Learning to See Through the Eyes of Torah

 In this piece by our member Rabbi Paul Bloom, we are invited to consider the quality of sight, its relationship to hearing and our ability to choose, and its role in our spiritual development as Jews.

"See, I place before you today a blessing and a curse." (Devarim 11:26). Every day we recite the words of the Shema:

"Hear, O Israel..."

Listening is one of the Torah's central themes. Faith begins by hearing Hashem's word. Yet Parashat Re'eh opens differently. Not with Shema—hear. But with Re'eh—see. Why the sudden change? After all, at Har Sinai the Jewish people heard the voice of Hashem but saw no image. Judaism rejected the pagan notion that God could be represented by something visible. If Hashem cannot be seen, what exactly is Moshe asking us to look at? The Torah's answer is profound. Hashem Himself cannot be seen—but His presence can be recognized through the lives we choose to live.

Seeing a Life of Blessing

Moshe tells the nation:

"See, I place before you today a blessing and a curse."

Notice that he does not merely describe blessing and curse. He says they can be seen. A life dedicated to Torah leaves visible footprints. You can see it in a family that honors parents. You can see it in communities built upon kindness and charity. You can see it in justice that protects the weak. You can see it in marriages strengthened by commitment, in children raised with purpose, and in lives filled with meaning. The Torah is inviting us to observe the results.

Leadership Begins with Example

The Ba'al HaTurim offers a beautiful insight. Moshe is saying, in effect: "Look at me." The greatest leaders do not merely teach—they model. Gideon used exactly this approach before battling Midian. Vastly outnumbered, he instructed his soldiers:

"Watch me, and do what I do." (Shofetim 7:17)

Those four words define authentic Jewish leadership. Parents influence children more through their actions than their lectures. Teachers educate by personal example. Communities rise because individuals quietly live the values they hope others will embrace. The Torah reminds us that every Jew is someone's role model.

Moshe Knew Both Worlds

The Kli Yakar deepens this lesson. Many people assume that spiritual leaders dismiss wealth because they never experienced it. Moshe Rabbeinu could never be accused of that. He grew up in Pharaoh's palace, surrounded by unimaginable luxury and power. Later he ascended Mount Sinai and experienced unparalleled closeness to Hashem. He had lived both lives. His testimony carries enormous weight. He knew firsthand that material success alone cannot satisfy the human soul. Real blessing comes from purpose. From holiness. From serving something greater than ourselves.

As Kohelet concludes after exploring every worldly pleasure:

"The end of the matter, when all has been heard: Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the whole purpose of man." (Kohelet 12:13)

The Freedom to Choose

The Rambam, in Hilchot Teshuvah (Chapter 5), identifies this opening verse as one of the Torah's clearest declarations of human free will. Hashem gives us the dignity of choice. This idea distinguished Judaism from many philosophies of the ancient world, and it remains revolutionary today. Modern society often explains human behavior through genetics, psychology, economics, or environment. Judaism recognizes the influence of these forces but insists they never eliminate personal responsibility. Every person possesses the ability to choose. Blessing is not imposed. Neither is curse. Hashem places both before us and lovingly says:

"Choose."

As Moshe later declares:

"I have placed before you life and death, blessing and curse. Therefore choose life." (Devarim 30:19)

Seeing Eretz Yisrael

There is another remarkable dimension to Moshe's opening command. The Ramban teaches that dwelling in Eretz Yisrael is itself a mitzvah, one that enables the Jewish people to live the Torah in its fullest expression. This idea is reflected throughout Parashat Re'eh. No other parashah emphasizes so repeatedly "the place that Hashem will choose." Again and again the Torah directs our attention toward the future spiritual center of Jewish life—Yerushalayim. The parashah concludes with the mitzvah of Aliyah l'Regel, ascending to Jerusalem on the three pilgrimage festivals. There, the Jewish people would literally see holiness. They would see the Beit HaMikdash. The Kohanim performing the Avodah.The Menorah shining. They would hear the songs of the Levi'im. They would experience the Shechinah in a way unlike anywhere else on earth. The opening "Re'eh" reaches its fulfillment in Jerusalem.

Rav Hirsch: Seeing Beyond the Surface

Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch explains that Torah demands more than physical sight. It asks us to develop moral vision. Anyone can observe events. The Torah teaches us to recognize their meaning. Two people can witness the same history. One sees politics. The other sees Hashgachah. One sees coincidence. The other sees Divine Providence. The challenge of Re'eh is to cultivate eyes that perceive Hashem's hand within history.

A Message for Our Generation

Perhaps no generation since the destruction of the Second Temple has witnessed what ours has. After nearly two thousand years of exile, millions of Jews have returned home. The Hebrew language has been reborn. Jerusalem is once again the heart of Jewish life. The Land has flourished exactly as the prophets foretold. These are not merely historical events. They are invitations to see. To recognize Hashem's faithfulness unfolding before our eyes.

The Sifrei teaches that every generation must view the Torah as if it were given today. Moshe therefore says not only "See," but "See...today." Every day presents the same choice. Will we see the world through the lens of convenience—or through the lens of covenant? Will we pursue comfort alone—or purpose?

Will we recognize that the greatest blessing is not simply living well, but living a life connected to Hashem, His Torah, His people, and His Land? That is the enduring challenge of Parashat Re'eh.

May Hashem open our eyes to recognize His blessings, strengthen our commitment to His Torah, and enable us to witness the complete redemption, when all of Israel will once again ascend to Yerushalayim in joy and behold the beauty of His Presence restored in Zion.

A Message for Me: Parashat Re'eh 5786

 This piece by Rabbi Kenigsberg was originally published in the Hanassi Highlights, Thursday 6 August 2026. You can also read it in Hebrew, thanks to ChatGPT, here.

The opening verse of Parshat Re'eh contains a curious grammatical shift:

"Re'eh anochi noten lifneichem hayom berachah u'kelalah" – "See, I place before you today a blessing and a curse."

The word re'eh is singular, yet lifneichem is in the plural. Why the inconsistency?

The Kli Yakar explains this based on a statement of the Gemara in Masechet Kiddushin (40b). A person should always view the world as perfectly balanced between merit and guilt. One mitzvah can tip the scales in favour of the entire world; one aveirah can tip them the other way. That is why the Torah begins this verse in the singular. Every one of us must hear these words as though they are addressed to us personally. It is tempting to think that one individual can hardly make a difference. After all, what effect can one person's actions really have among millions of Jews and billions of people?

Yet the Torah's answer is: more than you imagine. The verse does not remain in the singular. It immediately becomes plural: lifneichem. The choices I make are never only about me. Every act of kindness, every moment of integrity, every mitzvah and every aveirah has consequences far beyond what I can see. We rarely know how our actions influence those around us, and we certainly cannot measure their spiritual impact. Yet the Torah asks us to live with the awareness that they do.

This perspective runs counter to the way we usually think. We naturally measure our actions by what we can see: Did anyone notice? Did it make a tangible difference? Did it change anything? The Kli Yakar reminds us that this is not how the Torah measures a person's life. We are not in a position to calculate the ultimate impact of our deeds. That is Hashem's domain. Our responsibility is simply to recognise that no action is ever insignificant.

There is a powerful tension here. Judaism does not encourage us to think that we are the centre of the universe. At the same time, it asks us to live with the awareness that our choices genuinely matter. We are neither insignificant nor all-important. We are individuals whose actions form part of a much larger story.

Hashem speaks to each of us personally. No one can serve Him on our behalf, and no one else can make our choices for us. At the same time, those choices are never ours alone. Every individual decision contributes, in some small but immeasurable way, to the spiritual direction of the Jewish people and of the world.

That is both a great responsibility and an extraordinary privilege.

Shabbat Shalom!

A Legacy of Sight, A Lifetime of Vision

In addition to our report on the First Yahrzeit event for Rabbi Wein zt'l, we bring you a most moving tribute to our late Mara d'Atra from someone who knew him closely -- Rebbetzin Ariella Goldwicht. This is what she writes:

A tribute to Rabbi Dov Berel Wein

 Rabbi Wein, among the many things I learned from you was that expressing a personal truth often outweighs the comfort of remaining conventional.

 Here goes my truth.

Thank you, Rebbe, for being a role model for me and my family, but so much more. I cared for you so deeply as a dear loving grandfather, not biological but chosen. Rabbi Wein, you were my Rav and esteemed mentor, but in my heart you were family to me. I merited the company, warmth and depth of you the person, not just the persona. Once you became family, there was no going back, and there isn't a week that goes by that we don't speak of you with that pang of longing and heartache. Your loss has left an empty place at our table, and an empty space in our hearts. I cared for you perhaps less conventionally than one might expect, but for me it felt right and I feel your stamp on my soul for eternity.

 

You were a man of deep truth and profound Godliness, of clear understanding and careful articulation. We reflected on your unequivocal understandings, we laughed at your jokes, and we took to heart the gentle way you challenged us to become better.

Not many people can express two seemingly opposing ideas with utmost clarity and live them both as certain truths. The following are two significant ideas that I have gleaned from you, Rebbe, as I navigate my roles as a mother, rebbetzin and teacher.   

‘To be an observant Jew, you must be observant.’

 And yet 

 ‘As a rabbi (and I understood that as anyone in a leadership role), one must know not to see and hear everything.’

At first glance, these ideas appear contradictory. Yet watching you live them, I came to understand that they are, in fact, inseparable. You taught us to notice deeply, to pay attention to people, to history, to the subtle workings of Hashem in the world. But you also taught us restraint, to overlook what would only diminish. Discernment is not seeing everything. It is knowing what deserves to be seen. Thank you for living that balance so beautifully. 

Thank you for being the anchor in our lives at a time when we experienced personal, national, and worldly shifts and transitions. We climbed onto the roller-coaster of history, joining the ride of momentous times with the master himself. We experienced corona, the pangs of 7 October and the subsequent wars, political unrest and heightened antisemitism, all through a masterful lens and broad perspective that only you, Rabbi Wein, could provide.

 

History was not in the past

 

Perhaps that is why your understanding of history brought such comfort. You taught us to look beyond the urgency of the moment and recognize that we were living one chapter in a much greater story. Thank you for reminding us that the best way to settle in Eretz Yisrael is by choice and not by fear. Thank you for clarifying that "Never Again" is not a principle we can rely on, but that true security requires both faith in Hashem and the wisdom to act responsibly.

Together we experienced what was, what is, and what will be as one guided and truthful journey. There is so much comfort in plowing forward into the future on the shoulders of the past; experiencing the present with faith and certainty, precision and a sense of rightful destiny. The security, safety, and reassurance that you, our great rebbe, provided became the food for the soul, the ultimate shabbos treat, the nourishment that fueled us week after week. The cravings intensified the more we were fed, the more we were nourished in a way that only you could provide.

To experience the warmth and love of a grandfather, the counseling and guidance of a Rav, the deep wisdom and depth of understanding of a historian, the personal advice and direction of a kind and thoughtful mentor, the bridge to previous generations; a window into the greatness of yesteryear—all from one individual—is truly the most remarkable and understated gift.

Rebbe, the gift you have given us and our children is the gift that keeps giving. Your wisdom—your voice of reason in a liberal and often confused world—has brought us to new clarity.

 While your vision was indeed waning, you left us all with the gift of sight

I read the words of your longtime editor who painted the picture of your last meetings together in your most recent, and I believe most beloved, work about your mentors. In her description, she enumerated that you met together in person to review the chapters as she worked on them. She noted that the Rav would listen intently as she read the chapters aloud, often nodding and smiling, sometimes even laughing heartily. As she writes, “It was clear that he was reliving these episodes of his life and envisioning the people he so loved and admired.”

Reading those final encounters only reinforced what I had witnessed for years. Memories, anecdotes, and meaningful interactions do not simply become history. They become the essence of who we are, and if we allow them, the tools with which we shape the future.

To me, you truly exemplified a life of the great Rambam's understanding of the ‘shvil hazahav’. You embodied Torah values at their utmost, and had a delicate way of making everything relatable, bite-sized, and, most importantly, human. You loved and cherished each mitzvah and took a real ‘chai bahem’ approach. You lived with them and they lived through you.

 Perhaps this is less conventional than expected, but it is the truth of my heart.

I would be honored to serve you just one last meal—and to be served so many delicacies in return.

 

Rebbe, as history does repeat itself, we will meet again.

Rabbi Berel Wein zt'l -- the first Yahrzeit

Despite it being the holiday season, Beit Knesset Hanassi was crowded last night as shul members, talmidim, friends and admirers of our late mara d'Atra, Rabbi Berel Wein zt'l, gathered to pay their fond respects on the occasion of his first Yahrzeit. 

The event was chaired by Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg, who worked alongside Rabbi Wein in his first three years at Hanassi and who, by his own admission, considered himself fortunate to have had the opportunity to have been mentored by him.

The proceedings got underway with a dignified recitation by one of our most respected senior members, Simcha Fass, of Tehillim 91 ("Yoshev Beseter"), followed by kaddish. Then came Rabbi Kenigsberg's introduction. The Rav opened with a sentiment with which we could all identify: that this was not the first occasion on which we had gathered to share our memories of Rabbi Wein; nor would it be the last. When the words of Torah of a talmid chacham are spoken by others after his death, it is as though he lives on through them. Happily, Rabbi Wein's words are available to us and we continue to hear them in his video and sound recordings, as well as in his many writings.

Much has happened in the past year, the Rav noted, wondering what Rabbi Wein would have made of recent events. What we can say is that his response would have been predicated by his attitude, reflecting how he dedicated himself to his belief in the Jewish people -- a cause to which we too must dedicate ourselves.

At this point we cut to the first of a series of extracts from the speech Rabbi Wein delivered on the party to celebrate his ninetieth birthday. In this first extract, Rabbi Wein spoke of time, alluding to the power of both Moshe and Yehoshua to make time stand still and describing it as "our greatest opportunity -- or our greatest enemy". He then spoke of four periods of time in his own life that had passed but, as he put it, were frozen in his memory. The first of these periods was his time in Chicago in his formative years with his father and grandfather: here, he was living the Torah-oriented life of Lithuania, and it was here that he studied law and went into legal practice.

Rabbi Kenigsberg then mentioned Rabbi Wein's role as a marbitz Torah, citing his immensely popular Pirkei Avot shiurim and his influence on his talmidim. This proved to be an introduction for our next speaker, Rabbi Mordechai Kronenberg -- one of the last people to receive semichah from him. Focusing on the parashah for the coming Shabbat, Re'eh, Rabbi Kronenberg spoke of the repetition of the names of birds that were not tahar, in particular the ra'ah, the ayah and the da'ah -- which were all different names for the same bird. This bird, according to the Gemara, had phenomenal eyesight and, perched in Bavel, it could spot a carcass as far away as Eretz Yisrael. There is a moral to be learned from this, he explained: the bird is not kosher because, despite its powerful sight, when it looked at Eretz Yisrael it saw only a nevelah, a carcass, that it planned to eat. Thinking only of itself, it saw past all the good and holy things. The moral was clear: when viewing Israel from afar, one should be careful to make sure one sees the good, not just the bad.

The next Rabbi Wein clip showed him talking about the second phase of his life, when he left Chicago and the legal profession and entered the rabbinate, taking on a small kehilla in Miami Beach; this venture was followed by his move to Monsey and his responsibility for promoting kashrut through the OU. He spoke of the encouragement he received from his wife Jackie a.h. and of the obstacles he faced from some other quarters. His summary? "If you are ever going to do something positive, the Satan will send you nay-sayers". He also spoke of the support he received from others, singling out the Satmar Rav, with whom he discussed many topics -- but not Israel! Rabbi Wein added a general principle that we should bear in mind: "The whole business of the Jewish people is people; it's not organizations, it's people".

Rabbi Kenigsberg's next task was to introduce one of our shul members, Simon Swidler, who for some years was tasked with accompanying Rabbi Wein to shul and back on Shabbat, when the latter's deteriorating health and mobility made it hard for him to undertake the journey alone. Simon spoke movingly of his attachment to this task and of the opportunity he had to exchange words of Torah -- including some ideas of his own -- with a rabbi who had all the sources at his fingertips and could point him to further reading suggestions. Describing Rabbi Wein as a giant in our times by comparing him to the Arzei Levanon (the heroic rabbis who gave their lives al kiddush Hashem), Simon concluded that Rabbi Wein was indeed a hero: "We define our heroes by how they teach, not by how they fight in battle".

The final video clip of Rabbi Wein had him confessing that his great ambition in life was to be a rabbi in Jerusalem -- an ambition which, fortunately for us, was fulfilled in Beit Knesset Hanassi. His final advice to us was that we should understand that, however good things may be, we always live in "bad times" and there are always struggles ahead. We are a great nation, but "the path to greatness is bad times".

Following this clip, Rabbi Wein's son Rabbi Chaim Wein offered us many personal insights into the private side of his father's life, particularly his deep commitment to shalom, his aversion to any form of machloket and his tireless commitment to tzedakah and chesed. 

The evening was brought to an end by Rabbi Kenigsberg. Asking why it should be necessary for the Chilsdren of Israel to leave Egypt by night, he quoted from Rabbi Wein's book BaMesillah Na'aleh the aphorism that our strength lies in the certainty that Hashem will take us from darkness to light. 

Eli Friedwald then recited Kel Moleh Rachamim and we trooped off home. Our minds were buzzing with the ideas we had heard, but the heaviness of our hearts at losing Rabbi Wein was at least a little lightened by our knowledge that his teaching, his wisdom and the warmth of his concern for his beloved shul remain with us still. 

This very special event was recorded in full by Chaim Snow. We will share the link once it has become available.

Beit Knesset Hanassi wishes to acknowledge with gratitude the generosity of those people who have kindly supported this event.

Good news, bad news

Sometimes the news we receive on a daily basis can be quite depressing. How should we respond? Should we absorb it all and prepare for the worst? Should we shrug it off and ignore it, focusing on the better side of life? Or is the true answer to say "it all depends on the circumstances"?  Our member George Moschytz offers us a real-life case study and invites us to draw our own conclusions. 

Good News, Bad News

I was talking to a friend recently and he proudly told me that he does not listen to the news or read the newspaper because “there’s nothing but bad news—and who needs that?”  He told me that a journalist friend of his once tried an experiment. For several weeks he would try to print only good news—and the sale of his paper plummeted. Why is it that people only want to read bad news, he asked? The question intrigued me. I answered that it could be as a safety mechanism to be aware of ‘trouble' when it arises and, by being prepared, to be able to react to it as sensibly as possible. I illustrated my point by telling him the following true story of a Jewish family during World War II.

Right: Berlin in the 1920s

The father, a successful medical practitioner, lived with his wife and four children in a peaceful university town in South Germany. He had grown up in Berlin, “a city in which he did not experience any antisemitism”; she in Leipzig where she had experienced a lot. They married in the late 1920s, just a few years before Adolph Hitler came to power. Besides being a strictly orthodox Jew, the father was thoroughly familiar with, and appreciative of, the German culture of Goethe and Schiller. He was convinced that this Germany, for whose army he had unquestioningly volunteered in the first world war and had been badly wounded several times—as well as receiving the Iron Cross for bravery—would throw out this lunatic Nazi regime within half a year.

The mother, who had never trusted the country of her birth, was fascinated by the up-and-coming Zionist movement, and automatically belonged to the religious Zionist ‘Blau Weiss’ youth movement (Mizrachi). She followed the ominously gathering clouds of antisemitism in Germany closely and took them very seriously. The father, being thoroughly absorbed in his work as a highly regarded medical practitioner and with the health of his patients, remained optimistic about Germany’s democratic future, and somehow remained unaware of the slowly progressing catastrophe of the growing Nazi regime. Furthermore, he relied on his patriotic army service during WWI and on his being honored with the Iron Cross. Besides, as a war hero and an invalid, he was convinced that the regime would not touch him, nor his family. Thus he ignored the increasingly bad news, assuming that it would surely turn into good news within a matter of months. The mother, being the wife of Herr Doktor, and joining other Frau Doktors at a weekly Kaffeeklatsch (tea party), was all too aware of the goings-on outside the bubble that the father had built for himself and his family. This awareness was all the sharper  after she was abruptly left out of the invitation to the weekly Kaffeeklatch. To the father she was only “listening to the bad news”; to the mother, he was either not listening or if indeed he was, he was picking out the increasingly rare remnants of “good news”.

In early October 1938, the mother’s gnawing intuition, fed by her consistent pursuit of the increasingly bad news, left no doubt in her mind. Somehow, she was convinced that‘something terrible was about to happen, and that when it did, it would hit the men first. So she urged her husband to go to Switzerland, to the place where he had been treated for his war-time wounds, and pretend that he was going there for a medical checkup. Despite his reservations, he reluctantly went, leaving his 37 year old wife and their four children ages 9, 7, 4, and 2, behind.

Left: The Eberswalde Synagogue, Berlin, on Kristallnacht

Sure enough, on the night of Thursday, 9 November, 1938 (28 Cheshvan, 5700) two Gestapo officers (Geheime STAatsPOlizei, or Secret State Police) banged furiously on the front door of their    apartment, screaming “Aufmachen!” (“Open!”). The feared and ruthless Gestapo were looking for her husband! She calmly told them that her husband was in Switzerland for a medical check-up for the wounds he had sustained during the war. The Gestapo rampaged through the apartment, frantically looking for her husband in every room, corner, and cupboard, ignoring her claim that he was in Switzerland. She, a frail and somewhat timid lady, bravely stood in front of the door of one room and fearlessly said: “you are not going into this room, my children are sleeping in there!”.  Miraculously, they did not go in, thus avoiding what would have been a traumatic experience for the children. Thanks to the mother’s premonition and courage, the family had just survived the first nationwide pogrom in Germany, later known as the Kristallnacht, or Night of Broken Glass. The latter refers to the radical and deliberate shattering of home-windows, storefront-windows and any other breakable objects reachable by the Nazi maniacal mobs (Kristallnacht can be considered the beginning of the German-inspired Holocaust. In a way, it saved the life of this family and of thousands of other Jewish families who had refused to read the bad news earlier on. Kristallnacht finally drove home the severity of the situation for Jews in Germany and in the surrounding similarly ‘inspired’ countries).

However, this was not the end for this family. The mother immediately sent the nine-year-old son and his seven-year-old sister with their non-Jewish maid to the German-Swiss border, where they were received by the father. For money one could still obtain reluctant ‘favors’ from some non-Jewish Germans, especially because whatever was left behind was eagerly grabbed by the neighbors, maids, and whoever else could lay their hands on whatever was left behind. The mother stayed behind with their four-year-old boy and two-year-old baby girl. She hurriedly scrambled to gather whatever she could in terms of papers, belongings, and valuables, without rousing the attention of the officials, it being forbidden for Jews to try to leave Germany after Kristallnacht at the risk of immediate imprisonment or worse. An obvious reason for this was to prevent Jews from describing to the outside world the murderous regime and its restrictions for, and persecution of, any and every Jew in Germany.

Several weeks later the mother locked the front door of her fully and comfortably furnished apartment, as well as of the completely and functionally installed doctor’s office, never to see a shred of any of it again in her lifetime. By a stroke of luck her still valid German passport did not show her Jewish identity by the large red letter ‘J’ stamped on the front passport page of every Jew. Nor did she have the name ‘Sarah’ that was handwritten over the name of every Jewish female—as was the name ‘Israel’ handwritten over the name of every Jewish male—on the front page of their respective passports. If omitted and caught, this too was severely punishable by imprisonment, or worse.

With the start of the war the passports of all German Jews were automatically declared invalid, making them stateless at the stroke of a pen! The insane order with regard to the Sarah and Israel names for all Jews was decreed by the murderous government of a nation whose hatred of the Jewish people knew no bounds, and had lost complete control of all reason.

The mother left her locked-up and permanently abandoned German home with the two young children, all dressed as if going to Switzerland for a winter vacation. Based on her non-besmirched German passport, she had obtained a legitimate family visa for herself and the two young children. She took with her a suitcase filled with winter vacation clothes on top, and stuffed with Shabbat candles, some other silverware, and a few other personal belongings underneath. Thus she arrived in Switzerland to join up with her husband and the two older children, united “for a family vacation in Switzerland”. All too soon the Swiss visa expired, and the Swiss officials informed the mother that she must immediately return to from wherever she had come—to Germany. The father could stay, they said, because he was an invalid and had procured a doctor’s letter saying that he still needed more medical care.

The family had obtained an affidavit from an uncle in America in which he guaranteed their financial upkeep and, with it, their unlimited permission to move to the USA. However, there was a problem. The father’s mother was still in Germany— in Berlin. The father said that he could not leave for America till his mother was safely out of Germany. But his mother had no intention of leaving Germany! She read only ‘good news’—or none—adding “‘I am an old woman in her seventies, and the Germans will not harm me’” In the meantime, the Swiss authorities were relentlessly pressing the mother to leave with the children according to her visa instructions.

The parents decided that the father would stay in Switzerland till his mother could finally be convinced to join him there. He would then feel free to leave Switzerland with her, join up with the rest of the family, and then travel together to America. But where would the mother with the four children go in the meantime? Obviously not back to Germany, as was by now evident to all. Germany was out of the question, and the mother was not about to leave for America without her husband...

They were faced with a terrible dilemma! But a solution suddenly presented itself. Most of the mother’s family had followed the bad news in Germany (they had also lived in more antisemitic regions in Germany than had the father’s family) and had some years earlier already left Germany. Most of them had fled to England where the mother’s brother-in-law, a successful Jewish British businessman, had vouched for them all. He would do the same for the mother and the children until the father and his mother would join them in England. 

So, with the voucher from the brother-in-law in hand, the mother with the four children arrived in England and waited for the husband to arrive there with his mother. Reunited, they would all take a ship to America and settle down there as so many other family members had done before them.

The father’s mother was finally induced to visit her son in Switzerland (“Your son is severely ill and you must come to visit him immediately!”) She arrived in Switzerland two weeks before the outbreak of the war! By then, the British permitted no ‘enemy aliens’, such as German refugees, into the country, be they Jewish or not. The mother and her four children were stranded in England. They were virtually penniless and, due to the diabolic German regulations, stateless, being without a passport of any kind. As he had guaranteed, but hardly expected, the mother’s brother-in-law took full responsibility for the upkeep of the whole family.

Ten years later, after two brief two-week visits to England by the father, the mother and her English- speaking children (the mother had not dared to speak the enemy language with them), she and her four children—now ranging in age from twelve to nineteen—were reunited in Switzerland with their father and his mother. The children were estranged from their German speaking father. There had been no communication, written or otherwise, beyond the borders of neutral Switzerland and its surrounding Nazi-held neighbors. A slow, and not unpainful, re-bonding process of several years began for the family. The price of not listening to “bad news” ten years earlier was a terrible one!

So, is my friend wrong for not following the present-day news because it is all bad? Not really! Stories like the one above have been repeated in the diaspora for Jewish families in a thousand different ways throughout the last two thousand years. There is hardly a country in Europe that has not, at one time or another, and in one way or another, thrown out its defenseless Jewish citizens—and with outcomes all too often far worse than the one described above. For the first time in two thousand years we live in a country— our country—that will defend our security and freedom, and will never revoke our citizenship. We can trust its government that it will never throw us out, whether we voted for this one or another. We can be sure that, whether we like the government or not, and whether the news is good or bad, we have our own country in which we will always be welcome. If we have our own country -- and only then -- a story like this cannot happen. So yes, we can now afford not to listen to the news, good or bad!

Oh, and by the way, the family in the story above is my family— I was the four-year-old boy at its beginning…

George also wrote this fascinating piece on the engineering profession and Shabbat observance. 

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."