Penn Station On Fire - Parshas Vayeitzei

A Torah anytime original series. After Yakabovinu has his famous dream about the ladder and the angels going up and down, the puss says that he built a mata for Hashem. This was a monument memorializing the powerful spiritual experience he had undergone there. Now what happens next seems a little bit odd. Yakov goes ahead and he takes out a bottle of extra virgin olive oil and he pours it directly on top of the monument until the very last drop. Ever wonder what's the significance of doing that? Why exactly is he pouring olive oil on top of a monument? And it's not only Yako, he was just the start of the custom. Throughout our history, we have been anointing monuments and kings and kahanim by sitting them down and pouring a bottle of extra virgin olive oil on their heads. Why do we do this? And why do we do it specifically with olive oil? Why not apple cider vinegar or red wine vinegar or maybe just some good old red wine? So Rumption Fulhur she explains that there is a quality to oil that is rarely found in any other liquid and that is that oil does not mix with other liquids. No matter how hard you try to force it, oil refuses to mix. That says Rers is the lesson symbolized by the oil. The Nvy sits the new king down and he tells him that his success is predicated on his ability to stay separate and proud to resist the temptation of mixing with all the other cultures around him to overcome the urge to be just like all of them. Pride in being a Jew is the greatest tool a king or a Nvy or a cayenne can have and we use oil to drive that message home. Yakov was doing the same as he was about to enter Love's corrupt home filled with evil and deception and spiritual nothingness. He fortified his essence with the strength to stay separate. He knew that to walk into Loveven's world and emerge unchanged, he needed a clear, unshakable sense of who he was. It was the only way. And his efforts paid off. He walked out of that house on fire. And his kids took the lesson to heart and did the same. The longevity of the Jewish people has always depended on one thing, our ability to stay distinct. Yseph understood this clearly. When he brought Yakov down to Egypt, the empire of all empires, the cultural superpower of its time, he made sure his father would live far from the center of Egyptian life. Geishan wasn't just a convenient farmland. It was intentionally distant, a buffer, a spiritual safety zone. Because from the very beginning, Hashem defined our identity as a nation meant to stand apart. A kingdom of priests, a holy nation, not isolated, but different, not detached, but elevated. The Tory's vision of that we remain spiritually independent even while living amongst the nations. Bum saw it, too. He looked at the Jewish people and couldn't help but cry out, "This is a nation that dwells alone. Not because they're lonely, but because they stand confidently in their own space. Even Hmon in his twisted hatred, he couldn't help but notice it. There is one nation, he said, scattered everywhere and yet they're still different. Even our enemies saw our uniqueness more clearly sometimes than we do because that's our superpower. The moment we let go of that sacred distance, the moment we start dissolving into whatever culture surrounds us, we lose the sharpness of our mission that we're meant to be on. The moral flag bearers of the world and the conscious of humanity. And the more we blend in, the less light we shine, our survival, our strength, our impact, it all comes from the courage to remain unmistakably, unapologetically, spiritually separate. The hardest and saddest part of Gullis isn't the suffering. It's not the bloodshed. It's not the wars. It's not the poverty. All of that happened. Sure. But the real tragedy is that now when some Jews wake up and look in the mirror, they see an American who happens to be Jewish and not a Jew who happens to be an American. They see a Canadian or an Englishman or an Israeli who happens to be Jewish and not a Jew who happens to be a citizen of that particular country. That's the real pain of exile because that's what happens when we start measuring ourselves by the world around us. We start chasing what everyone else chases, the culture, the celebrities, the sports, the politics. We start thinking that's who we are. And we forget the fire inside of us. The part that's been burning for thousands of years. The spark that survived exile and persecution and destruction and wandering and still says, "I am a Jew and I have something to give this world." We need to look into the mirror and see that spark. Not just a face, not just a body, but a soul with a mission. A soul that's here to bring light, that's here to stand out. You are here to do something bigger than yourself. That fire inside of you is stronger than any culture. It's stronger than any trend. It's stronger than anything trying to pull you away from who you really are. YaKob is telling us, don't ignore it. Don't h don't apologize for it. It's your power. It's your gift, and the world desperately needs it. Now, listen to this. I was once giving a class to a big group of college kids talking about the responsibility every Jew has to elevate the world. And right in the middle, no filter, no embarrassment. One kid, he just blurts out, "Yeah, but what do religious Jews who just learn all day actually do for the world? What good are they?" The room froze and you could feel the air tighten and and everyone was waiting for the explosion. But I looked at him calmly and I said, "You want to know what they do for the world? I'll tell you." When that Jew walks down the street, when people see him, they're not just seeing a man. They're seeing God's presence walking in human form. They see him. They see God. He is a moving billboard advertising heaven. When people see that Jew walking down the street, they see morality. They see ethics. They see someone who stands for family and marriage and loyalty and holiness and discipline and humility and kindness. They are seeing self-control in a world of impulse. They're seeing commitment in a world that quits. They're seeing purity in a world that mocks it. They're seeing responsibility in a culture that runs from it. They're seeing depth in a generation drowning in shallowess. They're seeing spiritual fire while everyone else chases noise. They see a man with a backbone, someone who won't sell out. They see a man with courage to stand tall and stand apart. They see a man with hope. They see a man that they see a man who has consistency when the world is in chaos. They're seeing humility. They see a man who bends to God and not to trends. They see a man with principles and not preferences. They're seeing a man with values that don't go on sale. They see a soul awake and not someone sleepwalking. When they see a religious Jew who just learns all day, they are seeing living proof that holiness, something they claim is extinct, is still very much alive and well. That's what that learning Jew brings to the world. And I take a long look at that of those college kids and I say that Jew walking down the street does more in 15 minutes than most people will do in their entire lifetimes. And with that I went on with the class. You see that mentality is not arrogance. That's not superiority. That's the mindset of a person who remembers who they are. It's a mindset of a person whose soul is plugged into eternity whose life is rooted entire and in mission and in purpose. That's why the word world looks to the Jews for moral clarity. That's why we get more attention and more scrutiny and more headlines than any other group of people on earth. That's why the 8 billion people of this world watch us and question us and analyze us because deep down the world knows we are the moral compass. We are the guardians of Hashem's message. We are the ones carrying the light that won't ever go out. We're not just another nation. We're Hashem's spotlight. We're his signal flare to humanity. We're his marketing team that markets truth. And once a Jew understands that, once you realize the world is watching you because you matter, that's not pressure. That's pride. That's fire. That's your identity. It's our job to stand tall and walk proud and show the world exactly who you represent. It reminds me of something that I thought of while I was on in while I was in Japan a few years ago. A few years ago, I was in Japan. And I'm not talking about just the tourist brochure Japan. I'm talking about the real Japan, the back alley markets, the tight city streets, the chaos of daily life that the country has underneath its surface. And on the first day in Tokyo, after about two hours of walking and weaving through crowds and passing food stalls, trying not to get crushed by the rushing commuters, something hits me. I stop. I look around and I realize I haven't seen a single piece of garbage anywhere. Not even one. Not a wrapper, not a plastic bottle, not a piece of gum, nothing. The p place is spotless. Absolutely remarkably spotless. Now, Tokyo is not some gated senior citizen community. Tokyo is the largest city in the world with around 40 million people in it. How in the world do they keep it so clean? And then it hits me. This isn't an accident. This isn't some government program or some billion dollar cleanup job that the city overtook over the course of many years. You know where the cleanliness of Japan comes from? It comes from good old-fashioned pride. Japan is a nation where people love their country so fiercely and so intensely that they simply refuse to bring it shame. They refuse to do anything that would disgrace it. Even the smallest granola bar rapper is not thrown on the ground because how could you possibly ruin the beauty of a country you are so proud of? You see, in Japan, there's a reason the trains run on time. There's a reason people bow to each other. There's a reason that the streets are clean enough to eat off of. It's not just about rules and laws. It's about a mindset and a culture and a way of being. Because hundreds of years, Japan was one of the most isolated places on Earth. The emperors and the shoguns and the samurai and even the ninjas, they all enforced a society built around discipline and honor and loyalty, not just to a particular leader, but to the entire nation. Pride wasn't just encouraged. It was literally in their bloodstream. Every citizen was taught that their actions reflected on the whole country. Every step, every bow, every behavior carried weight. This sense of responsibility, this awareness of being a representative of something greater than yourself became second nature to the Japanese. People in Japan feel it in their bones. When a Japanese person walks down the street, they aren't just a person moving through space. They are the country of Japan walking. Every action, every gesture, every small decision matters. And because this pride runs so deep, it shapes behaviors in ways most of the world can barely imagine. The trains run on time because being late isn't just inconvenient. It's dishonoring your country. People bow to each other because respect isn't optional. It's embedded in their identity. Streets aren't immaculate. Because littering isn't just messy, it's shameful and it's a disgrace to their society that they are immensely proud of. There's only one other country in the world, to my knowledge, that mirrors this level of relentless discipline and national pride, and that country is Germany. Germany, like Japan, spent centuries cultivating a fierce burning pride in itself. From the organization of its cities to the precision of its industry, from the punctuality of its trains to the cleanliness of its streets, discipline and order are completely ingrained in the German culture. Both nations produce people who would give their lives without question, who would fly a kamicazi airplane into a ship without batting an eyelash or march into impossible odds with unwavering loyalty. That same pride when fused with ideology led these nations to team up and nearly take down the entire world. They showed what happens when pride becomes mission and identity and obsession. when it consumes the people completely. But here's the part that hit me hard. Today, those same two nations, Germany and Japan, who once weaponized their pride and use it for darkness, are now two of the greatest, most disciplined, most advanced countries on Earth. Why? Because pride, when it's real, doesn't disappear. It just gets redirected. These are countries where people grow up breathing the message, I carry the honor of my nation on my shoulders. And when you internalize that, everything shifts. You don't litter. You don't cut corners. You don't disrespect the system because your failure becomes your country's shame and your excellence becomes its glory. That's the power of pride. Pride shapes behavior. Pride shapes culture. And when a nation has in its bloodstream, it transforms everything for worse when corrupted and for greatness when channeled correctly. So as I'm walking through this spotless Japanese market, it hits me like a lightning bolt. If human pride for a country can shape behavior this dramatically, what should Jewish pride look like? We're not representing a flag. We're not carrying a mortal kingdom. We are carrying Hashem's name. We are representing the master of the world. We are living ambassadors of a mission that began at our Seni. If a Japanese citizen won't drop a rapper on the floor because it misrepresents the country. If a German citizen feels the weight of centuries of identity with every action, then what does it mean for us amro who walk around with Hashem's signature on our soul? What does it mean to speak as a Jew and to act as a Jew and to live as a Jew when every step we take carry the honor of the rabbanim? Jewish pride isn't ego. It's responsibility. It's dignity. It's knowing you represent the king of kings wherever you go. And if nations of the world can build entire cultures around pride in something human, then imagine what we can build with pride in something divine. Walk like you're carrying his name. Walk like you're carrying his light. And never forget people watch us because every Jew carries Hashem's crown. And even the world can't ignore royalty. Listen to this. There's an interesting that says that every single night of the year, Hashem roars like a lion and he says, "Oi, to my children who have lost the bas." Hashem is so to speak bemoning the fact that we are still in gullus and haven't rebuilt the Bamed. And while we do this once a year on tishab, hashem does this every single night of the year. But here's the part that I thought was a little bit strange. Why does the say that Hashem roars like a lion about the B mikdash? Shouldn't it say that Hashem sits and cries about the mach? It should say Hashem is sad. Why? What does it mean Hashem roars like a lion? Perhaps the answer is that Hashem is giving us the antidote to gullis and that is to roar like a lion. We don't limp our way through gullis. We don't walk through time like pathetic refugees running out of Gaza. We roar like lions. That's how the bas mikdash gets rebuilt. Not with fear, not with apology, but with pride, with heads held high, with fire, knowing that we are the soldiers in the army of Hashem, honored and charged to carry his name down history's twisted road. Until this dark world we live in lights up again. There's an old legend that Theodore Herzel once stood face to face with Kaiser Wilham II and Herzel looked at the most powerful man in Europe and he said, "Mark my word, there will one day be a Jewish state in the Holy Land." And the Kaiser, he laughed and he waved his hand and he said, "For that to happen, you would need every major empire on this continent to collapse. England, France, Germany, Tsaris, Russia, the Hebsburgs, the Ottomans, and that her Herzel is impossible. Well, history has a funny way of answering arrogance. 50 years later, every one of those empires was gone and shattered and broken and stripped of power. And on the ashes of their certainty, a Jewish state rose. Why? Because Jews don't wait for miracles. We become the people who deserve them. Because when you carry Jewish pride, when you roll up your sleeves and fight for your destiny, history bends and empires fall and suddenly the impossible seems very much possible. Here's one last story. I was once standing online at Penn Station in Manhattan boarding a bus when a homeless man called out to me through the crowded terminal and he said, "Sir, you're Jewish, correct?" I said, "Yeah." He said, "I have a question for you. Why is it that all you Jews are always welldressed, always in those white shirts with the press suit or a good-looking sweater on? Why is that?" As my bus began boarding the last passengers, I turned to him and I said, "Let me ask you a question. Why do Secret Service agents always dress nicely? They always have those press suits and the comb tear. Why is that?" So he thought for a minute and he said, "Well, that's because they represent the president." Exactly. I said, "And we represent God." And with that, I turned around and I boarded the bus.