“The Fault is Not in Our Stars but in Ourselves.”
This week’s parsha contains the poetic parting words of Moshe: Listen, heavens, and I will speak; let the earth hear the words of my mouth! (32:1)
Moshe begins his farewell song by calling upon heaven and earth as eternal witnesses. His message: G-d is perfectly just—it is we who are responsible when things go wrong. Rashi explains that heaven and earth always fulfill G-d’s will. The sun rises each morning, wheat always produces wheat, not barley. They obey without reward or punishment. How much more should we, who live in a world of accountability, be inspired to fulfill G-d’s will.
Sfas Emes (1847-1905) asks an obvious question: how can we be compared to heaven and earth (inanimate natural phenomena), which have no free will? Humans make choices every day, but heaven and earth go according to their how they were programmed; they don’t make decisions. Sfas Emes answers that built into creation is a natural pull to serve G-d. We too would feel that pull—if not for the distractions of the material world and the cunning of the yetzer hara (selfish inner drive/destructive tendency). To the extent we quiet those voices, our inner nature draws us toward good.
This helps explain the mitzvah to love G-d. Love is a feeling, it’s not an action. How can one be commanded to feel? Either I feel love or I don’t; how can I be commanded to love? Maimonides explains that by contemplating the universe, one will come to have deep feelings for G-d.
Consider our planet. If the earth were slightly larger, poisonous gases would remain in our atmosphere; if smaller, water vapor would dissipate. Either way, life would be impossible. The balance that sustains us points to a Creator who cares for us. When a woman comes home to find her favorite book, music, and meal prepared, she feels loved. So too, reflecting on the world G-d prepared for us awakens love for Him. The more we contemplate how fine-tuned the universe is, the more that love grows.
Some people say, “I’m just not spiritual.” According to the Sfas Emes, that person simply hasn’t tapped into their resources. Every human being can find G-d—it is our birthright. If not, we haven’t given it a fair shot. As Shakespeare famously wrote in Julius Caesar, the fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars but in ourselves.
Just as heaven and earth act without choice, we too can choose to relinquish choice. A patient who consents to surgery does not consider bolting from the operating table at the last moment; he has placed full trust in the surgeon. Likewise, when we are about to drive over a bridge, we don’t question if the steel girders are strong enough; we rely on formulas and the civil engineers who calculate them. In countless areas, we already surrender choice by placing trust.
The only question is: in whom do we place that trust? Many put faith in their education or the corporation employing them— “my degree will surely get me a job” or “I’ll be rewarded for my loyalty to the company; they really like me.” When those fail, they feel broken. But that, too, was a choice.
Sfas Emes teaches that we can move beyond placing trust in finite, fallible systems. We can choose to let go—and let G-d. The next time you are frustrated, ask yourself where did I place my trust? And remember that the fault lies not in our stars, but in ourselves.
Good Shabbos
Rabbi O’s Weekly Parsha: Sukkot 5786-2025
Happiness in a Hut: Why the Sukkah Teaches Us to Stop Complaining
You will hide them in a Sukkah from the strife of tongues. (Tehillim/Psalms 31:21)
The verse above hints at a surprising connection between the mitzvah of the and one of the hardest habits to control: negative speech. The Vilna Gaon (1720–1797) explained that the Sukkah helps weaken our tendency to speak badly about others. Think about how easy it is to say things like, did you see what she was wearing? or He’s nice, but he’s impossible at work. We’ve all slipped at some point. But why should sitting in a hut for a week have anything to do with gossip and negativity?
There’s a fascinating clue hidden in the word Sukkah. In Hebrew, each of its four letters (סוכה) is pronounced with a different part of the mouth—the teeth, lips, palate, and throat. Notice what’s missing? The tongue. And the tongue, both literally and figuratively, is the main tool of gossip and slander. The very word “Sukkah” is free of it.
What makes this simple wooden structure a cure for negative speech? The answer is happiness. All Jewish holidays are times of joy, but the Torah singles out Sukkot as the festival of joy. The Sukkah itself is a tool to cultivate serenity and contentment, which is the real antidote to negative speech.
When do people speak badly about others? Usually when they’re unhappy with themselves. Bitter people always seem to find something wrong with everyone else. But the problem isn’t “them”—it’s the unhappiness inside. Imagine the following: A man opens his lunch bag on Monday and finds a baloney sandwich. Same thing Tuesday. Same thing Wednesday and Thursday. Finally, on Friday, frustrated, he says to a co-worker, ugh, another baloney sandwich! The co-worker replies, why don’t you ask your wife to give you something else fir lunch? The man answers, my wife? I make my own lunch! Most of us aren’t that foolish but we sometimes do the same thing when we complain about what others do, when often we’re the ones creating our own unhappiness.
Henny Youngman once told a joke about a Jewish mother whose son was drowning at the beach. A lifeguard fought through the waves, saved the boy, and dragged him to shore. Out of breath, he hands the child back to his mother. She looks at him and says, He was wearing a hat! Some people just can’t be satisfied.
Rabbi Ilan Feldman of Atlanta suggested a creative idea. Make a sign that says “UNHAPPY.” Whenever you feel like speaking negatively about someone, put that sign on your chest because at that moment, the truth is that you are unhappy. (Of course, this doesn’t apply when negative speech is needed to protect someone, like warning about a dishonest business partner. We’re talking about needless negativity with no positive purpose.)
And that’s why Sukkot comes once a year to reset our perspective. For a week, we step out of our homes and sit in a little hut, realizing we don’t need luxury to be happy. Being together with family, friends, and the people who really matter—that’s what counts. The Sukkah teaches us the beauty of simplicity. When we feel content and grateful, we have no urge to tear others down. On the contrary, our face and our attitude radiate joy.
The Sukkah teaches that happiness is simple, gratitude is contagious, and when we feel blessed, we don’t need to speak badly about others. This year, may our Sukkot be filled not only with food and friends—but with the kind of joy that makes every word a blessing.
Chag Sameach—wishing you a truly joyful holiday!