True Unity v Forced Conformity – Reflections on the Tower of Bavel

This piece by Rabbi Kenigsberg was first published in Hanassi Highlights, 23 October 2025 (parashat Noach)

The short story of the Tower of Bavel is among the most mysterious episodes in the opening chapters of the Torah. Our understanding of it is often shaped by Midrashic imagery we recall from childhood - a tower attempting to reach the heavens, divine anger, and the scattering of humanity. But when we look closely at the pesukim themselves, the story seems far less straightforward.

Humanity comes together, united in language and purpose, to build a city and a tower. Yet, God intervenes, confounding their speech and dispersing them across the earth. What exactly was their sin? Why was such collaboration deserving of punishment?

The Netziv, in his commentary Ha’amek Davar, offers a profound and timely interpretation. He sees in the Tower of Bavel not merely a failed architectural project, but the birth of the world’s first totalitarian society -- a regime of forced unity and suppression of difference. The Torah tells us, “And the whole earth was of one language and of singular words.” (Bereishit 11:1)

Rav Hirsch distinguishes between “one language” -- a shared means of communication -- and “singular words,” meaning a common understanding of ideas. The Netziv writes further that although such unity is ostensibly a positive factor, in fact the opposite is true. “Singular words” implies that their unity had become so absolute, to the extent that it allowed for no individuality, no dissent, and no freedom of expression. He writes:

“It was not because of the substance of their deeds that God was aroused, but rather because they were entirely of one mind... Although such unity may appear positive... nonetheless in this case it became dangerous for civilization.” (Ha’amek Davar, Bereishit 11:1)

In other words, the problem was not cooperation, but conformity. A society that demands everyone think and speak alike sadly leaves no room for creativity, for conscience, or for truth.

This warning feels strikingly relevant in our own times. We live in an age when on so many issues there is often only one “acceptable” voice. Disagreement is too easily dismissed, and honest debate too quickly silenced.

During the Yamim Noraim we prayed “Uv’chen ten… u’fitchon peh lameyachalim lach” - “Place... the confidence to speak[1] into all who long for You.” (Koren Translation).  We ask Hashem to give voice to the silenced and to help each of us speak with conviction, integrity, and faith. As we continue to strive, pray for and work towards achdut among Am Yisrael, let us remember that unity does not mean uniformity. True unity is not when we all think the same, but when we stand together -- different yet devoted, diverse yet united, and bound by a shared purpose and destiny.

Shabbat Shalom!

 Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg

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[1] Literally: An opening of the mouth.

From Resistance to Redemption

Here in this powerful piece of analysis, our member Rabbi Paul Bloom parallels the lives and challenges of Noach and Avraham with the middot ascribed to their generations in Pirkei Avot.

Noach: The Righteous Man in His Generations

נֹחַ אִישׁ צַדִּיק תָּמִים הָיָה בְּדֹרֹתָיו, אֶת הָאֱ-לֹהִים הִתְהַלֶּךְ נֹחַ

 “Noach was a righteous man, perfect in his generations; Noach walked with God”   (בראשית ו:ט)

Few figures in the Torah are explicitly described as ‘tzaddik’. The Torah’s introduction of Noach, however, includes a striking qualifier — בְּדֹרֹתָיו, “in his generations.”

Much ink has been spilled over this phrase. Rashi famously cites two views: some interpret it as praise — that, even amid corruption, Noach remained righteous; others, as limitation — that only “in his generations” was he righteous but, compared to Avraham, he would not have stood out.

Yet Midrash Rabbah offers a different and profound perspective. The phrase “in his generations” refers not to comparison, but to context — to the dark and morally decaying generations through which Noach lived and against which his righteousness shone.

שלוש הדורות המקולקלים – The Three Corrupt Generations

The Midrash (בראשית רבה ל:ז) teaches that Noach lived through three particularly depraved generations — each marked by a different form of spiritual collapse:

1.           דור אנוש – The Generation of Enosh

 This was the first generation to turn from faith (אמונה) to idolatry (עבודה זרה). As the Torah says,

 אָז הוּחַל לִקְרֹא בְּשֵׁם ה' (בראשית ד:כו) 

 which Chazal interpret as “then they began to profane the Name of Hashem.”  Humanity shifted from belief in the Creator to the worship of created forces, inaugurating the long history of paganism.

2.           דור המבול – The Generation of the Flood

 The Torah describes this generation as being consumed by desire and corruption:

 (כִּי מָלְאָה הָאָרֶץ חָמָס מִפְּנֵיהֶם (בראשית ו:יא

 Their society was driven by ta’avah — unrestrained self-gratification. They took whatever they wanted, without regard for others, leading to theft, immorality, and violence.

3.           דור הפלגה – The Generation of the Tower of Bavel

 These people were motivated by ga’avah — arrogance and hubris. Discovering how to make bricks,

 וַיֹּאמְרוּ הָבָה נִבְנֶה לָנוּ עִיר וּמִגְדָּל וְרֹאשׁוֹ בַשָּׁמַיִם (בראשית יא:ד)

 Their newfound technology bred the illusion of limitless human power. They sought to dominate nature and dethrone Heaven itself. Each generation embodied a different corruption of the human spirit — the idolater’s denial of God, the hedonist’s indulgence in pleasure, and the arrogant’s rebellion through pride.

קִנְאָה, תַּאֲוָה וְכָבוֹד – The Triple Threat

The Mishnah in Pirkei Avot (ד:כח) summarizes these corruptive tendencies in timeless psychological terms:

הַקִּנְאָה וְהַתַּאֲוָה וְהַכָּבוֹד מוֹצִיאִין אֶת הָאָדָם מִן הָעוֹלָם

 “Jealousy, desire, and the pursuit of honor drive a person from the world.”

Each of these drives, when unrestrained, destroys both the individual and society. Yet in moderation, they have a legitimate, even necessary, place in life. A measure of ta’avah is needed for sustenance and family; kavod inspires self-respect; kin’ah — in its positive form — motivates personal growth. But excess turns them toxic. Already in the earliest chapters of Bereishit, we see how they manifest:

●           Kayin, whose name derives from (קָנִיתִי אִישׁ (בראשית ד:א, embodied possessiveness and envy. His jealousy of Hevel led to murder.

●           The Generation of the Flood was destroyed by ta’avah, unbounded lust and greed.

●           The Builders of Bavel were consumed by kavod, imagining that human achievement could replace divine authority.

נֹחַ וְכֹחוֹ לַעֲמֹד בְּנִסָּיוֹן – Noach’s Resistance

The opening verse of Tehillim (א:א) beautifully mirrors these three eras:

אַשְׁרֵי הָאִישׁ אֲשֶׁר לֹא הָלַךְ בַּעֲצַת רְשָׁעִים, וּבְדֶרֶךְ חַטָּאִים לֹא עָמָד, וּבְמוֹשַׁב לֵצִים לֹא יָשָׁב

Chazal (מדרש רבה שם) interpret this verse as follows:

●           לא הלך בעצת רשעים — He did not follow the sinners of the Generation of Enosh.

●           ובדרך חטאים לא עמד — He did not stand with the Generation of the Flood.

●           ובמושב לצים לא ישב — He did not join the Generation of the Tower of Bavel.

Thus, Noach is “fortunate” because he resisted all three corrupt influences.  He walked with God when others mocked faith, indulged the flesh, or glorified human arrogance. As the Rambam writes in Hilchot De’ot (ו:א),

דֶּרֶךְ בְּרִיָּתוֹ שֶׁל אָדָם לִהִימָשֵׁךְ בְּדֵעוֹתָיו וּבְמַעֲשָׂיו אַחֲרֵי רֵעָיו וְאַחֲרֵי אַנְשֵׁי מְדִינָתוֹ

 “It is the nature of man to be influenced by his companions and environment.”

To remain righteous in a corrupt world is, therefore, no small feat.  This was Noach’s greatness — he resisted. But here too lies his limitation. Noach saved himself and his family, but not his generation. He built an ark, not a movement. His righteousness was defensive, not transformative.

אָבְרָהָם – הַשָּׁלָב הַבָּא בַּתִּקוּן – Avraham’s Advancement

With Avraham Avinu, the Torah’s story takes a new direction. Avraham not only resisted the surrounding idolatry; he challenged it. He “called out in the name of Hashem” —

וַיִּקְרָא בְּשֵׁם ה' 

Chazal teach that Avraham traveled from place to place, teaching humanity about the Creator, even at personal risk. His mission was to restore the world’s moral order. Where Noach withstood, Avraham inspired. The Mishnah in Pirkei Avot (ה:יט) contrasts the disciples of Avraham with those of Bil‘am:

כָּל שֶׁיֵּשׁ בּוֹ שָׁלוֹשׁ מִדּוֹת הַלָּלוּ – עַיִן טוֹבָה, רוּחַ נְמוּכָה, וְנֶפֶשׁ שְׁפֵלָה – מִתַּלְמִידָיו שֶׁל אַבְרָהָם אָבִינוּ

These three middot directly correspond to the rectification of the earlier corruptions:

●           עַיִן טוֹבָה — a “good eye,” rejoicing in others’ success, rectifies kin’ah (jealousy).

●           נֶפֶשׁ שְׁפֵלָה — modest desires, rectifies ta’avah (lust).

●           רוּחַ נְמוּכָה — humility, rectifies kavod (arrogance).

In Avraham, human nature itself is healed.  He transforms the destructive impulses that ruined the early world into traits of holiness.

מִנֹּחַ לְאַבְרָהָם – From Resistance to Redemption

The Torah’s record of human corruption is not a chronicle of despair, but a moral blueprint. It shows how far mankind can fall — and how far it can rise. Noach was righteous within his world; Avraham was righteous for his world.  Noach preserved; Avraham built.  Noach walked with God; Avraham walked before God (בראשית יז:א), taking initiative to bring others along. The spiritual history of humanity thus moves from survival to mission — from tzaddik bedorotav to av hamon goyim.

By learning these early parshiyot, we see the continuity of moral repair:

• ·       from the corruption of kin’ah, ta’avah, kavod, to their sanctified opposites of ayin tova, nefesh shefeilah, ruach nemuchah.
  
  
• ·       from resistance, to transformation, to redemption.

May we, the children of Avraham, continue his legacy —

• ·       to resist the moral floods of our time,
  
  
• ·       to build arks of Torah and faith,
  
  
• ·       and to call out, like Avraham, in the name of Hashem.

The Humanity of Jewish Law: Book of the Month, Mar Cheshvan 5786

Written 40 years ago, in 1985, The Humanity of Jewish Law is a fascinating and intriguing book. Its author, Meyer S. Lew, was better known in Anglo-Jewish circles as Dayan Lew, a scholar of Semitics, Theology and Jewish History and a powerful figure on the London Beth Din on which he served for quarter of a century.

So what is this book all about? According to its description on Amazon:

In an age of challenge to tradition, this work illuminates the essential humanity of halacha (Jewish law), which has guided the Jewish people through the ages. Drawing on classical talmudic, midrashic, and rabbinic sources, Dayan Lew ably demonstrates the religious, ethical, and spiritual motivations behind halachic decisions affecting all aspects of life and behavior, proving anew that the genius, spirit, and sensitivity that underlie the Jewish legal system advance the human condition and remain relevant for all times.

When this book was published, the Chief Rabbi was Immanuel Jakobovits and the 1980s were a tough time for Jewish orthodoxy in the United Kingdom. Judaism was being attacked from the inside as being antiquated, old-fashioned and insensitive to the needs of the modern era. Lord Jakobovitz lamented that the only good and accessible books on the Jewish religion that were written there were penned by non-Jewish scholars like R. Travers Herford. Against that, in the years before Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks emerged as an outstanding, cogent and productive author, the only outstanding book on Judaism from the domestic rabbinate was the brilliant but heretical We Have Reason to Believe by Louis Jacobs. Dayan Lew’s The Humanity of Jewish Law was the second title to answer the Chief Rabbi’s call for good and accessible English-language books by rabbis, following Rabbi Shlomo P. Toperoff’s Lev Avot.

The Humanity of Jewish Law is part of the Marvin N. Hirschhorn collection, housed in our Beith Midrash.

Before the Dawn: Prophecies and Signs of Redemption

Throughout Jewish history, our prophets have painted vivid pictures of the end of days — of exile and return, destruction and renewal, suffering and redemption. For generations, these prophecies were studied with awe and yearning. Today, as we witness dramatic changes in the Land of Israel and throughout the world, many wonder: Are we seeing the early light of their fulfillment? Rabbi Paul Bloom reflects on this long-asked question and offers an insightful approach to it.

This essay explores those timeless visions through the words of Tanach and Chazal, together with reflections on recent events that may echo their call. Our purpose is not prediction, but perspective — to view our moment in history through the lens of prophecy and faith.

Walking the Streets of Jerusalem

As I walk the streets of Yerushalayim during this deeply spiritual season — from Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur, culminating in Sukkot — I sense that we are living in extraordinary times. Never before has it been so clear that the words of our Nevi’im are unfolding before our very eyes. The vision of the prophets is not ancient poetry; it is a living reality, a call to awaken and prepare.

1. קִבּוּץ גָּלוּיוֹת —  Ingathering of the Exiles

One of the clearest signs of redemption foretold in the Tanach is the return of Am Yisrael to its land:

וְשָׁב ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ אֶת שְׁבוּתְךָ וְרִחֲמֶךָ, וְשָׁב וְקִבֶּצְךָ מִכָּל הָעַמִּים אֲשֶׁר הֱפִיצְךָ ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ שָׁמָּה

 “Then Hashem your God will bring back your captivity and have compassion upon you, and will return and gather you from all the nations where Hashem your God has scattered you.” (Devarim 30:3)

קִבַּצְתִּי אֶתְכֶם מִכָּל הָאֲרָצוֹת וְהֵבֵאתִי אֶתְכֶם אֶל אַדְמַתְכֶם

 “I will gather you from all the lands and bring you into your own land.”
 — Yechezkel (Ezekiel) 36:24

For nearly two millennia, Jews were scattered across the globe. Yet today, from every continent — North America, South Africa, France, Russia, Ethiopia, and beyond — the Jewish people are returning home. This is nothing less than the fulfillment of ancient prophecy. This prophecy can be found in at least 18 places in Tanach (See Appendix).

2. תְּחִיַּת הָאָרֶץ — The Land’s Rebirth

The prophets spoke not only of the people’s return, but of the land itself coming back to life:

וְאַתֶּם הָרֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל, עַנְפְּכֶם תִּתֵּנוּ וּפִרְיְכֶם תִּשְּׂאוּ, לְעַמִּי יִשְׂרָאֵל, כִּי קֵרְבוּ לָבוֹא

 “But you, O mountains of Israel, you shall give forth your branches and yield your fruit to My people Israel; for they are soon to come.” (Yechezkel 36:8)

For centuries, Eretz Yisrael was desolate, barren, and neglected. But with the return of her children, the land has awakened — vineyards flourish, cities rise, and deserts bloom. Today, Israel leads the world in desert agriculture, drip irrigation, and reforestation. Hills once barren are now green; valleys bloom with orchards. Every fruit tree and field seems to testify that the Divine promise is alive once more.

3. שׁוּב רִבּוֹנוּת יִשְׂרָאֵל — Restoration of Sovereignty

The return to the land was always tied to the renewal of Jewish sovereignty. After centuries under foreign rule, the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948 marked a historic turning point. For the first time since the destruction of the Second Temple, the Jewish people govern their ancestral homeland.

וְשָׁבוּ בָנִים לִגְבוּלָם  

“And children shall return to their borders.” (Yirmeyahu 31:16)

Though challenges remain, the existence of a Jewish state is a miracle in itself — a declaration that prophecy is not a relic of the past but a living promise.

4. יְרוּשָׁלַ͏ִים בְּמֶרְכַּז הָעוֹלָם  — The Rebuilding of Jerusalem

No city embodies the story of Am Yisrael like Yerushalayim. The prophets foretold that it would once again be filled with life:

עוֹד יֵשְׁבוּ זְקֵנִים וּזְקֵנוֹת בִּרְחֹבוֹת יְרוּשָׁלַ‍ִם... וּרְחֹבוֹת הָעִיר יִמָּלְאוּ יְלָדִים וִילָדוֹת מְשַׂחֲקִים בִּרְחֹבֹתֶיהָ  

“Old men and old women shall yet again sit in the streets of Jerusalem… and the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing.” (Zechariah 8:4–5)

Today, one can walk through the alleys of the Old City and witness exactly this — elders on benches, children laughing, Torah scholars hurrying to shiurim. The recognition of Jerusalem as Israel’s capital by nations of the world marks yet another step toward the fulfillment of Zechariah’s vision.

5. בִּלְבּוּל הָעוֹלָם וּמַשְׁבֵּר הָאֱמוּנָה —Moral Confusion and Global Upheaval

Our sages taught that before the coming of Mashiach, the world would enter a time of moral confusion and upheaval — what Chazal called Chevlei Mashiach, the “birth pangs” of redemption.

We live in a century of remarkable technological progress yet profound spiritual disorientation. Values once considered sacred are questioned, while evil often masquerades as good. Injustice, violence, and the distortion of truth dominate global headlines. This turmoil, though painful, may be the darkness that precedes the dawn.

6. דִּין הַגּוֹיִם — The Judgment of Nations

The prophets also foresaw that, in the end of days, the nations would be judged for their treatment of Israel:

וְנִשְׁפַּטְתִּי אִתָּם שָׁם עַל עַמִּי וְנַחֲלָתִי יִשְׂרָאֵל, אֲשֶׁר הֵפִיצוּ בַגּוֹיִם, וְאֶת אַרְצִי חִלֵּקוּ  

“There I will enter into judgment with them concerning My people and My heritage Israel, whom they have scattered among the nations, and they have divided up My land.” (Yoel 4:2)

Recent debates over dividing the Land of Israel echo this prophecy with chilling clarity. Yet we have also seen unexpected moments when world leaders, against political odds, have defended Israel’s right to exist and to protect its people — reminders that the hand of Hashem guides history.

7. תְּשׁוּבָה וְהִתְעוֹרְרוּת רוּחָנִית — Awakening of Teshuvah

A further sign of redemption is the spiritual awakening among our people. Even amid pain and crisis — such as the tragic events of October 7 — there has been a surge of faith, unity, and return to Torah.

Jews across the globe have deepened their connection to mitzvot, tefillah, and Shabbat. Many have embraced tzitzit, tefillin, and acts of kindness as never before. This collective return reflects the promise:

וְשַׁבְתָּ עַד ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ, וְשָׁמַעְתָּ בְּקֹלוֹ  

“And you shall return to Hashem your God and listen to His voice…” (Devarim 30:2)

8. הֲכָנוֹת לַבֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ — Preparations for the Temple

Even the longing for the Beit HaMikdash — the dream of rebuilding — is stirring once again. From renewed study of Temple laws to the crafting of priestly garments and instruments, signs of readiness abound.

כִּי מִצִּיּוֹן תֵּצֵא תּוֹרָה, וּדְבַר ה' מִירוּשָׁלָ‍ִם

 “For out of Zion shall go forth Torah, and the word of Hashem from Jerusalem.” (Yeshayahu 2:3)

 The Temple Institute in Jerusalem has prepared vessels, priestly garments, and identified red heifers suitable for purification. While these efforts are symbolic beginnings, they reveal a yearning rooted deep in the Jewish soul — a yearning that itself is part of the redemption process.

 

9. ‘שָׁלוֹם עוֹלָמִי וְדֵעַת י —Universal Peace

Isaiah envisioned a world transformed by the knowledge of God:

לֹא־יִשָּׂא גוֹי אֶל־גוֹי חֶרֶב, וְלֹא־יִלְמְדוּ עוֹד מִלְחָמָה  

“Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.” (Yeshayahu 2:4)

While we are not there yet, we see growing global awareness of the futility of war and the power of peace. Perhaps these are early footsteps of a new moral consciousness — the distant echoes of Isaiah’s dream.

The Dawn Before Day

Yet shadows remain — conflict, confusion, and suffering. Even so, Rabbi Akiva taught us how to see light amid ruin. When his colleagues wept at the desolation of the Temple, he smiled:

נִתְקַיְּמָה נְבוּאָתוֹ שֶׁל עוּרִיָּה — מִתְקַיֶּמֶת נְבוּאָתוֹ שֶׁל זְכַרְיָה

“If the prophecy of Uriah [destruction] has been fulfilled, then surely the prophecy of Zechariah [consolation] will also be fulfilled.” (Makkot 24b)

Rabbi Akiva’s faith was not naive optimism; it was a recognition that history itself is the canvas of Divine promise.

Reflection

What are we to do in such times? The prophets teach that redemption demands response:

• To see the hand of Hashem in history.
• To strengthen our commitment to Torah and mitzvot.
• To support the rebuilding of our people and land.
• To prepare our hearts for the Geulah.

These are not luxuries, but necessities.

Conclusion

Prophecy is like the dawn — faint light breaking through night. What we are witnessing are the beginnings of that light. This is a moment both solemn and hopeful.

While not everyone can make Aliyah immediately, it is imperative that each of us begin — and hasten — our preparation for that day. Hashem continually gives us signs. All we need do is open our eyes, thank Hashem, and listen.

Bereishit and the forbidden fruit -- a misdirection?

Taking a fresh and imaginative look at one of our most familiar parshiyot, Rabbi Steven Ettinger wonders what might have happened if Adam and his helpmeet had engaged a good defense lawyer--and whether the real offense was not the eating of the forbidden fruit but something arguably more important -- with a message for us to learn.

The sequence of events when Hashem creates Adam, as recounted in Bereishit, Chapter 2, is perplexing:

1. He creates and animates man (forming clay and then infusing it with Divine spirit – interpreted as giving man and only man the power of speech);

2. He plants Gan Eden and places Adam there;

3. The plants (trees) sprout, including the Trees of Knowledge and Life;

4. Main rivers flow from Eden to irrigate Gan Eden and the civilized world;

5. Hashem “takes” Adam and “places” him in Gan Eden to work and protect it; 

6.  He commands Adam that he may eat from all trees except the Tree of Knowledge and warns that—if he eats from that tree, he will die;

7. Hashem recognizes that it is not good for Adam to be alone, so he provides him with a helpmate;

8  Finally, Adam names all of the animals.

There are many questions we could ask: why was Adam placed in Gan Eden twice? Why did the trees only sprout after Adam was placed in Eden? What exactly was Adam’s task in Eden? Why did Hashem give Adam just the one command?Why was it only at the end that Hashem created woman? Where did the animals come from? A lot of trees seem to be mentioned, but no animals.

The key to understanding this unusual sequence is the famous story that follows. The “woman” encounters the nachash who says to her “Didn’t Hashem tell you not to eat any fruit of this garden?” He said this so that he could engage her in conversation (see Rashi to Bereishit 3:1), As we know, he convinces her to eat the forbidden fruit, she then gives it to Adam—who also eats it. Hashem reacts by punishing Adam, the woman and the nachash. Adam is exiled from the Garden and the woman is cursed with birth pains and being subjugated to her husband.

The takeaway is that Adam and the woman could have used a good lawyer. When Hashem confronted them, they did not really mount an effective defense. They merely tried to shift blame—Adam to the woman, then the woman to the nachash. However, they actually had an effective and quite reasonable defense.

As noted above, the creation of Adam was unique in that man is the only entity in creation with the power of speech (creation has four categories: inanimate objects, vegetation, living creatures, speaking beings – only man is in this last category). 

Now woman is out alone in the Garden and she encounters the nachash. To her surprise, this being is speaking. Thus, to her limited experience and understanding there could be only two possible explanations: this being either is another type of “man,” or perhaps was he created by another God. Add to this is the fact that she was created after everything else. She did not therefore witness Hashem’s handiwork in planting the Garden, she was not “placed” there, she did not hear God’s command directly – indeed, she never encountered Hashem directly. For her, everything is hearsay. As far as she knows, the nachash has inside information, maybe even better information than her husband. His behavior, his speech, his very existence, are proof that there are beliefs and rules other than those which, she has been told, are valid – and these rules might perhaps be superior (she is being told that, by eating the fruit, she could even become Godlike). Additionally, she has not yet been commanded to listen to Adam. Bottom-line, especially since she only heard the command second-hand, she should not be culpable.

At this point the woman does eat—but she does not die! Since she did not do so, one can only imagine the conversation she had with Adam:

Woman: “Guess what? There is another speaking ‘man,’ there may even be other Gods or God-like beings, so eat the fruit of the Tree and enjoy – I did.”

Adam: “But God said if we eat it, we will die!”

Woman: “I ate it and I am still here, so as you can see, it is perfectly safe – and there are some amazing benefits. It is consciousness raising!”

So Adam ate too.  Again, this is perfectly understandable—and even excusable, given the facts and circumstances. This gave Adam the right to “blame or rely on” the woman (she presented a cogent argument and had eaten the fruit and did not die), and the woman could “blame” the fact that the nachash defied the natural order (which perhaps implicitly made it Hashem’s fault). So why were they punished? After all, iit does NOT seem like they did anything wrong. Or, at worst, maybe Hashem even entrapped them with the talking nachash!

Perhaps the reason Adam was punished has nothing to do with the command not to eat the fruit. That was simply a misdirection. Hashem punished Adam because he violated the primary command: “to work and protect the Garden.”

Returning to the sequence in Chapter 2, Hashem placed Adam in the Garden before the trees sprouted. Adam watched the trees  emerge but he expended no effort in nurturing them. And when the rivers burst forth to irrigate the Garden, Adam again had no need to do anything. Nevertheless, Hashem places him in the Garden again and tells him to work and protect it.

But we can ask “What work? What protection?”  It doesn’t seem that there is anything for him to do. But there is! “Working” and “protecting” are code, synonym for” taking responsibility”—just like the sign on President Harry Truman’s desk: “The buck stops here.” Adam named the animals because he (and not the lion) was the King of the Jungle. In other words, he was responsible. And, though he did not need to plant or irrigate the Garden, he was responsible for it—for good and for bad.

When Adam erred and ate the fruit (possibly NOT a sin, as explained above, as he may have had had a valid excuse), he failed in his obligation was to take responsibility. That was the job Hashem gave to him.  That was what he was commanded to do. Hashem likely did not care about the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, that was a mere pretense.

We have emerged from the Yamim Noraim with a clean slate. We have done teshuvah.  We also know that we will err and sin, likely doing many of the same things we transgressed last year and the year before, etc. Hashem knows this. We know this. We need to learn the lesson from Adam’s behavior: if we want to avoid serious consequences, we need to accept responsibility. If you peel away the excuses, if you do not assign blame to others, if you do not redirect and misdirect—only then can you make positive changes.

“Ki Tov” and “Tov Me’od”: Seeing the Divine in Creation

When we say something is good, we usually mean that we like it and it has our approval. But when God uses this term, He perceives something of greater value. In this penetrating analysis, Rabbi Paul Bloom looks more deeply into what we should understand when God describes His creations as "good".

When the Torah describes the unfolding of Creation, a single phrase recurs six times: “וַיַּרְא אֱלֹקים כִּי־טוֹב” — “And God saw that it was good.”  At first glance, this seems like a simple statement: God looked upon what He had made and declared it good. Yet, on closer reflection, the expression “ki tov” raises a profound question. The word “טוֹב – good” in Tanach usually refers to something of spiritual and eternal value, not merely something that functions well. The Torah itself is called “טוֹב”, as is the Divine Will — goodness that is not only efficient, but enduring and holy.

Why, then, does the Torah use this lofty term to describe the physical processes of nature — the growth of vegetation, the shining of the sun, the movement of the stars? And why, after all these six stages of “ki tov”, does the Torah conclude the chapter with a final, elevated declaration:

וַיַּרְא אֱלֹהִים אֶת-כָּל-אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה, וְהִנֵּה-טוֹב מְאֹד  

“And God saw all that He had made, and behold, it was very good”.

What changed between “tov” and “tov me’od”?

The Whole Greater Than Its Parts

One level of interpretation, offered by many classical commentators, is that “tov me’od” marks the moment when the entire creation came together as a unified whole. Each element — the plants, the animals, the heavenly bodies, the seas — was indeed good on its own. But when they began to function together in perfect harmony, forming a complex, interdependent system, the result was something greater than the sum of its parts.  This interconnectedness — what we would now call the ecological balance of the universe — is what made creation not merely good, but “tov me’od.”

The Kli Yakar: “Ki Tov” as Future Potential

The Kli Yakar, however, offers a strikingly different and deeper insight.  He notes that in Biblical Hebrew, the word “כי” (ki) often refers to a future event — something that will happen, rather than something that already is. For example: “כי תבוא אל האר” — “When you will come into the Land,” or “כי תצא למלחמה” — “When you will go out to war.”

Applying this principle to “וַיַּרְא אֱלֹקים כִּי־טוֹב”, the Kli Yakar suggests:  God saw that it would one day become good.  Each stage of creation contained within it the potential for eternal goodness, but that goodness had not yet been realized. The world at that point was magnificent, awe-inspiring — but it lacked meaning. It awaited something, or rather someone, who could perceive and internalize its Divine source.

“Tov Me’od”: When Humanity Awakens

That realization came only with the arrival of Adam and Chavah. When human beings opened their eyes and saw the world not as a collection of phenomena, but as a revelation of the Creator’s wisdom, everything changed. At that moment, all the previous “ki tovs” became “tov me’od.”  Creation now had an observer capable of recognizing its purpose. The universe was no longer a silent masterpiece; it became a living testimony to the glory of its Maker.

The Kli Yakar even finds a beautiful hint in the phrase “טוֹב מְאֹד”. Rearrange the letters of מְאֹד, he says, and it spells “אָדָם” — man.  It was Adam’s consciousness — the human capacity to perceive and declare “מָה רַבּוּ מַעֲשֶׂיךָ’” (How great are Your works, Hashem) — that transformed creation from merely good to very good. Humanity conferred meaning on the world.

Becoming Partners with the Creator

This insight resonates deeply with the teaching of Chazal in Masechet Shabbat (119b):

“Anyone who recites Kiddush on Friday night becomes a partner with the Holy One, blessed be He, in the work of Creation.”

How can a human being be a partner in creation? We cannot form matter from nothing; we cannot shape galaxies or call forth life. Yet, in a profound sense, we complete creation — not physically, but spiritually. God created the physical universe, but it was human awareness that gave it meaning. When a person stands on Friday night and declares “ויכלו השמים והארץ” — “Thus were completed the heavens and the earth” — he affirms that the world has a purpose and a Creator. At that moment, he invests the cosmos with spiritual significance.

In that sense, man is indeed a shutaf laKadosh Baruch Hu — a partner with God. The universe was waiting for beings who could look upon it and see “Kevod Shamayim” — the glory of Heaven — reflected in every element of nature.

“Vayechulu”: The World as a Vessel

The Sfas Emes adds a beautiful layer to this idea. The Torah says:

 “וַיְכֻלוּ הַשָּׁמַיִם וְהָאָרֶץ”

“The heavens and the earth were completed.”

 The word “ויכלו” shares its root with “כֵּלִי” — a vessel or instrument.  When Shabbat entered, and Adam and Chavah recognized their Creator, the entire world became a single great vessel — a kli through which the Divine Presence could dwell and be revealed. Thus, “ויכלו” means more than completion; it means transformation. The universe became a receptacle for holiness, a medium for the Divine will. Creation was not just finished — it was fulfilled.

The Eternal “Ki Tov” in Our Lives

The lesson of “ki tov” and “tov me’od” extends far beyond the opening chapter of Bereishit. Each of us, in our own lives, is called to see the Yad Hashem — the hand of God — in nature, in history, and in our own experiences. When we open our eyes to the miraculous balance of the natural world, when we perceive Divine providence in the unfolding of events, and when we sanctify time through Shabbat — we continue the work of Creation.  We turn potential goodness into realized goodness; “ki tov” into “tov me’od.”

On Shabbat, when we cease our own creative work and simply recognize God’s world, we achieve the highest human calling: to be a partner with the Creator, seeing His light in every corner of existence.

וַיַּרְא אֱלֹהִים אֶת-כָּל-אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה, וְהִנֵּה-טוֹב מְאֹד 

When man recognizes the Divine within creation — only then is the world truly very good.

Is our fresh start ever really fresh?

 In this piece, written to mark our return to the beginning of the Torah for our weekly readings, Jeremy Phillips takes a look at the concept of the fresh start within the context of life at Beit Knesset Hanassi. This piece also appears on the front page of this week's Hanassi Highlights.

This Shabbat, Parashat Bereishit, we open our Sifrei Torah at the very beginning. We read again of the creation of the world and of the place of humans within it. This gives us a good feeling. We have just marked the New Year with the festival of Rosh Hashanah, wiped away our past mistakes on Yom Kippur, and completed a full year’s reading of the Torah. Now we are mentally attuned to starting afresh, drawing a line under the past and facing our pristine, untainted future.

But how we feel and what is real can be two different things. Our fresh start this year is built on the firm foundations of the past, of respect for the Torah, its laws and those traditions that, passed down to us, we in turn seek to pass down to future generations. For traditions, love within families and loyalties within communities there is no fresh start each year: instead, there is a precious continuity of shared values that transcend the mindset of “stop-start”.

A year ago, when we celebrated Parashat Bereishit, we had among us two remarkable individuals who were both deeply committed to continuity. One, Rabbi Berel Wein zt’l, emphasized the importance of connecting the past, present and future; in doing so he elevated it from a neat idea for a sermon to a fundamental philosophy and the key to Jewish survival. The other, Moshe Loshinsky zt’l, was the repository of the customs and traditions of Beit Knesset Hanassi as well as the enforcer—zealous to ensure that a generation of olim adjusted themselves to Jewish life and practice in Israel, a melting-pot for Jewish culture but a refining vessel for life as a Jew in the land God gave us. These two men are no longer with us but their message endures.

In one sense, then, we have our fresh start—but it is also a further step on the long journey that has taken us through the lands of exile and through the millennia. Our task, as members of Am Yisrael and, in local terms, as members of Beit Knesset Hanassi, is to continue this ancient journey but to imbue it with a fresh enthusiasm and optimism that we will be the ones privileged to see it through. In this task we are privileged to be led by Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg, whose vision and energy are an inspiration to us all. May this year, 5786, be the year our journey reaches its destination.

The Creation: a work in seven parts

The biblical story of the Creation is one of the most beautiful and best-loved parts of the Torah, reflecting the care and attention to detail with which God formatted our daily environment. Inspired by the Creation narrative and taking the text of Bereishit 1:1-31 and 2:1-3, our member Max Stern composed “Creation of the World (Bereishit)” which he scored for soprano, flute, strings and percussion.

This piece, like Creation itself, is structured in seven segments, each representing a day in the process of the world’s formation: 1 darkness-light, 2 seas-heaven, 3 land-vegetation, 4 sun-moon-stars, 5 fish-birds, 6 beasts-man
, 7 Shabbat.

Here we bring you a 1995 recording by the Ashdod Chamber Orchestra, conducted by Luis Gorelik. The soloists are Amalia Ishak (soprano) and Avihai Ornoy (flute). This is a live recording made on Kibbutz Yavneh, Israel, 1995.

You can enjoy Max’s work by clicking here.

Mizmor LeTodah: a song of thanks!

This week has seen an outbreak of unbridled joy and spontaneous gratitude to God that is unprecedented in recent times, when it seemed that almost everyone in our little nation was following the events leading up to the release of the last living hostages and their reunion with families and loved ones. This surge of pure emotion was encapsulated by the recitation in many places of worship -- including our own Beit Knesset Hanassi -- of Mizmor LeTodah (Psalm 100), a chapter of Tehillim that expresses this gratitude in a format that has stood the test of millennia.

Mizmor LeTodah runs like this:

In translation:

Our member Max Stern has provided his own cheerful, effervescent musical version of Mizmor LeTodah. You can enjoy it on his YouTube channel here.

Taking Leave of the Sukkah -- and the Sukkah of the Leviathan

In this post, Rabbi Paul Bloom fastens on to our farewell to the temporary home that has accommodated us for the past week. What should we be thinking? What is the takeaway message from our poignant parting?

Today, on Hoshanah Rabbah, we reach the spiritual crescendo of the festival of Sukkot. Soon we will transition into Shemini Atzeret, the day that symbolizes Hashem’s special closeness to His people — “ָשָׁה עָלַי פְּרִידַתְכֶםק”, “Your separation is difficult for Me.”

And yet, even before we take leave of the festival, there is a tender custom — recorded by the Rema — to say a Yehi Ratzon upon leaving the sukkah:

נהגו לומר כשנפטר מן הסוכה:
 יהי רצון מלפניך ה' אלקי ואלקי אבותי
 כשם שקיימתי וישבתי בסוכה זו,
 כן אזכה בשנה הבאה לישב בסוכת עורו של לויתן

“May it be Your will, Hashem our God and God of our fathers,
 that just as I have fulfilled the mitzvah and dwelt in this sukkah,
 so may I merit next year to dwell in the sukkah of the Leviathan.”

This is remarkable. We do not recite a similar farewell after other mitzvot. We do not say goodbye to the shofar, nor to the lulav, nor even to matzah. Only the sukkah receives this parting prayer. Why?

Rav Yitzchak Hutner (Pachad Yitzchak, Sukkos 27) uncovers the reason. The Torah commands us on the festivals to appear before Hashem “in the place which He will choose.” Regarding Pesach and Shavuot, the Torah specifies: “in the place where Hashem rests His Name” — the Beit HaMikdash in Yerushalayim. But regarding Sukkot, the Torah omits that phrase. He notes that when the Torah speaks about the pilgrimage festivals, it says:

שָׁלֹשׁ פְּעָמִים בַּשָּׁנָה יֵרָאֶה כָל זְכוּרְךָ
 אֶת פְּנֵי ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ
 בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחָר
 (דברים ט״ז:ט״ז)

Pesach

וְזָבַחְתָּ פֶּסַח לַה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ צֹאן וּבָקָר
 בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר ה' לְשַׁכֵּן שְׁמוֹ שָׁם
(דברים ט״ז:ב׳)

כִּי אִם אֶל הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ
 לְשַׁכֵּן שְׁמוֹ שָׁם תִּזְבַּח אֶת הַפֶּסַח
(שם ו׳)

Shavuot

וְשָׂמַחְתָּ לִפְנֵי ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ
 בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ לְשַׁכֵּן שְׁמוֹ שָׁם

(דברים ט״ז:י״א)

By Pesach and Shavuot, the Torah adds:

בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר ה' לְשַׁכֵּן שְׁמוֹ שָׁם

 “the place where Hashem rests His Name.”

But by Sukkot, that phrase is missing. Why?  Rav Hutner explains: because on Sukkot, the Shechinah does not dwell solely in Yerushalayim. Every Jew’s sukkah becomes a Mikdash me’at — a miniature Temple — a dwelling for the Divine Presence. Hashem leaves His Palace and comes to dwell with His people in their fragile huts.

Thus, the sukkah itself becomes a Yerushalayim, a sanctuary in time and space. And just as one who visited Yerushalayim for the festivals was required to remain overnight — mitzvat lina — and take leave with reverence, so too do we bid farewell to our sukkah with a blessing and a prayer.

We do not simply step out. We say goodbye. We whisper: “Just as I sat beneath this shade, may I merit to sit beneath the shade of the Leviathan.”

The Sukkah of the Leviathan: A Glimpse of the Future

But what is this Sukkah of the Leviathan?

In the Gemara in Bava Batra 75a, Rabbah quotes Rabbi Yochanan’s description of two wondrous scenes of the World to Come:

עָתִיד הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא לַעֲשׂוֹת סְעוּדָה לַצַּדִּיקִים מִבְּשָׂרוֹ שֶׁל לִוְיָתָן

עָתִיד הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא לַעֲשׂוֹת סוּכָּה לַצַּדִּיקִים מֵעוֹרוֹ שֶׁל לִוְיָתָן

In the future, the Holy One, Blessed be He, will make a feast for the righteous from the flesh of the leviathan…

In the future, the Holy One, Blessed be He, will prepare a sukkah for the righteous from the skin of the leviathan

This is no simple fable. It is a vision — aggadah — teaching us deep truths about spiritual reward and the nature of closeness to God.

The Leviathan, the great sea creature, represents the most hidden of God’s creations — "לויתן זה יצרת לשחק בו” (Tehillim 104:26), “You created the Leviathan to play with.” The Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 7:4) explains that Leviathan symbolizes the joy of divine play, the overflowing abundance of God’s creative energy.

In the world as we know it, that spiritual light is too vast for us to contain. The Leviathan must remain hidden beneath the sea — the realm of the concealed. But in the future, when the world is purified and humanity refined, the hidden will become revealed, and we will be able to “feast” upon that light — to draw nourishment from the very mysteries of creation.

The skin of the Leviathan — its outer covering — represents the vessel that contains that great spiritual energy. Hashem will fashion from it a sukkah — a canopy of light — to shelter the righteous. It will be a dwelling of pure Divine radiance, a structure not of wood and branches but of spiritual comprehension, where every soul will bask in God’s Presence.

The Zohar calls this the “צִלָּא דְּמְהֵימְנוּתָא” — “the shade of faith.” Our earthly sukkah, built of simple materials, is a rehearsal for that ultimate sukkah. When we sit under the s’chach, we dwell in the “shadow of faith,” acknowledging that all security comes from Hashem. But in the future, when faith becomes sight, the temporary shade will give way to eternal illumination — the sukkah of the Leviathan.

Thus, when we take leave of our sukkah, we are not merely stepping out of a hut — we are stepping toward eternity. We say, “Ribono Shel Olam — let this experience not fade. Transform the fragile shade of this sukkah into the everlasting shelter of Your Presence.”

The Farewell and the Promise

Leaving the sukkah is bittersweet.  All week, we have lived surrounded by holiness — our meals, our songs, our prayers wrapped in sanctity. And now we must return to the ordinary world. Like those who once left Yerushalayim, our hearts whisper, “קָשָׁה עָלַי פְּרִידַתְכֶם— the separation is hard.”

Yet we leave with hope. For every moment inside the sukkah has eternal value. Every song we sang, every guest we welcomed, every word of Torah spoken — all of it builds the walls of that future sukkah above.

When we say Yehi Ratzon, we are not uttering a poetic line — we are expressing faith. Faith that history moves toward redemption. Faith that the fragile branches of today will one day become the shining canopy of tomorrow.

And so, as we step from the sukkah into the world, we carry its light with us. We have tasted the joy of Divine protection, the sweetness of trust. And we pray that soon —בִּמְהֵרָה בְּיָמֵינוּ — we will once again dwell, together with all of Israel, “בְּסֻכַּת שְׁלוֹמֶךָ,” in the Sukkah of peace — the Sukkah of the Leviathan, radiant with the light of the Shechinah.