The Geography of Promise and the Paradigm of Peace

In this post, Rabbi Paul Bloom contemplates the significance of this week’s parshah in both a political and a historical context and explains its pivotal importance in the great scheme of events leading our people from slavery to possession of their promised land.

A Turning Point in the Desert

Parshat Chukkat arrives at a pivotal moment in the Torah’s narrative: the 40th year in the desert. Rashi, commenting on the sudden jump in time in Bamidbar Chapter 20, explains that the Torah skips over 37 years—years during which the first generation, who left Egypt, died in the wilderness. Now, a new generation has emerged: a nation that did not experience Egyptian slavery first-hand but instead grew up surrounded by the Clouds of Glory, sustained by the manna, and learning Torah daily from Moshe and Aharon.

This generation was not shaped by the traumas of Egypt, but by a unique existence under Hashem’s direct protection. Their mission was clear: conquer, settle, and build Eretz Yisrael. Yet before they could cross the Jordan, they had to engage with the peoples of Transjordan, and here the Torah sets down a profound precedent for Jewish conduct in war and peace.

The Geography of Promise: Transjordan’s Place in Eretz Yisrael

To appreciate these events, we must understand Transjordan’s role in Hashem’s promise. In Bereishit 15, Avraham Avinu is promised the land of ten nations. Yet, when Yehoshua leads Israel into Canaan, they conquer only seven. The three nations not conquered—Edom, Ammon, and Moav—all reside east of the Jordan. These lands are not part of the “classic” inheritance of Eretz Yisrael west of the Jordan but are included in the vision of Greater Israel described in later prophetic texts such as Yeshayahu, which foresees their inclusion in the Messianic era.

This geographic nuance becomes vital in Parshat Chukkat, as Bnei Yisrael meet these nations for the first time.

The Paradigm of Peace: Moshe’s Initiative

As Bnei Yisrael approached the territories of these warrior kings in Transjordan, Moshe Rabbeinu offered peace first. He addressed them with respect, saying “נא”—please—and requesting safe passage in exchange for peaceful coexistence, promising not to harm them or take their property. Crucially, both Rashi and the Ran point out that Hashem did not command Moshe to offer peace. This initiative came entirely from Moshe himself, establishing a Torah paradigm: when confronting potential enemies, the first step must always be to offer peace.

Yet, these nations—led by Sichon and Og—responded with hostility and war. They rejected every offer of coexistence. This refusal established a tragic pattern, one that has echoed through Jewish history and is deeply relevant today.

An Eternal Lesson: The Refusal of Peace

From Israel’s earliest wars to the modern state, we have repeatedly extended offers of peaceful coexistence, only to face rejection and violence in return. From 1948 onward, time and again, Arab leadership has refused proposals that would grant mutual recognition and peace, instead choosing war, terror, and incitement.

This dynamic is not just a historical accident—it is described in the Torah itself. The Rambam, in Hilchot Melachim (Laws of Kings, Chapter 6), codifies Moshe’s example into law: before waging war, Israel must always offer peace. But that peace comes with two basic conditions:

1. Acceptance of Jewish sovereignty in Eretz Yisrael, and
   
   
2. Commitment to the moral standards of the Seven Noahide Laws—the universal code prohibiting murder, theft, idolatry, and other fundamental crimes.

If these conditions are accepted, non-Jews can live among us as gerim toshavim, righteous residents. The Torah does not envision a racially exclusive state, but rather a Jewish homeland where those who accept its moral and political framework can live together in peace.

Conquest and the Path to Redemption

Because Moshe’s offers were rejected, wars ensued. Through these battles, Bnei Yisrael conquered Transjordan, which became the inheritance of the tribes of Reuven, Gad, and half of Menashe. These events were not incidental; they were part of Hashem’s plan, as expressed in Tehillim 136—recited every Shabbat morning—where four verses praise Hashem for striking these kings and giving their lands to Israel.

The Torah’s narrative teaches two simultaneous truths: the moral imperative to pursue peace, and the sobering reality that peace is not always accepted. This tension will persist until the Messianic era, when, as Yeshayahu foretells, even those who once opposed us will come to recognize the Jewish people as a source of blessing, and nations will beat their swords into plowshares.

Conclusion: Our Challenge Today

Parshat Chukkat, then, is more than ancient history—it is a guidebook for navigating conflict, sovereignty, and the pursuit of peace. We must always extend our hand in peace, but stand ready to defend ourselves when peace is rejected. And we must never lose hope that one day, the world will see the Jewish people not as a threat, but as partners in building a just and moral society.

May we merit to see that day soon.

The Writing on the Wall

A Call from Hashem and a Message for Our Families Abroad

As we returned to shul this Shabbat we heard inspiring words from our rabbis, we read moving accounts of the miracles we all experienced here in Eretz Yisrael. But a critical question remains: What do these miracles mean for our loved ones still living in the Diaspora? How can we, who are already here, help them see that now is the time to join us in our homeland? Rabbi Paul Bloom explores these questions and offers some practical answers.

The Miraculous Protection of Eretz Yisrael

As you know, Israel was recently subjected to an unprecedented aerial assault. Hundreds of ballistic missiles and thousands of drones were launched by Iran and its proxies with the clear intent to inflict catastrophic harm. By any logical calculation, this attack should have resulted in thousands of casualties.

And yet, something incredible happened: The vast majority of those missiles and drones were intercepted by the IDF or neutralized with help from Israel’s allies. Cities that could have turned into infernos were spared. Lives that should have been lost were miraculously saved.

Some might credit Israel’s advanced technology or strategic alliances—and there is truth in that. But it is not the whole truth. There is a deeper reality that only eyes of emunah can see: this was the unmistakable hand of Hashem. A visible, tangible reminder that Eretz Yisrael is under Divine protection. That there is a Shomer Yisrael—a Guardian of Israel—who neither slumbers nor sleeps.

It is no coincidence that we are living in a time when evil is being uprooted from our land. The enemies of Israel are reeling from the reality of Mi ke’amcha Yisrael—“Who is like Your nation, Israel?” This is a moment of revelation, a moment calling out to our fellow Jews around the world: Come home. Hashem is protecting this land not just for those already here, but for you and your children, too. He has kept His promise. Now it’s time for you to keep yours.

A Dangerous Shift in the Diaspora

While Israel experiences open miracles, the Diaspora tells a far more troubling story.

In the recent New York City mayoral primary, the leading candidate—now virtually assured of election—expressed open hostility toward Israel and its leadership. This is not subtle bias. This is blatant antisemitism. He has aligned himself with Hamas supporters and threatened to arrest Israel’s Prime Minister if he sets foot in New York.

And yet, this man was embraced by voters in America’s largest Jewish city—a city long considered a safe haven for Jews. In fact, 43% of Democratic primary voters supported him.

This, too, is a sign from Hashem. A wake-up call. For decades, many Jews in America believed antisemitism was a relic of the past, that New York was an unshakeable Jewish stronghold, that “it could never happen here.” That illusion is crumbling. The public square is turning against our people. Jewish visibility, once a badge of honor, is becoming a liability.

We must help our families see this reality through the lens of emunah. Hashem is not only guarding Israel—He is also removing illusions about the long-term safety of exile. He is gently but unmistakably reminding us all that galut is not our destiny. That our future as a people is not in Manhattan or Miami, but here—in Yerushalayim, Beit Shemesh, and Netanya.

Time to Reach Out—Not from Fear, but from Love

These two realities—one miraculous, one alarming—are two sides of the same coin. Hashem is showing both what is possible in our land, and what is no longer sustainable in foreign lands. Our families are being pushed and pulled, shaken and embraced, warned and invited—all at once.

This is not a call to panic. It is a call to clarity. And it is our responsibility, as family already in Israel, to reach out to our loved ones abroad with this message. To share what we have seen with our own eyes. To invite them not out of fear, but out of love—love for our people, our heritage, and our destiny. To help them understand that Aliyah is not just a response to danger, but an embrace of opportunity. It is a return to the land that Hashem has prepared for us—not just in the past, but right now.

“וְשָׁב ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ אֶת שְׁבוּתְךָ… וֶהֱבִיאֲךָ ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ אֶל הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר יָרְשׁוּ אֲבֹתֶיךָ וִירִשְׁתָּהּ, וְהֵיטִבְךָ וְהִרְבְּךָ מֵאֲבֹתֶיךָ”
“And the Lord your God will bring back your captivity… and He will bring you to the land which your forefathers possessed, and you shall possess it; and He will do you good and multiply you more than your fathers.” (Devarim 30:3–5)

The writing is on the wall. Let us open our eyes to the signs, listen to the call, and gently encourage our families abroad to take the first steps toward coming home. If you’d like ideas on how to start this conversation or resources to share with your loved ones, I’d be honored to help. You can reach me anytime at aliya100reasons@gmail.com—I look forward to partnering with you in bringing our families home.

The Song of Miriam's Well

This coming week’s parashah says different things to different people. Many of us are preoccupied with the mystery of the Red Heifer, but others focus on the death of Miriam and Moses’ punishment for hitting the water-bearing rock instead of speaking to us. But for our member and distinguished composer Max Stern the stand-out feature is a curious song with puzzling words, apparently sung by a well. This episode inspired Max to write a short work, The Song of Miriam's Well, which you can listen to here.

Let Max tell you about it in his own words. He writes:

The Well of Miriam was a sieve-like rock out of which water gushed forth and supplied the Children of Israel with water on their 40-year wanderings in the desert. Legend has it that the Well itself sang while the people responded as a chorus.

This composition recreates the sparkling joy of the Well, and the spirit of universal goodwill that accompanied it.

צִדְקָתְךָ, כְּהַרְרֵי-אֵל

מִשְׁפָּטֶיךָ, תְּהוֹם רַבָּה

 אָדָם וּבְהֵמָה תוֹשִׁיעַ יְהוָה

Thy righteousness is like the mighty mountains; Thy judgments are like the great deep; Man and beast Thou preservest, O LORD. (Ps.36:7)

 וְצִדְקָתְךָ אֱלֹהִים, עַד-מָרוֹם

אֲשֶׁר-עָשִׂיתָ גְדֹלוֹת; אֱלֹהִים, מִי כָמוֹךָ

Thy righteousness, O God, reacheth unto high heaven; Thou who hast done great things, O God, who is like unto Thee? (Ps. 71:19)

 צִדְקָתְךָ צֶדֶק לְעוֹלָם; וְתוֹרָתְךָ אֱמֶת

Thy righteousness is an everlasting righteousness, and Thy law is truth. Ps.119:142)

The piece is scored for a two-part choir, two-part speaking chorus, and contrabass. It was recorded and edited by Shalom Kinnory.

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

As a footnote, some of you may be thinking there's something wrong here. The Song of the Well in parashat Chukkat comes well after the death of Miriam and the end of her well -- so how can the well in question be Miriam's well?  For an excellent answer, click here.

"Death is very good!"

 Much is written on the mysterious operation of the parah adumah, the red heifer whose ashes are so important for the restoration of ritual purity--but much less is said about the condition that triggers a need for the parah adumah in the first place: death. Inspired by an apparently cryptic comment in Rabbi Meir's sefer Torah, our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger offers a fascinating insight into a topic that so many are reluctant to address. This is what he has to say:

The purification ritual involving the “Red Heifer” is one that has baffled the wisest of men and the deepest religious thinkers throughout the ages. Somehow, burning a cow, mixing its ashes with water and a few other ingredients and then sprinkling the concoction on an individual who has contracted ritual impurity via contact with a corpse can, following the proper procedure, purify him.

The aspect that has perplexed many, including King Solomon, is the fact that the one who is “sprinkled” becomes pure and the “sprinkler” is rendered impure. Perhaps a more interesting question is this: why does the Torah require a different ritual to cleanse this taint in contrast with the procedure to remove other ritual impurities from an individual (mikveh or mikveh plus korban)? The answer is because this taint involves human death.

When God created the world, for six days He affirms existence by declaring His own work “good.” In so doing, creation “remains in a pure, untouchable beyond” (Rosenzweig, Star of Redemption). The final time that God comments, He does not observe that the result of His handiwork at that moment of time is “good” (tov). Instead, God describes the “all that He made” as “very good” (tov me’od).

The Midrash Rabba, on Genesis 1:31, brings various opinions regarding the statement “very good”: “In the sefer Torah of Rabbi Meir they found, where the words “and behold it was very good” should be, the words “and behold death was good”. Rashi comments on Rabbi Meir’s teaching that death is good because, once dead, man can no longer sin.

Ramban on Genesis 1:31 parses the verse because he finds the word “very” to be superfluous. His initial observation is that God “added this word because He is speaking of creation in general, which contains evil in some part of it.” Thus, He said that it was very good, meaning its me’od is good [thus conveying the thought that even the small part of it which is evil is basically also good]. For Ramban, me’od refers to evil, but he does not yet identify or quantify that evil until he quotes Rabbi Meir’s statement that it is death. However, he qualifies this by commenting:

“[S]imilarly, the Rabbis mentioned, ‘this means the evil inclination in man,’ and ‘this means the dispensation of punishment.’”

Thus, it seems that Ramban, likewise views death as an external environmental force.

Rambam effectively divorces death from the Man-God relationship altogether. In commenting on the words vehinei tov me’od (Look! It was very good), he writes:

“Even death, which appears to constitute a return to nothingness, God considered as something positive, constructive, seeing it is only a prelude to rebirth, albeit sometimes in a different guise than that the previous incarnation. Death is perceived as the result of the ‘nothingness’ which had preceded the universe having become an integral part of this universe. Hence it had become a necessary phenomenon.” (Moreh Nevuchim 3:10).

In other words, God created death so that there could be an ongoing creation. One might perhaps term this as circular reasoning (if God did not terminate the world, there would be no need for a rebirth).  However, this is not circular reasoning; this is God logic – beyond our human comprehension. Regardless, this is universal death and not Man’s or human death. Thus, according to Maimonides, death is likewise a force without a direct relationship with Man. Thus, it is external to Man.

According to Rabbi Dr Norman Lamm, 

“Tov implies efficient functioning.  The creator saw every step in His developing universe ki tov, that it was functioning efficiently, carrying out the telos which He had assigned to it.” (“Good and Very Good’ Moderation and Extremism in the Scheme of Creation” in Tradition, 45:2, 2012).  

According to Lamm, if each component of creation functioned at its maximum efficiency or full potential, chaos would ensue:

 “This is so because the world is an interdependent system rather than a conglomeration of independent parts and a system requires the synergistic coordination of all of its constituent elements.”

Thus, only when each element functions with restraint (tov) can the whole be considered tov me’od.

Lamm explains that an immortal Man, with freedom of will, has the power to exploit any part of creation to its full potential. Death represents a limit and limits are necessary. The analogy he gives is the human body, itself. If cells multiply unchecked, man dies of cancer. Thus, for Lamm, death/mortality is the me’od, the required limit on the effective functioning, the tov, of every other creation. Thus, in this construct death is an integrated component of man and the functioning of the system, but not a part of the God-Man relationship. 

The sources surveyed, from the earliest to the more recent, seem to perceive death as a device or tool used by God, whether to influence later actions (Midrash), or to provide creative or spiritual counter-balance against good (Ramban), or to set up a system of constant creation and recreation (Rambam), or to sustain systemic balance (Lamm). The image that emerges from these Rabbinic sources of the initial conceptualization of death/mortality in Creation, is that of an instrument or process, something detached from Man, one that influences his environment/world, but that impacts him indirectly.

The impure man, tainted by contact with death, is purified by a bare and minimal contact with an external agent – the ashes of the Red Heifer – bound together with “mayim chayim” waters of life. Death influences him, it taints him by contact, and it will eventually claim him. However, the intrinsic message of this elaborate ritual, that stretches over a week, is that he should NOT be consumed by it – he should not become fully submerged in his own mortality.

Torah 24/7 and Connecting the Dates

We are delighted to announce two new book acquisitions for our small but growing Beit Midrash library. Both are gifts generously donated by  one of our more recent members, Steven Ettinger. Steven is a rabbi, a tax lawyer, a family man and an individual who manifests an obvious fascination with every aspect of contemporary Jewish life in the real world—and this is what makes his books so readable.

The first is Torah 24/7: A Timely Guide for the Modern Spirit. If you are looking for a fresh perspective on those parshiyot you have read so often in the past, this work could be exactly what you are searching for. Each chapter reveals, sometimes quite surprisingly, how an incident or experience in the author's life was reflected in or influenced by the parashah of the week. This is proof positive—as if any were needed—that the narratives contained in the Chumash continue to have a real meaning for the life of modern man.

The second, Connecting the Dates: Exploring the Meaning of Jewish Time, is a book that has been cast in an entirely different mold. In it, Steven poses penetrating questions about the role played by time in our lives and in our relationships with man and God. In particular, he asks:

• What is the relationship of the Jewish Holidays to their Fast Days?
  
  
• How do the Jewish ritual practices of circumcision, tefillin and tefillah express the underlying link between the individual s personal life cycle and the life cycle of the Jewish nation?
  
  
• How do the major events in the lives of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs connect to the core of the Jewish life cycle?

 Steven builds upon this foundation and shows how the Forefathers of the Jewish people were also the cornerstones upon which the Jewish holidays are built.

 If the mood takes you, you can even buy these books online for yourself. Torah 24/7 is available here, while Connecting the Dates can be ordered here.

Just get out of my hair!

 An Avot mishnah for Shabbat: Perek 4 (parashat Korach)

At Avot 4:23 Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar teaches four things about respecting the personal space that others need at certain times:

אַל תְּרַצֶּה אֶת חֲבֵרֶֽךָ בְּשַֽׁעַת כַּעֲסוֹ, וְאַל תְּנַחֲמֵֽהוּ בְּשָׁעָה שֶׁמֵּתוֹ מֻטָּל לְפָנָיו, וְאַל תִּשְׁאַל לוֹ בְּשַֽׁעַת נִדְרוֹ, וְאַל תִּשְׁתַּדֵּל לִרְאוֹתוֹ בְּשַֽׁעַת קַלְקָלָתוֹ

Do not [try to] calm your friend down at the height of his anger; don’t [seek to] comfort him while his dead still lies before him; don’t question him about his vow the moment he makes it; and don’t endeavour to see him at the time of his degradation.

There’s much to be said about this mishnah but this post looks only at the last bit (in bold text).

When someone has been caught something wrong or has just suffered a major setback—desertion by one’s life partner, for example—they may crave a bit of quiet time and solitude in which to think seriously about what has happened, to decide how to react and what to do next. The last thing they want is the intrusive company of others offering advice or unwanted comments. This can apply even to well-meaning companions who sit there, empathising with them and waiting for a distressed friend to open his or her heart and tell them all about it. In a modern context the intrusion may be inflicted by journalists and paparazzi who sense a juicy news story in another’s misfortune.

In our crowded and joined-up world, no one can disappear forever. Eventually even the most ashamed and embarrassed people will have to rejoin human society one way or another. When that happens, we find another mishnah in Avot waiting in the wings. According to Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananya (Avot 2:13) the “good path” a person should take in their life is to be a good friend. When does one act the good friend? Answer: not before a person is ready to receive that friendship.

Like much of Pirkei Avot, in this mishnah there are no cast-iron rules as to how its guidance is to be applied. A proper approach to putting Avot into practice demands that we first assess every situation in its context, in the light of common sense—a commodity that we struggle to acquire in a rapidly-changing world where yesterday’s norms are tomorrow’s no-nos.

Blooming Leadership and Bitter Lessons

The story of Korach’s rebellion in Parshat Korach is one of the most turbulent episodes in the Torah. It’s a saga of ambition, pride, and defiance that threatened to fracture the unity and sanctity of the Jewish people. Yet the Torah does not end this episode with destruction. Instead, it offers us two lasting memorials — one a warning, the other a beacon of hope — to serve as eternal reminders of what was lost and what was gained. In the following piece, Rabbi Paul Bloom leads us through them.

The Poison of Entitlement and the Fall of Korach

At the heart of Korach’s rebellion was a deep sense of entitlement. Korach was not an outsider, but a Levi — a cousin of Moshe and Aharon — and someone of high stature. Yet he felt cheated. According to the Malbim, Korach believed he had been denied the status he rightfully deserved. He was consumed by a distorted sense of superiority, and this sense of being overlooked fed his jealousy and rebellion.

Ibn Ezra adds another dimension: Korach’s allies were largely bechorim, firstborns who had lost their special status when the tribe of Levi was chosen for service. This shift, though divinely commanded, was a bitter pill to swallow for those who felt robbed of an inherited privilege.

But the Torah consistently subverts the idea that leadership is a birthright. From Bereishit onward, firstborns like Kayin, Yishmael, and Esav are passed over in favor of spiritually worthier younger siblings. Yaakov bypasses Reuven and redistributes his privileges to Yosef, Yehudah, and Levi. Spiritual greatness, the Torah teaches us, is not an inheritance—it is earned through merit, humility, and dedication.

Korach, in contrast, clung to a model of leadership rooted in privilege and ego. His rebellion was not just against Moshe and Aharon—it was against Torah min haShamayim, against the divine structure of holiness and leadership.

The blooming staff: a symbol of divine choice and spiritual life

In response to this crisis, Hashem provides a quiet but powerful counterpoint to the noise of rebellion. In Bamidbar Chapter 17, God commands Moshe to place the staffs of all twelve tribal leaders in the Ohel Moed, each inscribed with their respective names. The next morning, a miracle occurs:

"Vehinei parach matei Aharon..." — “And look! The staff of Aharon had bloomed: it brought forth sprouts, blossomed, and bore almonds.” (Bamidbar 17:23)

This dead staff had come to life, bearing flowers and fruit. It was more than a sign — it was a statement. Aharon’s staff didn’t just survive the challenge; it flourished. The blossoming was Hashem’s way of affirming that the Kohanim and Levi’im were His chosen spiritual leaders — not because of nepotism or favoritism, but because of their role in bringing vitality, renewal, and holiness to Klal Yisrael.

The Kli Yakar notes that the term porach (bloomed/blossomed) also connotes youth and regeneration, as in pirchei kehunah — the young Kohanim. The staff’s components — tzitzim (buds) and shekeidim (almonds) — also carry meaning. The tzitz alludes to the golden forehead plate worn by the Kohen Gadol, inscribed with the words “Kodesh LaHashem.” The shekeidim symbolize zeal and urgency — just as the almond tree blooms faster than others, the Kohanim serve with swiftness and spiritual alacrity. As the prophet Yirmiyahu (1:11) says: "shoked Ani al devari la’asoto" — “I am watchful to perform My word.”

According to tradition, this staff remained in bloom for centuries, ultimately hidden by King Yoshiyahu with the Aron Hakodesh before the destruction of the First Temple. It endured as a symbol of what spiritual leadership ought to look like: rooted in service, devoted to truth, and always blossoming with life.

And this message, as Rambam emphasizes at the end of Hilchot Shemitah VeYovel, is not limited to Levi’im. Every Jew — man or woman — who dedicates their life to Torah and service of Hashem can achieve the status of kodesh kodashim. The blossoming is not for the elite — it is for all who choose to live with spiritual purpose.

The Copper Pans: A Warning Against Machloket

But Parshat Korach also leaves us with a darker memorial — the copper pans (machtot) of the 250 rebels who tried to offer incense, seeking priestly status that was not theirs. Hashem commands Moshe to collect these pans and have them hammered into a covering for the Mizbe’ach, the altar:

"Vehayu l’ot l’Bnei Yisrael" — “And they shall be a sign for the children of Israel.” (Bamidbar 17:5)

This covering was not a celebration — it was a warning. The machtot served as a permanent reminder of the dangers of spiritual overreach and unresolved conflict. As the Talmud (Sanhedrin 110a) teaches: "Kol ha’machzik bemachloket over belo ta’aseh" — “One who perpetuates conflict violates a negative commandment.” Disagreements are part of life — even holy ones. But to machzik, to hold on, to fuel division rather than seek peace — that is where the sin lies.

The copper plating was a silent rebuke: Let not pride preserve a fight. Don’t allow ego to calcify into permanent division. It reminded every generation that rebellion against Divine order — and against each other — leads only to destruction.

A dual legacy: warning and inspiration

These two eternal symbols — the Mateh Aharon and the copper machtot — form the dual legacy of Parshat Korach. One uplifts; the other restrains. One blossoms with life and promise; the other is forged from the remnants of ego and collapse. Together, they whisper two timeless truths:

• Seek the staff. Be among the pirchei kehunah, the youthful energy of Torah renewal. Embrace the tzitz, the sanctity of visible holiness. Act with the shekeidim, the swiftness and enthusiasm to do Hashem’s will. Know that vitality flows from humility, and that every Jew can cause Torah to blossom anew.
  
  
• Beware the pans. Let not anger or entitlement pull us into conflict. Disagree when necessary — but never perpetuate strife. Never be a machzik bemachloket. Know that spiritual ambition without humility leads to ruin.

Remember what must never happen again

Korach's story is not merely a historical rebellion. It is an eternal caution against ego-driven leadership and a call toward authentic, God-rooted service. The Torah does not just want us to remember what happened — it wants us to remember what must never happen again, and to live lives worthy of causing the staff to blossom once more.

May we merit to be bearers of that vitality — uplifting our us not through entitlement, but through Torah, humility, and unwavering devotion.

Tragedy follows tragedy: Korach 5785

Tragedy follows tragedy in the book of Bamidbar. The unwarranted complaints of the people regarding the food in the desert and the false report regarding the Land of Israel (discussed in last week’s parsha) end in plague, punishment and disaster. This week’s parsha describes the rebellion of Korach and his cohorts against Moshe and the supremacy of Torah within Jewish society.

It seems that a latent death wish lurks within Jewish society which makes it repeat terrible mistakes. The generation of the desert saw miracles, even God’s presence, so to speak, on a regular basis. Yet it increasingly defied and rebelled against its special role in human civilization. This was really an expression of regret on the part of many Jews in the desert that they accepted the Torah carte blanche at Sinai. This group did not intend to be a chosen people. The plaintive cry of “let us just return to Egypt” is really a demand that “we wish to be just like all other peoples!” This cry has  repeated itself in almost every generation. The struggle within Jews and Jewish society through the ages is whether to accept its God-given role as a “treasure amongst all nations” or to somehow renounce all pretense of being a special people. The choices are not really portrayed as being that stark because we make them in a continuum of Jewish observance, where adherence to Jewish values and the willin
gnes s to remain proudly Jewish is a decision made in a world that is hostile to Jews, a Jewish state and Judaism itself. 

Korach has personal animosity towards Moshe and he is frustrated at not achieving the recognition that he feels is due him, yet he wraps these feelings within a cloak of holiness and altruism. Hypocrisy abounds, especially amongst those who judge others, and the self-righteous give righteousness a bad name. Korach claims, in the name of democracy, that all the people are holy and worthy of leadership. His claims resound with classical correctness. They are hard to argue against and certainly have great public resonance and appeal. The problem with Korach’s appeal and words is that they are basically fraudulent. 

Moshe’s status, determined by God, has been vindicated in Jewish history throughout the ages. While there are no truly unbiased people in the world, t there are those who, at the very least, recognize their bias and attempt to deal with it honestly and intelligently. Hypocrisy is the attempt to cover up one’s bias with false nobility of purpose and affected altruism. It is a reprehensible character trait, far greater in potential destructiveness than is open enmity itself. This is what made Korach so dangerous and why Moshe’s determination to publicly expose and punish him was so strident and insistent. The tragedy of Korach lies not only his own personal downfall but rather in the havoc and confusion that it created in Jewish society. It is a situation that repeats itself today as well. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

Read "The Drive for Power", Rabbi Wein's devar Torah for Korach last year, here.

Double Take, by Rabbi Jesse Horn (Book of the Month, Tamuz 5785)

An occasional speaker at Beit Knesset Hanassi, Rabbi Jesse Horn is a prominent participant in the religious life of Israel's capital city. Within Yeshivat Hakotel he is known for his methodological and Brisker approach to Gemara, his creative outlook on Tanach, and for his warm and approachable personality. 

This month our Book of the Month is Rabbi Horn's Double Take (subtitled 'Biblical Personalities: More Than Meets The Eye'), which was first published in 2016. So what is it all about? According to the book's web page: 

In Double Take, Rabbi Jesse Horn bridges the gap between the traditional interpretations espoused by Chazal and other Rabbinic authorities on the one hand and the simple and straightforward reading of the Tanach on the other. By rigorous and sophisticated Biblical and Rabbinic textual analysis, Rabbinic sources which at first seems at odds with the text can be read harmoniously.

Rabbi Horn uncovers parallels, and answers critical questions such as, Why is this story included in the Torah? Why is this detail left out? Why do these two stories parallel each other? and What understanding does the Torah want us to derive about each character?

The contents of this work contain some surprises. Torah favourites such as Yosef and Yehuda, Aharon and Mordechai will be found in here as well as some names that attract less affection such as Lot and Hagar. 

As you might expect from the pen of an experienced educator, the text is clear and easy to follow. If you hunger for more, the ample footnotes provide a delicious second course packed with references, elucidatory comments and explanations.

A copy of Double Take has recently been procured by our little library in the downstairs Beit Midrash. Enjoy!

Prophet or King?

This coming Shabbat our haftorah is taken from the First Book of Samuel. While the Torah reading addresses the leadership crisis that occurs when Korach challenges the authority of Moshe, the haftorah depicts the prophet Shmuel confronting a people bent on setting a man over themselves as king.  

Prophet or King, another composition by our member Max Stern, vividly sets this confrontation to music, drawing upon the attitude and mindset of mass protest. As Max himself explains:

Reaching beyond the purely historical, this episode marshals power from the voice of the angry mob of all times by placing it within a contemporary context. Strikers, protesters, agitators, and grumblers of all sorts, add their voices to the ancients in demanding the needs of the moment, while ignoring the call of Eternity. 

How ironic is it that challenges to leadership so often lead to divisions in society and to the destruction of achdut, unity, while the ability of any orchestra or choir to function properly depends upon its individuals coming together and accepting the leadership of a single conductor.

Max's piece is scored for baritone soloist, narrators, choir and various instruments. It was first performed on 28 May 2007. The text is based on 1 Samuel, chapters 8, 11, 12 and Psalm 146:10. 

You can listen to this dramatic composition here.

Playing with power

Continuing our series of weekly Pirkei Avot posts on the perek of the week, we return to Perek 3.

Now here’s a mystery. We have a three-part mishnah in the name of Rabbi Yishmael (Avot 3:16) and our sages only agree about the third part:

הֱוֵי קַל לְרֹאשׁ, וְנֽוֹחַ לְתִשְׁחֽוֹרֶת, וֶהֱוֵי מְקַבֵּל אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם בְּשִׂמְחָה

Be easy to a rosh, affable to a tishchoret, and receive every man with happiness.

Our problem is that we cannot agree on the meaning of any of the key words, and especially rosh and tishchoret. One rabbi (R’ Marcus Lehmann, The Lehmann-Prins Pirkei Avoth) actually gives our mishnah four quite different translations.

Commentators over the years have maintained that the rosh is one’s head, one’s ego, a ruler, a leader, a superior, an elder, a civic leader, a venerable old man—and even God.

As for the tishchoret, this has been explained as someone who is young, old, black-haired, oppressed, a town clerk, the king’s secretary, or a time at which one should be slow and steady.

R’ Yishmael’s words were incorporated into this tractate over 1,800 years ago and we have lovingly preserved them while losing track of their original meaning. However, we cannot walk away from a mishnah and pretend it doesn’t exist so we must take on the task of giving it our own meaning, one that is both Torah-compliant and suited to the needs of our generation. R’ Reuven P. Bulka (Chapters of the Sages: A Psychological Commentary on Pirkey Avoth) seeks to do just that. He writes:

“The present mishna deals with ego difficulties relative to communal functioning. Primarily, they may be said to focus around individuals who have not reached the position of prominence in the community they felt was appropriate for them. The general tendency of such individuals is to downgrade those who have superseded them and to discourage those who would in the future gain the very positions they have failed to attain”.

Anyone who has been involved in Jewish communal affairs is likely to have come across people who fit this bill. Basically good-hearted and well-meaning souls, they feel they have been taken for granted and are disgruntled at not being voted into positions of authority or being nominated as one of the chatanim on Simchat Torah. They may become sullen and unhelpful towards those who are less experienced than themselves and who might benefit from the assistance of an older person. It can be a struggle to overcome one’s inner demons and, in R’ Bulka’s view, this is what Rabbi Yishmael has in mind.

Or perhaps we can summarise it simply like this: don’t demean the authority of those above you and don’t abuse your authority when dealing with those below you.

Am KeLavi - Rectifying the Sin of the Spies

Through the lens of history, some images become more than photographs — they become turning points. The paratroopers gazing up at the Kotel in 1967. Rav Goren blowing the shofar. These were not just moments — they became part of our national soul.

And now, as we live through a defining chapter in our own history, we find ourselves asking: what image will capture this moment?

Perhaps it may not come from the battlefield. It may just come from the airport. This week, a photograph was published of a woman who, upon landing in Israel, knelt to kiss the ground. Her act, so quiet and personal, says more than a thousand words. To much of the world, returning to a war zone makes no sense. But we — the Jewish people — understand. This is not recklessness. It is teshuva. It is a return of the heart.

As rockets fall and sirens sound, thousands of Israelis abroad are doing everything they can to come home. And what we are witnessing is not just a logistical operation — it is a spiritual movement, a national teshuva unfolding before our very eyes.

The Sin of the Spies: A Threefold Failure

This week’s parsha, Shelach, recounts one of the most devastating episodes in the Torah: the sin of the spies. Sent to scout the land, they returned not with lies, but with fear. They acknowledged the land’s beauty — but saw only its threats. “We cannot ascend,” they said. “The people are stronger than us.”

The sin was layered — and each layer cut deep:

• Against the Land: They slandered Eretz Yisrael, calling it “a land that devours its inhabitants.”
• Against the People: Their report demoralized the nation, spreading fear and despair.
• Against God: Most profoundly, they doubted Hashem’s promise, acting as though He could not fulfill it.

The result was national paralysis. Hashem decreed that the generation who rejected the land would not enter it.

Teshuva Done Wrong

The next day, a group known as the ma’apilim tried to undo the damage. “We will go up!” they declared, ready to fight. But it was too late. They acted without Hashem’s guidance and were defeated. The lesson is clear: teshuva must come with humility, not just urgency.

Our Generation’s Response

Today, we are blessed to witness something altogether different — a slow, sincere tikkun of that ancient sin. And remarkably, it addresses all three of its dimensions:

1. Love for the Land

While the spies recoiled, today Jews across the globe are embracing Eretz Yisrael. Even amidst rockets and fear, rescue flights are full. People are desperate to return. The photo of a woman kissing the ground of Israel was not staged — it was instinctive. The Rambam writes that the Sages would kiss the dust of the land, fulfilling the verse, “For Your servants cherished her stones and loved her dust.” What was once rejected is now held close.

2. Unity of the People

The spies’ words broke the spirit of the nation. But today, we see remarkable unity. After Simchat Torah and again during Operation Rising Lion, Israelis across all divides stood as one. Political rivals speak with mutual support. One opposition leader said it best: “Today, in this war, there is no right and left — only right and wrong.”

3. Rekindling of Faith

The deepest sin was spiritual. The spies questioned God’s protection. And in the aftermath of October 7, many asked: Where was God? Yet what followed was not spiritual collapse, but renewal. Faith and prayer have reentered the public sphere — from soldiers, from leaders, from returned hostages. Just hours before Israel’s pre-emptive strike on Iran, the Prime Minister was photographed at the Kotel, wrapped in a tallit, placing a handwritten verse inside the stones:

הֶן־עָם כְּלָבִיא יָקוּם וְכַאֲרִי יִתְנַשָּׂא — “Behold, a people that rises like a lioness and lifts itself like a lion.”

The Power of This Moment

The Rambam writes that the highest form of teshuva (teshuva gemura) occurs when a person is faced with the same challenge and chooses to act differently. As a nation, we find ourselves in a great moment of teshuva gemura. The fear is still here. The threats are real. And yet, we choose to return. We choose to stay. We choose to believe.

Parshat Shelach is more than a story of failure — it is a challenge to future generations. Will we learn from the past? Will we respond with faith instead of fear?

This Shabbat, our tefillot continue — even in limited numbers. And while we may not all be gathered together in shul, we remain deeply united in spirit and in purpose.

May we merit to continue this process of teshuva, and to write a new chapter — of love for our land, of unity among our people, and of renewed faith in Hashem.

Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg