbach was a rebbi for many years and has spent the last 36 years working in kashrus. The teachings of Rav Shamshon Refoel Hirsch have been and continue to be his guide.

 

Rabbi Garfinkel:

אם תמצאו את דודי מה תגידו לו שחולת אהבה אני

“If you find my Beloved, what should you tell him? Shecholas ahavah ani—That I am sick with love.”

There’s a similar pasuk earlier in Shir Hashirim that says “Ki cholas ahavah ani.”

Klal Yisrael is sending a message to Hashem that our greatest pain in galus is that we’re separated from you, Hashem. We’re sick from this separation. The Rambam in perek yud of Hilchos Teshuvah explains that proper ahavas Hashem means loving Hashem with a great, strong love so much that one’s soul is attached, bound, and connected with this love for Hashem, and he’s sick from this love every single second. And the Rambam quotes the pasuk “Ki cholas ahavah ani.” This is a good, healthy, and most praiseworthy addiction.

On Shabbos Kodesh Parshas Vayakhel, the South Fallsburg rosh yeshivah, Rav Elya Ber Wachtfogel, related a story about the Kaminetzer rosh yeshivah, Rav Boruch Ber Leibowitz.

One time, Rav Boruch Ber was at a vacation resort, as was customary then, and a great Poilisher gaon was there too. They spoke in learning, but they didn’t really speak the same language. This Poilisher gaon knew the entire Torah, but their derech halimud was not the same, to say the least. After their discussion, which didn’t go well, Rav Boruch Ber commented that this gaon never got sick over a Rashba. “Er hot kein mohl gekrenkt oif a Rashba.”

There’s a very high level of learning with ameilus, which is very great, but then there’s an even higher level—to get sick over a Rashba. Rav Elya Ber applied this story to Moshe Rabbeinu’s desire to have a part in building the Mishkan. It was more than a desire; the Medrash Tanchuma says that Moshe Rabbeinu was in pain—the perfect example of ki cholas ahavah ani. Rav Elya Ber said that our pain in galus—our cholas ahavah—is very precious to Hashem and will help bring the Geulah.

Perhaps there’s another word that can help understand this level of ki cholas ahavah ani, and that is to be shikkur with ahavas Hashem. There’s a video clip going around of Rav Gamliel Rabinovitch of Yerushalayim baking matzos for Pesach. Rav Gamliel was singing and dancing while he was rolling the matzah dough. The words of his song were “la’asos nachas ruach laBorei Yisbarach Shemo.”

Rav Gamliel was singing and dancing with tremendous fervor, zeal, and zest. He was shikkur with ahavas Hashem and the love of the mitzvah. This is ki cholas ahavah ani.

This level of ki cholas ahavah ani is very great and the highest rung on a very tall ladder, but every one of us, including myself, can at least try to touch the ladder and perhaps climb one step or two. Every Yid should feel something, an eppes of ki cholas ahavah ani this time of year, especially at the Sedarim. Let’s send this message: Shecholas ahavah ani, which will bring great nachas ruach to Hashem.

Chag Kasher V’samei’ach and may it be a time of geulah v’yeshuah for all of Klal Yisrael, Amen.

Bio: Rabbi Moshe Garfinkel is a fourth-grade rebbi at the Lakewood Cheder.

 

אני לדודי ודודי לי

Shaindy Lieberman

“Ani l’Dodi v’Dodi li” is an emotion-laden parable for kirvas Elokim.

In a relationship between two people, true adoration is conveyed when one acts upon what she perceives will find chein in the eyes of her beloved. It isn’t a matter of obligation, it’s an expression of “I’m sensitive to your likes and dislikes, and I come through on them, not because it’s a requirement, but because I want to.” Such actions deepen the connection between the couple in a profound way!

In our avodas Hashem, our sincerest wish is to do His will. In addition to our obligations as Torah-true Yidden, we look for opportunities to express: “I desire to please You! Even when perhaps I don’t have to go the extra mile, I do so because I want to—“Retzoni la’asos retzoncha.” In turn, we get to delight in a content feeling of closeness to Hashem.

As the ups and downs of life have it, Yaffa was experiencing a rough patch. She turned to Hashem in tefillah, “Ani l’Dodi! As I go about my day doing your will, I so badly want to do it with a heart that beats with joy!”

Later that very day, her son came home with a new speaker that he earned at yeshivah. Moments after he came home, lively music blared through her home. Soon, her sons were dancing. It was contagious! She found herself waltzing as she puttered about preparing for Shabbos. Carefree joy filled the air. Yaffa felt that Hashem literally sent the boost she needed straight to her door.

This story is a true portrayal of how when we express “Ani l’Dodi,” we merit experiencing “Dodi li” in our lives.

 

מים רַבִּ֗ים לֹ֤א יֽוּכְלוּ֙ לְכַבּ֣וֹת אֶת־הָֽאַהֲבָ֔ה

מים רבים לא יֽוכלו לכבות את האהבה

 

Many rivers cannot quench My love.

Chaim Yehoshua Meyer

According to Shir Hashirim Rabbah, “many rivers” refers to the nations of the world. Throughout the generations, הֲמוֹן֙ עַמִּ֣ים רַבִּ֔ים, an “uproar of many peoples” (Yeshaya 17:12) has risen up against us. However, they will be punished for being the messengers (Rashi ibid.). Hamas attacked Israel on October 7th with what it called the “Al Aqsa Flood.” Israel’s retribution has been through the hostages who held steadfast to their beliefs while in captivity. We have seen hostages such as Omer Shem Tov, who studied a Chabad newsletter on Parshas Mishpatim while he was being held hostage and Agam Berger, who kept Shabbos during her time in captivity, refusing to cook for the terrorists who held her. All of Bnei Yisrael were at Har Sinai; the wellspring of Torah is in us all.

On Shevi’i Shel Pesach, we commemorate Krias Yam Suf; it was only then that our redemption was complete. (Ohr HaChaim on Shemos 12:15). While the Mitztriyim were pursuing us, we viewed them as our taskmasters. It was only when we saw Pharaoh’s army drown in the Red Sea that we felt truly free. Despite the various exiles we endured and the cruelty we suffered at the hands of various nations, we have risen up and overcome through the gift Hashem gave us, His holy Torah. In every exile, we are reminded that we serve Him alone. May Hashem bring us to the final Geulah soon.

Bio: Chaim Yehuda Meyer is an attorney and writer living in Brooklyn, New York. He has written about issues facing our community, events, and new releases in the Judaic book world.

 

כי חולת אהבה אני

Sick with Love: The Fiery Song of the Soul

Rabbi Binyomin Ginsburg

What would make a man cry every time he opened a sefer? Not sorrow. Not fear. But love.

The Kozhnitzer Maggid was once asked, “Why do you weep so bitterly when you say Shir Hashirim?”

He answered simply: “How can one not cry when a soul cries out to its Beloved—and the Beloved calls back with such tenderness?”

There are many ways to describe a Jew’s relationship with Hashem—child and parent, servant and king—but none compare to the language of longing and love found in Shir Hashirim. Recited on Pesach, this sacred sefer gives voice to a bond that’s not merely respectful or loyal, but passionate and all-consuming.

The Mishnah teaches: The world was unworthy of the day Shir Hashirim was given; it is the Kodesh Kadashim. (Yadayim 3:5).

Why such reverence?

The Nesivos Shalom explains that unlike the father-son love described elsewhere, Shir Hashirim reveals a deeper, more intimate connection—a burning desire that can’t bear separation. As it says: כִּי־חוֹלַת אַהֲבָה אָנִי” — For I am sick with love” (2:5).

The Rambam echoes this, urging a Jew to love Hashem with a consuming love, like one who is lovesick, whose soul is tied to the One he longs for (Hilchos Teshuvah 10:3).

The Chidushei HaRim once told of a simple Jew in a Polish village who would close his shop every Friday and walk into the woods. He was no scholar, knew no siddur. But he would raise his eyes and say, “Ribono Shel Olam, I don’t know how to daven like the tzaddikim. But I miss You. I miss You so much. Please—please love me the way I love You.”

A talmid once overheard him and whispered later, “I never knew what d’veikus meant until I heard that man. He’s sick with love for Hashem.”

This is the essence of Shir Hashirim. It’s not just poetry—it’s the cry of the soul, aflame with divine yearning: רשפיה רשפי אש שלהבתיה “—Its coals are coals of fire, flames of Hashem” (8:6).

Rav Tzadok Hakohen writes that every Jew has a hidden spark that eternally longs for closeness to Hashem. Even when buried beneath years of silence or struggle, it still burns.

Shir Hashirim reminds us: Hashem doesn’t only want our perfection—He cherishes our yearning. And on Pesach, as we recall the first steps of our eternal love story with Him, we let it burn bright.

Bio: Rabbi Ginsberg has been a Jewish educator for more than 40 years and is currently an educational consultant and parenting expert in private practice. He travels extensively and conducts workshops for teachers, principals, and parents on various educational and parenting topics. He has also authored several books and serves as the educational director of the Living Lessons Yahadus series.

 

הנה זה עומד אחר כתלנו משגיח מן החלנות מציץ מן החרכים

“…hinei zeh omeid achar kosleinu, mashgiach min hachalonos, meitzitz min hacharakim.”

Rabbi Yehudah Schonfeld

This iconic pasuk poetically expresses that Hashem watches over us and protects us even while we’re in galus. How does He protect us? The Torah and mitzvos themselves are the most powerful shield of protection. If we keep them loyally, we’ll be saved from all harm.

Sadly, a person can view mitzvos as an obligation and a duty, failing to recognize how he benefits from keeping them.

Take the example of lashon hara, which Chazal famously say is one of the severest aveiros, worse than the three aveiros chamuros (severest sins), and carries one of the worst punishments. It makes sense, then, that when I learn hilchos lashon hara, my heart might sink. Look at how many things I can do wrong, I might think. If I even wink at someone the wrong way, I’ll be severely punished!

But wait a moment. Why am I focusing on what I’m not allowed to do to others? It’s the exact opposite! Lashon hara is what other people aren’t allowed to do to me! It’s my shield of protection. These halachos mean that Hashem loves me so much, He forbids anyone to even wink in a nasty way about me. Yes, it’s true that I also can’t treat others poorly—but that’s because Hashem loves them too.

The same is true for all the mitzvos of the Torah. If we think into them, we’ll discover how they all protect and guard us, ensuring that we live the happiest, healthiest, and safest lives.

Bio: Rabbi Yehuda Schonfeld is the author of Hashem Wants You to Enjoy His World. He enjoys living and learning in Lakewood and is available to speak publicly.

 

יונתי בחגוי הסלע

Yonasi b’chagvei hasela.… “My dove in the crevices of the rock.…”

Rabbi Yonah Weinrib

The Gemara (Brachos 53a) compares Bnei Yisrael to a yonah, a dove. Just as a dove is protected by its wings, so the Jewish people are protected by their mitzvos.

The Midrash in Shir HaShirim makes a specific reference to Egypt here. Bnei Yisrael are compared to the dove—Rashi quotes the Midrash that compares the Jewish people to a dove as it attempted to flee from the pursuing Egyptians. At that time, it was like a dove attempting to flee from a snake, only to be confronted by a predatory hawk. So it was when Bnei Yisrael were camped at the Yam Suf. The sea loomed in front of them, and Pharaoh and his army were pursuing the Jews, bent on destroying them. The barren wilderness with its snakes and scorpions surrounded them on both sides.

In this predicament, the Jewish people raised their voices in tefillah to Hashem. Targum adds that, at that time, a Heavenly voice rang out: “You, Klal Yisrael, who is compared to a pure dove in the crevices.… and in the recess of the steps; I have seen your beautiful countenance. Your voice is pleasant when heard in tefillah in shuls, a miniature Beis Hamikdash, and I have seen your beautiful appearance through your ma’asim tovim.”

And like the dove that is ever faithful to its mate, we have never forsaken Hashem. We are the beloved dove, “My dove,” always faithful, eternally connected.

 

אני חומה

Ani Chomah—I am a wall

Avraham Leffler

Walls. The word invokes so many things and so many images. A wall can separate or divide. It can also keep us safe. Many people live with walls built around them. Inner walls. Life has taught them that it’s safer to be on guard. Safety is such a basic need, so it makes all the sense in the world. But such walls are meant to gradually be taken down—and to live freely.

Another kind of wall is a mechitzah. Rav Shimshon Pincus writes about such walls. They aren’t really divisive, rather, they bring us closer. Like a mechitzah for an ezras nashim—it’s not an obstacle or blocking, it’s actually the very thing that allows for appropriate tefillah, for kedushah! And the same thing is with walls of a house.

So we see that walls can not only not be a separation, but can be a unifier and promote togetherness and kedushah.

So what kind of wall is “Ani chomah”? Perhaps it has elements of both.

Shir Hashirim is all about the close relationship between Hashem and Klal Yisrael. It’s an intimate conversation of attachment, of love. When Klal Yisrael says “I am a wall,” this demonstrates love and closeness. A wall? Closeness? Yes! Because how can we possibly achieve closeness to Hashem, how can we show Hashem we want to be as close as possible?

By being steadfast. Firm. Unyielding and unbending. The rest of the world changes, but not us! Our mesorah stays the same. By having walls against society, by protecting our kedushah, by firmly fighting against negative change. By fighting Mitzrayim and avodah zarah. By having walls of courage, tenacity, faith, and conviction. By us standing as a wall in our avodas Hashem, we will, im yirtzeh Hashem, be zocheh to have walls of closeness. To have walls of a chuppah, of a house, of the Beis Hamikdash, and to merit to leave Mitzrayim and be zocheh to the Geulah.

Bio: Avrohom Leffler, LSCW is a therapist and clinical director in Lakewood.