What Does Hashem Really Want From Us?

 In this week's Torah post, our member Rabbi Paul Bloom asks what parashat Eikev teaches us about Yirat Shamayim.

The Cornerstone of Torah Living

One of the most profound questions in the Torah appears in Parashat Eikev:

"And now, Israel, what does Hashem your God ask of you?" (Devarim 10:12).

At first glance, the question seems almost unnecessary. After forty years in the wilderness—receiving the Torah at Sinai, witnessing countless miracles, and learning directly from Moshe Rabbeinu—surely the Jewish people already knew what Hashem expected of them. They understood the importance of Torah, mitzvot, Eretz Yisrael, and living as a holy nation.

Yet Moshe asks the question anyway.  Why?  Because he is about to reveal the very foundation upon which every other mitzvah rests. He answers: "Only to fear Hashem your God." The Torah presents Yirat Shamayim—a deep awareness of Hashem—as the cornerstone of Jewish life.

Beyond Fear

The phrase Yirat Shamayim is often translated as "fear of God," but that translation can be misleading. There is certainly a level of fear that involves concern about sin and its consequences. Chazal refer to this as Yirat Ha'onesh—fear of punishment. While important, this is not the Torah's highest ideal.

The deeper meaning is what many of the great Torah thinkers describe as Yirat HaRomemut—an overwhelming awareness of Hashem's greatness and the realization that we constantly stand in His presence. It is living with the consciousness that every word we speak, every decision we make, and every moment of our lives unfolds before the Ribono Shel Olam. This awareness is not simply another mitzvah among many.  It is the mindset that gives life to every mitzvah.

A Constant Mitzvah

The Sefer HaChinuch includes this awareness among the Six Constant Mitzvot—commandments that apply every moment of every day. Unlike mitzvot tied to a specific action or time, these are obligations of the heart and mind. They define the inner world of a Jew.

Living with Yirat Shamayim means approaching every aspect of life—from business and family to learning and prayer—with the recognition that Hashem accompanies us everywhere.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks' Powerful Response

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks once addressed a group of university students. During the discussion, one student asked him a remarkably direct question: "Rabbi Sacks, do you really believe in God?" Given Rabbi Sacks' stature as a philosopher and intellectual, the students expected an equally philosophical answer. Instead, he paused and replied:

"To say that I believe in God is a gross understatement. I live every moment of my life in the presence of God."

Every decision. Every breath. Every step. The students were stunned. Rabbi Sacks was describing not merely belief, but the lived reality of Yirat Shamayim—a life lived with constant awareness of Hashem's Presence.

The Purpose of Every Mitzvah

The Rambam teaches that the ultimate purpose of the mitzvot is to bring a person to this elevated state of awareness. Likewise, the Rema begins the Shulchan Aruch with the famous instruction:

"Shiviti Hashem l'negdi tamid"—"I place Hashem before me always."

This is not reserved for moments in shul. It applies when we wake up, eat breakfast, conduct business, raise children, and interact with others. Every aspect of life becomes elevated when lived before Hashem.

Is It Really "Only" This?

Moshe introduces Yirat Shamayim with a surprising term: "Ki im"—"Only." The Gemara (Berachot 33b) asks: "Is Yirat Shamayim such a small thing?" Surely it is one of the greatest spiritual achievements imaginable. The Gemara answers: "For Moshe, it was a small matter."

At first glance, that seems obvious—but hardly helpful. Moshe is speaking to the Jewish people, not to himself. The Vilna Gaon offers a beautiful insight. Yirat Shamayim became "easy" because the Jewish people spent forty years living in the presence of Moshe Rabbeinu. When one lives near genuine greatness, greatness becomes attainable. The inspiration of a true tzaddik elevates everyone around him.

Many people have experienced this feeling in the presence of exceptional Torah giants. Simply watching how they learn, pray, speak, and interact with others changes one's own spiritual aspirations. Greatness is contagious.

Everything Is for Our Benefit

The verse continues by listing additional responsibilities: To walk in Hashem's ways. To love Him. To serve Him. To keep His commandments. Then the Torah concludes with two remarkable words: "L'tov lach"—"For your good." Hashem does not need our mitzvot. They are not for His benefit. They are entirely for us. Torah creates lives filled with meaning, morality, purpose, and stability. Every mitzvah refines us. Every act of holiness elevates us. Everything Hashem asks of us is ultimately an expression of His love.

Moshe's Final Blessing

As Moshe Rabbeinu nears the end of his life, he summarizes what truly matters. His message is both demanding and encouraging. Yirat Shamayim is not reserved for prophets or saints. It is attainable. Every Jew can cultivate a life lived in the awareness of Hashem's Presence. That awareness becomes the foundation upon which Torah, mitzvot, love of Hashem, and spiritual growth naturally flourish.

Perhaps this is the greatest blessing Moshe leaves us with in Parashat Eikev. If we strive to live every day with Hashem before us, then every mitzvah becomes richer, every challenge gains perspective, and every step brings us closer to the ultimate redemption. The Torah's greatest request is also its greatest gift: To live every moment in the presence of Hashem.

Blessing Even Before We Have Everything: Eikev 5786

This piece by Rabbi Kenigsberg was first published in the Hanassi Highlights, 30 July 2026. You can also read it in Hebrew, thanks to ChatGPT, here.

One of the most familiar verses in this week's parsha is the source of the Torah obligation to recite Birkat Hamazon:

"You shall eat, be satisfied, and bless the Lord your God" (Devarim 8:10).

Yet the Gemara (Berachot 20b) records a remarkable conversation between the ministering angels and Hashem about this very mitzvah. The angels ask how God can "show favour" to Israel, as promised in Birkat Kohanim, when the Torah itself declares that He "shows no favour and takes no bribe." Hashem's response is striking: "How can I not show favour to Israel? I commanded them, 'You shall eat, be satisfied, and bless,' yet they are meticulous to bless Me even after eating only a kezayit or a kebeitzah."

At first glance, this seems puzzling. There are countless examples of the Jewish people going beyond the strict letter of the law. Why single out this particular rabbinic extension of Birkat Hamazon as the reason for God's special favour? Perhaps the Gemara is pointing to something much deeper than a technical detail of halacha. Our parsha paints a breathtaking picture of Eretz Yisrael: a land of flowing water, abundant crops, olive trees and honey; a land "where you will lack nothing." The Torah envisions a people blessed with prosperity, who naturally respond with gratitude after enjoying God's bounty.

Jewish history, however, has often looked very different. There were long centuries when those promises seemed distant, when many Jews knew poverty, hunger and exile far more intimately than abundance. And yet the Jewish people continued to bless. Even when all they possessed was a kezayit rather than a satisfying meal, they still thanked Hashem.

Seen in this light, the Gemara is not merely discussing the minimum quantity that obligates Birkat Hamazon. It is describing the remarkable spiritual character of the Jewish people. We did not wait until every promise had been fulfilled before thanking Hashem. Even when all we possessed was a kezayit rather than a satisfying meal, we still recognised His kindness and continued to bless Him. That unwavering faith, says God, is what makes this relationship so unique.

Today, Baruch Hashem, we live in an age that earlier generations could scarcely have imagined. The flourishing of Eretz Yisrael, its abundance, its prosperity and its vitality, echo the very promises of our parashah in ways that were unimaginable for centuries. If our ancestors found the strength to recite Birkat Hamazon with gratitude when all they had was a kezayit or a kebeitzah, then surely we, who have been privileged to witness so much of God's blessing, have even greater reason to recognise His kindness. The challenge of Parashat Ekev is to train ourselves to see what earlier generations longed to see, and to respond with the same enduring faith—but with hearts filled with an even deeper sense of gratitude.

Shabbat Shalom!

A Look at Tu B'Av

A patient trawl through the Beit Knesset Hanassi archives reveals that we do not appear to have recorded and shared any information or divrei Torah on the topic of Tu b’Av. To remedy this, we offer you “A Look at Tu B'Av” by Rabbi Eliezer Melamed, author of the Peninei Halakha (we have the full set in our Beit Midrash and it’s available for anyone who wishes to peruse it).  

This piece (first published online here) addresses the choices faced by young people when contemplating marriage. Readers of this blog may wish to share it with children, grandchildren or even great-grandchldren who are currently in the process of choosing a partner for life.

Rabbi Melamed writes the following:

A Look at Tu B'Av

The enthusiasm which accompanies falling in love is actually meant to help a person take the monumental step of getting married. Such emotion, however, does not guarantee a happy marriage. Good traits and shared goals are much more important.

The Ancient Tu B'Av Custom

Israel never knew such wonderful holidays as Tu B'Av and Yom Kippur. On these days the daughters of Israel would go out and dance in the vineyards and offer themselves joyfully for the purpose of establishing Jewish families. And despite the fact that all individuals are different—some are rich and some are poor; some are more beautiful and some less; some are of noble birth and some are not—all the same, on these days, special effort was made to try and bridge the gap, at least as far as wealth was concerned. The young women would therefore go out wearing white borrowed outfits in order not to embarrass one who did not herself possess such a gown.

Most likely, the young men were already acquainted to some extent with the families of the girls in the area and had consulted their parents regarding an appropriate match. The final decision, however, would take place on these days. Perhaps these days were meant for those boys or girls who were not successful in finding a mate in the conventional way.

The Attractive and the Noble

The Talmud (Ta’anit 31a) informs us as to the manner in which these daughters of Israel would try to make themselves desirable: "The attractive ones would exclaim: Search out beauty, for this is the purpose of a wife; the ones of noble birth would say: Search out family, for family is the purpose of wife; the unattractive ones would say: choose your mate for the sake of Heaven, so long as you adorn her with gold."

That the attractive girls would draw attention to their beauty is understandable. Many boys choose their wives based upon beauty. Beauty presents itself as a kind of guarantee to a good and happy life, a life filled with vitality. Reality, though, does not confirm this. There is no indication whatsoever that men who married so-called attractive women ended up more content than those who married "less attractive" women. When beauty comes in addition to good character it can indeed add to life—but, often, it can be misleading.

Those of noble birth say just that: The main thing is character. A good family is one in which many of its members have been successful in obtaining a proper education and good livelihood. One can safely assume that a woman who comes from such a family will possess a pleasant and kind character, and agreeable educational habits. In addition, it is highly probable that the children resulting from such a matrimony will also possess such traits. We indeed find that the sages (Baba Batra 110a) advise examining the brothers of the prospective bride, for it often happens that the children turn out like the brothers of the bride. The sages also advise marrying the daughter of a Torah scholar (Pesachim 49a). This is the reason that the Mishna in Ta’anit 26b only quotes the girls from good families; in the eyes of the sages, their words were the most true.

 The Unattractive Ones

The most surprising of the three groups is the unattractive one: "Choose your mate for the sake of Heaven, so long as you adorn her with gold." A simple interpretation of these words tells us that these young women are appealing to the unattractive, untalented boys who would run after the attractive and distinguished girls only to be turned away. To these boys they would say: "If you keep running after the attractive and distinguished girls, you will remain single and frustrated forever. Be realistic and marry one of us who are ready to marry you. After all, the Torah commands you to marry—come, marry for the sake of fulfilling God's will." And because marriage must possess an element of affection they added: "So long as you adorn us with gold," for such behavior gives expression to your love for us.

But this is not all. There is a more profound way of understanding the words of the unattractive girls. Sometimes a person who has merited neither beauty nor desirable lineage, succeeds, by virtue of exceptional faith in God, to perfect his or her character traits and attain great personal achievement. The level such a person reaches is even higher than that of the attractive and distinguished. A shared life with such a person is sure to be full of beauty and happiness. This is what they meant: "Choose your mate for the sake of Heaven and by so doing we will ascend together and surpass the level of all the attractive and distinguished couples—and our children will be distinguished by virtue of us." And they added, "So long as you adorn us with gold." This last statement can be understood best in light of the words of R' Yishmael (Nedarim 9:10): "The daughters of Israel are all beautiful, only that poverty makes them unbecoming." If you decorate us with gold you will uncover our true unique beauty. And so, though in practice the most desired girls are the generally the attractive ones, and they are followed by the distinguished ones, in truth the distinguished are preferable to attractive and, sometimes, the unattractive are the most desirable of all.

 Sound Advice for Singles

Here, then, is a bit of advice for single men: Often, girls who are actually quite pretty appear to be unattractive. This, though, is simply the result of the man's level of maturity. God created humans such that they enter the world as babies and grow and develop until old age. Each stage in life has its own purpose. At the age of twenty, the desire to marry is very strong: "Twenty is the age for chasing" (Avot 5:18). At that stage in life the heart is full of enthusiasm and courage. The boy sees all that is good in his prospective match and is ready to leap happily into married life. This period is followed by a more restrained stage, the purpose of which is to build and prepare the next layer of life. When an older single man anticipates to be swept up by youthful enthusiasm when dating, he is usually disappointed. Yet, instead of attributing this to his age, he finds fault in the girl. He might admit that she is pleasant and bright, but—he disappointedly explains to his close friends—she is not attractive and exciting enough. Such bachelors must be informed: If the girl is pleasant and smart in your eyes, and you enjoy being together with her, and the only problem is that the excitement element is lacking, "Choose your mate for the sake of Heaven." And do not worry, for, if you invest energy in your relationship and "decorate her with gold," you can be sure that you will be blessed with true love. The enthusiasm which accompanies falling in love is actually meant to help a person take the monumental step of entering into the covenant of marriage. Such emotion, however, does not guarantee a happy marriage. Good traits and shared goals are much more important. True, ripe, deep love which reaches the inner layers of the soul is dependent upon these ingredients.

 The Unique Power of Tu B'Av

The author of the work Bnei Yissachar explains that Tu B'Av is a day of deep-rooted significance because it falls forty days before the date of the world's creation. The sixth day of creation was Rosh HaShanah. On that day God formed man. Six days prior to this is the Twenty-fifth of Elul, and forty days prior to this is Tu B'Av (the Fifteenth of Av). The sages tell us, "Forty days before the formation of the infant an announcement is made in heaven: "The daughter of so-and-so is matched up with so-and-so." Tu B'Av, too, because it falls forty days before the formation of the world, is a day of fatal importance with a unique capacity to initiate life—especially for a bride and groom who wish to establish a family.

How Moshe Rabbeinu Teaches Us to Pray

Every Jew prays. Three times a day we stand before the Ribono Shel Olam, open our siddurim, and pour out our hearts. Yet one fundamental question deserves our attention: What is the proper mindset when we stand before Hashem? Parshat Va'etchanan answers that question—not through abstract theory, but through the personal example of Moshe Rabbeinu. At the end of his life, the Torah allows us to witness one of the most moving prayers ever offered. Through Moshe's tefillah, we discover what authentic prayer is meant to be. Our member Rabbi Paul Bloom explains.

The Prayer That Was Never Granted

Moshe Rabbeinu was 120 years old. He had led the Jewish people out of Egypt, stood at Har Sinai, taught the Torah, and guided the nation through forty years in the wilderness. Yet there remained one dream he longed to fulfill. He desperately wanted to enter Eretz Yisrael.

Again and again he pleaded with Hashem to allow him to cross the Jordan and experience the holiness of the Promised Land. The Midrash teaches that he prayed 515 times, exhausting every avenue of supplication. Yet the answer remained the same: No.

At first glance, this seems puzzling. If Moshe's request would ultimately be denied, why does the Torah devote so much attention to his prayer? The answer is profound. The Torah is teaching us that the value of prayer is not measured solely by whether the answer is yes.

Sometimes "No" Is Also an Answer

Hashem tells Moshe that he may not enter the Land "because of you." The Netziv explains that this does not mean Moshe was being punished. Rather, it means that the Divine plan required a different leader for the next chapter of Jewish history. Moshe was the perfect leader to bring the Jewish people out of Egypt and receive the Torah. Yehoshua was the leader needed to bring them into the Land of Israel.

The refusal had nothing to do with Moshe's worthiness. It reflected a larger Divine plan that extended beyond one individual's deepest desire. How often do we experience the same struggle? We pray sincerely for healing, livelihood, success, or guidance, yet the answer is not what we hoped for. Parshat Va'etchanan reminds us that an unanswered prayer is not necessarily a rejected prayer. Sometimes Hashem sees a larger picture that we cannot yet understand.

Prayer Is Never Based on Merit

The Torah's choice of language is equally instructive. Moshe begins his prayer with the word "Va'etchanan"—"I pleaded." Rashi explains that this word teaches a fundamental principle of Jewish prayer. One never approaches Hashem saying, "Please answer me because I deserve it."

If anyone could have claimed merit, it was Moshe Rabbeinu. After all, he split the Sea, ascended Har Sinai, taught the Torah, and devoted his entire life to serving the Jewish people. Yet even Moshe asks only for a gift of Divine kindness. This is precisely how our daily prayers begin. We appeal not to our accomplishments, but to Hashem's boundless mercy. Everything we receive is ultimately an expression of His kindness rather than something we have earned.

The Power of Holy Longing

One detail in the narrative seems almost painful. Hashem tells Moshe:

"Go up to the mountaintop and look at the Land."

Imagine telling someone who has dreamed all his life of entering a beautiful home that he may look—but never enter. Why would Hashem do this? Because the longing itself possessed enormous spiritual value.

Moshe's overwhelming desire to enter Eretz Yisrael was itself an expression of love for the Land and for the mitzvot that can only be fulfilled there. The Gemara explains that Moshe did not seek the Land for personal comfort or prestige. He yearned to fulfill the unique mitzvot dependent upon the Land of Israel—mitzvot connected to its agriculture, its holiness, and the Beit HaMikdash. Even though he could not realize that dream physically, the depth of his yearning became an eternal lesson for the Jewish people. Sometimes, spiritual greatness is found not only in achieving a goal but in yearning for it with all one's heart.

The Meaning of 515

Chazal note that the numerical value (gematria) of Va'etchanan is 515, corresponding to the number of prayers Moshe offered. Interestingly, the same numerical value equals the word "tefillah" (prayer). The message is striking. Moshe's prayers were not failures because they did not produce the desired outcome. They became the very definition of prayer itself. True tefillah is not measured only by results. It is measured by sincerity, humility, faith, and the willingness to place our deepest desires before Hashem while accepting His ultimate wisdom.

The Second Half of Prayer

Parshat Va'etchanan teaches another essential dimension of Jewish worship. Not every part of our daily service is a request. Immediately after Moshe's prayers, the Torah presents the Shema. Unlike the Amidah, the Shema contains no petitions. We ask for nothing.Instead, we fulfill the mitzvah of Kabbalat Ol Malchut Shamayim—accepting the Kingship of Heaven. It is, in effect, Judaism's daily pledge of allegiance.Just as citizens pledge loyalty to their nation, every Jew begins and ends the day by declaring unwavering loyalty to Hashem. When we proclaim:

"Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad,"

we reaffirm our identity, our covenant, and our mission.

A Conversation Across Generations

The Gemara adds another beautiful insight. When Yaakov Avinu lay on his deathbed, he wondered whether all twelve of his children would remain faithful to the covenant. His sons answered him with the words "Shema Yisrael." In that context, "Yisrael" refers to their father, Yaakov. Every time we recite the Shema, we are joining that timeless conversation. We declare to our ancestors that their faith lives on within us. We stand as another link in the unbroken chain of Jewish history, pledging our loyalty to Hashem and to Klal Yisrael.

A Message for Our Generation

The transcript concludes with a moving contemporary reflection. In the aftermath of October 7, many Israelis who previously viewed Jewish identity primarily through cultural or political lenses began to rediscover the spiritual foundations of the Jewish people. One secular Israeli intellectual expressed it poignantly:

"The only answer to 'Allahu Akbar' is 'Shema Yisrael.'"

Regardless of one's perspective, the point is deeply meaningful. In moments of uncertainty and crisis, Jews instinctively return to the words that have sustained us for thousands of years. The Shema is more than a prayer. It is our declaration of faith. It is our statement of identity. It is our pledge of allegiance to the Ribono Shel Olam.

Two Pillars of Jewish Prayer

Parshat Va'etchanan teaches that authentic Jewish prayer rests upon two inseparable foundations. First, like Moshe Rabbeinu, we bring our hopes, fears, and needs before Hashem with humility, recognizing that every blessing is a gift of Divine kindness. Second, before asking for anything, we reaffirm our covenant through the Shema, declaring that we belong to Hashem, to His Torah, and to Klal Yisrael.

These two elements—petition and commitment—form the heartbeat of Jewish prayer.May we learn from Moshe Rabbeinu to pray with humility, to accept Hashem's wisdom even when His answers differ from our requests, and to renew each day our eternal declaration:

"Shema Yisrael, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad."

Never to Pray Alone: Va'etchanan 5786

This piece by Rabbi Kenigsberg was first published in the Hanassi Highlights, Wednesday 22 Jiuly. You can read it in Hebrew, thanks to ChatGPT, here.

The opening of Parshat Va'etchanan is one of the Torah’s most poignant moments. After forty years of leading the Jewish people through the wilderness, Moshe Rabbeinu asks for just one thing: the privilege of entering Eretz Yisrael.

Chazal famously note that the numerical value of the word Va'etchanan is 515, teaching that Moshe prayed no fewer than 515 times to be allowed into the Land. Few images capture the power of perseverance in prayer more vividly than this. Moshe refuses to give up, pouring out his heart again and again, even as the answer seems increasingly out of reach.

Yet only a few verses later we encounter a puzzling statement. Addressing the people, Moshe says: "Hashem became angry with me because of you, and He did not listen to me."

The words seem difficult. The Torah itself makes clear that Moshe Rabbeinu's inability to enter the Land was connected to the events at Mei Merivah. How, then, can he say that Hashem refused his prayer "because of you"?

Some explain that Moshe is referring not to punishment but to leadership. He was the leader uniquely suited to guiding Israel through the wilderness; the next generation required a different kind of leader. "Because of you" means that, for the sake of the people, history demanded that Yehoshua lead them into the Land.

Rav Soloveitchik, however, hears something even deeper in these verses.

Notice the opening word: Va'etchanan - I pleaded. It is singular. It is the prayer of one person standing alone.

Throughout his life, Moshe Rabbeinu never prayed only for himself. After the sin of the Golden Calf, after the episode of the spies, and on countless other occasions, he stood before Hashem on behalf of the Jewish people. Their suffering became his suffering; their fate became his concern.

This time was different.

According to the Midrash, had the people joined Moshe in prayer, the decree might have been overturned. The sin at Mei Merivah was indeed his own. But the loneliness of Va'etchanan - the fact that he carried this burden without the prayers of those for whom he had prayed so often --- belonged to the people.

Perhaps this is one of the enduring lessons of communal life.

A shul is not merely a place where people happen to pray in the same room. It is a place where a community gathers to carry one another's hopes, worries and burdens before Hashem. We rejoice together, we mourn together, and we pray not only for ourselves but for all those around us too.

Shabbat Nachamu, the first Shabbat after Tisha b'Av, marks the beginning of comfort and rebuilding. Perhaps that rebuilding begins not only with grand visions of redemption but with simple acts of responsibility for one another. The journey from the loneliness of Churban to the consolation of Nechamah is paved by communities that notice one another, care for one another, and pray for one another.

May we take to heart the lesson of Va'etchanan: that no Jew should ever have to stand before Hashem alone. May our tefillot, offered together and for one another, bring comfort, healing and redemption to all of Am Yisrael.

Shabbat Shalom!

Preparing for the Greatest Challenge of All—Success

As we begin Sefer Devarim, the Torah opens with a seemingly simple phrase:

"These are the words that Moshe spoke to all Israel..." (Devarim 1:1)

Chazal teach that these words mark far more than the beginning of another book. They represent an entirely new stage in Jewish history. For forty years, Moshe Rabbeinu had guided a nation through the wilderness. They experienced miracles every day—the manna from Heaven, the Clouds of Glory, water from Miriam's well, and Divine protection at every step. Now everything was about to change. What was this change and how fundamentally does it affect us? Our member Rabbi Paul Bloom explains.

The Jewish people were preparing to enter Eretz Yisrael. They would no longer live sustained by open miracles. They would plow fields, build homes, establish courts, raise families, defend borders, and create a society rooted in Torah. Moshe understood that this new generation faced challenges unlike any before them. Therefore, he repeated the Torah—but from an entirely different perspective.

The Torah Never Changes—Its Application Does

Many mitzvot taught during the forty years in the desert could only be understood in theory. Agricultural laws. Property ownership. The mitzvot dependent upon the Land of Israel.For an entire generation, these concepts were academic. No one owned land. No one harvested crops. No one dealt with the complexities of building a Jewish society.

Now theory was about to become reality. Moshe's final thirty-six days became a master class in applying eternal Torah to an entirely new environment. Every generation faces this challenge. The Torah itself never changes. Yet each generation must understand how timeless principles apply to new realities. Rabbi Moshe Feinstein confronted electricity, organ transplants, modern medicine, and air travel. Today's posekim grapple with artificial intelligence, genetic engineering, and digital communication.

The questions change. The Torah does not.

The Mystery of "Di Zahav"

The opening verses of Devarim mention several locations unfamiliar to us. Chazal explain that many of these are not geographical places at all, but subtle references to events in Israel's history. One of the most intriguing is "Di Zahav"—literally, "abundance of gold." There is no known location by that name. The Gemara (Berachot 32a) explains that Moshe was referring to the sin of the Golden Calf. But surprisingly, Moshe was not merely rebuking the Jewish people. He was defending them. Moshe argued before Hashem that the extraordinary wealth given to the Jewish people when they left Egypt contributed to their failure. They possessed enormous riches before they had developed the spiritual maturity to handle them. Their sin remained their responsibility—but the circumstances mattered.

Like a loving advocate, Moshe asked Hashem to judge them with mercy. This remarkable perspective teaches an important lesson: while we are always accountable for our choices, Judaism also recognizes that environment and circumstance influence human behavior.

The Greatest Spiritual Danger

Most people assume Judaism's greatest challenge is persecution. History teaches otherwise. Yes, countless Jews suffered under oppression, expulsions, and inquisitions. But even more Jews were lost through comfort, prosperity, and assimilation.

Moshe understood this long before anyone else. Throughout Sefer Devarim, one warning appears repeatedly: "You will build beautiful houses... your silver and gold will increase... your wealth will multiply... and your heart will become haughty, and you will forget Hashem." (See Devarim Chapter 8.)

The greatest danger was never poverty. It was success without gratitude. Freedom without purpose. Prosperity without spiritual discipline. Di Zahav is not merely a reference to the Golden Calf. It is the central theme of Sefer Devarim.

The Challenge of Our Generation

Never before in Jewish history have so many Jews lived with the freedom and prosperity enjoyed today. Particularly in North America, generations have been blessed with opportunities unimaginable to previous centuries. This is an extraordinary blessing.

Yet blessings also create tests. Comfort can dull urgency. Prosperity can weaken identity. Success can create the illusion that we no longer need Hashem. Moshe's words to the generation entering Israel are remarkably relevant to our own. The challenge is not simply to survive. It is to remain spiritually vibrant while living in a world of unprecedented abundance.

Why Eretz Yisrael Matters

The Book of Devarim is fundamentally a preparation for life in Eretz Yisrael. Almost every major theme revolves around building a Torah society in the Land. The mitzvot are no longer theoretical. They become a blueprint for national life. Living in Israel demands responsibility, gratitude, and constant awareness that our material success is a gift from Hashem. Perhaps that is why so many of the Torah's strongest warnings—and greatest promises—are found in Sefer Devarim.

The Eternal Guardians of Jerusalem

The Radak offers a beautiful insight on the verse describing the guardians of Jerusalem.

Who truly protected Jerusalem throughout the centuries? Not armies. Not walls. Not kings. The Jewish people themselves. Every day, for nearly two thousand years, Jews prayed for Jerusalem. Three times daily in the Amidah. After every meal in Birkat HaMazon. On Tisha B'Av.At weddings. At moments of greatest joy and deepest sorrow.

Generation after generation, Jews refused to forget Jerusalem. Those prayers sustained the dream. And because the dream never died, the Jewish people were able to return home.

Today, we witness something previous generations could only imagine. Jerusalem has been rebuilt. The Land of Israel flourishes. Millions of Jews have returned. The challenge before us is no longer merely to pray for Jerusalem. It is to strengthen it—physically, spiritually, and demographically. That may be the greatest message of Sefer Devarim.

The Torah prepares us not only to enter the Land but to build a society worthy of it. May we merit to use the blessings Hashem has given us—not as distractions from our mission, but as tools to fulfill it—and may we continue to strengthen Jerusalem and the Land of Israel for generations to come.

From Caution to Panic: The Lesson of the Spies (Devarim 5786)

This piece by Rabbi Kenigsberg was first published in Hanassi Highlights, Thursday 16 July 2026. Thanks to AI, you can also read it in Hebrew (click here).

Parshat Devarim retells many of the events recorded earlier in the Torah, yet often with subtle differences. Those differences are not accidental. They invite us to look more deeply and uncover a new dimension of the story.

One striking example is the episode of the spies. In Parshat Shelach, the emphasis falls squarely on the spies themselves and the disastrous report they bring back from the Land of Israel. The narrative already hints that something has gone wrong. Rashi explains that when God says "Shelach lecha" -- "Send for yourself" -- it is not a command but a concession. Moshe Rabbeinu even changes Yehoshua’s name, praying that he be saved from the counsel of the spies.

Yet when Moshe recounts the same events in Parshat Devarim, the focus shifts. He recalls that the people approached him with the request to send spies, and he concludes, "Vayitav be'einai hadavar" ("The matter seemed good in my eyes).

How can these two accounts be reconciled? Rav Yaakov Kamenetsky points to a single word in Rashi that changes the entire perspective. Describing the people's approach to Moshe, Rashi explains that they came be'irbuvya—in confusion and disorder. The young pushed past the old, the old pushed past the tribal leaders. There was no calm discussion, only urgency and panic.

The rebuke, Rav Kamenetsky explains, is not directed merely at the decision to send spies. Sending a reconnaissance mission before entering the Land could have been entirely reasonable. The problem was the atmosphere in which the request was made. Their panic revealed something deeper. They had lost perspective. They forgot where they stood, what God had already done for them, and what He had promised for the future. Their practical efforts no longer flowed from faith; they flowed from fear.

That distinction remains as relevant today as it was then. The Torah encourages responsibility, planning and prudent action. We make thoughtful decisions and prepare for the future. But there is a profound difference between taking sensible precautions and allowing fear to shape our outlook. The former is an expression of wisdom; the latter can gradually erode our sense of purpose and trust.

As we stand on the threshold of Tisha b'Av, we naturally reflect on the great national failures that brought about the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash. Yet the Torah reminds us that, long before the tragedy itself, there was a subtler failure: a nation that momentarily lost confidence in the path God had set before it. The spies were not the beginning of the story. They were the consequence of a people who had already begun to see the future through the lens of fear rather than faith.

Tisha b'Av calls upon us to mourn what was lost,  and also to remember the covenant that was never broken. Even in times of uncertainty, the Jewish people continue to walk forward sustained not only by careful planning but by the enduring confidence that the God who has guided our history in the past continues to guide it still.

Shabbat Shalom!

Job: A New Translation (Book of the Month, Menachem Av 5786)

The solemnity of Tisha b’Av is compounded for many people by the severe restrictions that our Sages have placed on what we can read or learn on that solemn, tragic date. One work that is however permitted is the Book of Job on account of its sad and troubling content and the relevance the questions it poses to the life we lead today. For this reason we have chosen as our Book of the Month for Menachem Av Job: A New Translation, by our member Professor Edward Greenstein.

This work is actually a lot more than a translation, as Ed explains in his lengthy (21 page) Introduction. Essentially, when seeking to extract meaning from the Book of Job we are faced with a text that was written for readers who are separated from us by millennia. These readers not only spoke a different language; their social, cultural and spiritual reference points were different too. Interwoven within the text there are words with resonate with others, puns, allusions and metaphors which we are not in a position to appreciate on a superficial basis. Comprehension of this difficult work also requires a passing familiarity with Aramaic and other Semitic languages, in much the same way as a work written today in English might expect the reader to be familiar with some words in French, Latin tags, Greek and Roman mythology and so on.

Ever since the time of Onkelos it has been accepted, sometimes happily and sometimes with reluctance, that there is no such thing as a translation that is not also a commentary. That this work too is more than a mere word-for-word rendition of the original is affirmed by the online blurb for Job: A New Translation, which describes the book thus:

The book of Job has often been called the greatest poem ever written. The book, in Edward Greenstein’s characterization, is “a Wunderkind, a genius emerging out of the confluence of two literary streams” which “dazzles like Shakespeare with unrivaled vocabulary and a penchant for linguistic innovation.” Despite the text’s literary prestige and cultural prominence, no English translation has come close to conveying the proper sense of the original. The book has consequently been misunderstood in innumerable details and in its main themes.

Edward Greenstein’s new translation of Job is the culmination of decades of intensive research and painstaking philological and literary analysis, offering a major reinterpretation of this canonical text. Through his beautifully rendered translation and insightful introduction and commentary, Greenstein presents a new perspective: Job, he shows, was defiant of God until the end. The book is more about speaking truth to power than the problem of unjust suffering.

Ed’s translation has a refreshingly modern feel to it, but meaning is not sacrificed on the altar of modernity. It is also sustained by a regular flow of footnotes that point the reader to, among other things. allusions to other canonical texts that are found in the original Hebrew but which would be concealed from an English reader.

So, to conclude: if you struggle with the “these” and “thous” of older, more formal English translations and are daunted by the sheer bulk of the heavily annotated ArtScroll, which where the commentary is in danger of getting in the way of the narrative, this book could be your ideal solution.

Every Journey Has a Purpose

One of the more puzzling passages in the Torah appears near the end of Sefer Bemidbar. In Parashat Masei, the Torah meticulously lists each of the forty-two places where Bnei Yisrael encamped during their forty years in the wilderness. Our member Rabbi Paul Bloom asks why this should be necessary.

At first glance, this lengthy list seems unnecessary. Why devote an entire chapter to names of places that no longer exist, many of which are never mentioned again anywhere in Tanach? These were not cities with permanent populations or historical landmarks. They were temporary encampments in a barren desert. Why preserve their names for eternity?

Rashi himself raises this question at the opening of the parashah. If we already know that the Jewish people wandered in the wilderness for forty years, what is gained by recording every stop along the way?

Our commentators offer several remarkable answers, each revealing a different dimension of the Jewish journey.

Remembering Hashem's Kindness

Rashi explains that the list is intended to highlight Hashem's compassion. One might imagine that the Jewish people wandered endlessly through the desert like nomads, constantly uprooting themselves. In reality, that was not the case. Of the forty-two encampments, fourteen occurred during the first year after leaving Egypt and eight during the final year before entering Eretz Yisrael. During the intervening thirty-eight years there were only twenty journeys. The nation often remained in one location for extended periods, allowing families to establish stability while learning Torah from Moshe Rabbeinu. Rather than emphasizing hardship, the Torah reminds us how Hashem cared for His people throughout the wilderness.

Celebrating the Faith of Klal Yisrael

The Netziv offers another perspective. The list of encampments demonstrates the extraordinary faith of the Jewish people. They willingly followed Hashem through an unknown wilderness with no maps, no permanent settlements, and no visible destination. Every time the Cloud lifted, they packed their belongings and journeyed onward. Their greatness was not merely that they reached the Land of Israel, but that they trusted Hashem every step of the way. The relationship between Hashem and Klal Yisrael has always been built upon this mutual bond of love and trust. The wilderness became the classroom in which that relationship matured.

A Testimony to Miracles

The Ramban cites the Rambam, who explains that recording the locations also serves as historical testimony . Future generations might question whether an entire nation could truly survive for forty years in one of the harshest environments on earth. By carefully documenting every encampment, the Torah anchors the miracle in real geography and history.

Yet the Ramban concludes that there remains a deeper mystery. Ultimately, the precise reason these names appear in the Torah belongs to the hidden wisdom of Hashem. Not every aspect of Torah can be fully explained through human logic alone.

Leaving Egypt Behind

The Malbim notices an important phrase in the opening verse:

"These are the journeys of Bnei Yisrael who left Egypt..."

Why does the Torah emphasize where they came from rather than where they were going? His answer is profound.  The forty-two journeys were not simply about traveling to Eretz Yisrael. They were about removing Egypt from within the Jewish people. Physical redemption occurred in a single night., but spiritual redemption required forty years. A generation raised in slavery had to become a generation capable of living by Torah in the Land of Israel. Each stop represented another stage of purification—shedding the mentality of bondage and replacing it with faith, responsibility, and national purpose. The destination mattered, but so did the transformation.

The Story of Jewish History

The Abarbanel broadens the discussion even further. Having personally experienced the Expulsion from Spain in 1492, he saw the forty-two journeys as a model for all of Jewish history. Generation after generation, Jews have been forced to move—from Spain to Portugal, from England to France, from Eastern Europe to America, from Iraq, Morocco, Algeria, and countless other lands. Every exile became another station on the national journey toward redemption.

The prophet Yechezkel describes this process in powerful language. In Chapter 20, Hashem speaks of leading the Jewish people through "the wilderness of the nations," where they would be refined before returning home. The wilderness did not end with Moshe Rabbeinu. In many ways, Jewish history itself became an extended wilderness journey. Every exile prepared us for the next stage of redemption. Today, as millions of Jews have returned to Eretz Yisrael after nearly two thousand years, we are witnessing another major encampment on that long journey—a stage that our ancestors could scarcely have imagined.

Our Personal Forty-Two Journeys

The Baal Shem Tov brings this idea into every individual's life. He teaches that every Jew experiences his or her own "forty-two journeys." Life is filled with stages. Some are joyful; others are painful. Some feel like Marah, where everything seems bitter. Others resemble Eilim, where twelve springs of fresh water suddenly appear and hope returns. Every experience teaches us something new. Every challenge develops another spiritual strength. Even the difficult stations become necessary parts of our growth.None of the journeys are wasted.

Every Stop Brings Us Closer Home

Parashat Masei reminds us that Hashem never wastes a journey. Every encampment had a purpose. Every move prepared the Jewish people for the next stage. The same is true for Jewish history. The same is true for each of our lives. And perhaps it is also true for our generation. After centuries of wandering through the wilderness of exile, the Jewish people have once again returned to Eretz Yisrael. The journey is not yet complete, but every step brings us closer to the fulfillment of Hashem's promises.

The forty-two journeys were never merely about traveling through the desert. They were about becoming the people destined to come home.

From I to We: Mattot-Masei 5786

This piece was first published in Hanassi Highlights, 9 July 2026. Thanks to ChatGPT you can also read it in Hebrew if you click here.

As Sefer Bemidbar draws to a close, the Torah discusses the laws of the Arei Miklat—the cities of refuge. A person who causes a death unintentionally must flee to one of these cities, where he remains protected from the go'el ha-dam, the bereaved relative seeking justice. Yet the Torah adds an unexpected condition: he may not return home until the death of the Kohen Gadol. The connection is puzzling. What does the passing of the Kohen Gadol have to do with an accidental killing?

The Gemara (Makkot 11a) offers one explanation: the Kohen Gadol should have prayed more fervently that such tragedies would never occur during his lifetime. As the spiritual leader of the nation, he bore responsibility not only for the Temple service but for the welfare of the people as a whole.

The Rambam, however, takes an entirely different approach. In the Moreh Nevuchim, he explains that the killer remains in exile simply because, with the passage of time, the anger of the victim's family subsides. The death of the Kohen Gadol marks the moment when the accidental killer may safely return. But this raises an obvious question. What if the Kohen Gadol dies only days after the tragedy? Surely grief does not disappear so quickly.

Perhaps the answer lies not in the amount of time that has passed, but in the significance of the event itself. The death of the Kohen Gadol is not merely a personal loss; it is a national tragedy. The entire nation mourns together. In that moment, the bereaved family discovers that it is no longer carrying its pain alone. Their personal grief is not erased, but it is placed within the larger story of Klal Yisrael.

The Kohen Gadol embodied precisely this perspective. On Yom Kippur, as he entered the Kodesh HaKodashim on behalf of the entire nation, one of his prayers was that Hashem should not accept the prayers of travellers asking for the rain to stop. Their request was understandable, but the needs of the nation came first. The role of the Kohen Gadol was always to elevate the perspective from the individual to the collective.

As we enter the month of Av, this message feels especially timely. At the root of the Churban stood sinat chinam—a failure to see ourselves first and foremost as members of one people.

Over these past years, we have witnessed remarkable examples of the opposite. Bereaved families, despite unimaginable personal loss, have repeatedly spoken not only of their own pain but of the strength, unity, and future of Am Yisrael. They have reminded us that while grief is deeply personal, it can also become a source of national resilience.

Perhaps that is one of the enduring lessons of these days. Healing begins when we move from "I" to "we." As individuals we carry our own joys and sorrows, but as members of Klal Yisrael we carry one another as well. That shared sense of responsibility is not only what sustained our people throughout history; it is also what will enable us, with Hashem's help, to rebuild once again.

Shabbat Shalom!

Seeing is believing

 Here's a piece on Pirkei Avot by our member Jeremy Phillips on a thought that was sparked off by the current FIFA World Cup soccer tournament hosted this year on the far side of the Atlantic.

“Seeing is believing” is a mantra that has been repeated so often that many people, myself included, often forget to think about what it means. But recently I was jolted out of my intellectual somnolence on this point by a small and (in the great course of things) trivial occurrence.

One of my grandkids, aged 6, was watching a sports program that featured highlights of soccer games from the FIFA World Cup. The program showed some of the goals—not just once but a second time as action replays. This juvenile spectator, seeking to make sense of what he viewed, believed that each of what we know to be action replays was in reality an additional goal, though identical to the goal that preceded it.

At first I thought this was an amusing mistake based on an inadequate perception of what the child had seen. On further reflection I concluded that this inference—though fallacious—was not in itself illogical. After all, if we watch traffic lights go several times through their sequence of changes, we recognize that the second and subsequent changes are not “action replays” but separate, if identical, events. From this it seems that the value we derive from what we see with our eyes depends not only on what we see but what we know or infer when we see it.

This led me to ask: what does Pirkei Avot have to say about how we should see things? I was surprised by what I found.

My first port of call was the all-embracing baraita at Avot 6:6, which lists the 48 things that facilitate the acquisition of Torah. This baraita has something to say about what one hears, says, feels, understands and even thinks—but is silent concerning what one sees. Working my way back into the five chapters of mishnah, I gradually realized that sight, despite its significance in our daily lives, was a subject from which Avot appears to consciously distance itself.

While sight is a regular human faculty for which most of us are grateful, we are warned how dangerous it can be for us to use it. Thus at Avot 3:9 Rabbi Yaakov cautions that someone who breaks off from his learning to admire a beautiful tree or field is regarded as having forfeited his soul. Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar adds (Avot 4:23) that we should not seek to look at a person at the time of his degradation. Indeed, even when we do look at something, we should not accept the evidence of our eyes at face value: Rabbi Meir says as much in Avot 4:27 when he teaches:

אַל תִּסְתַּכֵּל בְּקַנְקַן, אֶלָּא בְּמַה שֶּׁיֶּשׁ בּוֹ, יֵשׁ קַנְקַן חָדָשׁ מָלֵא יָשָׁן, וְיָשָׁן שֶׁאֲפִילוּ חָדָשׁ אֵין בּוֹ

Don’t look at the vessel, but at what it contains. There are new vessels that are filled with old wine, and old vessels that don’t even contain new wine.

These negative teachings with regard to human sight stand in sharp contrast to Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi’s mishnah at Avot 2:1, when he references a higher form of vision:

הִסְתַּכֵּל בִּשְׁלֹשָׁה דְבָרִים, וְאֵין אַתָּה בָא לִידֵי עֲבֵרָה, דַּע מַה לְּמַֽעְלָה מִמָּךְ, עַֽיִן רוֹאָה וְאֹֽזֶן שׁוֹמַֽעַת, וְכָל מַעֲשֶֽׂיךָ בְּסֵֽפֶר נִכְתָּבִים

Contemplate three things, and you will not come to the grip of transgression. Know what is above you: a seeing eye, a listening ear, and all your deeds being inscribed in a book.

The message here is unambiguous. We cannot see this “seeing eye”. It is a quality possessed by God alone. This is the ability to perceive that lies above us and which lies normally well beyond our reach. It is metaphorically speaking, the eye of God and it is only this eye that truly comprehends what it views. When someone has this gift, having been touched by Ru’ach haKodesh (a spirit of holiness), we have a special word for that person. He is a ro’eh—literally a “seer”.

There is an allusion to the seer in Avot itself. Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel, when asked at Avot 2:13 to identify the ideal path to which a person should cling, answers הָרוֹאֶה אֶת הַנּוֹלָד (haro’eh et hanolad, “one who sees the outcome of that which has yet to emerge”). In other words, he is one who sees, or foresees, that which is not yet visible—something that falls within the capabilities of the seer.

Is seeing then to be relegated to playing a relatively insignificant role in our lives as practising Jews and in our relationships with God and man? Yes, according to Rabbi Dr Jonathan Sacks who has repeatedly and consistently argued that Judaism is fundamentally a religion of sound over sight. While the Greeks and other ancient civilizations viewed seeing as a form of knowledge, Judaism takes the contrary view. God cannot be seen, only heard, which is why the Shema, a declaration of faith based on listening, not seeing, provides us with the supreme means of linking us to God and to our fellows.

Bee in the Bathroom

We all feel anger from time to time and our sages have plenty to say on the subject. Here's a thought from our member Jeremy Phillips that was triggered by a recent event in his life.

A few days ago we had an uninvited visitor. A bee had found its way through our insect-proof netting and into our bathroom. If we were unhappy at this intrusion, the bee was even more so, emitting a harsh, unremitting buzz as it furiously circled the confines of its prison in search of a way out.  It took a day or so before the bee had calmed down, settled on a hand-towel in sullen silence and allowing me to trap it inside a drinking glass and ease it gently out of the window.

I do not know whether bees actually feel anger, though in human culture it is easy to label their frenetic buzz as a sign of anger. Indeed, “angry buzzing” is something of a literary cliché. What I do know is that this episode resonates with my understanding of Pirkei Avot.

While our sages, the foremost of whom is Rambam, are unanimous in condemning anger, and we learn that anger is even a form of avodah zarah (Shabbat 105b), the Tannaic authors of the mishnayot in Avot accept both that anger exists and that we feel it. This is why Rabbi Eliezer does not demand us never to be angry but instead urges us (at 2:15) אַל תְּהִי נֽוֹחַ לִכְעוֹס (“Don’t be easy to anger”). Going well beyond that, the anonymous author of Avot 5:17 teaches:

אַרְבַּע מִדּוֹת בְּדֵעוֹת: נֽוֹחַ לִכְעוֹס וְנֽוֹחַ לֵרָצוֹת, יָצָא הֶפְסֵדוֹ בִּשְׂכָרוֹ. קָשֶׁה לִכְעוֹס וְקָשֶׁה לֵרָצוֹת, יָצָא שְׂכָרוֹ בְּהֶפְסֵדוֹ. קָשֶׁה לִכְעוֹס וְנֽוֹחַ לֵרָצוֹת, חָסִיד. נֽוֹחַ לִכְעוֹס וְקָשֶׁה לֵרָצוֹת, רָשָׁע

There are four types of temperaments. One who is easily angered and easily appeased—his loss cancels out his reward. One whom it is difficult to anger and difficult to appease—his reward cancels out his loss. One whom it is difficult to anger and is easily calmed down is a chasid. One who is easily angered and is difficult to calm down is wicked.

This clearly acknowledges that even a chasid will feel anger. But he is not alone. Earlier in the fifth perek, at Avot 5:2-3, we learn that God too gets angry—and that He is able to restrain His anger for generation after generation.

All of this points to a principle that emerges from Rambam’s Moreh Nevuchim: we can’t stop having feelings, ideas and emotions entirely. If we could, we would no longer be functionally human. However, what we can do is to take control over them once we have them.

The bee coming into my bathroom and buzzing around in apparent rage and desperation is analogous to a powerful surge of anger that comes into one’s head. At this point we may not be amenable to rational thought. This is why Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar teaches (Avot 4:23)

אַל תְּרַצֶּה אֶת חֲבֵרֶֽךָ בְּשַֽׁעַת כַּעֲסוֹ

Do not appease your friend at the height of his anger.

But, once we have controlled our anger and composed ourselves, we can view things—including our own feelings and the circumstances that generated them—in a more reasonable manner.  To put it another way, once the bee calms down, its problem can be addressed with a happy outcome for bee—and me.