I was first introduced to the teachings of the Piaseczno Rebbe, Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira—the author of Aish Kodesh—on my first trip to Poland in high school, about 18 years ago. Learning his Torah in the very places where it was said, in the Warsaw Ghetto in 1940, left a deep impression on me.
Since then, I’ve had the privilege to return to his teachings many times—when leading groups in Poland, and with my students here in Florida and beyond. Each time, I’m struck by the same thing: how words said in such darkness carry so much clarity and strength.
The Rebbe makes a simple but powerful point on our parsha.
He notes that every mitzvah, down to its smallest details, was given at Sinai. And from that, he builds an idea that feels very real: our relationship with Hashem isn’t built only in big, inspiring moments. It’s built in the small, consistent things we do every day.
We often think connection has to start with feeling. If I feel inspired, then I act. The Rebbe flips that. Even when the feeling isn’t there, showing up—again and again—creates the connection. Over time, the actions themselves lead to something deeper.
He also speaks about moments of clarity—times when a person feels, “If I just get through this, I’ll live differently, I’ll be better.” His message is: don’t lose that. Hold onto it. Bring it into regular life.
I once heard a similar idea from Rav Druckman, who I had the privilege of having as my Rosh Yeshiva in Israel.
He looks at a pasuk later in the parsha:
“And I will lay the land desolate, and your enemies who dwell upon it shall be astonished at it.”
It sounds like part of the punishment. But Rashi says something surprising—that this is actually a kind of blessing.
Even in exile, the land wouldn’t fully respond to others. It would remain desolate.
And historically, that’s exactly what happened. For centuries, the land didn’t really flourish under other nations. It’s as if the connection was still there, just hidden.
And then when the Jewish people began to return, the land changed. It came back to life.
Chazal describe this as one of the clearest signs of redemption—when the land begins to give its fruits again.
I think these two ideas are really saying the same thing, just on different levels.
The Piaseczno Rebbe is talking about a person. Even when the connection feels distant, it’s still there. And through consistent action, it can come alive again.
Rav Druckman is talking about the Jewish people and the land. Even when the connection looks broken, it isn’t gone. It’s waiting.
We don’t live in their worlds. Thank God, our lives look very different.
But the message is still very relevant.
We tend to look for meaning in big moments—inspiration, milestones, turning points. But most of life is not like that. Most of life is routine.
And that’s exactly where the real work is.
In how we show up every day.
In the consistency we bring to our values.
In the small choices that don’t feel dramatic, but actually shape everything.
The Piaseczno Rebbe found meaning in the smallest acts, in the hardest circumstances.
Rav Druckman pointed to a land that waited quietly for its people—and came back to life when they returned.
There’s something very steady and reassuring in that idea.
Real connections don’t disappear. They can weaken, they can go quiet—but they’re still there.
And when we come back to them, even in small ways, they respond.
And maybe that’s the deepest message of all: The things that matter most in our lives don’t demand perfection—they ask for presence.
Show up. Stay consistent. Keep coming back.
Chazak Chazak VeNitchazek!
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yoel Lax
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