Dear Maimonides, by Andrew Sanders (Book of the Month, Kislev 5785)

Dear Maimonides: a discourse on religion and science is described by its author as “a major attempt to understand the ‘meaning of it all’”, using the viewpoint of someone far removed in space and time from our world. This might seem something out of The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy—but it isn’t. It transports Yosef ben Yehudah ibn Shimon, the original addressee of Rambam’s Guide to the Perplexed, to 20^th century North America. By doing so, the author seeks to provide a new and empirical worldview that incorporates the teachings of both the ancient and the modern Jew.

Who is the man who dares to do this? Our author, Andrew Sanders, was born and raised in Hungary, where he lived through both the Holocaust and the subsequent Communist regime. Leaving Hungary at the age of 24, he was educated as a chemist, and worked in that capacity at the University of Toronto. Later, he learned computer applications, was an early practitioner of that field, became an executive of a major financial institution, eventually starting his own computer software company, which was highly successful. Thereafter he devoted his time and effort to researching and writing on Jewish subjects, from philosophy and theology to historical fiction. In 1989 he and his wife made aliyah.

This volume forms part of the Marvin N. Hirschhorn collection, housed in Beit Knesset Hanassi. You are welcome to borrow it.

Family, foes and painful choices: Toledot 5785

The troubling question on this week’s parsha that has persisted throughout the ages of biblical commentary is: Whatever is Yitzchak thinking when he plans to give the blessings and heritage of Avraham to Eisav? Basically, explanations fall into two categories. One view is that Yitzchak, fooled by Eisav, is quite unaware of his true nature and wanton behavior. Rashi, quoting Midrash, interprets that Eisav “hunted“ his father with his pious speech and cunning conversation. Yitzchak is taken in and believes that Eisav, a man of the world and a physically powerful figure, is better suited to carry on Avraham’s vision than is Yaakov, the more studious and apparently less sophisticated of the pair. 

The other opinion, more popular among the later commentators to the Torah, is that Yitzchak is aware of the shortcomings of behavior and attitude of his elder son. His desire to give the blessings to Eisav is due to his wish to redeem and save him, to enable Eisav to turn his life around and become a worthy heir to the traditions of his father and grandfather. Yitzchak thinks that even if he gives the blessings to Eisav, Yaakov will not really suffer any disadvantage in his life’s work, while Eisav will find his way back to holiness through the blessings that he will have received. 

These two divergent attitudes towards the wayward child in Jewish families are enacted daily in Jewish family life. Later Yitzchaks either wilfully allow themselves to be deluded regarding the behavior and lifestyle of children or, aware of the problem, they attempt to solve it through a combination of generosity and a plethora of blessings. 

Rivkah, the mother of both Eisav and Yaakov, is not fooled by Eisav’s apparently soothing words; nor does she believe that granting him blessings will somehow accomplish any major shift in his chosen lifestyle. To a great measure she adopts a policy of triage, saving Yaakov and blessing him while thus abandoning Eisav to his own preferred wanton ways. 

The Torah does not record for us the “what if” scenario of Eisav receiving the blessings. Would he have been different in behavior and attitude, belief and mission? However, from the words of the later prophets of Israel, especially those of Ovadyah, it appears to be clear that God concurred with Rivkah’s policy, holding Eisav to be redeemable only in the very long run of history and human events. 

The moral of this episode is that one must be clear-eyed and realistic about the painful waywardness and misbehavior of Yaakov’s enemies, be they from within or without our immediate family and milieu. There are many painful choices that need to be made within one’s lifetime and especially in family relations, and few pat answers to varying and difficult situations. Perhaps that is why the Torah does not delve too deeply into the motives of Yitzchak and Rivkah, being content merely to reflect the different emotional relationships each had with their two very different sons. The Torah emphasizes the role that human emotions play in our lives and does not consign all matters to rational thought and decision-making.   

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein       

The power of "ignorance, illiteracy and superstition": Rabbi Wein

Last night, in the third of his eight lectures on "The Jewish World 1880-1914", Rabbi Wein introduced us to the condition of the Jews in the days of the Russian Empire. This lecture was quite unlike its two predecessors. While Jews were moving into Western Europe and the Austro-Hungarian Empire, quite the opposite was happening in Russia where it was the Empire that was moving into areas that already contained Jews.

Much of this lecture was taken up by Rabbi Wein’s vivid depiction of social, political and religious conditions in Russia which, remarkably, had remained more or less unchanged since the 15^th century. Russia was a primitive, feudal country that was controlled by a powerful aristocracy. The country was also dominated by the Russian Orthodox Church—a body that cultivated deeply superstitious and sometimes pagan practices, and which could not tolerate, within the borders of Russia, the presence of those who worshipped any other religion. This was because, for the Russian Orthodox Church, Russia was effectively The Holy Land.

For those who were not members of the aristocracy, life was hard. With an illiteracy rate of 95% there was no educated middle class to counter the power of the Church. Nor was there any trade of the sort that brought prosperity to the lands further to the West. The vast majority of the population consisted of serfs—effectively slaves—who worked the land in exchange for the food they ate. The serfs had no rights and could not leave the land to which they were born. Poverty was endemic but, because all were poor, being poor carried neither shame nor stigma.

Russian society was in effect frozen. The aristocracy wanted no change since they lived comfortably off the labour of the serfs. The Church likewise had no interest in change since it was only by keeping the masses ignorant, illiterate and superstitious that they could retain their influence and, as Rabbi Wein quipped, “The wonderful thing about a superstition is that you can never prove it wrong”.

It was not until the Napoleonic wars that there was any thought that change might occur. While the invading French army overreached itself and had to retreat, Russians who encountered the French were shocked into realising what a backward and primitive people they were, when compared with their better educated and more sophisticated invaders.

From this point onwards, the stability of serf-bound Russia began to weaken. Moves were made to emancipate the serfs, which alienated the nobility and while leaving the serfs with nothing they could do with their freedom. Meanwhile anarchists began to spread their doctrine that man was basically good and that it was only government that was bad: destroy government and self-rule by the inherently good would follow.

It was against this backdrop that the Tsars (Alexander I, right, and his successors) had to consider what to do with the Jews who lived to the west of their empire. The government, increasingly paranoid, imposed censorship on all Hebrew publications and simultaneously operated contradictory policies: it was sought to assimilate the Jews into Russian society via military conscription—thus forcing them to learn the Russian language and become part of Russian culture—while also depriving them of basic legal rights.

What happened after that? Stay tuned to Rabbi Wein’s next lecture to find out!

The struggle for succession: Chayei Sarah 5785

Death is not only tragic for those intimately affected: it also poses problems of succession and reorganization of the family, company or institution. In this week’s parsha Avraham and Sarah, the founders of the Jewish nation, pass from the scene. They are succeeded by Yitzchak and Rivka. Indeed, the majority of the parsha is occupied by the story of how Yitzchak marries Rivka and they establish their new home together. 

In personality, temperament and action,n Yitzchak and Rivka differ markedly from Avraham and Sarah. Whereas Avraham and Sarah devoted themselves to reaching as many outsiders as they could, being actively engaged in spreading the idea of monotheism in the society that encompassed them, Yitzchak and Rivka seem to take a more conservative approach, seeking only to consolidate what they had accomplished and to build a nation built on family rather than on strangers whom they might attract to their cause. 

As we will see in next week’s parsha, the struggle of Yitzchak and Rivka is an internal family struggle, as the world conflict that engaged Avraham and Sarah now take place within the family itself. The outcome of this struggle will turn on how to raise Eisav and Yaakov, and how to guarantee the continuity of Avraham and Sarah’s beliefs through their biological offspring. Eventually it is only through Yaakov that this is achieved and they are able to live through the blessing that the Lord promised them.

It becomes abundantly clear that the main struggle of the Jewish people will be to consolidate itself and thus influence the general world by osmosis, so to speak. The time of Avraham and Sarah has passed. New times require fresh responses to the challenges of being a blessing to all humankind. There are those in the Jewish world who are committed to “fixing the world” at the expense of Jewish traditional life and Torah law. Yet the simple truth is that for the Jewish people to be effective in influencing the world at large for good, there must be a strong, committed Jewish people. King Solomon in Shir Hashirim teaches us the cost of failure to do so: “I have watched over the vineyards of others, but I have neglected guarding my own vineyard.” 

The attempted destruction and delegitimization of the Jewish people or the State of Israel, God forbid, in order to further fuzzy, do-good, universal humanistic ideas is a self-destructive viewpoint of the purpose of Judaism. Without Jews there is no Judaism and without Judaism there is no true moral conscience left in the world. It seems evident to me that the primary imperative of Jews today is to strengthen and support Jewish family life, Jewish Torah education and the state of Israel. 

We are among the generations of Yitzchak and Rivka and therefore have to husband our resources and build ourselves first. We have as yet not made good the population losses of the Holocaust seventy years ago! If there will be a strong and numerous Jewish people, the age of Avraham and Sarah will then re-emerge. The tasks of consolidation of Jewish life as represented by the lives of Yitzchak and Rivka should be the hallmark of our generation as well. 

Shabat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein    

Jerusalem Street Art: a visual spectacular

Jerusalem is not just a beautiful city; it is also an inspiration for artists the world over. Not all the art is conventional art-gallery material, though. Every wall is a potential canvas for the street artists whose work leaps out at us as we wander through the city.

We don't find much street art in Rechavia, but go down the road to Nachlaot, for example, and you enter a maze of allleys emblazoned with striking and colourful images -- some angry, some humorous, some merely decorative and some quite enigmatic. 

Here, in this seven-minute video clip, our member Heshy Engelsberg takes us on a tour of some of Jerusalem's most striking street images. Thanks, Heshy, for sharing with us.

"Can you have a society without beliefs?": Rabbi Wein

Delivering the second of his eight lectures on "The Jewish World 1880-1914", Rabbi Wein sent out a powerful message to his audience on the importance of understanding our past in order to make our present more meaningful and our future more viable.

Starting with a survey of the vast polyglot Austro-Hungarian Empire and the manner in which it unravelled, Rabbi Wein went on to describe how the Jews living within the Empire themselves fought vigorously against one another, with traditional Jews fighting chasidim and with maskilim and Neologs -- the advocates of extreme reform -- fighting them both. This was a tragedy because, ultimately, the only cause that united the disparate nations and communities within the Empire was their antisemitism and their belief that it was the Jews who were responsible for all their misfortunes. The efforts and varying fortunes of many celebrated rabbis of the era were also reviewed.

In the course of his lecture, Rabbi Wein reminded the audience of both the power of the press -- which was even greater in the late nineteenth century in the absence of other mass media -- and its propensity to influence rather than inform its readership. He also posed some deep philosophical questions: 

• How do you define 'tolerance' in a secular society?
• Is it even possible to have a society that has no beliefs whatsoever?

Rabbi Wein painted a vivid picture of turn-of-the-century Vienna, the capital of the Empire. Vienna then was a rival to Paris in terms of culture and the arts, a fantastic backdrop against which Jewish attempts to gain acceptance, whether through assimilation or (in the case of Gustav Mahler) conversion, ultimately failed.

Walking together: Vayeira 5785

 One of the more salient lessons that we derive from this week's Torah reading regarding Abraham and Isaac is the emphasis that the Torah places on the fact that they ascended the mountain of Moriah together. This is because continuity, the bond between generations, has been the hallmark of Jewish life throughout its long history. 

Every generation differs in many aspects from the generation that preceded it—and this is especially true regarding the generations of Jews who have lived over the past few centuries. Scientific discoveries, enormous social changes, technology and communication that was previously unimaginable, plus an entirely different set of social and economic values, have transformed the Jewish world in a radical fashion. It is much more difficult, if not sometimes impossible, for parents and children to walk together towards a common goal. 

The secularization of much of Eastern-European Jewry during the 19th and 20th centuries testifies to this fact. Even though different generations will always see matters in a different light, there has perhaps never been such a radical and almost dysfunctional separation of generations as we have undergone during this period. 

It is basically true that the generation of the 20^th Century also wanted to climb the mountain of Moriah, but they did not want to do so in the company of their elders. In discarding the preceding generation, its teachings and way of life, the new generation ascended many mountains, but they never climbed the right one. And much of Jewry today is stranded on strange peaks and at dangerous heights. 

The challenge of the continuity across thegenerations is an enormous one. No matter how hard each family may try, not one has a guarantee of 100% success in maintaining the great chain of Jewish tradition. In fact, in my opinion, the challenge and task of today's generation, to somehow remain connected and to retain their values and purpose in life, is far greater than when I was a child. 

Being able to walk together, facing the enormous challenges of modern life, is a rare blessing in our time. It is not merely a matter of education, of finding the right schools and raising children in a positive environment: it is even more importantly the development of familial pride, with its warmth and love that are important and necessary to achieve the goal of generational continuity. 

There is no magic bullet, no one-size-fits-all solution to this type of challenge. There is a famous metaphor attributed to one of the great Eastern European rabbis who said that we are all but ships traversing the sea to arrive at our final destinations. Every ship leaves a wake in its passing to mark where the safe passage exists. However, that wake soon disappears and every ship must make its own way across the sea of life. The same is true about binding the generations together. The attempt to do so must be constant and one should never despair. It can be achieved. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

"Some periods of history just get overwhelmed by what happens afterwards": Rabbi Wein

 Speaking to a packed Beit Midrash in Beit Knesset Hanassi, Rabbi Berel Wein opened his latest lecture series, The Jewish World 1880-1914. In this first lecture Rabbi Wein focused on the three major centres of Jewish life in Western Europe--the United Kingdom, France and Germany.

"History is not made by general trends but by people", Rabbi Wein began: this established his methodology for the evening, looking at the lives of some of the most prominent Jews of that era.

Starting with the United Kingdom (which at that time included what is now the Republic of Ireland), Rabbi Wein described the rise to power of Benjamin Disraeli -- novelist, apostate, pro-Jewish campaigner and ultimately Prime Minister during the lengthy reign of Queen Victoria. Regarding himself as an Englishman of Jewish birth, he faced down his critics and opponents by unapologetically asserting the nobility of his Jewish origins. Rabbi Wein referred briefly to one of the most famous examples of Disraeli's bold stance, which goes like this:

Daniel O’Connell, the Irish Roman Catholic leader, attacked Disraeli in the House of Commons. In the course of his unrestrained invective, he referred to Disraeli’s Jewish ancestry. Disraeli replied, ‘Yes, I am a Jew, and while the ancestors of the right honorable gentleman were brutal savages in an unknown island, mine were priests in the temple of Solomon.

Turning to matters religious, Rabbi Wein then gave a fascinating account of the development of the institution of the Chief Rabbi, which spread to several countries that were under British rule (South Africa has a Chief Rabbi to this day). The very Britishness of this institution made it anathema to later generations of immigrants from Eastern Europe, who rejected this Germn-influenced office and became the charedi community of the United Kingdom today.

Rabbi Wein next turned his attention to France, a country that was known for its inherent antisemitism and for the institutional hostility of the French Catholic Church.  Here Rabbi Wein went into some detail in explaining not only the legal background to the famous Dreyfuss trial but also its pivotal role in reminding French Jews that assimilation -- despite its huge attraction -- was not a viable option in the hostile social environment in which they lived. The role of author and journalist Emile Zola in exposing the fraudulent nature of the trial and the reasons in his article, J'Accuse!, was also emphasised. So here in France, as in the United Kingdom in the case of Disraeli, it was someone from outside the Jewish community who made a vital contribution to Jewish survival.

Finally Rabbi Wein reached Germany, a country only recently cobbled together from some 160 little duchies, principalities and self-governing entities. The mastermind behind this enterprise was the brilliant German diplomat Otto von Bismarck (right). The fusion of these mini-states was effectively done under the leadership of Prussia -- the most powerful of them and also, following a treaty, the ruler of approximately one-third of Poland (Silesia, an area with a large Jewish population). Bismarck's political plans did not include persecution of the Jews; rather, he made it easier for them to escape the confines of local restrictions and to enter into regular German society.  

At this point, we meet Moses Mendelssohn -- an orthodox and practising Jew but a man who was convinced that Judaism was in need of an uplift in order to bring it more into line with modern Jewish life. Being the centre of intellectual fervour, Germany was unsurprisingly the place where many scholars -- Jewish and otherwise -- exchanged ideas, arguments and their views on religious doctrine. This is where we also learned of Rabbi S. R. Hirsch, his orthodox ally-cum-rival Rabbi Y. D. Bamberger, as well as Abraham Geiger and the Reform movement, which was seen as a bulwark against conversion to Christianity. Rabbi Wein concluded by pointing out the fallacy of this reasoning: it simply offered a way to assimilate into German society without commitment and without the inconvenience of becoming a Christian.

Not a tourist or a refugee: Lech Lecha 5785

We are fortunate to have not one but two divrei Torah from Rabbi Wein for this week. This devar Torah was circulated with the Hanassi Highlights, but the one below ("From the Universal to the Special") is the devar Torah that was originally prepared. Please enjoy them both!

The first two words of the second verse of this week’s Torah reading have received much attention and a great deal of comment. This is because the second of those two words—lecha (“for you”)—appears to be redundant. Rashi therefore interprets it as meaning “for your benefit and for your own good.” On the basis of this interpretation the Lord instructs Abraham to leave his homeland and family in Mesopotamia in order to achieve the greatness that is inherent within him, as the forebear of nations and the founder of the Jewish people.

An alternative interpretation of lecha has always fascinated me. Travel can be an enjoyable experience that also broadens the mind. A worldwide travel industry continues to burgeon as people increasingly crave visits to unseen shores and exotic locations. If travel is such a pleasant pastime, why should we consider Abraham and Sarah’s journey from Mesopotamia to Canaan as a challenge and a test of Abraham’s faith in the Almighty? The answer lies in the fact that lecha implies permanence. Reading between the lines, the message to Abraham is this: “Never again will you return home to Mesopotamia. You are not a visitor, a tourist or a traveler. When you depart you will do so as a stateless refugee and an alien”. Unlike Rashi’s interpretation of lecha, this second explanation has an ominous ring to it. Abraham and Sarah were about to face a truly challenging journey. They were not going on vacation.

Abraham’s descendants, the Jewish people, have shared this test and faced the same challenge throughout our long history. We have experienced insecurity and impermanence during the long night of our exile and dispersal. Even countries where Jews resided for centuries, such as Spain, Germany and Poland, eventually ceased to accommodate our presence. Even when we played a positive part in the culture of the nations that hosted us, we were “in” but remained the odd men out. How did we survive these enormous trials? Because we always believed and knew that eventually we would be going home. We prayed for it to happen and we struggled against all odds and enemies to make it happen. And, in our time, it did.

This belief in our return to Zion and Jerusalem sustained us in our darkest hours. It transferred us in our own minds—though not in the minds of others— from the status of tolerated but unwanted aliens into visitors and sojourners who actually have a legitimate and permanent home elsewhere. This is the feeling I have every time I travel abroad and present my Israeli passport for inspection. I am no longer a pariah or a refugee but a visitor, a tourist, perhaps even an honored guest. The children of Abraham have returned home.

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

From the universal to the special: Lech Lecha 5785

In this parsha the Torah’s narrative now proceeds from the general, universal story of humanity to concentrate on the specific narrative of the founding of the Jewish people. From this and next week’s parshiyot we learn of Avraham and Sarah, their difficulties and challenges, their loneliness and their spiritual quest. Their biographies show how they create the prototype for all later Jewish and familial society.

The Torah, unlike many contemporary hagiographies, avoids painting a blissful picture of righteous people who are forever blessed with serenity, immaculate character and perfect behavior. Rather, it shows us the ever-present challenges to faith in the Almighty: the difficulties of maintaining domestic harmony and of creating a positive worldview while surrounded by enemies, jealousy and an immoral public culture.

Tradition and the Mishna crown Avraham with the laurel of having withstood and overcome ten major challenges in his lifetime. Remarkably, the great Jewish commentators to the Torah differ as to which ten challenges the Mishna is referring to. Indeed, if we combine all of their opinions, there are a significantly greater number of challenges in the life of Avraham than just ten. The Torah’s portrayal of these events – the wandering and rootlessness of coming to the promised land of Israel, the disloyalty of Lot, domestic difficulties with Sarah and Hagar, the behavior of Pharaoh and his courtiers, to mention only a few – reveals a life of struggle, of pain, of striving and of hurdles still to overcome. 

In spite of all the very troubling details and incidents that the parsha records, there is a tone of optimism and fulfilled purpose that permeates the entire parsha.  Even the cursory reader senses that Avraham and Sarah are up to something great and that this is no ordinary tale of pioneering and struggle. There are Godly covenants and blessings, commitments made that surely will be met. We also learn of visions of a great and influential people, and of a holy land.

God’s relationship with humankind generally will be centered in His relationship with the family of Avraham, Sarah and their progeny. Nations and beliefs will vie for the honor of being the descendants and followers of Avraham. Millions will adopt his name and follow his monotheistic creed. He and Sarah will be some of the most influential personages in world history. They will not avoid trouble and travail in their personal and family lives; great will be their reward in spiritual and historical achievement. As such, they truly are the forerunners of the story of the Jewish people – a small and lonely people, wanderers and beset by inner disloyalty and external persecution while remaining optimistic and vastly influential in a manner that belies its physical numbers and temporal power.

So Avraham is the father of many nations and of all monotheistic believers. But he is special to us because he is the founder and father of the Jewish people whose march through human history parallels his own. The Godly covenant and blessings will assuredly be fulfilled through the accomplishments of the Jewish people, its nationhood and land.

Shabat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

Lech lecha: Are we listening?

Here's another thought-provoking piece by our member Rabbi Paul Bloom, on why this parasha is such a powerful call to make aliyah.

The central theme of this week’s Torah portion, Lech Lecha, is the command for Avraham to leave his homeland and journey to Eretz Yisrael, the land that Hashem promised to show him. The words "לךְ־לְךָ מֵאַרְצְךָ וּמִמּוֹלַדְתְּךָ וּמִבֵּית אָבִיךָ אֶל הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אַרְאֶךָ" (Go forth from your land, from your birthplace, and from your father’s house, to the land that I will show you) are the very first mitzvah ever given to a Jew. Rav Meir Yechiel of Ostrovtza points out that Hashem could have begun Judaism with any number of commands. Yet the first message to Avraham, the first Jew, was to leave his familiar surroundings and settle in the special land that Hashem chose.

Why did Hashem choose this as the foundational mitzvah? R. Yehudah HaLevi, in Sefer HaKuzari, explains that Avraham, already the most righteous person of his generation, had reached a spiritual level where he was ready to connect with the Divine in an even deeper way. Eretz Yisrael, the land uniquely suited for spiritual perfection, was the only place where Avraham could reach his full potential. Even though Avraham had already attained a high level of closeness to God outside of Eretz Yisrael, Hashem knew that only in the Land could he fully realize his destiny.

Avraham’s life in Chutz La’Aretz was not lacking in purpose. He was discovering Hashem, fighting against idolatry, teaching monotheism, and performing acts of kindness—just as many Jews in the diaspora today raise families, run businesses, study Torah, and lead communities. However, Hashem told Avraham, “All this is good, but you are doing it in the wrong place. In My special land, you will achieve so much more.” The message of Lech Lecha is that Hashem’s call to live in Eretz Yisrael is timeless.

For years, people delayed making aliyah due to material concerns. Today, with a comfortable life possible in Israel, the real barrier is often spiritual complacency. Many feel they have everything they need in Chutz La’Aretz: thriving communities, Torah learning, chesed organizations, kosher restaurants, and yeshivas. But Lech Lecha teaches us that while it’s possible to reach spiritual heights in Chutz La’Aretz, even greater achievements await in Hashem’s chosen land.

October 7th served as a wake-up call, prompting many Jews to consider aliyah more seriously than ever. It’s not an easy decision. Uprooting from the familiar, selling a home, leaving family and friends, and adjusting to a new life can be daunting. Yet the blessings Hashem promises to those who move to Eretz Yisrael, as outlined in this parsha, speak to our time as well: “I will make you into a great nation, I will bless you, I will make your name great, and you will be a blessing.”

Rabbi Zalman Sorotzkin comments in Oznayim LaTorah that this promise applies to Avraham’s descendants as well. Am Yisrael can only reach its true greatness—militarily, economically, and spiritually—when we are in our Land. The Shechinah (Divine Presence) does not dwell in the diaspora; we need to open our eyes to the miracles Hashem performs in Israel daily.

The Netziv adds that Avraham's example of acting immediately upon Hashem’s command to leave teaches us how to approach the mitzvah of aliyah. He didn’t wait for everything to be perfect; he set out immediately, leaving others to handle his affairs. For us, this can mean making small concrete steps: talking about aliyah, choosing careers suited for Israel, renting instead of buying in Chutz La’Aretz, or investing in property in Israel. Such steps lock us into the journey toward aliyah, making it easier to follow through when the time is right.

Even with all the challenges, R. Chayim of Volozhin teaches that the trials Avraham endured were meant to strengthen his descendants. His steadfast commitment to aliyah instilled within each Jew the ability to heed Hashem’s call to move to Eretz Yisrael. The recent events have sparked a renewed desire for aliyah, reminding us that every Jew possesses the inner strength and spiritual "DNA" to make this journey.

In these times, it is imperative for Jewish leaders—rabbis, teachers, and mentors in diaspora schools and shuls—to emphasize the centrality of Israel in Jewish life. As role models, they have a responsibility to inspire their communities to recognize that the future of Am Yisrael lies in Eretz Yisrael. This message needs to permeate our educational systems and our daily conversations, instilling within each of us the drive to fulfill Hashem’s timeless command: Lech Lecha!—go to the land He has shown us. I know  for a fact this  constant  message  works. In my shul, in Highland Park, Congregation Ohav Emeth, the Rabbi constantly talked  about the importance of  Eretz Yisrael and  Aliya. Over the years , this  shul  had  by far the highest percent of  Aliya from any shul in the community 

Let me end with a beautiful thought from the Sefas Emes, who raises a question about the closing words of the first blessing in our Shmoneh Esrei, "Magen Avraham" — "the Shield of Abraham." Why do we ask Hashem to protect Avraham? Avraham Avinu has been gone for thousands of years; why would he need protection? The Sefas Emes, in a classic insight of his Hasidus, explains that we are not asking Hashem to shield Avraham himself. Rather, we are asking Him to preserve within us that spark of Avraham Avinu — the essence that drove him to leave his homeland, come to Eretz Yisrael, and settle and conquer the Land of Israel.

We seek to retain the strength Avraham embodied, the unwavering commitment to avodas Hashem (serving God), enabling him to pass all his tests, from bris mila (circumcision) to the battles he entered , enduring hardship with an indestructible faith. Avraham’s life was built entirely on the will of Hashem, unshaken by the surrounding cultures and norms. This enduring spark, this legacy of resilience and faith, is the true blessing we ask for.

Ultimately, the question we must ask ourselves is: Are we listening to Hashem’s call?