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We are currently in the midst of a very solemn time in the Jewish calendar, the period known as the “3 weeks”, where various calamities have fallen upon our people and most notably the destruction of both of the holy Temples. The Temple wasn’t just a building; it was the tool by which G-dliness could be perceived in the world. We aren’t just mourning the loss of a spectacular building comprised of special materials and concise measurements, of the most architecturally-impressive construction ever to exist. But we are mourning the absence of peace and clarity, a world bereft of spirituality and meaning; a world in which we have even made ourselves comfortable living in, despite it being merely a place of refuge in exile.

Chazal inform us that the causes of the destruction of the first Temple was because of the 3 cardinal sins: murder, adultery and idol worship and the second Temple was destroyed because of baseless hatred. Are we still guilty of these sins today? Most of us can testify that we are not guilty of the 3 cardinal sins, but baseless hatred is still an unfortunate daily occurrence today. The Talmud tells us that “A generation in which the Temple is not built is considered to be one in which it was destroyed”(Yerushalmi, Yoma 1:10) – this means if we still don’t see the Temple today, we are no less to blame than for when the Temple was originally destroyed because we still haven’t rectified the cause! This is what we are supposed to reflect upon during this time period; we have a mere 3 weeks a year to focus ourselves upon what we are really supposed to be doing in this world. We have the chance to mourn for what was lost and to hope for what will be, to put our involvements with our exilic world and daily routine aside – and to just remember that we are part of a nation.

It isn’t a coincidence that now during the 3-weeks there is ongoing riots amongst “charedi”-looking extremists.  To call them “charedi” is an insult to the Torah world – anyone who throws rocks, riots and causes damage is certainly not charedi, and definitely not religious. How are our more secular brothers and sisters going to view this? I am saddened and ashamed at the dreadful Chillul Hashem, G-d forbid, that has transpired. The very police that protect our borders are being assaulted, the very streets that house us are being burnt – and all by individuals dressed in religious attire. Jerusalem Police Chief Cmdr. Aharon Franco, most probably a non-observant Jew, said “I have not found a single place in the Bible where it is written that these actions are permissible” – and how right he is! Is it any wonder we don’t have a Temple? Do we deserve it, really? How merciful Hashem is that He has even given us this Land that’s still going strong, and despite a large secular population still retains strong Jewish values – and after events like this, I do wonder how. Such is the strength of our people, of Torah and of the Land! We as religious Jews have an absolute responsibility and obligation to reverse this desecration, and to condemn it explicitly and openly. These groups do not represent Torah and are behaving contrary to Torah – and we need to make this known.

Let us not only mourn the state of the world today, but we need to stand up and repair. We do not mourn hopelessly, but the flicker of light which still exists inside ourselves allows us to hope and yearn for what will be, for what has to be. When Yaakov thought he lost his son Yosef, he was inconsolable for years, which isn’t normal because the way of the world is to forget and move on after some time. And the reason he didn’t was because, unknown to him, Yosef was still actually alive. So too with us, the Temple hasn’t disappeared forever, and thus we are unable to forget. The very reason we still mourn is a sign that we can’t move on because the Temple is still alive, we will get it back. And that’s why our mourning isn’t from sadness, but from hope.

A terrorist attack was planned in Haifa where a stolen car had 100 kilograms of explosives set to go off in a parking lot which could have caused the whole lot to go up in flames. The bombs failed to go off. Northern Police Head Commander Shimon Koren “…acknowledged the element of luck was decisive in averting tragedy.” (Source: jpost.com)

I’ve noticed something lately. Nobody likes talking about G-d. It seems almost taboo, and euphemisms are even used to refer to Him as if it’s embarrassing to say it directly. Or looking at it more positively, maybe it’s just a very private thing. Rabbi Tatz says that really deep, spiritual things can’t be expressed, and trying to do so lowers them (unless they’re really part of you). If you’ve had a really inspiring moment and you try to explain it to someone, once it’s in words it’s been condensed and diluted and loses its effect on you. It’s just impossible to describe how your neshama feels, and trying to do so really doesn’t do it justice. (The opposite works too – when people have problems that are really taking over them, speaking about it helps because it dilutes the problem and lessens it by putting it into words). Incidentally, this is why Moshe couldn’t speak. Not because he had a disability, but because he was so spiritual there was nothing he could say. Here too, perhaps, G-d and our relationship to Him is very private. But I can’t get my head around it, should it be that way? I think, as with everything in Judaism, yes and no.

Our relationship with Hashem must be at least somewhat private, because firstly, it has to be that way – we couldn’t share our deep and most spiritual selves even if we tried. But, also how can we dare reveal our full selves? If our most deep and inner feelings are revealed, what do we really have left, what can we say is ours? And is that all there is to us, a few words?

Yet on the other hand, we’re not just individuals but we are a nation. We need to spread G-d, His Torah and His light. We can’t do that if everything is kept private. Talking about G-d brings Him into the room, brings Him onto our Shabbat table. And unless we remind ourselves we will forget. It’s so easy to get carried away even on Shabbat, talking and eating, and forgetting what we’re really doing this for. Shabbat can quite easily be spent, ironically, without even thinking about G-d.

Reposted from last year since it is very relevant to me now that I am graduating Law School.

“I have never let my schooling interfere with my education.” Mark Twain

I couldn’t find a better way of introducing this post than through a self-quote. I am currently in my second year of Law School in Mcgill. Yes, the great Law School of Mcgill. It truly is a great law school! Here in Montreal, some people are selling shirts where it is written in big “Harvard” and then, in smaller letters, “America’s Mcgill”. My attendance at one of the most prestigious schools in Canada in on its of its most highly regarded faculties has been mostly positive. I still stand by the fact I would have rather studied in Israel, at Hebrew U, but I do not have much criticism to give to Mcgill. Rather, what I am here to discuss today is a much wider problem, which I do not think is limited to Mcgill or Law School, but rather has spread throughout North America’s culture which also influences Israel.

When I was in high school, I used to be very ambitious. I even got a T-Shirt spray-painted with an Israeli flag in front and the words “Worn by Prime Minister Illouz” in the back. On my valedictorian speech in High School, when I started predicting what all my friends will be accomplishing in the future, I said of myself that in 2030, I would be elected Prime Minister of Israel. All of these things were done half jokingly, with a smile on my face. They were definitely not rooted in any type of Gaavah, I did not mean to imply that I deserved all these titles. Rather, they expressed a deep ambition to do something amazing with my life – to use my God given tools in order to accomplish something I care about.

Then, I went to college, and did well. I went to Yeshiva and to be honest, I’m not really sure if my time in yeshiva was originally good or bad for my ambitions. In yeshiva, in some ways, my ambitions were also temporarily limited. When I look back, I realize that in the long run, the time spent in yeshiva only enhanced my idealism and ambitions but, even in an idealistic yeshiva such as Yeshivat Hakotel, its hard to feed your ambition when your main challenge is to wake up on time for minyan and struggle with holy texts while sitting in your makom. Don’t get me wrong, I believe every Jew should experience a few years in yeshiva – many years for most - but I also now believe that during ones time in yeshiva it is essential for him to also learn about the depth of Jewish Ambition in this world, Jewish Idealism. Rav Kook writes on learning Jewish Thought (which is the basis of Jewish Idealism), that it is to Gemara like the brain is to the body. The brain takes a relatively small volume of space in the body. However, it is the most central part of the body. In order to be truly successful in yeshiva, one must understand that even the short amount of daily study of Jewish Thought is what makes the halachic study meaningful – It is the central part of Jewish learning.

This is where I get into Law School. They have an interesting saying here in Mcgill Law School: “90 % of first years in law school want to go into some form of Public Service. 90% of second years in law school want to become Corporate Lawyers”. Money is quite convincing, yes. When it comes time to apply to law firms and you can choose huge law first in New York with a starting salary of over 120 000$ (I never really checked but that’s what I heard), or an idealistic path where the starting salary is often 0$, the choice for many is quite clear. Trust me, I used to criticize people who stayed in Chutz Laaretz for money, I don’t anymore. I know they are wrong, but I cannot blame them for being sucked into the system with all this green being flashed to their eyes.

At one point in my life I had to make a decision. Am I going to live an ambitious life, with the constant threat of failure, or will I choose a stable and very comfortable life. Honestly, I would probably be so busy working in Law Firms I would not even have time to realize I’m not doing what I want. But my decision was the first option.

Some people think the most ambitious thing would be to have a very successful career. If that is your conviction, I am not arguing this. I could try arguing that some values transcend a successful career but this is not the topic of this post. Rather, I am talking of my own ambition, and the ambition of the vast majority of people who do not accomplish their ambitions when choosing a successful career. My incredible ambitions of moving to Israel, helping rebuild the holy land after 2000 years of exile, helping God’s throne be slowly rebuilt through legal, political, religious means. To me, these ambitions transcend a successful career as a lawyer. This is why I say that choosing law would have been choosing a less ambitious part.

I think we all forget too easily that we have the right to have ambition. We all hesitate too much before saying what we truly want to accomplish in life. Don’t get me wrong, someone’s ambition can truly be to become the best possible lawyer. This is a great ambition! However, in general, most of us are to shy to actually express what we truly want to accomplish.

What would the world be if Martin Luther King Jr. would have been too shy to become a civil rights activist? What would the world be if all those great Rabbis would not have followed their ambitions? What would the world be if Gandhi would have simply been a corporate Lawyer in England? How would the state of Israel been declared if Ben Gurion decided to stay an engeneer in Poland or if Herzl was simply a regular, successful Journalist in France? How much light would have been lost in this world?

When speaking to those who seem to always know better what is best for me than myself, I often want to scream at them for their attempt at extinguishing my passion. I know they mean to do well, they would not want me to risk too much and then loose it all. But if I am not Dan Illouz, who will?
Don’t you realize that the Gandhi’s and Martin Luther Kings of our generations are going to be among those of us who will choose conviction over convenience!

“I have never let my schooling interfere with my ambitions” Dan Illouz
I have never let the world decide what I must make of my own, and only, life.
The issues discussed in this post are not only true for those of us in Law School. It includes decisions each and every one of us need to make at some point of our life. Will we live a life of convenience, or will be life a life of passion and fulfillment. Some have the luxury of living both, but I think everyone of us needs to decide at some point what is the more important value – convenience or conviction. It’s really up to each of us.

As our boys defend our homeland, possibly with their lives, in the Gaza strip, we all must stop and take a few minutes to say Tehillim for them, or add a personal prayer for them into our daily routine. For the skeptics who don’t see how prayer can help such a situation, allow me to offer an example that might illustrate the power of prayer.

A friend related this short Dvar Torah to me today, and it struck a chord with me: Two of the most well known celebrations in the Jewish calendar are Purim and Chanukah. On Purim, we remember how Haman tried to wipe all the Jews in the Persian kingdom off the face of the map. He did not care if this Jew was assimilated or didn’t believe in Judaism, he wanted to physically kill out every single trace of Judaism he could. On Chanukah we remember how the Greeks tried to assimilate us. Our life was not their desire, just our culture. As long as we acted as Greek as we could, they were happy. They wanted to destroy Judaism not physically, but spiritually. On Purim, we combated Haman’s physical threat to our existence with prayer, fast and a slew of spiritual acts. On Chanukah, the Maccabim raised their weapons and waged war on the Greeks.

In both stories, the Jews were not destroyed. After all, here we are, reading Tzipiyah.com! Interesting to note that in both stories, the Jews successfully overcame their enemies with the force opposite that of the threat. When we were physically intimidated, we fought back with prayer, with spirituality. When we were spiritually intimidated, we fought back with war, the physical.

As a physical war wages on in the Middle East, as our boys put their lives on the line to protect those of the citizens of Israel, perhaps what we need to gain an edge is the force opposite that of the threat. Perhaps, to combat the physical attacks on our lives, we need some spirituality. Some prayer?

And, on another spiritual note, we are about to commemorate Asarah B’Tevet, the day that the Babylonian army laid siege to Jerusalem, eventually leading up to the destruction of the first Holy Temple. We commemorate this day spiritually, with fast and prayer. Over the course of the day, every time you get a pang of hunger, a desire to break the fast, if it really isn’t an emergency, think of our boys, risking their lives, and in their merit, overcome the hunger! Persevere as they are trying to do for us. A few hours without food is comparatively a small gesture for us to do for them.

May we soon see the end of this hardship, and may we merit seeing the light pierce this heavy, heavy darkness. May we witness the coming of Mashiach, Bimhera BiYamenu, Amen!