Nitzotzos: Inspiration to Keep Your Spark Alive with Rav Mordechai Burg

What happens when you look at the devastation in front of you and realize that something you cared deeply about is gone? How do you let yourself feel that pain without losing who you are?

Avraham pleaded for Sedom. The next morning, he returns to the very place where he stood before Hashem and looks out at a city going up in smoke. Chazal learn from this moment about Shacharis and having a fixed place for tefillah. What is it about Avraham’s return that becomes a foundation for the way we daven?

In this shiur, delivered in Tomer Devora, Rav Burg explores the courage to face what has happened while remaining rooted in our relationship with Hashem. When caring leaves us vulnerable, we may want to pull away or decide that we will never let ourselves hope so much again. Avraham teaches us how to keep caring while recognizing the limits of our control, and how to stand before Hashem with the pain of a world we could not save. Having a makom kavua means having somewhere to stand when life shakes us, so that we can face devastation and still be ourselves.

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Avraham comes down from the Akeidah after an encounter with Hashem that we can barely begin to imagine. Waiting below are Yishmael and Eliezer, who couldn’t even see what he and Yitzchak saw on the mountain. What kind of relationship could he possibly have with them now?

The Torah tells us: “וַיָּקֻמוּ וַיֵּלְכוּ יַחְדָּו.” They got up and walked together.

In this shmuz, given at the Thursday morning Shana Bet shmuz in Mevaseret, Rav Burg explores the remarkable humility of Avraham Avinu. The people accompanying him were people he loved, people he felt responsible to care for and bring close. He brought them as far as they could go. And when he returned from the mountain, he was ready to keep walking with them.

Through the contrast between Avraham and Bilaam, we discover a greatness that makes room for others. What does it mean to share your light with someone who cannot yet see what you see? To care about their growth without needing them to be on your level? Avraham’s journey invites us to consider whether the people in our lives feel that we are really with them, wherever they may be.

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You walk away, and the tension eases. But what happens when leaving becomes the only way you know how to cope? And what do your children learn from watching you?

In this shiur, delivered at Ba'er Miriam, Rav Burg explores the connection between Hagar’s running away and Yishmael’s bow: a mother who distances herself from pain and a son who learns to engage from a distance. Why does the escape ultimately fail? Through tefillah and Yishmael’s surprising teshuvah, we discover how an inherited pattern can finally change.

What happens when the very thing we need most becomes the thing we are most afraid of? When someone has been deeply hurt in a relationship, the desire for connection doesn't disappear, but the fear of being hurt again can make it almost impossible to reach for what the heart still longs for.

In this shiur, given to the Chizuk Mission, Rav Burg explores the extraordinary connection between the seventeenth of Cheshvan, the day the Mabul began, and the day we begin fasting when the rains have not arrived. Drawing on the profound teachings of Chazal and the psychology of emotional wounds, Rav Burg explains how painful experiences can leave us afraid of the very things that have the power to nourish us. Through the remarkable connection to Shlomo HaMelech's building of the Beis HaMikdash, we discover how healing becomes possible when we learn to give our pain a place to go, allowing ourselves to trust again without denying what we have been through.

Why do we hold on to things that are destroying us, even when we know we need to walk away? When Lot was rescued from Sedom, the Torah tells us that he hesitated. Even with his life in danger, he couldn't bring himself to leave. What was he so afraid of losing?

In this shiur, delivered to NCSY 4G alumni at Shaalvim for Women, Rav Burg explores the psychology of Lot and the deeper reasons we cling to unhealthy relationships, destructive habits, and coping mechanisms that no longer serve us. Drawing on the relationship between attachment and authenticity, Rav Burg explains why the familiar can feel safer than the unknown, even when it is causing us tremendous pain, and why genuine growth requires more than simply walking away. Sometimes we need someone who can take us by the hand and help us discover who we are without the very things we've come to depend on.

What happens to a person who grows up feeling that certain parts of who they are are simply unacceptable?

Over time, we learn which parts of ourselves earn love and approval and which parts are better kept hidden. Eventually, we can become so accustomed to being the person others expect us to be that we lose touch with who we really are.

In this shmuz, delivered at Mevaseret Mishmar, Rav Burg explores the connection between Charan and charon af, anger and harsh judgment, and how growing up in an environment of criticism or conditional acceptance can cause us to hide our most authentic selves. Through the story of Avraham Avinu's journey, Rav Burg explains how we can begin to move beyond the identities we developed in order to belong and discover the person Hashem created us to become.

This special Mevaseret Mishmar also celebrated the launch of Ezra Schwartz's new sefer, Ani Li. The evening featured divrei Torah from Ezra as he introduced his sefer to the public for the very first time, making this a particularly meaningful Mishmar dedicated to discovering who we truly are and the unique purpose for which Hashem brought each of us into the world.

Sarah gives Hagar to Avraham as a wife. But when Hagar becomes pregnant and begins humiliating Sarah, Sarah turns to Avraham and declares, "Chamasi alecha" — this is your fault! But what did Avraham do wrong? He did exactly what Sarah asked him to do. So why does Sarah feel so terribly alone?

In this shiur, delivered at Tomer Devorah, Rav Burg explores the profound difference between listening to your spouse and truly hearing them. Why can a person do everything their spouse asks and still leave them feeling deeply alone? What does it mean to make room for another person in a marriage? And how do we ensure that in our efforts to protect one person's feelings, we don't overlook someone else's suffering?

In this shmooze, delivered at Mevaseret Mishmar, Rav Burg explains one of the most extraordinary expressions of Ahavas Yisrael found in Chazal.

Eretz Yisrael desperately needs rain, yet Klal Yisrael delays asking Hashem for it until the seventh of Cheshvan. Why? Because somewhere on the road home from Yerushalayim, the very last Jew is still making his way back from Yom Tov, and we don't want him to get wet.

An entire nation waits for one person.

What does it mean to build a community that thinks about the last Jew? The one who moves more slowly, who struggles to keep up, who may be finding his way back long after everyone else has arrived?

Through this remarkable Mishnah, Rav Burg explores what it means to take responsibility for another Jew and to create a community in which nobody is forgotten simply because everyone else has already moved on.

The true measure of a community is not how far its strongest members have traveled, but whether it remembers the person who is still on the road home.

After the extraordinary spiritual heights of Tishrei, Cheshvan arrives with an unsettling silence. The Yomim Tovim are over, the inspiration begins to fade, and we are left wondering where all that closeness to Hashem has gone.

When Shlomo HaMelech completed the Beis HaMikdash, its doors remained closed for almost an entire year. In the absence of an explanation, people began to whisper. Perhaps Shlomo was unworthy. Perhaps the Shechinah would never come.

Centuries later, Yeravam faced a different kind of uncertainty and responded by inventing an entire Yom Tov in Cheshvan.

Why do we find silence so difficult to tolerate? Why do we interpret waiting as rejection? And why, when we cannot feel Hashem's presence, do we begin creating painful stories about ourselves?

Through two remarkable episodes in Tanach and the deeper meaning of Cheshvan, Rav Burg explores the psychology of shame, our desperate need for certainty, and the difference between genuine spiritual connection and the experiences we manufacture because we are afraid of feeling nothing.

Perhaps the most extraordinary secret of Cheshvan is that what appears to be an absence may actually be something Hashem is saving for the future.

What happens when the inspiration fades? When the music of Tishrei stops, the Yomim Noraim are behind us, and the spiritual energy that carried us through the Yamim Tovim begins to disappear?

Cheshvan is often experienced as a spiritual letdown. But perhaps something much deeper is taking place.

In this shiur, delivered to the OU in Yerushalayim, Rav Burg draws on the remarkable symbolism of the month once known as Bul. Rav Burg explores the psychological journey from living on the inspiration we receive from others to developing an inner life that can truly sustain us.

Why does genuine growth sometimes feel like we're going backwards? Why can becoming emotionally and spiritually independent feel heavier and less inspiring than the stages that came before it? And what does it mean to finally make everything we've learned, believed, and experienced truly our own?

A profound exploration of identity, emotional maturity, and the hidden work of becoming ourselves, revealing why the moments when we feel the least inspired may actually be the moments when our deepest growth begins.

What happens when another person's success makes us feel like a failure? Why can someone else's significance threaten our own sense of worth? And how does our need to feel secure, important, and loved become a source of conflict in our most important relationships?

The Torah tells us that Kayin spoke to Hevel immediately before murdering him, but never reveals what was said. Bereishis Rabbah offers three possibilities: they fought over ownership of the world, over where the Beis HaMikdash would be built, or over a woman.

Drawing on the insights of Chazal and modern psychology, in this shiur, delivered in Tomer Devorah, Rav Burg explores the deeper emotional struggles behind humanity's first murder. We examine our need for control, our longing for significance, our fear of rejection, and the fragile sense of self that can make another person's very existence feel threatening.

In this shmooze, delivered at the first Mevaseret Mishmar of the Zman, Rav Burg explains that the problem was not that Adam HaRishon sinned but that he his behind the Eitz HaDaas. To make a mistake is human. When we identify with the sin is when we have a real problem.

The soul is always searching for home.

We spend so much of our lives trying to get closer to Hashem. We seek inspiration, clarity, healing, spiritual intensity, and the feeling that we are finally where we are supposed to be. But what if even those experiences are not the destination? What if they are only treasures we find on the way to the King?

In this shiur, delivered at the Leil Hoshana Rabbah Vayichan Program at Yeshivat HaKotel, Rav Burg explores the Baal Shem Tov’s mashal of the walls surrounding the palace and the inner journey of Tishrei. Rosh Hashanah awakens the longing. Yom Kippur reveals that the separation was never as absolute as we imagined. The Sukkah invites the whole person, body and soul, into Hashem’s embrace. Hoshana Rabbah strips away even the need to feel spiritually impressive, until only the essential bond between the Jew and Hashem remains.

And then, on Simchas Torah, we dance.

Not because we have finally escaped the physical world, but because the relationship has entered our feet. The walls disappear, and we begin to discover that the place we were trying so desperately to reach was surrounding us all along.

What does it mean that the sukkah is described by the Baalei Chassidus as Hashem’s embrace?

Delivered at the Mesorah Simchas Beis Hashoeva, in this short shmooze Rav Burg explores a powerful idea: real growth becomes possible when a person feels safe enough to stop protecting himself.

Drawing on Donald Winnicott’s idea of a “holding environment,” we look at the role of parents, counselors, teachers, and role models in creating the kind of space where a child can begin to discover who he really is. For many kids, school can feel like a place where they are constantly being measured. Camp can become something very different: a place where they can finally win.

The walls of the sukkah surround us. The Ushpizin come to visit. The schach gives us shade. But it also remains open enough that we can see the stars.

That is the task of chinuch: to build enough walls around a child that he feels protected, while leaving enough openness that he can still look up and discover what he is capable of becoming.

If the Ananei HaKavod first surrounded the Jewish people when they left Mitzrayim, why do we celebrate Sukkos in Tishrei? The Gra explains that Sukkos commemorates the clouds that returned after the cheit ha’eigel and the forgiveness of Yom Kippur. These were not the clouds of an innocent relationship. They were the clouds that came back.

Being forgiven does not always mean that we know how to feel close again. Sukkos is Hashem’s answer to that fear: Come sit with Me. In this shiur, delivered in the Cardo in the Old City of Yerushalayim, Rav Burg explains that the walls of the sukkah as Hashem’s embrace and the powerful lesson Rav Aryeh Levine taught a young man who tried to hide from him.

Once we experience what it means to be welcomed back by Hashem, it must change the way we see and welcome every Jew.

Why is it sometimes so difficult to make room for someone who is different from us?

Given to NCSY 4G advisors as part of their chinuch development, in this shiur Rav Burg explores how returning to ourselves on Yom Kippur prepares us to welcome others into our sukkah.

Through Rav Kook’s understanding of teshuvah, the arba minim, and the story of the Baal Shem Tov’s sukkah, we explore what allows an advisor to see beyond a teenager’s struggles and build a relationship in which she feels she genuinely belongs. When we feel secure in who we are, we can meet someone where she is without needing her to become like us.

Right before Kol Nidrei, we make a startling declaration: we permit ourselves to daven together with the transgressors. Chazal go even further and teach that a communal fast without the sinners of Israel is not considered a true fast.

Why?

Because Yom Kippur is not meant to become a private religious experience. The Navi Yeshayahu tells us that if our fasting causes us to turn inward and stop seeing the hungry, the wandering, and the broken, then we have misunderstood what the day is supposed to accomplish.

In this shiur, delivered in Tomer Devorah, Rav Burg explores the deeper meaning of Yom Kippur as a day when the walls between Jews begin to fall away, culminating in Neilah and the revelation of the Yechidah, the place where we are all one.

At the center is the remarkable story of Rabbi Ronnie Greenwald, who spent much of Yom Kippur sitting in a hotel lobby with a group of struggling young Jews. He did not lecture them or try to win an argument. He simply stayed with them.

He gave them his Yom Kippur.

And in doing so, he may have shown us what Yom Kippur is really about.

What happens when it feels like the door has closed?

Acher hears a Bas Kol say, “Return, wayward children, except for Acher.” Neilah itself is the moment when the gates are closing.

And yet Chazal teach us that this is precisely the moment not to give up.

In this dhmoy, delivered at Mevaseret Mishmar, Rav Burg explores one of the deepest ideas in teshuvah: that even when everything seems sealed, even when a person feels too far gone, there is still a place beyond despair. Teshuvah reaches all the way to the Kisei HaKavod.

Sometimes the gate that seems to be closing is the gate you are meant to keep knocking on.

We often imagine Yom Kippur as a massive cleaning operation. Get rid of the jealousy, anger, shame, and desires we would rather not admit to. Make the house presentable. Then Hashem can come in.

But hachnasas orchim teaches us a different avodah. A host knows how to give a guest a place in his home without giving the guest ownership of the house. What would it mean to relate to the unwanted parts of ourselves in the same way?

In this shiur, delivered at Aish Gesher for Women, Rav Burg explores a more honest approach to teshuvah. Drawing on Avraham Avinu, , the kapparah of a person’s table, and the Kohen Gadol entering the Kodesh HaKodashim, we learn how to invite our parts in and bring our full self to Hashem.

You do not have to clean the house before Hashem comes in. Yom Kippur is the day you let Him into the rooms that still need cleaning.

The Satan has heard the shofar for thousands of years. Why should hearing it once more leave him confused?

In this shiur, delivered at Mevaseret Mishmar, Rav Burg explains that the shofar is not a code he has failed to crack. It is the private language between Hashem and Klal Yisrael—a language that can be heard from the outside but understood only from within the relationship. A prosecutor may know everything we have done and still not know who we are.

Through the tekios demeyushav and tekios deme’umad, the kol pnimi of a shofar inside a shofar, and Hashem’s response to Yishmael—ba’asher hu sham—this shiur explores what the shofar reveals about the deepest place within a Jew. We are not asking Hashem to ignore what we have done. We are asking Him to hear the whole truth: beneath the failures is a child still calling to his Father, a soul that never stopped wanting to come home. And the rachamim that allows us to be heard that way becomes the way we are meant to hear others.