Are Your Cheshbonos Calculations or Miscalculations? — The Nesi'im, the Missing Yuds, and Ratzon Hashem

Topics

• Are Your Cheshbonos Calculations or Miscalculations?
• The Nesi'im and the Missing Yud
• Zrizus or a Better Mitzvah Later?
• How the Mussar Yeshivos Understood the Nesi'im
• Novardok: Atzlus Concealing Gaivah
• Kelm: Atzlus Is Itself a Terrible Middah
• Slabodka: A Giver Does Not Make Such Cheshbonos
• Telz: What Do You Truly Value?
• The Chofetz Chaim: Why Stand Apart From the Tzibbur?
• Which Yud Is Missing? A Remarkable Observation
• When a Cheshbon Becomes a Miscalculation
• Receiving Torah Means Allowing Torah to Change You
• Why Was Klal Yisrael Tested With Hagbalah?
• Ratzon: The Soul's Longing for Kedushah
• Moshe Rabbeinu's Tefillos to Enter Eretz Yisrael
• When Ratzon Must Yield to Ratzon Hashem
• The Two Missing Yuds: Taking Hashem Out of the Cheshbon
• "Im Hashem Lo Yivneh Bayis"

Transcript

# Are Your Cheshbonos Calculations or Miscalculations?

## The Nesi'im and the Missing Yud

Rabosai, in Parashas Vayakhel the Torah reviews the building of the Mishkan, the materials needed for it, and the people who brought those materials. Among them, the Torah tells us: **"והנשאם הביאו את אבני השהם ואת אבני המלאים לאפוד ולחשן"**—the Nesi'im brought the shoham stones and the precious setting stones for the Ephod and the Choshen (Shemos 35:27).

What an extraordinary contribution! These stones were among the most precious objects needed for the Mishkan. It is exactly the kind of gift one would expect from the leaders of Klal Yisrael. Yet Chazal find a tremendous *ta'anah* against these Nesi'im. The word **"והנשאם"** is written without the yud one would expect in its fuller spelling.

Rashi quotes **Reb Nosson**: Why did the Nesi'im bring their korbanos first for *Chanukas HaMizbe'ach*, yet when the Mishkan was being built, they did not donate first?

They had a cheshbon. They said, **"יתנדבו ציבור מה שמתנדבין, ומה שמחסרין אנו משלימין אותו"**—let the tzibbur contribute whatever it wishes, and whatever is lacking we will complete.

Doesn't that sound wonderful? The entire people will give, and we will guarantee the balance. Today, if a wealthy person says he will match the donations or cover whatever a campaign lacks, we consider it a tremendous act of generosity. What could be wrong with that?

But the people were so excited to give that **"והמלאכה היתה דים"**—there was enough for the entire work (Shemos 36:7). There was almost nothing left for the Nesi'im to supply. So they brought the shoham stones and the avnei milu'im. Rashi concludes: **"ולפי שנתעצלו מתחלה נחסרה אות משמם"**—because they had been slow at the beginning, a letter was removed from their name (Rashi, Shemos 35:27).

Rabosai, I have **three kashyos**.

First, **what was their aveirah or failing?** Their cheshbon seems reasonable, even praiseworthy. They undertook to complete whatever the public could not provide. Why does Chazal call that *atzlus*, laziness?

Second, **what sort of punishment is a missing letter?** A yud disappears from the way the Torah writes their title. What does that mean? They are still called the Nesi'im!

And third, **why specifically the yud?** If the Torah wants to teach us something through a missing letter, why is this the particular letter?

There are simple answers a person might suggest. Maybe beneath their lofty plan was a little thought: "Everyone is so excited, perhaps there will be nothing left for us after all." If so, that would explain the criticism. The Ribbono Shel Olam is *medakdek k'chut hasa'arah* with people of their stature.

Perhaps the very fact that generations of Yidden read about the missing letter and learn their failing from it is itself the *onesh*. And, as far as spelling, perhaps the yud is the practical letter whose omission still leaves the word readable.

*Das volt ich gezogt*—those are simple suggestions I might offer. But the mefarshim take us much deeper, and I want to show you their different mahalchim.

## Zrizus or a Better Mitzvah Later?

There is a very interesting halachic discussion about **"זריזין מקדימין למצוות"**—people who are eager to perform a mitzvah do it at the earliest opportunity. The **Radbaz** discusses the question of a mitzvah that could be done immediately, but might be performed in a better or more complete fashion later. Do we insist on doing it right away, or do we wait in order to enhance it? [The exact Radbaz responsum and ruling require source verification.]

Think of a bris milah. People ordinarily try to arrange a bris early in the day because of *zrizim makdimin*. But suppose an afternoon bris would allow a larger gathering or would otherwise accomplish something important. How do we measure the two values?

Maybe the Nesi'im faced that sort of question. Yes, there is a mitzvah to give, and a person ought to jump at the opportunity. But perhaps a much greater service would be to wait until everyone had finished, then supply what remained missing.

There are two aspects to their cheshbon.

First, Chazal speak about the importance of the person who **finishes** a mitzvah, the one who brings it to its completion. *Hakol holech achar hagmar*, as the idea is often expressed. Perhaps the Nesi'im wanted the special zechus of completing the Mishkan.

Second, there was a practical concern. What if the public did not bring enough? Who would take responsibility to ensure that the Mishkan could actually be completed? The Nesi'im were prepared to stand behind the entire project.

If so, what was the *ta'anah*?

One possibility is that their judgment of priorities was wrong. Perhaps *zrizim makdimin* requires a person to act even when he has an attractive plan for doing the mitzvah later.

But there is another aspect to *zrizus*. We find Avraham Avinu rising early, **"וישכם אברהם בבקר"**, which Chazal cite as an example of eagerness in mitzvos (Bereishis 22:3; Pesachim 4a). A person who considers a mitzvah precious doesn't delay. He runs toward it.

There is also the teaching on **"ושמרתם את המצות"** (Shemos 12:17): **"אל תקרי מצות אלא מצוות"**—do not merely read *matzos*, but *mitzvos*. **"מצוה הבאה לידך אל תחמיצנה"**—when a mitzvah comes to your hand, do not let it become delayed or missed (Mechilta, Bo, and Rashi to Shemos 12:17).

That highlights another concern. Sometimes if you push off a mitzvah, even with a beautiful plan, the opportunity simply disappears. You thought you would give tomorrow—and tomorrow there is nothing left to give.

Isn't that exactly what happened here? The Nesi'im waited because they expected there would be something left to complete. Instead, the tzibbur gave everything. Their calculations may have seemed perfect; the mitzvah slipped away.

I am raising these as possible ways to understand the sugya, not claiming that they settle the Radbaz's halachic question. The question for us is: **When is a cheshbon a genuine way of improving avodas Hashem, and when is it the very thing that prevents us from doing the mitzvah?**

## How the Mussar Yeshivos Understood the Nesi'im

Now, rabosai, we have seen the possible halachic side. Perhaps the Nesi'im thought that finishing the mitzvah would be better than starting it. Perhaps they misjudged the possibility of losing their opportunity altogether.

But this is also a **mussar shmuess**, and if you look at the sefarim of the great yeshivos of mussar, each mahalach brings out a different depth in the Nesi'im's mistake.

### Novardok: Atzlus Concealing Gaivah

The mahalach of **Novardok** placed tremendous emphasis on *anavah*, *shiflus*, and *hisbatlus*. Who are you? Why should your own importance be placed at the center of everything?

In the Torah associated with Novardok, including the *Chochmah U'Mussar* material cited in this discussion, there is a profound explanation. Rashi calls the Nesi'im's conduct *atzlus*. But what was behind that atzlus? It could have been a very fine thread of **gaivah**.

Sometimes you see a person who walks slowly, speaks slowly, and appears to be in no hurry. And perhaps it comes, not from being unable to move quickly, but from believing that every word he says and everything he does is of such importance that everyone else may wait.

The Nesi'im had an impressive statement: "Let the tzibbur give, and whatever they cannot provide, **we** will complete." What is wrong with being the one who can guarantee the entire project?

Nothing is necessarily wrong with it. But for people of their spiritual stature, perhaps Chazal detected the faintest element of "We are the ones with the means. We are the ones who will make the difference." A touch of gaivah. A touch! Not a broad accusation against the Nesi'im, chas v'shalom; the higher a person, the finer the measure by which he is judged.

The sefarim connect the stones of the Choshen to a *tikkun* for the heart, and to the possibility that the Nesi'im's remaining contribution served as a correction of that gaivah. [The precise Zohar passage and Novardok citation need verification.]

And look at the **Kli Yakar**. He explains that the letter **yud** is the smallest of the letters, a symbol of **anavah**. The Torah removed precisely that letter from their title because their delay was bound up with self-importance (Kli Yakar to Shemos 35:27).

Now we have a whole different answer to our question: Why a missing yud? Because the small letter teaches the great quality of making oneself small.

The avnei shoham and avnei milu'im, the yud, the atzlus and the gaivah—they all become parts of one lesson. In the Novardok mahalach, even a generous-sounding cheshbon must be examined for the subtle self-regard concealed inside it.

## Kelm: Atzlus Is Itself a Terrible Middah

Now let us go to **Kelm**. The Alter of Kelm, Rav Simcha Zissel, had another approach. Rashi says *atzlus*, and the meaning is plain: **atzlus**. Laziness itself is a terrible middah.

The sefarim of mussar speak again and again about the importance of *zrizus*. The very beginning of Shulchan Aruch calls upon a person to strengthen himself to rise in the morning to avodas Hashem (Orach Chaim 1:1). If a person's first movement of the day is controlled by atzlus, his entire day can be affected. Zrizus is not some optional decoration in the service of Hashem. It is one of the yesodos.

I heard from my zeide, zichrono livrachah, a ma'aseh about the **Alter of Kelm**. Toward the end of his life, he was very sick, yet he tried with all his strength to be present for davening and for the sedarim. The way the story is told, even near the day of his petirah, he struggled to get up.

Why? Because he kept asking himself: **"Am I really unable to get up because I am sick, or am I calling it sickness when the real cause is atzlus?"**

Think how carefully this gadol watched over himself! He knew he was genuinely ill, and still he was afraid to allow the middah of atzlus to hide behind a valid excuse. [This is a family-transmitted mussar story; it must not be taken to mean that genuinely ill people should disregard medical limitations.]

**Rav Naftali Trop** is said to have repeated this ma'aseh in Radin, and he made a sharp observation. Look at the Alter of Kelm: he was truly sick, but he was afraid that perhaps the real reason he was staying in bed was laziness. With us, he said, sometimes the situation is the reverse. The real reason we are avoiding something is atzlus, and we tell ourselves that we are sick!

That is the power of a person who works on his middos: he knows how to question the stories he tells himself.

I want to mention a personal example. My Rebbe, **Rav Yisrael Belsky**, told me that he had a couch in his house on which he almost never sat. Why? If he sat down, he felt tired, and he would be reluctant to get up again. He preferred to stay active, moving from one thing to the next.

At a hesped for Rav Belsky, I heard a related story. His son told **Rav Pesach Krohn** that when Rav Pesach visited his father, he saw him sitting on that couch, and that it was an exceptionally unusual sight. So I knew something of the story directly from my Rebbe, and his son described a rare occasion that made the point all the more vivid.

*Rabosai, zrizus iz an avodah!* Zrizus is something on which a person must work.

Now we can return to the missing yud. The **Chiddushei HaRim** is quoted as saying that a Yid must not surrender to atzlus. The yud is suggestive of the word **Yid**: the quality of a Yid is to move toward Torah and mitzvos, not to remain held back by laziness. [Exact wording of this Chiddushei HaRim teaching remains to be checked.]

The **Kelm** mahalach focuses on atzlus itself; the **Novardok** mahalach looks for the gaivah that might be hidden within it. Both are teaching us to examine our cheshbonos instead of simply trusting every reason we invent.

But there is yet another mahalach, and that is the way of **Slabodka**.

## Slabodka: A Giver Does Not Make Such Cheshbonos

I saw in the sefarim of **Rav Yitzchak Isaac Sher**, in the Slabodka approach, a completely different explanation. Slabodka placed tremendous emphasis on the greatness of a person and the responsibility to **give**.

What was lacking in the Nesi'im? It was a chisaron in the middah of being a giver.

A true giver does not begin by finding reasons to wait. He sees a need, and he gives. The Nesi'im had a wonderful-sounding cheshbon: let everyone else give first, and we will cover what is missing. But why was their first impulse not simply to give with the rest of Klal Yisrael?

That is the Slabodka question. It is not merely that the Nesi'im were slow; it is **why** they allowed themselves to be slow. The very fact that they needed a cheshbon could show a slight deficiency in their impulse to give.

Now let us take this one step further. How did they obtain the *avnei shoham* and *avnei milu'im*? The midrashic tradition says that the precious stones came through a heavenly means, associated with the clouds. [The precise Midrash and the relationship between this tradition and the Nesi'im's gift require verification.]

Could it be that this itself is a lesson?

The Nesi'im waited to give, and in the end, what they gave was something sent to them from Shamayim. The Ribbono Shel Olam was showing them: **What do you think you own?** What do you think you are giving from your own resources? Everything you have was given to you by Hashem in the first place.

Perhaps, in a mussar sense, the *onesh* was not that they had no gift at all, but that they lost the experience of spontaneously giving what they believed to be theirs. Their final contribution came with the reminder that everything really belongs to Hashem.

And I want to tell you a beautiful thought about the word **shulchan**, a table. I have seen a teaching connecting it with **shlichus**: why does Hashem give a person a table, sustenance and material means? Because he is a *shaliach*. He receives in order to pass on to others. [The original source of this wordplay is unclear in the transcript.]

There is also the pasuk **"וכי ימוך אחיך ומטה ידו עמך והחזקת בו"**—"If your brother becomes poor and his means falter beside you, you shall support him" (Vayikra 25:35). The **Ohr HaChaim** is cited in the shiur as teaching a powerful idea: sometimes the money that Hashem placed in your hand was entrusted to you so that you would provide for your brother. He lacks it, and in that sense his sustenance is *imach*—with you. [Exact wording and location of this attributed Ohr HaChaim derush need printed-text verification.]

What is so remarkable is the change of perspective. I think I am giving something of mine. The Torah tells me: the Ribbono Shel Olam made you responsible to give another person what he needs. It is not a reason to feel superior to him.

And the Torah's prohibition of *ribbis* underscores the gravity of our obligations toward another person in need (see Shemos 22:24; Vayikra 25:35–37). Think about it: if the Ribbono Shel Olam placed something with you for your brother, how can you boast that you returned it to him, let alone seek to profit from his need? This is the mussar thought—not a new legal explanation of ownership.

## Telz: What Do You Truly Value?

Now let us look at **Telz**. In the *Shiurei Daas* approach, the point of *atzlus* is that the object of your effort has not become sufficiently important to you.

Why does a person delay coming to daven? Why does he sometimes drag himself to learning? It may not mean he is unable to move quickly. Perhaps the matter itself is not as *chashuv* to him as it should be.

Take the same person and tell him he has an opportunity to make a few hundred dollars. Suddenly he is no longer an atzel! He moves quickly. There is tremendous energy.

What changed? The man's ability to act? No. What changed was his perception of **what matters**.

The Nesi'im made a calculation because the immediate act of giving did not seize them with the urgency and chashivus it should have. In this explanation, *atzlus* is the symptom; the deeper issue is the feeling behind the act.

## The Chofetz Chaim: Why Stand Apart From the Tzibbur?

And the **Chofetz Chaim** brings another beautiful pshat, as quoted in the shiur. The whole of Klal Yisrael was giving to the Mishkan. Everyone was participating together. Why should the Nesi'im stand outside that movement?

**How can a person be poreish min hatzibbur?**

Perhaps their plan was perfectly reasonable as a plan. But that was not the time to stand apart from the community. At that moment, the greatness was to join with everyone else in the mitzvah.

In that sense the failing was not only delaying a gift. It was remaining separate while the tzibbur was united in a common avodah. [The exact Chofetz Chaim and Telz sources remain to be verified.]

## Which Yud Is Missing? A Remarkable Observation

And the **Sfas Emes** is also cited as linking the missing yud to the Nesi'im's separation from the tzibbur. A Yid is meant to be part of Klal Yisrael, to give with everyone else. To stand apart from the tzibbur is a chisaron in Yiddishkeit, and that is why the yud is missing. [The precise Sfas Emes passage needs verification.]

Now, rabosai, let me show you something very interesting. I pointed it out to people, and I do not remember having seen anyone discuss the particular observation in the way I am about to present it.

**Which yud is missing?**

The usual fuller spelling of *nesi'im* contains two yuds: one in *nasi*, and another in the plural ending. In Shemos 35:27, **"והנשאם"**, neither of those yuds appears.

But turn to **Parashas Naso, Bamidbar 7:10**. The same pasuk writes the word twice, and each time there is a different yud:

**"ויקריבו הנשאים את חנכת המזבח ביום המשח אתו ויקריבו הנשיאם את קרבנם לפני המזבח."**

Look closely. The first time it says **הנשאים**—the yud near the end, for the plural, is present, but the yud in *nasi* is absent. The second time it says **הנשיאם**—the yud in *nasi* is present, but the later yud of the plural form is missing. This variation is present in the received Masoretic text.

Isn't that fascinating? In a single pasuk, we have two distinct defective spellings. In Vayakhel, we have a spelling missing both yuds.

And now I want to suggest a pshat. Listen carefully: **this is a thought I am proposing**, not something I am claiming to have found stated by the mefarshim.

What is the job of a **nasi**? To lead. To be a leader who carries the people and brings them together.

And what does **nesi'im** mean? It is the plural—the collection of these leaders, each with his own place among the people.

Maybe the two yuds point to **two distinct chesronos**.

One failing could concern the **nasi**, the individual's responsibility to lead. If the leaders did not lead the way in giving, the yud of the word *nasi* would be the fitting symbol.

A second failing could concern their relationship with the **rabbim**, their participation in the common undertaking. By standing apart from the tzibbur until everyone else finished, there was a different kind of chisaron. That could be represented by the yud associated with the plural word.

And so, perhaps, both yuds are absent in Vayakhel because both aspects were affected: the leadership of the nasi and the involvement of the Nesi'im with the community.

Notice the contrast with **Chanukas HaMizbe'ach**. There, the Nesi'im each brought the same kind of korban, joining together in a common dedication. Each nasi took his turn, but the pattern of their giving expressed their shared purpose. [This is an interpretive connection offered in the shiur.]

Again, I am suggesting this as a possible *remez*. The textual point about the two spellings in Bamidbar is verifiable; the division into two different failings is my proposed explanation.

## When a Cheshbon Becomes a Miscalculation

Now, rabosai, let us go further. We are always making *cheshbonos*. A person makes one calculation, then another calculation. Sometimes that is exactly what avodas Hashem requires: to think carefully, to plan responsibly, to use the seichel the Ribbono Shel Olam gave us.

But sometimes a cheshbon becomes an excuse not to act. Sometimes there is a situation in which **you should stop making cheshbonos and do what Hashem is asking of you**.

To understand the difference, I want to bring another yesod, beginning with the Midrash about the nations being offered the Torah.

## Receiving Torah Means Allowing Torah to Change You

Chazal tell us that before Matan Torah the nations of the world were offered the Torah. In the Midrash, they ask, "What is written in it?" When they hear about commandments that challenge their customary behavior, they decline the offer. [See the Midrashic discussions of Matan Torah, including Sifrei Devarim 343; the exact version intended in the shiur needs checking.]

But think about the cheshbon. Even without accepting the Torah in the way Klal Yisrael did, there are basic moral obligations. What did they think they were gaining by refusing?

I want to suggest an idea. A person may agree that stealing is wrong because society cannot function if people steal. He will obey the rule. But Torah demands something much deeper than mere outward obedience. **The Torah is supposed to change the person.**

A Yid learns *lo signov*, *lo sigzol*, and doesn't want merely to be told, "Don't steal because the law forbids it." He should become a person who feels: **How could I do such a thing to another human being?**

And that brings me to the famous ma'aseh in **Shabbos 31a**. A man came to Shammai and then to Hillel and asked to be taught the whole Torah while standing on one foot. Hillel answered:

**"דעלך סני לחברך לא תעביד. זו היא כל התורה כולה, ואידך פירושה הוא, זיל גמור."**

"What is hateful to you, do not do to another. This is the whole Torah; the rest is its explanation. Go and learn."

How can Hillel say that this is the whole Torah? Of course there are mitzvos between man and his fellow, but there are so many other mitzvos as well!

Notice what Hillel actually said. He did not simply quote *v'ahavta l'rei'acha kamocha*. He framed it in terms of **what you yourself would hate to have done to you**.

Maybe he was teaching that Torah should take a mitzvah from the external level to the internal level. A man does not refrain from stealing only because of society's rules. He feels what it means to be on the other side. The other fellow's pain matters to him. How could he take something from him?

This is a thought I have been working out recently, rabosai. Listen to the yesod: you don't merely follow the Torah's rules. **You become a person who understands, from within, why he must live according to Torah.** You are transformed by the mitzvos you keep.

That is the quality I want us to seek in ourselves. It isn't a claim that every member of one nation has a particular moral trait while members of another do not. It is the spiritual demand that a Yid place upon **himself**: to internalize the Torah so deeply that its values become his nature.

## Why Was Klal Yisrael Tested With Hagbalah?

The **Chiddushei HaRim** raises a remarkable question. When Hashem offered the Torah to the other nations, the Midrash describes their being asked about specific mitzvos. But when He addressed Klal Yisrael, the Torah says:

**"ואתם תהיו לי ממלכת כהנים וגוי קדוש"**—"You shall be for Me a kingdom of kohanim and a holy nation" (Shemos 19:6).

What beautiful language! Why didn't Hashem test Klal Yisrael as well? Ask them whether they would be able to keep the commandments.

The Chiddushei HaRim answers that **they were tested**. And what was the test? **Hagbalah**—the boundaries at Har Sinai.

A Yid who encounters kedushah longs to come closer. He has a natural *ratzon* for Torah and for dveikus. So the Ribbono Shel Olam told Klal Yisrael: **You must not ascend the mountain.** Even though you want to approach, you must control yourself because I have commanded you to stop. [This particular attribution to the Chiddushei HaRim requires verification in print.]

There is the tremendous test. Can you hold back your own spiritual longing because that is what the Ribbono Shel Olam wants?

And it is a beautiful preparation for another teaching from **Rav Yerucham of Mir**.

## Ratzon: The Soul's Longing for Kedushah

**Rav Yerucham of Mir** explains a remarkable expression in Rashi on Parashas Yisro.

At Har Sinai, Klal Yisrael told Moshe Rabbeinu: **"רצוננו לראות את מלכנו"**—we want to see our King. We want to hear directly from Hashem Himself, not only through a messenger. Rashi brings that language on **Shemos 19:9**.

Rav Yerucham asks us to listen closely to what happened. When Moshe brought the words of the people to Hashem, Hashem responded by instructing Moshe to prepare them for His revelation.

It sounds, from the way Rav Yerucham develops the episode, that the people's own **ratzon** brought forth this special revelation. They wanted to see their King, and the Ribbono Shel Olam responded to that desire. [The exact Rav Yerucham printed citation is not yet established; this is the presentation in the original shiur.]

Rabosai, **ratzon** is a tremendous koach in a Yiddishe neshamah. A Yid wants kedushah. He wants Torah. He wants to come close to the Ribbono Shel Olam.

But remember the Chiddushei HaRim's teaching about *hagbalah*. Precisely because the longing can be so great, the test is to obey Hashem's boundaries. You may want to run up Har Sinai. You may feel that nothing could be more spiritual than coming closer. Yet if the Ribbono Shel Olam says, "Do not come up," then the avodah is to **hold back**.

Do you see the combination? Ratzon must be strong, but the ratzon of a Yid must ultimately be directed by **ratzon Hashem**, not by his own personal spiritual plans.

## Moshe Rabbeinu's Tefillos to Enter Eretz Yisrael

Let's go one step further. Moshe Rabbeinu davened and davened to be allowed to enter Eretz Yisrael. The Midrashim speak about the many tefillos represented by the word **"ואתחנן"**. There is a well-known tradition that he was stopped just before another tefillah that would have secured the result he sought. [The exact numerical Midrash and formulation should be checked before quoting as a verbatim source.]

You could ask a strong kashya: if the Ribbono Shel Olam has decreed that Moshe may not enter the land, surely He can answer no. Why is another tefillah such a concern?

Many explain the tremendous koach of tefillah—how tefillah can break through gezeiros. But the **Kli Yakar**, as I understand the teaching cited here, brings out another yesod.

Why did Moshe Rabbeinu want to go into Eretz Yisrael? Not to see the scenery. Not because he wanted a personal pleasure. Chazal explain that he wanted to fulfill the **mitzvos hateluyos ba'aretz**, the mitzvos that can be kept specifically in the Land of Israel (Sotah 14a).

That is a request for **ruchniyus**. And the point being emphasized here is the tremendous power of a pure ratzon for ruchniyus. [The Kli Yakar's exact explanation, and how it is connected to the Midrash of the prayers, require verification in its original text.]

A Yid who sincerely wants Torah and mitzvos is not asking for an ordinary personal advantage. He wants to be closer to the Ribbono Shel Olam.

I want to tell you a story that I have told many times. It happened in my own family.

My grandfather—my mother's father—suffered a heart attack when he was only about **forty-eight**. He was in **Beilinson Hospital**. He was also diabetic, and in those days the doctors told the family that there was very little they could do.

The doctor summoned my mother and her brother. The message was terrible: they did not expect him to survive.

My grandfather turned to his son, my mother's brother, and said, **"Go to the Chazon Ish."**

In those days, when someone faced a crisis, people went to the Chazon Ish for guidance and brachos.

My uncle went, and the **Chazon Ish** responded with a sharp message for the doctor: A doctor has permission and a responsibility to heal, but he is not the one who decides who will live and who will die. Chazal speak about **"ורפא ירפא"**, from which the physician's license to heal is derived (Bava Kama 85a). Decisions of life and death ultimately belong to the Ribbono Shel Olam.

And he gave my grandfather a kabbalah: to devote himself to **mitzvos and zikui harabbim**, bringing merit to others.

My uncle went back and repeated the message, as the family story is told. The doctor had expressed his terrible medical prognosis; my grandfather chose to place his hope in Hashem, along with the spiritual kabbalah he had received.

There is another extraordinary detail in this family account. We were told that two days later the doctor died after being struck by a vehicle in an act of revenge connected to another operation. That part of the story is not independently verified and is being preserved here **as the family's recollection**, not as an established historical fact or an explanation of divine justice.

And my grandfather? He did not have the operation. He lived on, as I recall, until about **eighty-six or eighty-seven years of age**.

What is the lesson I took from this story? When a Yid truly wants ruchniyus—when he wants to do mitzvos, to bring zechus to others—his ratzon is an astonishing spiritual force. We should never underestimate what a person can accomplish through that desire.

There is a famous expression: **"אין דבר העומד בפני הרצון"**—nothing stands in the way of the will. People sometimes quote it as Chazal. I am not sure that is correct, and I would like someone to show me its precise source. The **Sfas Emes** speaks about the power of ratzon in the opening of Parashas Balak, as cited in this discussion, though the exact passage needs checking.

## When Ratzon Must Yield to Ratzon Hashem

The **Sfas Emes**, the **Chiddushei HaRim**, and the other gedolei Yisrael we have spoken about all teach us how important *ratzon* is. There are Yidden who may not have been born with extraordinary kishronos. You look at them and think, "How far could this person possibly go in learning?" And yet they become great in Torah, not because they had exceptional natural ability, but because they had a tremendous ratzon.

When a person truly wants ruchniyus, that desire can carry him beyond what others think possible.

But now comes the other half of the yesod.

Sometimes a Yid wants something very spiritual, very holy, and nevertheless **the Ribbono Shel Olam wants something else**. Then the greatest ruchniyus is not to insist on his own plan, but to do what Hashem tells him.

Go back to **Moshe Rabbeinu**. After all his tefillos to enter Eretz Yisrael, Hashem told him:

**"רב לך אל תוסף דבר אלי עוד בדבר הזה"**—"Enough for you. Do not continue speaking to Me about this matter" (Devarim 3:26).

Rashi brings the expression **"שלא יאמרו הרב כמה קשה והתלמיד כמה סרבן ומפציר"**—so people should not say how stern the Master is and how stubbornly the disciple continues to plead (Rashi to Devarim 3:26).

What does that mean for our subject?

Moshe's request was for a mitzvah. He wanted to enter Eretz Yisrael and serve Hashem there. But the Ribbono Shel Olam said: **This time, your avodah is to stop asking**. You may have the greatest ratzon in the world, but *ratzon Hashem* takes precedence over your own spiritual cheshbon.

Chazal also bring a profound teaching about why Moshe did not enter the land. If Moshe had entered and built the Beis HaMikdash, the Mikdash associated with his work could not have been destroyed in the same way. When Klal Yisrael later sinned, the consequences might instead have fallen upon the people themselves. In the familiar expression, **"שפך חמתו על עצים ואבנים"**—Hashem poured His anger upon wood and stones, rather than destroying His people. [This combination of Midrashic teachings needs an exact source and wording check.]

Do you hear the depth? Moshe Rabbeinu's desire to enter was entirely holy. But the Ribbono Shel Olam knew what would happen in generations to come. Hashem saw the whole future; Moshe was being told to accept a decision whose full purpose was beyond the calculation immediately before him.

Now we understand the two sides of the subject.

A person must be full of ratzon. He must yearn for mitzvos, jump to do good, look for the opportunity to build the Mishkan. But he must also know when his own cheshbon stands in the way of **what Hashem has actually asked him to do**.

## The Two Missing Yuds: Taking Hashem Out of the Cheshbon

And now, rabosai, I want to come back to the Nesi'im and suggest one final *remez*. We spoke about those two missing yuds in the word **"והנשאם"**. What could the **two yuds together** represent?

They remind us of the way the **Shem Hashem** is sometimes represented in writing by two yuds.

Maybe the missing two yuds are teaching us a tremendously important lesson: **The Nesi'im made all their cheshbonos, but Hashem was missing from the calculation.**

Listen carefully. I am offering this as a *mussar remez*, not as a statement of the Nesi'im's actual intentions. These were great people, and Chazal are teaching us to see a subtle lesson in their conduct.

They said, "Maybe the tzibbur will give enough; maybe it won't. Maybe there will be a shortage; maybe we can step in at the end. Maybe we will have the privilege of completing the whole Mishkan."

*Maybe, maybe, maybe!* Every calculation seems reasonable.

But what was happening in front of them? Hashem had given Klal Yisrael the mitzvah of bringing materials for the Mishkan. Everyone was running to give. The Ribbono Shel Olam had opened the opportunity. And they stood back, planning their contribution for later.

There are times when a person's calculations become so elaborate that he loses sight of the simplest question: **What does the Ribbono Shel Olam want from me right now?**

In the end, the work was already complete: **"והמלאכה היתה דים"** (Shemos 36:7). There was enough. And the precious stones that they brought were, according to the Midrashic tradition quoted earlier, supplied to them from Shamayim.

You see what happened? They thought they were the ones who would make sure the project could be completed. And the Ribbono Shel Olam showed them: **I can complete it without your calculations. I can supply even the stones.**

Sometimes a person makes cheshbon after cheshbon until he talks himself out of doing the thing he should have done. He thinks he is being so wise. He thinks he has planned everything. And at the end he finds himself with **all the cheshbonos and none of the mitzvah**.

That, perhaps, is why the two yuds are missing. When you remove the Ribbono Shel Olam from your cheshbon, the entire calculation can become a miscalculation.

## "Im Hashem Lo Yivneh Bayis"

Rabosai, we are trying to build a Mishkan. We want to build something for the Ribbono Shel Olam—in our lives, in our homes, in our Torah, and in our mitzvos.

Remember the pasuk:

**"אם ה' לא יבנה בית שוא עמלו בוניו בו"**—"Unless Hashem builds the house, those who build it labor in vain" (Tehillim 127:1).

A person must use his seichel. He must think and plan. But with all his cheshbonos, he has to know that the Ribbono Shel Olam sees much further than he does. Hashem knows the future. He knows what is truly important. And our job is to listen when He tells us to act.

Sometimes the cheshbon is to wait. Sometimes the cheshbon is to prepare more carefully. But sometimes the greatest avodah is very simple: **Stop making cheshbonos. Give. Move. Do the mitzvah.**

Don't allow an elaborate plan, or the fear that the plan might not work out, to keep you from the mitzvah that is already in your hands.

A cheshbon that brings you closer to ratzon Hashem is a good calculation. A cheshbon that causes you to forget the Ribbono Shel Olam—that can be the greatest miscalculation of all.