I Went To A Monastery In Spain - Bo On Fire

This Torah class is brought to [music] you by tora anytime.com. >> A Torah Anytime original series. >> There's a very basic question that we should be asking every time we read the story of Mr. and that was why was it so important that the Jewish people leave Egypt with so much money? Not just freedom, not just dignity, but actual serious wealth, gold and silver and jewelry and animals and assets. Hashem seems to go out of his way almost excessively to make sure the Jews don't just walk out free, but they walk out loaded with money and riches and stuff. And this isn't like a one-time mention. It keeps coming back. Hashem tells Moshml that the Jews will not leave empty-handed. And then one pic later, he spells it out. Gold and silver. And then again infashem repeats it again finally inv the Tyra says that the Jews literally emptied out Egypt of its wealth. And at this point you're thinking like okay we get it like enough already. But it goes even deeper. This wasn't just something Hashem decided last minute because Egypt owed us back pay. This detail was baked into the deal from the very beginning from the get-go. Back at the brisbar, Hashem tells Aram of Enu that his descendants will be enslaved and then they will leave Egypt with unimaginable wealth. So important was the Jews going out with money and riches and animals that it was literally in the covenant that formed the Jewish people. Why is that? What in the world is going on here? Why is money part of the covenant? Why is wealth mentioned alongside slavery and redemption? Since when is material success such a Jewish value that it's written into Hashem's promise to Ara? Isn't it like a little bit strange? The answer teaches us something fundamental about Judaism. And Hashem makes this point right from the very beginning. Judaism is not a religion of withdrawal. It's not about shrinking life. It's not about escaping the world to find holiness. Judaism is about doing something far more dangerous. It's about bringing holiness into the world. Because imagine how the story of Egypt would have gone if the Jewish people had staggered out of Egypt as some poor refugees, broken, empty-handed, barely surviving. The takeaway for all time would have been ah Judaism and godliness. That's for people who don't really live in the real world. People without success, without ambition, people without money. Yeah. You know, like if you've got nothing going on in your life anyway, so you might as well get spiritual. In other words, religion is what you tell yourself when you can't make it in the real world. It becomes like a coping mechanism, a consolation prize, a holy way of saying, "I lost, but spiritual spiritually I won." Hashem says, "No, absolutely not. Not on my watch." That is not what Tyra is. That is not what Judaism is. And that is not the story Hashem wanted told for the next 3,000 years. So he made sure we didn't leave Egypt empty. We left wealthy because Tyra isn't here to comfort people who failed at life. Tyra is here to elevate people who are living it. That's why we left with gold and silver. That's why we left with assets. Because Tyra is meant to sanctify your home, your food, your clothing, your career, your money, your success, not replace them, not escape them, to sanctify them. If Judaism were about running from the physical world, then money would be the enemy. But Judaism says the opposite. Money isn't the problem. Meaninglessness is the problem. Hashem wasn't embarrassed that we left Egypt rich. He insisted on it. Because Tyra doesn't belong in caves. It belongs in kitchens, in boardrooms, and living rooms, and bank accounts. The goal was never to abandon the world. The goal was to elevate every last part of it. Think about it. Shabas is the holiest day of the week. And yet, it's the day we eat the most food. We wear the best clothing. we drink the most wine, that should bother you. If holiness is about pulling back from the physical world, then shabas should look a lot like spiritual detox, like dry bread, water, old clothes, minimal pleasure. Shouldn't the holiest day of the week find us eating less? Isn't that what weekdays are for, like to eat food? And the answer is no. Because Shabas isn't a day where we're less physical. It's a day when we're made holy. Say we receive is an extra soul. Not so we can escape the world so we can handle more of it correctly. When the soul is stronger, the food doesn't pull you down. The clothing doesn't distract you. The wine doesn't numb you. It all gets elevated. On Shabas, the physical world doesn't compete with holiness. It becomes a vehicle for it. That's why the same steak on Tuesday is just dinner. But on Shabas, it's a mitzvah. Because the goal of Tyra was never to starve the body to save the soul. It was to strengthen the soul so it could sanctify the body. And that's the same reason we left Egypt rich. More holiness doesn't mean less world. It means the ability to make more of the world holy. That's not a detail. That's the entire philosophy of Torah. Listen to this. A few years ago, I found myself standing on top of Montusat, a mountain in Spain, just outside of Barcelona, staring at the famous monastery carved straight into the rock, 4,000 ft in the air. The place is completely breathtaking. An entire village built into the jagged cliffs on a mountaintop. Now, this place wasn't built there by accident. It was designed specifically to be a remote, inaccessible, detached place from the world. And the goal of these Christian priests was simple. To get away from life as far as possible. No families, no careers, no noise, no responsibility, just stone wall, silence, fasting, and isolation. And Monta wasn't even the most extreme. Across history, monks and priests did things that sound almost unbelievable. Some lived alone in caves for decades, barely speaking to anyone. Some took year-long vows of silence. So strict communication only with hand signals. Some wore chains under their clothes to stay uncomfortable. One famous monk, he lived on top of a pillar for 37 years with no shelter and no privacy because he believed that the further he got from human life, the closer he got to God. This wasn't like some fringe behavior. This was their philosophy. Holiness, they believed, comes from withdrawal, from shrinking life, from escaping desire, from running away from the world, which is why priests can't get married. which is why family was seen as a distraction, which is why monasteries were built on mountaintops and deserts and caves instead of cities. The assumption was simple. Real holiness can't survive real life. But Judaism rejects that premise completely. Judaism says the opposite. Holiness is not found by escaping life. It's found by sanctifying it. Marriage is a mitzvah. Raising children is a mitzvah. Building a home is a mitzvah. Earning money honestly is a mitzvah. The Pope is not allowed to be married. The Kayango must be married. That's not a coincidence because in Judaism, holiness that can't survive responsibility isn't holiness at all. The physical world isn't the enemy. It's the arena. It's the testing ground. It's where we're meant to inject holiness. And here's the point. A lot of people think, "My life gets in the way of me and Hashem. the traffic, the kids screaming in the back seat, the emails that never stop, the ridiculous chats that never end, the bills, the deadlines, the dishes in the sink, the phone that won't shut off for 10 seconds. And we sometimes start saying things like, "I'd rather be more spiritual if life wasn't so busy. I'd be closer to Hashem if things would just slow down. You know, I'd learn more and dav better and focus more if I didn't have all this going on." But that's the mistake because you don't need to climb a mountain to be holy. You don't need to disappear into a cave. You don't need to escape your job and your family or your responsibilities. That's how monks think. That's not how we think. Because Hashem isn't waiting for you after the traffic clears. He's with you in the traffic watching how you react. He's there in your dining room when your kid tests your patience. He's there in your boardroom when you speak honestly in business. He's there when you put the phone down for two minutes and actually listen to someone who's trying to talk to you. He's there in your life when you choose calm over anger and integrity over convenience and kindness over ego. Other cultures ran away from life to find God. Judaism taught us that God is waiting for us right in the middle of it. The chaos isn't blocking your hashem. That chaos is your hashem. It's like the story. There's a story that captures this idea beautifully. Rebim Krenworth, the Avzden of Antworp and one of the great Torah leaders of his generation, once needed to make a trip to London. And he was meant to stay at the Levenson home, a house famous for its hospitality, its generosity, its endless house where the kitchen was constantly humming, busy prepping food to feed the stream of people that needed it constantly. It was an open house in the literal sense of the word. And that's where Rabim was going to stay. The problem was that his flight was delayed and he arrived in London in the middle of the night long after everything had sort of quieted down. And at that point, Rabim still needed to davan Marv. So the 11son welcomed him into his house into their house and they got him a sitter to dab in front from and they brought him to the study which had impressive shelves lined wallto-wall with sparum a beautiful quiet room the obvious place to dabin and looked at it and he said no I want a davin in the kitchen the kitchen and he explained I want to do it in the kitchen because the amount of that happens there the amount of created in that room it's soaked into the walls. That's where I want to davenin. And so Ra went to the kitchen table, sat down and dav. You see, in life, holiness doesn't always announce itself. A lot of time it looks ordinary. It looks like a full schedule, a regular job, a family routine, meals that need to be made and errands that need to be run and no drama, no ceremony, no obvious spirituality. And yet, that's often where holiness lives most naturally. Not in moments that feel elevated, but in a life that's being lived with intention, where ordinary actions are done honestly and kindly and with awareness of Hashem. Holiness isn't created by escaping the ordinary. It's created by showing Hashem how you live inside of it. And that brings us back. Hashem did not take us out of Egypt to make us smaller. He took us out to teach us how to live fully with freedom with material blessing and with spiritual purpose. The wealth we carried out was not a bonus. It was a message. Tyra is not for people who abandon the world. It is for people who transform it. And that is why God was written into the covenant itself. Because from the very beginning, Hashem was teaching us holiness is not found by leaving the world behind. It is found by bringing Hashem into it. You've just experienced [music] another Torah class brought to you by tora anytime.com.