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As we begin recounting the incredible story of Moshe Rabbeinu once again, a question that bothered me for years (and I am sure that I am not alone in this) is, given the hostility of Pharaoh to the Jews, and Moshe in particular, how is it that Moshe seems to be able to waltz in and out of the palace whenever he chooses? We know from many sources the incredible life and death power that the Pharaohs had over everyone and everything in Egypt and the whole Middle East, including Eretz Yisrael. (Not the subject for today, but historical and archaeological sources prove this beyond a doubt.) So how is it that Moshe was personally exempt from any control by the Pharaoh?

Last night, long before the disaster happened, I basked in my curmudgeonly smugness. We came to Tzfat for the holiday weekend, as my wife and kids excitedly anticipated joining the hundreds of thousands in a long night of singing and dancing in honor of Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai in nearby Meron. Although Lonni tried valiantly to get me to join her, I was quite content to sit on my mechutan’s mirpeset (balcony) in Tzfat and look at the lights of Meron across the valley. I generally do not like endless singing and dancing; I wonder what the revelers are thinking about and how much it really has to do with ahavas Hashem. I question how it connects with the rather severe personality of Rabbi Shimon that we meet in the Gemara. Maybe it is my nature as a Yekke or a cynic – I felt little connection to the crowds that I was grateful to avoid.

Once again, Tish’ah B’Av approaches. As we have done so often, we will mourn the Churban, and lament how sin’as chinam (baseless hatred) caused so much pain and suffering. And yet, the problem of baseless hatred is still with us, seemingly growing by the day.

 The last two weeks have been excruciating for Trump voters.

 Ah, politics – the national pastime of Israel. Everyone has an opinion – a nation of prime ministers, as the old Golda Meir line goes. After four elections in the past two years, one would think we are inured to really worrying about the outcome, or lack thereof. But this time around, an earthquake is happening, and it is deeply worrying.

As Rosh HaShanah of this very strange year approaches, it is time for introspection, and thinking of perhaps making some changes. This unprecedented year, as has been endlessly commented upon, has been mostly a disaster. We stand before U’N’saneh Tokef once again and – as never before in my lifetime – wonder who will live, who will die; will it be in a calamity, or a plague, or by trouble breathing? Who will be at peace and who will be subject to riots? How can we – how should we – pray differently? Is that what is needed so that this coming year will be better?