When Flaws Become Features”You shall place both stones on the shoulder straps of the ephod, remembrancestones for the Children of Israel.” (Exodus 28:12) Moses was commanded to make special garments for the Kohen Gadol—the High Priest. Among these was a garment resembling an apron, called the ephod. On its shoulder straps were two precious stones engraved with the names of the Twelve Tribes of Israel. Why was it necessary to inscribe the tribes’ names onto these gems? Rashi explains that this was to invoke the memory of the tribes when the Kohen Gadol performed the sacred Yom Kippur service, so their merits would be remembered before G-d. This explanation raises a question. The Kohen Gadol’s Yom Kippur service is central to securing atonement for the entire nation. As such, no hint of sin or failure is permitted in his garments. For example, none of his special Yom Kippur clothing contains gold, lest it evoke the sin of the Golden Calf. Even the faintest reminder of wrongdoing is avoided. So why would the names of Joseph’s brothers—who notoriously sold him into slavery—be prominently engraved on the High Priest’s garments? Despite their greatness, their history is undeniably marked by this grave mistake. Wouldn’t that be reason enough to omit their names from such a sacred and flawless setting? The answer sheds new light on how we confront mistakes, process regrets, and embrace the flaws within ourselves. Picture two large diamonds: one with a tiny flaw and the other seemingly flawless. Ask any expert and they’ll tell you the diamond with the minor flaw is worth a fortune, while the flawless one is likely worthless—a fake. Authentic diamonds have imperfections. The only flawless ones are artificial, like cubic zirconia, used for costume jewelry. When Adam was created, it was with the understanding that he would not be perfect. As Dr. Abraham Twerski writes in his book Angels Don’t Leave Footprints, angels do their job and move on without leaving a mark. Humans, on the other hand, stumble, scrape our knees, and wonder if we’ll ever get it right. We leave footprints. Angels may be perfect, but humans are not. Life constantly challenges us with moments that define who we are. Free will doesn’t just mean we can choose; animals do that, too. It means facing complex situations where each option carries weighty consequences. We are meant to confront temptation and difficulty—because that’s how we grow. And yes, we will make mistakes. Sometimes big ones. But if your life feels messy, it doesn’t mean you’re a failure. It simply means you’re alive—and you have the power to clean it up.A teenager’s reckless choice to ride with a drunk driver can change everything. Sometimes, we’re lucky and escape the consequences. But no one goes through life without messing up, at least a few times. Joseph’s brothers were great people, but they, too, had flaws and made terrible mistakes. Think of them as 200-carat diamonds—stunningly beautiful, yet imperfect. When examining a diamond, you don’t immediately see the flaw. It takes a jeweler’s loupe, magnifying the stone to detect imperfections invisible to the naked eye. What most people see is simply dazzling light and beauty. One of life’s great challenges is not to be crushed by our mistakes. How do we move forward? By reframing. See yourself as a diamond. Work to eliminate as many flaws as possible—and learn to live with the ones you can’t. And what if you find yourself in a dark place? Don’t despair. Within you lies a precious soul and endless possibilities. You can change. And if you feel far from where you hoped to be, remember: you are a diamond in the rough; the real thing—not fake, not costume jewelry. It’s not easy but you can encourage yourself by keeping in mind that you were created for this purpose. And don’t forget that your Creator is on your side, as well as the good people you will meet along the way. May we all have the courage to take the journey—and the wisdom to enjoy the ride. Parshat Zachor (Deut. 25:17)This week, in addition to the regular Torah reading, we read Parshat Zachor, the second of the special readings leading up to Passover. In it, we are reminded of the obligation to destroy the nation of Amalek. At the time of the Exodus from Egypt, Amalek traveled hundreds of miles to ambush the newly freed Jewish people, hoping to wipe them out—even though we posed no threat to their sovereignty. Most military conflicts stem from territorial disputes, yet Amalek, a nomadic people living in the Negev and Sinai, had no territorial quarrel with Israel. Their attack was driven by something deeper and more sinister: an irrational, baseless hatred that compelled them to strike a vulnerable and seemingly defenseless nation. In the aftermath of that attack, we were commanded to remember Amalek’s evil for all time. Since October 7th, this reading has taken on new and painful significance. The State of Israel is surrounded by enemies who are not merely seeking land—they are seeking Jewish lives. And not just in Israel; their hatred has sparked violence against Jews in America, Europe, and around the world. Decades of peace efforts and land offers have done nothing to quiet this hatred. So how do we internalize the message of Parshat Zachor, which reminds us of a nation so deeply disturbed by our very existence? We must recognize our moral and educational responsibility to stand in stark contrast to this culture of hate. Together with all people of good conscience, we must speak with moral clarity and call this evil exactly what it is. There is no obligation to forgive the atrocities committed against the Jewish people and humanity. In fact, without the ability to clearly identify what is wrong and evil, we can’t truly appreciate what is right and good. Each of us contains our own inner mixture of good and bad, and we are tasked with identifying and refining ourselves so that we can fulfill our potential and actualize the pure and powerful soul we’ve been given. The Jewish people have long been known for giving charity far beyond what might be expected from such a small population. History has shown that kindness, not violence, is part of our national DNA. Of course, we are not perfect. We have made mistakes. But our culture is one rooted in compassion—and it is precisely because of that compassion that we must hate evil when we encounter it. If we do not destroy evil, it will destroy us. By standing firmly against Amalek and the hateful ideology it represents, we demonstrate who we are and what we value. |
