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Time is a prominent theme of Pesach, but it expresses itself in a unique and somewhat puzzling manner. On Pesach, we are commanded to eat matzah (unleavened bread); eating chametz (leavened bread) is absolutely forbidden (Sh’mos 12:15). This is an incredibly strict prohibition; the punishment for eating chametz is kareis (spiritual excision). This seems extreme, as the difference between matzah and chametz can come down to a matter of seconds. This means that a single second can decide a person’s spiritual reality, determining whether one performed a mitzvah or violated the most severe of prohibitions. Why is time so central to Pesach, and how can a single second of time have such significant implications?

My original intent was to write about the awful Jewish – and in some cases even Orthodox – reaction to the Jewish action in Arab Huwara, Israel. You will recall the awful spate of terrorism in Israel as two brothers, Hallel and Yagel Yaniv, were killed at the hands of Palestinian terrorists. It was then followed with the murder of Elan Ganeles, an American visiting Israel. Two weeks earlier, ten people were killed exiting shul on Friday night. That was followed by a car ramming that killed two little brothers Paley in Ramot. How much tragedy can any people suffer?

Human beings are creative, intelligent, and powerful; but at the same time, we are incredibly limited:

It had been a long time since he had spoken with his father. Too long. A few months back, they had gotten into a heated disagreement, and things hadn’t been the same since. It wasn’t always like this, of course. Growing up, his father had been his role model, his hero. He was an only child, and his father had been his teacher, his mentor, and in many ways, his best friend. Many of his greatest memories featured time spent bonding with his father. And now, he couldn’t help but wonder how they had gotten to this point. They never fought, ever. “That’s it,” he thought, “I’m going to call him; I’m going to set things straight and schedule a special breakfast for next week.” He was about to pick up the phone when he looked at his schedule. He was pretty booked for the next few days, so it made more sense to call to schedule for next week. He also had a meeting in 15 minutes, so their conversation would be curtailed if he called now. He phoned his secretary:

In our previous article, we began exploring the mistake and tikun of the N’siim. To review, during the Chanukas HaMishkan (the Inauguration of the Tabernacle), the N’siim (princes) of each Sheivet (tribe) contributed spectacular gifts toward the Mishkan (BaMidbar, perek 7). Chazal explain that these donations were intended to be a tikun (rectification) for their previous sin (See Rashi, BaMidbar 7:3; Sifrei, Naso 1:150). Earlier in the Torah, the N’siim are criticized for their inappropriate approach regarding their donations toward the building of the Mishkan (Rashi, Sh’mos 35:27). They delayed in donating gifts for the Mishkan, and in the interim, the Jewish People donated everything needed for the Mishkan, leaving the N’siim with nothing to give.

As we encounter Purim, let us delve more deeply into the unique spiritual and existential battle that the Jewish People must continue to wage against the philosophy of Amalek. Amalek first appeared on the scene when they attacked klal Yisrael in the midbar, on their journey to Har Sinai. The most striking aspect of this attack was its timing.