Rabbi Warren Goldstein

The Knowledge Economy

The world we live in today is one predicated upon the exchange of content, information and knowledge. It is a generation of unprecedented curation and consumption of ideas, concepts, data and news. Such modes and models of information form one of the highest forms of commodity in today’s day and age, and collectively comprise what economists call the knowledge economy.

Such explosion is not limited in scope. It spans from technology to creative arts to professional services, impacting people across all domains of life, from the corporate world to families to individuals. But ultimately, at the heart of it all, lies a fundamental concept: the trading of ideas. It is not simply manual labor anymore, but brainpower, which drives global systems of input and output. And in that framework where content is produced, marketed and consumed at such rapid speeds, so much so that we ourselves have a hard time keeping up with it, we come to Judaism.

Judaism has always placed at the epicenter of its core mission and creed the value of learning, understanding and the transmission of ideas. Thousands of years ago, the Torah, filled with Divine wisdom, was transmitted to us, and from it the noblest of lives worth living. And as our Sages (Shabbos 127a) teach: “Talmud Torah k’neged kulam – The study of Torah is equal to all the mitzvot combined.”

In none other than this week’s Parsha, the commentaries gives us multiple sources for the mitzvah of Torah study. The Rambam cites, “V’shinantam l’vanecha—And you shall teach your children,” as the foundation. The Ramban adds another Pasuk: "V’hodatam l’vanecha ul’vnei vanecha—You shall make it known to your children and grandchildren.” And perhaps most striking of all, the Torah declares: "Ki hi chochmaschem u’vinaschem l’einei ha’amim – This is your wisdom and your insight in the eyes of the nations.”

So central is the Jewish commitment to wisdom that the Torah itself promises that the brilliance of its teachings will be visible to the world. The nations will look upon us and say: “Rak am chacham v’navon ha’goy hagadol hazeh– What a wise and understanding people this is.”

But herein lies the question. If the modern world now also celebrates knowledge, ideas, and education, what makes Torah unique?

To answer that, we turn to the profound teaching of our Sages in the Midrash. “If someone tells you there is wisdom among the nations, believe them. But if they say there is Torah among the nations, do not believe them” (Eicha Rabbah 2:13).

This statement acknowledges the brilliance and creativity of humanity. Hashem created every human being b’tzelem Elokim, in His image, with the capacity for analysis, insight, art, literature, science, and philosophy. So it should not surprise us to find wisdom throughout the world.

But Torah is something else entirely. Torah is not merely wise; it is Divine. "Moshe kibel Torah mi’Sinai– Moshe received the Torah at Mount Sinai.” The very opening line of Pirkei Avot, the tractate of Jewish ethics and wisdom, begins not with moral instruction or philosophical wisdom, but with a reminder that the source of the forthcoming ethical and moral wisdom originates from G-d.

As the great commentator Rabbi Ovadia of Bartenura explains, other tractates of the Mishnah are clearly Divine, such as Shabbat, Kashrut, or the laws of damages. But Pirkei Avot, with its universal ethical themes, could be mistaken for general wisdom literature. Therefore, the Mishnah reminds us that this too is from Sinai. It is not merely good advice, but holy.

Torah is not simply a set of ideas, but a system of transformation. And that brings us to a second distinguishing feature: Torah is not about stimulation; it is about elevation.

In today's world, content is often designed for entertainment. Even high-level educational content—podcasts, TED talks, articles—is packaged to engage, excite, and stimulate. There is nothing wrong with that. Human beings crave mental challenge; we solve puzzles, debate ideas, and explore the world with curiosity.

But Torah is not about entertainment. Hashem didn’t give us Torah to keep us intellectually busy. He gave us Torah to transform us: to refine our character, uplift our souls, and shape us into bnei Adam, fully realized human beings. That is why Pirkei Avot focuses so deeply on two themes: Middot (character development) and Talmud Torah (Torah learning).

According to both the Vilna Gaon and the Maharal, the three pillars mentioned in Pirkei Avot 1:2—Torah, Avodah (service), and Gemilut Chasadim (kindness)—correspond to the three fundamental dimensions of human existence:

Avodah—Bein adam laMakom (our relationship with God); Gemilut Chasadim—Bein adam l’chaveiro (our relationship with others); Torah—Bein adam le’atzmo (our relationship with ourselves).

That is the essence of Torah: it is the pathway of self-transformation. And this transformational power is achieved through halacha, Jewish law. Halacha is not just law; it is the translation of eternal values into daily practice. Generosity becomes ma’aser, the giving 10%. Rest becomes Shabbat, a set of behaviors that create peace and harmony. Compassion becomes bikur cholim, nichum aveilim and tzedakah.

Halacha brings the sublime into the concrete. It connects the intellect with the body, the soul with action. That is why Pirkei Avot teaches: "Lo ha’midrash ha’ikar, ela ha’ma’aseh—It is not learning that is primary, but action.” A tree with more branches than roots will topple in the wind. Wisdom must be anchored in behavior. That is the Torah difference. It is not just theory; it is practice. Not just stimulation, but transformation.

In an age of Artificial Intelligence and machine-generated content, we must not forget that the human being is not a machine. We are created b’tzelem Elokim, in the Divine image, with a neshamah, a soul. Our learning must nourish that soul. AI is designed to make us more efficient. Torah is designed to make us more human.

So yes, we live in an age that celebrates content and knowledge. But we must never forget: Torah is different. It is Divine wisdom given for human elevation. It is knowledge that changes and refines us and makes us into G-dly people.

Knowledge economy in the view of the Torah is not merely what we know. It is who we become.

Rabbi Dovid Orlofsky

Distractions and Delusions

In Parshas Va’eschanan, the Torah depicts the blessings which await the Jewish people upon their entry into the Land of Israel:

“And it shall be, when Hashem your God brings you into the land that He swore to your forefathers, to Avraham, to Yitzchak, and to Yaakov, to give you—great and good cities that you did not build, houses full of all good things that you did not fill, cisterns hewn out that you did not hew, vineyards and olive trees that you did not plant—and you will eat and be satisfied. Be careful, lest you forget Hashem…” (Devarim 6:10-12).

This is a danger we are familiar with. With prosperity, the potential for spiritual complacency can swiftly set it. And yet, in Parshas Ekev, we learn of a similar danger, and yet it is couched in subtly different terms:

“Lest you eat and be satisfied, and build good houses and dwell in them... and your herds and your flocks increase, and your silver and gold increase, and all that you have increases—then your heart will become proud, and you will forget Hashem your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, from the house of slavery…” (ibid. 8:12–14).

At first glance, the message of these two passages is the same: be careful of abundance and prosperity leading you to forget Hashem. But Rav Yitzchak Isaac Sher notes an important distinction.

In Parshas Va’eschanan, the concern is that of distraction. The blessings can become overwhelming in the form of dazzling cities, palatial homes and abundant vineyards and we come to forget that Hashem is the Source of it all.

In Parshas Ekev, on the other hand, there is a different danger. It is not that of distraction, but delusion. The Torah incisively adds the words, “Then your heart will become proud.” Arrogance will set in and you will not only forget that Hashem is the Source of all the blessing in your life, but begin to believe that you are the source. You start to think that your success is the result of your own doing, proclaiming, “Kochi v’otzem yadi asah li es hachayil hazeh—It is my strength and the power of my hand which provided all this wealth.” At that moment, you remove Hashem from your life and deem that you are the sole generator of the blessing and goodness you have. You push Hashem out of the picture. That is beyond a distraction from the truth; it is a delusion of it.

I once asked Rav Moshe Shapiro zt”l during the Purim of 2008, when the economic collapse impacted global markets, causing countless businesses to crumble and families to lose everything overnight. “People have been asking me why Hashem did this,” I said to Rav Shapiro. “What should I tell them?” He looked back at me, and said, “Did they ask the same question—why did Hashem do this—when they were making all that money?”

If you see the hand of Hashem throughout your success, you can ask where Hashem is when things go wrong and you experience hardship. But if during moments of your success, you attribute it to your own doing and intelligence, then just as the market goes up, the market goes down. You were subject to the doings of natural law and order, of the so-called “market” when things went up, and now they just happen to go down.

The Torah’s teaching is clear. When we forget who the Source of the goodness in our life is, we engender our downfall. And equally so, and even more so, we bring ruination into our life when we begin to think that we ourselves are the curator and creator of that beracha. Instead, we are to always, even with the efforts and labor of our own hands, remember that Hashem provides us with all that we have in life. It is that humbled recognition and acknowledgment which secures our continued success and the ongoing beneficence of blessing in our life, because Hashem sees that we know to Whom it all belongs.

Rabbi Nachum Binder

The Comfort of Exile

We now enter the sacred period of Shivah D’Nechemta, the seven weeks of consolation following Tisha B’av. And the Ribbono Shel Olam turns to Klal Yisrael and pleads: "Nachamu, nachamu ami—Be comforted, be comforted, My people.”

But the question echoes painfully. How? How can we find nechama, comfort, when the Beis HaMikdash is still in ruins, when we are still in exile spiritually, emotionally, historically? How can we be consoled in a world so fractured, so far from the Divine closeness we once knew?

 One Friday night, the Belzer Rebbe zt”l was walking on the outskirts of town, when from a distance he heard a familiar, holy sound. It was, to his astonished ears, the singsong melody of a Jew learning Gemara. Drawn by the sweetness of Amar Abaye, Amar Rava, he approached a small, dimly lit hut. There, swaying over a Gemara, sat a young soldier in full military uniform, completely immersed in the world of Torah.

The Belzer Rebbe, amazed, asked, “Who are you? What are you doing here, alone, on Shabbos?”

The soldier looked up and explained: “I serve in the army. When I was first drafted, my greatest fear was: What will become of my Shabbos? But Hashem granted me favor in the eyes of my commanding officer, and over time, I became his most trusted aide. One day, I approached him and said: “You see how dedicated I am. Let me serve six days a week, but please, give me Shabbos off.”

To my amazement, he agreed. And at that moment, I made a promise to the Ribbono Shel Olam: I will not waste my Shabbos. Six hours I will dedicate to davening, eating, and rest, but the remaining 18 hours will be spent learning Torah. That is why I am here, alone, in this hut, spending Shabbos with Hashem.”

The Belzer Rebbe lifted his eyes toward Heaven and whispered, “Ribono Shel Olam... who knows if it is not Jews like this who are holding back the coming of Mashiach?”

What did the Rebbe mean?

He meant that this kind of nachas ruach—this kind of devotion, sacrifice, and closeness to Hashem—can only exist in exile. When Mashiach comes, we won’t have the same opportunities for such heroic clinging to the Ribbono Shel Olam. In galus, in the way our world is structured now with all its challenges and struggles, our faith and our efforts are so precious.

Perhaps, that is where our nechama lies. Yes, we are still in exile, and yes, the Beis HaMikdash has not yet been rebuilt. But in the midst of summer, during vacation season, thousands upon thousands of Jews are striving to elevate themselves through learning more, davening more, working on their middos, and yearning to grow in holiness.

That’s not despite the galus; that’s because of the galus. And it brings tremendous nachas ruach to Hashem.

Rabbi Uren Reich

The Quiet Heroism

The Gemara (Gittin 56a) tells the moving story of an extraordinary tzaddik, Rav Tzadok, who lived nearly 2,000 years ago, during the final decades of the Second Beis HaMikdash. For forty years, the Gemara says, Rav Tzadok fasted every single day. Why? “She’lo yeicharev Yerushalayim—So that Jerusalem would not be destroyed.”

His body, weakened by decades of fasting, grew emaciated and frail. The Gemara describes that even after the destruction, Rav Tzadok could no longer digest normal food; they had to slowly reintroduce nourishment to his system.

When we first encounter this Gemara, our instinct is one of heartbreak. Rachmanus! What a tragedy. This holy man sacrificed so much, pushing himself to fast for forty years, heroically, selflessly, passionately, and yet Yerushalayim was destroyed. Was it all for nothing?

The Tiferes Shlomo, the holy Radomsker Rebbe, reveals a radical insight.

No, it was not a failure at all.

Rav Tzadok didn’t fast for forty years so that forever there would be no churban. That, he felt, was too ambitious, too vast for a human being to carry. Instead, Rav Tzadok took a different approach, a transformative one.

He said to himself: “Today. Just today. I will fast, I will daven, I will do everything in my power so that today, there should be no churban.”

And then he did the same the next day, and again the next, and again. For forty years, Rav Tzaddok held off the destruction of Yerushalayim—one day at a time.

With that understanding, what at first appears to be a tragic, failed effort, transforms into a breathtaking success. Rav Tzadok delayed the Churban for four decades. He bought us time; he bought us the opportunity to do teshuvah. And he paid for it with his body, his strength, and his very life.

This is not just history; it is a lesson for each of us.

Too often, when faced with spiritual struggle or the yetzer hara, we think we must conquer it all at once. We try to become tzaddikim overnight as we aim to eradicate temptation completely. And when we fail, we give up. But Rav Tzadok teaches us a different path: break the battle into parts. Don’t commit to defeating the yetzer hara forever. Just today, just this hour, just this moment. “Ha’yom, im b’kolo tishma’u—Today, if you will listen to His voice.” That’s all Hashem asks of us. Today, not forever.

If a whole day is too long, break it into segments. This car ride, I will stay calm. This hour, I will guard my eyes. This conversation, I will speak with kindness. This challenge, I will rise to the occasion. One step at a time, one victory at a time.

And if we live this way—with the mindset of ha’yom, today—we will be capable of standing strong in the face of our challenges, and mirror in our own way the quiet heroism of Rav Tzadok.

Rabbi Zechariah Wallerstein zt"l

Look Up

Always remember this: In life, you're going to get bitten, and you're going to go through stuff, because everyone does. But if you have G-d, then no matter what you're going through, when you look up, He's going to be there and you’re going to make it.