I asked my students to think about the words “Ein keitz l’yemei hara’ah — there’s no end to the days of evil”

We Know You Will

Around the Campfire // Mindel Kassorla

A few weeks ago, I went with a group of second-year seminary students to the site of the Nova Festival massacre. These students had experienced the shock, the horror, the fear of October 7 firsthand when they were in seminary last year. Together, we came face-to-face with a scene of the tragedy.

The students spent an hour silently surveying the field, internalizing the collection of pictures on pickets surrounded by candles, flowers, and tearstained visitors. Then we sat on the grass in a corner far off from listening ears. To the soft sound of guitar strumming, we sang songs of holy words and connection to Hashem.

Among those songs was “Chasoif,” the last paragraph of Maoz Tzur. After one round, I asked my students to think about the words “Ein keitz l’yemei hara’ah — there’s no end to the days of evil.”

“If I didn’t know better,” I said, “I would think these were words of complaint, of challenging Hashem, and of losing hope. At this site, we can surely tap into the feelings of despair, but is that really where we are supposed to go with our pain?”

Then, I explained that these words are said in a context, namely, on the holiday of hoda’ah, gratitude. On Chanukah we focus on recounting the miracles Hashem has done for us, and every paragraph of the Maoz Tzur eloquently describes how we were saved, time and time again. Then we conclude with “chasoif” — a request for salvation. “Ein keitz l’yemei hara’ah” isn’t a complaint, it’s a statement of hope, of emunah that no matter how bad it looks, we can look into our history and know we will be okay.

It may seem difficult — impossible even — to feel gratitude at a place like this, but when we daven to Hashem from a place of gratitude, the Heavens open to shower upon us more and more brachah. We thank, and then we ask: Although this galus appears endless to us, please save us once again; we know You will.

A Peek at the Inner Workings

In Real Time // Esther Kurtz

“They canceled our 1:30 p.m. reservation,” I told my husband.

“What?!”

I held my phone up to his face, and he glanced at it while maneuvering through traffic.

“Email says they have a private event, and we’re invited for dinner at four with a 20 percent discount.”

“Four is too late,” he said.

“Yeah….”

I put the phone away. Our son’s out-of-town yeshivah is close to two hours away and today was PTA, or “visiting day” as my son’s rebbi put it. Off Shabbosim are rare, and I was desperate to sit down and just spend time with my son, schmooze, chill, enjoy his company, give him laundry advice, and chepper him that he needs another haircut. And we’d get him a nice meal, of course.

Well, there went that plan. We’d figure it out, or do pizza or something instead.

I’m used to PTA by appointment, meaning no waiting lines. Yet that wasn’t the situation here in my son’s yeshivah. First come, first serve. We were the tenth name on the list, out of a class of 26. PTA only started at 12:30 p.m. and then each parent took forever. The other parents littered the hallway, making small talk with each other, with their spouses, our sons flitting in and out.

At 1:30 p.m., my husband looked at me. “It’s a good thing they canceled the reservation, or you would have been going crazy,” he said.

I laughed. He was right. I’m a bit of a Yekkeh, and only a little obsessed with being on time. And there was no way we’d’ve made our reservation; I would’ve been, like my husband said, going crazy.

Hashem gave me one smaller frustration to save me from a bigger one. He does that a lot, but we don’t always get to see it as clearly as I got to....

The Chovos Halevavos talks about how what we experience is the tail end of something long in the works. And it’s set up to be just so, and where we are is exactly where we’re meant to be. Sometimes we get a peek at the inner workings, why it had to be so, but most of the time we’re bumbling blindly. But when we have those moments of illumination it feeds us enough to hold on for the next stumbling step.

Remind me I wrote this next time I get frustrated when something “happens.”

Energy Conservation

Personal Development // Rebbetzin Dina Schoonmaker

The gemara (Bava Metzia 87a) offers a profound insight into the contrast between Avraham Avinu and Efron, the man who sold him the Mearas Hamachpeilah at an exorbitant price. Despite Efron’s promises of generosity, he ultimately acted with greed and deception. The gemara observes: “Tzaddikim say little and do much, while resha’im speak much and fail to even do a little.” Similarly, Pirkei Avos (1:15) teaches us: “Emor me’at, v’aseh harbeh — say little and do much.”

This contrast isn’t merely rhetorical; it offers a practical blueprint for personal growth. The path to becoming a tzaddik who accomplishes great things begins with restraint — by saying little. The less we speak, the more we preserve our energy and motivation for meaningful action.

When we elaborate on the acts of kindness we intend to do, we often experience a premature sense of accomplishment. Psychologically, we derive satisfaction from the idea of doing the chesed, which diminishes our drive to follow through. By spending our emotional energy on words, the “doing” is left undone.

Conversely, when we guard our intentions and focus inwardly, the anticipation of action fuels our desire to act. This principle applies beyond acts of kindness. When we dwell on our problems — thinking, worrying, or talking excessively about them — we may feel as though we’re making progress, but in reality, we’re stuck in place. Our energy is spent on abstract rumination rather than tangible solutions.

The same holds true when grappling with mistakes. Apologizing repeatedly or overanalyzing our failures can create an illusion of resolution. What’s needed instead is quiet introspection and deliberate effort to correct our behavior.

By speaking less and conserving our mental and emotional resources, we can channel our energy into meaningful change and decisive action. This is the way of the tzaddikim — those who do much by saying little.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 933)