The cost of Torah and the price of honour

Continuing our series of erev Shabbat Pirkei Avot posts on the perek of the week, we finally reach Perek 6, “Kinyan HaTorah” (“Acquisition of the Torah”), which we learn ahead of the festival of Shavuot which marks the giving of the Torah at Sinai.

Not all the teachings in Avot consist of rabbis telling people what to do. One of them, a baraita in the final perek (Avot 6:9), opens with a short story:

אָמַר רַבִּי יוֹסֵי בֶּן קִסְמָא: פַּֽעַם אֶחָת הָיִֽיתִי מְהַלֵּךְ בַּדֶּֽרֶךְ, וּפָגַע בִּי אָדָם אֶחָד, וְנָתַן לִי שָׁלוֹם, וְהֶחֱזַֽרְתִּי לוֹ שָׁלוֹם, אָמַר לִי: רַבִּי, מֵאֵיזֶה מָקוֹם אָֽתָּה, אָמַֽרְתִּי לוֹ: מֵעִיר גְּדוֹלָה שֶׁל חֲכָמִים וְשֶׁל סוֹפְרִים אָֽנִי. אָמַר לִי: רַבִּי, רְצוֹנְךָ שֶׁתָּדוּר עִמָּֽנוּ בִּמְקוֹמֵֽנוּ, וַאֲנִי אֶתֵּן לָךְ אֶֽלֶף אֲלָפִים דִּנְרֵי זָהָב וַאֲבָנִים טוֹבוֹת וּמַרְגָּלִיּוֹת. אָמַֽרְתִּי לוֹ: אִם אַתָּה נוֹתֵן לִי כָּל כֶּֽסֶף וְזָהָב וַאֲבָנִים טוֹבוֹת וּמַרְגָּלִיּוֹת שֶׁבָּעוֹלָם, אֵינִי דָר אֶלָּא בִּמְקוֹם תּוֹרָה

Rabbi Yose ben Kisma said: Once I was going on my way and I encountered a man. He greeted me and I returned his greeting. He said to me: "Rabbi, where are you from?" I said to him: "I’m from a great city of sages and scholars". He said to me: "Rabbi, would you like to live with us in our place? I will give you a million gold dinars of gold, precious stones and pearls”. I said I to him: "If you were to give me all the silver, gold, precious stones and pearls in the world, I wouldn’t live anywhere but in a place of Torah”.

Is any further comment needed, or indeed desirable? Here, in narrative form, we read a simple story of a great and highly principled rabbi who refuses all inducements and blandishments for the sake of being able to learn Torah in the company of other like-minded scholars.

Those who discuss this stranger tend to do so in a pejorative sense. Thus R’ Abraham J. Twerski (Visions of the Fathers) describes him as “lacking the basic underpinnings of spirituality” with his “superficial manners and his overvaluation of money”. The Chafetz Chaim says the man was not asking Rabbi Yose to teach Torah but only that people would honour him (Shmuel Charlap, Chafetz Chaim al Avot).  The Maharal of Prague, seeking to identify him by name, pointed to two candidates who could have scarcely been more different from one another: Elijah the Prophet and the Satan.

But perhaps there is more to this story than meets the eye. For one thing, though we know very little about Rabbi Yose ben Kisma, we do know that he lived and taught in the Roman city of Caesarea—an affluent place but hardly a notable makom Torah after the Bar Kochka revolt of 132-136 CE.

Further, everyone reads this baraita from the standpoint of Rabbi Yose ben Kisma. But why do we not read it too from the perspective of the unknown man whom he meets? Here we find a man who is so desperate to secure a rabbi who will illuminate his town with Torah and enrich it with his knowledge that he is prepared to pay any price for it. Perhaps he is even greater in his dedication to Torah than is Rabbi Yose. After all, the rabbi articulates his concern for himself, while the man he meets is seeking a rabbi for an entire community.

What counts is the way you count: Bemidbar 5785

The count of the Jewish people that appears in this week’s parsha is difficult to understand. What are we to learn from all these detailed descriptions and seemingly exact numbers? The general lesson that every Jew counts, and is to be counted, is plain—but that lesson can be learned from a far more concise précis of the population of the Jews than the long account that appears in the parsha. Perhaps it the messenger that itself is the message: the Torah wishes to express its relationship to the Jewish people by dwelling at “unnecessary” length on the counting exercise. For those with whom we have a loving relationship, there are no unnecessary or superfluous acts or gestures. 

The rabbis wryly compare this type of relationship to the way one counts one’s money: thus one can compare the speed and intensity with which we recite our prayers with the speed at which we would count valuable coins. Care in counting is also an expression of the underlying attachment to what is being counted. I note that people leaving the ATM cash dispenser invariably check the bills that they have received. This is not only an act of prudence; it is an act of affection. Similarly the count of the Jews in the parsha, even in its detail and length, make perfect sense. Another explanation can be found in the identity of the counters themselves. Moshe, Aharon, Elazar and Itamar are the leaders of the Jewish people, totally responsible for its physical and spiritual welfare. Part of their task is to seek to know their millions of constituents—to make some sort of connection with each as an individual.

 The leaders of Israel used to view their responsibility as being like those of parents. Some Jews crave affection while others need tough love. The enormous diversity of the Jewish people—twelve different tribes that are counted separately as well as in their aggregate—is emphasized by the fact of their being counted as individuals. Responsibility for the fate of the Jewish people is a heavy burden, but it is one that automatically comes with leadership positions. Those who count he Jewish people are its leaders, constantly aware that they are relied upon for their leadership and wisdom. And they must also be aware that the needs of every person must be accounted for. 

So, the counting of the Jewish people is not an empty exercise; it reflects the scale of challenges they and their leaders face. May both the counters and the counted of Israel in our day be great in numbers, spirit and accomplishments. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein 

Rabbi Wein's devar Torah on parshat Bemidbar last year, "In the desert", can be read here.

Encamping with Purpose: Identity, Destiny, and the Call of the Land

Each year, as we begin reading Sefer Bemidbar, we are greeted by what appears to be a census—a counting of men aged twenty and above, fit for battle. This enumeration yields the familiar number: 603,550. The book’s name in English—Numbers—reflects this opening theme. But as with everything in Torah, the surface conceals a profound inner depth. This is not simply a military registration; it is a moment of spiritual crystallization.The Torah uses the phrase שְׂאוּ אֶת-רֹאש—“Lift up the head”—to describe this counting. Each individual is elevated, seen, and given significance. This isn’t about quantity: it’s about identity. And not just one identity, but a multi-layered formation of the self and of the nation. Rabbi Paul Bloom explains.

Four Dimensions of Jewish Identity

Sefer Bemidbar reveals four dimensions of identity—personal, familial, communal, and cosmic—each represented in the way the people encamp around the Mishkan and prepare to receive the Torah anew.

1. Peshat: Readiness and Responsibility

At the literal level (peshat), the nation is arranged in military formation. “Kol hayotzei l’tzava”—those who go out to war—are counted and grouped by tribe. This reflects a nation on the brink of entering Eretz Yisrael, preparing to fulfill its divine mandate not just through faith, but through action and readiness. They were being prepared for immediate entry into the Land, each person in their place, ready to march with purpose.

Yet, as the Sforno insightfully notes, this arrangement also carried a divine potential: had the people entered the Land with eagerness and faith, God would have made the conquest unnecessary. The nations would have fled. As Chazal teach, the Girgashites left voluntarily. The encampment was meant to signal a people worthy of divine miracles. Tragically, the sin of the Spies would forfeit that opportunity, forcing Israel into forty years of wandering and eventual warfare.

The lesson is sobering and urgent: when we hesitate in our mission, our enemies grow bolder. This truth echoes into our own time. Following the miraculous victory of the Six-Day War, the Jewish people stood poised to reclaim and resettle their full inheritance. But reluctance to act decisively gave our enemies renewed claims. We must not repeat this error again.

2. Remez: Echoes of the Patriarchs

On the level of remez (hint), Chazal and Rashi point out that the tribal formation around the Mishkan mirrored the funeral procession of Yaakov Avinu. When the sons of Yaakov carried his body to Me’arat HaMachpelah, they stood in the very same tribal configuration.

This powerful parallel teaches that the structure of the Jewish camp is not arbitrary—it is ancestral. The honor once given to the father of the nation becomes the structural paradigm for the nation itself. Our future encampment is modeled on our past devotion. We are a people formed not only by divine instruction, but by the enduring legacy of our forebears.

3. Derush: Flags, Stones, and Sanctified Distinctions

On the homiletic level (derush), each tribe had its own flag (degel), uniquely colored to match its corresponding stone on the Choshen Mishpat—the breastplate of the Kohen Gadol. These were not mere decorations. They symbolized the holiness embedded in each tribe’s unique identity.

Rashi emphasizes that these colors and banners represent the tribe’s distinct spiritual role. Just as the High Priest wore twelve different stones, each tribe shone with its own hue, yet all were unified in the service of God. Unity in Judaism is never uniformity. It is the harmony of diverse roles, gifts, and callings sanctified within a single national soul.

This is the message echoed every Friday night in Kabbalat Shabbat. We sing “Bo’i VeShalom” three times—once as individuals, once as families, and once as a community. Each level of identity is necessary for true wholeness.

4. Sod: A Reflection of the Heavenly Chariot

And then there is sod, the secret, mystical level. Ibn Ezra, drawing from the vision of Yechezkel, reveals a breathtaking parallel: the tribal encampment mirrors the celestial Ma’aseh Merkavah, the Divine Chariot. The four lead tribes—Yehuda, Reuven, Ephraim, and Dan—correspond to the four celestial beings:

●      Yehuda: Lion (aryeh), symbol of royalty and courage.

●      Reuven: Human face (adam), symbol of introspection and wisdom.

●      Ephraim: Ox (shor), representing strength and service.

●      Dan: Eagle (nesher), sign of vision and divine swiftness.

The Jewish people encamp not just as a nation, but as a reflection of heaven itself. Their structure is a cosmic alignment, their movement a celestial choreography. Through their formation around the Mishkan, they became a living sanctuary, a human Merkavah for the Divine Presence.

Spiritual Archetypes: Four Pillars of Holiness

The Kli Yakar adds yet another layer. Each of the four camps corresponds to a spiritual archetype, values essential for building a holy society:

●      Chochmah (Wisdom): Yehudah’s camp, center of Torah and leadership.

●      Middot (Ethical Character): Reuven’s camp, source of integrity and humility.

●      Gevurah (Moral Strength): Ephraim’s camp, courage and discipline.

●      Ashirut (Wealth for Good): Dan’s camp, material prosperity directed toward sanctity.

These archetypes call on each of us to discover our unique spiritual path and contribute our talents to the collective mission.

Sinai, Shavuot, and the Mission of Unity

It is no coincidence that Parashat Bemidbar is read just before Shavuot, the anniversary of Matan Torah. At Sinai, we were “k’ish echad b’lev echad”—like one person with one heart. That unity was not sociological; it was sacred. To receive Torah, we had to become a vessel—a unified entity ready to carry the Divine word.

The desert encampment is not just a memory—it is a model. To receive Torah today, we must reclaim those layers of identity: personal uniqueness, familial roots, communal responsibility, and cosmic purpose. We must align ourselves—individually and nationally—with the Divine order.

A Timeless Call

The Sforno’s message rings clear: had the Israelites embraced the Land with love, God would have conquered it for them. The same truth faces us now. The Land of Israel awaits not only our return, but our readiness. When we despise the Land, even passively, we empower those who oppose us. But when we act with conviction and holiness, miracles follow.

The census in Bamidbar is not ancient history. It is a mirror. It asks us: Who are you? Where do you stand? What is your mission?

As we approach Shavuot, let us remember that we stood at Sinai not as a crowd, but as a formation. Let us stand again, each in our place—elevated, counted, and ready to carry the Torah into the Land and into the world.

Megillat Ruth: Three Declarations

One of the highlights of the festival of Shavuot is the public reading in shul of Megillat Ruth, a powerful and moving narrative of love, of commitment, of honesty and sincerity. Three of the most famous passages in this Megillah has been the inspiration for "Three Declarations", a piece for solo bassoon and strings that our member Max Stern dedicated to his friend, musician and fellow educator Mauricio Paez, who commissioned them. What is this piece all about? Let Max explain in his own words: 

These Three Declarations for solo bassoon and string quintet encapsulate three scenes from the Book of Ruth in brief musical portraits, which musically synthesize traditional ethnic sources (Yemenite women’s wedding songs) with freely expressive instrumental interpretations of statements by Ruth, Boaz, and “People at the Gate.” The Three Declarations are as follows:

Ruth I: 16-17

וַתֹּאמֶר רוּת אַל-תִּפְגְּעִי-בִי, לְעָזְבֵךְ לָשׁוּב מֵאַחֲרָיִךְ:  כִּי אֶל-אֲשֶׁר תֵּלְכִי אֵלֵךְ, וּבַאֲשֶׁר תָּלִינִי אָלִין--עַמֵּךְ עַמִּי, וֵאלֹהַיִךְ אֱלֹהָי

בַּאֲשֶׁר תָּמוּתִי אָמוּת, וְשָׁם אֶקָּבֵר; כֹּה יַעֲשֶׂה יְהוָה לִי, וְכֹה יוֹסִיף--כִּי הַמָּוֶת, יַפְרִיד בֵּינִי וּבֵינֵךְ

16 And Ruth said: "Entreat me not to leave thee, and to return from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people hall be my people, and thy God my God; 

17 where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried; the LORD do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me".

Ruth II: 11-12

וַיַּעַן בֹּעַז, וַיֹּאמֶר לָהּ--הֻגֵּד הֻגַּד לִי כֹּל אֲשֶׁר-עָשִׂית אֶת-חֲמוֹתֵךְ, אַחֲרֵי מוֹת אִישֵׁךְ; וַתַּעַזְבִי אָבִיךְ וְאִמֵּךְ, וְאֶרֶץ מוֹלַדְתֵּךְ, וַתֵּלְכִי, אֶל-עַם אֲשֶׁר לֹא-יָדַעַתְּ תְּמוֹל שִׁלְשׁוֹם

יְשַׁלֵּם יְהוָה, פָּעֳלֵךְ; וּתְהִי מַשְׂכֻּרְתֵּךְ שְׁלֵמָה, מֵעִם יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל, אֲשֶׁר-בָּאת, לַחֲסוֹת תַּחַת-כְּנָפָיו

11 And Boaz answered and said unto her: "It hath fully been told me, all that thou hast done unto thy mother-in-law since the death of thy husband; and how thou hast left thy father and thy mother, and the land of thy nativity, and art come unto a people that thou knowest not heretofore. 

12 The LORD recompense thy work, and be thy reward complete from the LORD, the God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come to take refuge".

Ruth IV:11-12

וַיֹּאמְרוּ כָּל-הָעָם אֲשֶׁר-בַּשַּׁעַר, וְהַזְּקֵנִים--עֵדִים; יִתֵּן יְהוָה אֶת-הָאִשָּׁה הַבָּאָה אֶל-בֵּיתֶךָ, כְּרָחֵל וּכְלֵאָה אֲשֶׁר בָּנוּ שְׁתֵּיהֶם אֶת-בֵּית יִשְׂרָאֵל, וַעֲשֵׂה-חַיִל בְּאֶפְרָתָה, וּקְרָא-שֵׁם בְּבֵית לָחֶם

וִיהִי בֵיתְךָ כְּבֵית פֶּרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר-יָלְדָה תָמָר לִיהוּדָה--מִן-הַזֶּרַע, אֲשֶׁר יִתֵּן יְהוָה לְךָ, מִן-הַנַּעֲרָה, הַזֹּאת

11 And all the people that were in the gate, and the elders, said: "We are witnesses. The LORD make the woman that is come into thy house like Rachel and like Leah, which two did build the house of Israel; and do thou worthily in Ephrath and be famous in Beth-lehem;

12 and let thy house be like the house of Perez, whom Tamar bore unto Judah, of the seed which the LORD shall give thee of this young woman".

You can experience "Three Declarations" as played by Mauricio Paez on YouTube here. 

When one day makes a difference

The Destiny Foundation contains a treasure trove of divrei Torah, insights and words of wisdom from Rabbi Wein. Here's one to share on the topic of our shortest Chag.

Here in Israel Shavuot is a one-day holiday. Since many stay up all night on Shavuot and therefore spend a great deal of the day sleeping off the night’s study session, the chag really whizzes by. This really does not allow for much true contemplation of the holiday and its intended message and long-lasting influence upon us. 

We all know that Shavuot marks the granting of the Torah to the Jewish people on Mount Sinai, though the biblical names for Shavuot, which appear in the Torah itself, do not specifically reflect this truth. The reality of the holiday is not easily absorbed in so short a period of time as one day. After all, we savor Pesach but it takes a week to do so—and the same is true for Succot which lasts eight days. 

When I lived in the United States, the second day of Shavuot was one of my favorite days of the year. I appreciated the wisdom of Jewish tradition in extending the holidays for Jews living in the Diaspora. But, living now in Israel, with its one-day holiday of Shavuot, it has forced me to consider the import of the holiday in a less leisurely manner than before. 

Although there is no second day of Shavuot here, the aftermath of Shavuot nevertheless can and should wield an influence upon us, on our attitudes, behavior and beliefs. If it does not, the holiday itself, passing in a blur, loses its sense of importance and relevance and becomes a wasted opportunity. 

Dealing with the Torah is not a one-time situation. Perhaps this is the reason behind the Torah not emphasizing Shavuot as the anniversary of its being granted to the Jewish people on Sinai all those years ago. Torah is “our life and the length of our days.” It really therefore has no anniversary or commemorative day for it is the constant factor in the life of Jews. 

The Torah is a continuous guide and challenge in our everyday life, always demanding and probing into our innermost thoughts and outward behavior and lifestyle. It does not allow for vacations and negligence, societal correctness and sloppy thinking. Our teacher Moshe stated in his famous psalm that life itself passes by as in a blur, much like the holiday of Shavuot does. Without focus and purpose, dedication and fortitude, life itself resembles a lost opportunity. 

Shavuot’s message therefore truly lies in its aftermath and not so much in its one-day of commemoration. In Temple times, Shavuot, so to speak, was extended for another week to allow the holiday offerings of individuals to be brought upon the Temple’s altar. 

There was a conscious effort by Torah law to impress upon the Jews the continuity of Shavuot, with the deep understanding that, out of all of the holidays of the year, it was the one that never quite ends. It was and is the source of “our lives and the length of our days.” Shavuot is only one day out of 365 but its true commemoration extends to the other 364 days of the year as well. 

I have often remarked that Shavuot is the forgotten holiday for many Jews in the Diaspora. Its almost complete disappearance from Jewish life outside of the observant Orthodox community has become the symbol of the ravages of assimilation, intermarriage and alienation that plague the modern Jew who has little self-identity and abysmal ignorance of Torah and its values. 

Here in Israel all Israelis are aware of Shavuot, even those who only honor it in its breach. So the Torah and its influence is still a vital part of Jewish life here. The study of Torah and Jewish subjects of interest on the night of Shavuot here cuts across all lines and groupings in Israeli society. Secular and religious, Charedi and Reform, synagogues and community centers—all have all night learning sessions on the night of Shavuot. So Torah has an effect upon all here, naturally in varying degrees of knowledge and attitude. 

In the Diaspora, Shavuot is simply ignored by many Jews and thus it cannot have any continuity in the lives and value systems of those Jews. It is difficult to see how this situation can be materially changed in the near future. Yet Shavuot has always somehow been able to produce its magic on the people of Israel. We should therefore be most grateful that the Lord has extended to us a year-long and eternal Shavuot.

Royalty v Chaos

 

Here's a timely debut blogpost by one of our newest members, Rabbi Steven Ettinger--live wire, author and tax lawyer. Thanks, Steve, for shedding some fresh light on the impending chag of Shavuot.

As with most of our religious practices, there are no straight answers, or more accurately, there are scores of alternative answers. Take, for example, the reading of Megillat Rut on Shavuot. Why do we read it? A recent search on Chabad.org provided a list of eight reasons and I am sure one could find sixty-two more.

First up on the list is the one that speaks most poignantly to me, that Shavuot is the day of birth and passing of Dovid Hamelech. The denouement of Megillat Rut leads into his birth. However, looking more closely, one can find a much deeper connection between this work and the life of Dovid: there is a character linked both to his rise and to his later near demise. She appears briefly; however, her character, actions and impact are significantly more far-reaching. Thematically, she influences the very conflict that envelopes us and our country today.

After Machlon and Chilion die in Moav, Naomi decides to return to Israel.  Her daughters-in-law Rut and Orpah initially accompany her. After a short while, she implores them to remain in Moav, but they are steadfast in their loyalty to her.  Back and forth they go, until Orpah finally relents -- but Rut perseveres.

It does not seem that Orpah is judged harshly. Just the opposite. The Talmud (Sota 42b) brings three opinions to support the “reward” she received for one of the following: kissing Naomi four times, shedding four tears, or accompanying her four mil upon their separation.

Chazal explain that although she was barren, Orpah merited to be the mother (or perhaps ancestor) of Goliath and three other giants (mighty warriors) that we find in Sefer Shmuel (see 2 Shmuel 21: 18-22). Goliath, of course, is identified with the revelation of Dovid’s destined greatness. Another of these giants, Ishbi, nearly kills Dovid, as recounted in an elaborate aggadah in Sanhedrin (95a).  It is interesting to note that, in this tale, Dovid is saved because Avishai ben Zeruiah kills Orpah and then subsequently is able to kill Ishbi by distracting him with news of her death.  Thus Orpah and her progeny are not mere antagonists but their destinies are intertwined with those of Dovid.

Circling back to Megilat Rut and Shavuot and its connection to Dovid Hamelech, how is Orpah still relevant to our contemporary story? Does she continue to play a role in the destiny of “Dovid v’zaroh?”

The simple reading of the story presented two similar and compassionate women – differentiated by one small action. One remained with Naomi and one returned home. However, as the story unfolded, through time and the eyes of Chazal, there was a divergence. One woman, Rut, became the symbol of purity and beauty. She was the mother of royalty of the hero. The other, Orpah , devolves into an ugly, deceitful person who is the mother of those who threaten the hero and Israel’s very existence.

The moment Orpah walked away was no mere familial split; it represented the separation of the values of Moav from those of Yehudah. The contrast between Rut and Orpah – and later between their descendants -- represents an existential struggle between tribes and nations. This is ultimately the contrast between good and evil -- moral and the immoral.  That separation occurred at the very moment Rut declared “Amech ami,  v’Elokaich Elokai” –words that represented her acceptance of the Torah and its obligations – values that Orpah could not assimilate.

The cults of death, the immoral, the haters, the ones we battle every day are the ones who walked away with Orpah . They chose and continue to choose to reject the opportunity accept and constantly reaffirm of the ethic of the Brit of Matan Torah, that runs through Rut and Dovid and their actions, that will assure us of victory.

Rising Moon, by Moshe Miller (Book of the Month, Sivan 5785)

With Shavuot fast approaching, our Book of the Month for Rosh Chodesh Sivan is Rabbi Moshe Miller's Rising Moon. What's it about? Here's a handy synopsis, drawn from one of the websites from which Rising Moon can be purchased: 

Ruth, a princess of Moab, leaves her homeland, along with Naomi and Orpah, after suffering terrible losses to become the mother of the royal house of Israel. Now, in a revolutionary reading of the Book of Ruth, Moshe Miller provides an entirely new perspective on this beloved story. 

Beneath the simple surface of the Book of Ruth, the Sages trace a web of primal issues, including the Serpent in the Garden of Eden; the jealousy of Cain; the painful break between Abraham and Lot; and the mystery that is the mitzvah of yibum. The fiber that binds together all these issues is the theme of love. Love is the key to this story, which culminates in the unique love of Ruth and Boaz, the ancestors of the once and future king, David, whose very name means love! 

Don't let this synopsis lure you into thinking it's just a romantic rendition of one of Tanach's most moving episodes. With a subtitle that reads "unravelling the book of Ruth", it is presented as a drama in four acts and turns out to be an ingenious and textually sensitive analysis of a Megillah that we know so well that we don't stop to ask ourselves if we can't get to know it a little better.

You can borrow this book from Beit Knesset Hanassi's downstairs library.

Yerushalayim: A Gift, a Miracle, a Calling

Fifty-seven years ago, three words were broadcast that changed the destiny of the Jewish people:

 Har HaBayit BeYadeinu (“The Temple Mount is in our hands”).

Those words, uttered during the dramatic liberation of Jerusalem in the Six-Day War, did more than describe a military achievement. They announced a spiritual and national turning point, one that reverberates to this day in the heart of every Jew around the world. Rabbi Paul Bloom tells us all about this momentous event.

  The Date That Was Always Destined

This week, we celebrate Yom Yerushalayim, 28 Iyar—a day whose significance was known to Chazal and noted in the writings of Rishonim centuries before 1967. In fact, the Tur (Orach Chaim 580) mentions this day as the yahrzeit of Shmuel HaNavi, the prophet who laid the spiritual foundations for Jerusalem's destiny. In Megillat Ta’anit it is marked as a significant day long before modern history added a new chapter.

 Nothing is coincidental in Jewish history. That the reunification of Jerusalem happened on the yahrzeit of the very prophet who instructed David HaMelech about the future location of the Beit HaMikdash is no mere historical curiosity—it is the unfolding of divine orchestration. Shmuel taught David where the House of God was to be built, and it was David who conquered Yerushalayim and set the stage for his son Shlomo to build the Mikdash. 

 A Dream Reawakened 

For two thousand years, Jerusalem was a dream. A hope. A prayer. Generations of Jews faced its direction, cried over its ruins, and longed for its rebuilding. Even King David, as he wrote in Tehillim, stood outside its gates dreaming of a day he would see it whole and vibrant.

 Then came 1967

 In what can only be described as a miraculous turn of events, Israeli forces—led by commanders who never imagined they’d set foot in the Old City—found themselves standing at the Kotel, the Western Wall, having retaken the heart of Yerushalayim. The spiritual and emotional power of that moment cannot be overstated. In the words of the Gemara in Niddah:

  "Ein ba’al hanes makir b’niso" – *One in the midst of a miracle often doesn’t recognize it.*

 Many didn’t realize it then, and still don’t today. But the truth is, we were—and are—witnesses to a miracle of national rebirth. Yerushalayim was not just a city reclaimed—it was the Jewish soul reawakened.

  A New Jewish Identity

 Before 1967, many Jews in the Diaspora experienced their Jewish identity as something to hide or survive. But after the Six-Day War, something shifted. Jewish pride surged. Even Jews who had been distant from Torah and mitzvot felt a stirring. The return to Yerushalayim became a symbol of resilience, of purpose, of connection.

 Natan Sharansky recalls that for Soviet Jews, their Jewishness had always meant persecution. Suddenly, after Yerushalayim was reunited, it meant pride. Hope. Belonging.

 This national pride ignited the Ba’al Teshuva movement, brought waves of Aliyah, and inspired even secular Jews to reconnect with their heritage. Jews in Rio, in Melbourne, in Johannesburg and Paris began to walk with a different posture—because Yerushalayim was ours again. It gave us all a center of gravity.

  A City of Connection

 Yerushalayim is not just a capital city. It is the ultimate makom hachibur—a place of connection. Between heaven and earth. Between Jew and Jew. Between past and future. It is the place where Avraham Avinu bound Yitzchak, where he named the location "Hashem Yir’eh"—the first half of the word Yerushalayim. Later, Malki-Tzedek, called it "Shalem." The Midrash teaches that Yerushalayim is the union of those two names: Yir’eh and Shalem. Fear and wholeness. Vision and peace.

 In this city, the Torah of Hashem and the faith of Avraham combine. It is here that the nations will one day say:

 "Ki mitziyon teitzei Torah, u’dvar Hashem miYerushalayim"

“From Zion shall come forth Torah, and the word of God from Jerusalem.”* (Yeshayahu 2:3)

 Yerushalayim is the city where all of Israel would gather three times a year, where tribes with different customs and perspectives united in a common purpose. This is the power of Yerushalayim shel matah—to give us a taste of Yerushalayim shel ma’alah.

  A War That Shouldn’t Have Happened

 And yet, this miracle only unfolded because of another inexplicable decision: King Hussein of Jordan, who could have remained neutral, instead chose to enter a war already lost. Deceived by Nasser’s propaganda, he attacked—and thus opened the path for the IDF to liberate East Jerusalem, Yehudah, and Chevron.

 Had he chosen differently, Yerushalayim might still be divided. The Kotel might still be behind barbed wire. The Har HaBayit might still be inaccessible.

 But Hashem had other plans.

  A Day to Remember

 This Monday, on 28 Iyar, we mark Yom Yerushalayim. It is not just a day of military triumph. It is a day of divine intervention, of national rebirth, of spiritual awakening.

 We remember the miraculous victories, the planes that flew untouched through skies thick with Soviet-made missiles. We remember the fear of impending annihilation, just 22 years after the Holocaust—and the utter, divine reversal of expectations.

 And we remember the yahrzeit of Shmuel HaNavi, who envisioned it all and gave David HaMelech the tools to begin this eternal journey.

 And just   as we  saw  great miracles during the Six  Day War and the  reclaiming of all of  Jerusalem, we see great miracles in our current battle with evil. We  hope and  pray that our current battle  will lead to something  even greater  than what happened in 1967.

 Yerushalayim Is Our Future

 Let us never take Yerushalayim for granted. Let us not be blind to the "nissim" unfolding in our time. Let us recognize the spiritual power of this city, the dream of generations realized in our own days.

 Yerushalayim is not just history—it is destiny.

And it is calling to us still.

On the buses

 Some of us rarely if ever put themselves into the hands of Jerusalem's legendary bus service. Others of us, the more adventurous and outgoing kind, use buses whenever we can. Love them or loathe them, our buses are very much part of the fabric of everyday life in the Capital. Our member Zev Hochberg shares with us here a few of his personal experiences.

As a recent newcomer, I’ve been amused by some “only in Israel” moments on bus rides around Jerusalem.

We’re all family!

On a quiet bus ride, a teenage girl is sitting at the window seat; an older man is sitting on the aisle. In walks another teenage girl; the girls notice each other, and after a few moments the second girl approaches the older man and says something quietly to him. He gets up and moves to a nearby seat; she sits down next to her friend, and they chat away. All is calm—until an older woman sitting nearby turns to the girl and sternly, but also lovingly, says “שעשית מה יפה לא זה” (“You haven’t acted nicely”).

The girl protests her innocence, the man says he was happy to get up and let the friends ride together—but the old woman is having none of it. She continues her mussar for a while. But when she gets up to leave the bus, she approaches the girls, gets in a last few words with a big smile, and you can see that she’s just barely restraining herself from giving them a grandmotherly pinch on the cheek!

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

They grow up so fast here

As the bus pulls up to the stop, a very self-assured looking little girl (maybe 10 years old) calls out יורדים אנחנו (“we’re getting off”), and proceeds to hold the rear door open while her little sister (maybe 8), then her littler sister (no more than 6) and finally her littlest sister (around 2 or 3) file off the bus, whereupon she begins to march the whole group home.

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

Is it just me, or is there something wrong with this story?

On a bus in Ramot, a very harried looking man in traditional religious garb gets on, and questions me about the bus’s destination. I answer, and he calms down. A while later, a bus inspector enters and starts to check that everyone has paid their fare. The man turns to me and says: “Two minutes ago a miracle happened to me”.

He pauses. I nod encouragingly to him to continue, and he explains. In his confusion about the bus’s destination when he boarded, he had forgotten to pay—until suddenly, literally moments before the inspector entered, he somehow remembered.

Ah, I ask, is the fine very large? No, he explains, you don’t understand. it’s not about the fine. Can you imagine the terrible chillul Hashem if I hadn’t remembered to pay? A man such as himself, with a long white beard and large black hat.

Indeed, it was even more than a miracle, he elaborated: it was a gilui shechinah, a revelation of the Divine Presence—that’s what it was! God was so concerned about the desecration of His great name that He caused the man to remember to pay!

The man continues in this vein—and expatiates at even greater length when a yeshiva bochur gets on the bus and provides the man with an appreciative audience.

Part of me cannot fail to be moved by the enormous quantity of emunah on display. Another part of me wanders what he’s been smoking. But a large part of me really wanted to ask him if any of his grandsons serve in the army and then to point out gently what an opportunity for a kiddush Hashem that could be.

In praise of Jerusalem -- and the day that celebrates it

Some years ago, Koren Publishers released a unique liturgical work dedicated to Yom Ha’atzma’ut and Yom Yerushalayim. Among its essays, one written by Rabbi Berel Wein, titled simply “Yom Yerushalayim,” explores the holiness and historic significance of the events that occurred on this day.  The following is an edited version of that essay.

It is strange to have to write an essay on the importance and meaning of Jerusalem. If there is ever anything in Jewish life that was self-understood — axiomatic and integral to Jewish societal and personal life and consciousness — it is the centrality of Jerusalem to the Jewish soul. “Next year in Jerusalem!” is not simply an expression of hope, prayer, and longing, but a symbol of Jewish defiance and continuity.

In Jewish thought and society, Jerusalem, not Rome, is the Eternal City; Jerusalem, not Paris, is the City of Lights. The great Rabbi Meir Simcha HaCohen of Dvinsk, at the beginning of the 20th century, wrote prophetically: “Woe to those who somehow think that Berlin is Jerusalem!”

Jerusalem may have had many imitators, but it had no replacements. Jerusalem remained the heart of the Jewish people just as Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi of 12th-century Spain insisted that the people of Israel was the heart of all humanity — the strongest of all human organs and yet the most vulnerable. The metaphor that all the lifeblood of Jewish life is pumped throughout the Jewish world by the heart of Jerusalem was self-understood in past Jewish generations. It needed no explanation or repetition, no reinforcement or defensive justification.

Even when the Jewish people as a whole were physically and politically separated from Jerusalem, the city was not just a memory or nostalgia; it remained a real and imposing presence in Jewish life and thought. If to some individual Jews it became just another imaginary place because of its distant location and unattractive reality — an old, small, poverty-ridden, dilapidated, backwater buried within the expanse of the Ottoman Empire — in the core Jewish soul, the reality of the city lived and thrived.

Over the past three centuries, Jews slowly have made their way back home to Jerusalem. Under terrible physical trials of privation, persecution, and derision, the Jewish community in Jerusalem grew. By the middle of the 19th century, Jews constituted the majority population in the city. They began to settle outside the walls of the Old City and establish new neighborhoods. The ancient mother city responded to the return of its children to its holy precincts, and Jerusalem became alive again.

After the restoration of Jewish sovereignty in parts of the Land of Israel, Jerusalem became the capital of the State of Israel. Its population has grown exponentially, while cranes and diggers are ubiquitous throughout the city’s expanded boundaries.

After the Six-Day War the city was reunited, and the Western Wall and its adjacent Temple Mount have become once again the center of the Jewish world. A new special day was added to the Jewish calendar to mark the rebirth of the physical Jerusalem in Jewish life and prayer. The Jewish population has grown, and the building of the infrastructure of the city continues apace. The mixed blessings of automobile traffic and constant construction projects affect all Jerusalemites, but they only serve to highlight the unimagined change in the face of the city that has occurred over the past century. Jerusalem reborn is the miracle of our times.

But much of the world resents Jerusalem’s revival. The United Nations wants it to become an “international city,” though the rebuilding of the city worked, and there never has been such successful city management in all human history. No one really seemed to notice the hard fortunes of the city until the Jews began to remake history there.

The Muslim world especially, which had little concern for the fate and fortunes of the city until the Jews returned to rebuild it, wants it to be exclusively Muslim dominated and populated. Many countries do not recognize united Jerusalem as being part of Israel, let alone as its capital city. And even since October 7 most of the latent and obvious anti-Semitism that still poisons the Western world is directed against Israel and Jerusalem.

In their frustration, jealousy, and misplaced religious fervor, Muslim hardliners have encouraged and perpetrated violence in Jerusalem and publicly celebrate the killing of its innocent inhabitants. The attitude seems to be, “Better no Jerusalem than a Jewish Jerusalem.” Jerusalem has always been a flashpoint as its key place in history and in many faiths make it a sensitive issue.

Jerusalem possesses the eternal quality of focusing human attention to think about holiness, closeness, and the struggle for faith. This view of what Jerusalem is all about makes the celebration of Yom Yerushalayim the necessary Jewish response to the opposition and enmity of the world to Jerusalem — to a Jewish Jerusalem.

Yom Yerushalayim is the proper response of Jews to everything that is currently going on in the world. Rejoice in the fact that our generations have lived to see Jerusalem rebuilt in body and spirit, beauty and strength. Walk its streets and breathe its air, see its visions and bask in its memories. Let us appreciate the gifts that the Lord has granted us, and express our thanks for living in such a momentous and historic time.

That is what Yom Yerushalayim represents. That is why it is so special and sacred. That is why it is worthy of commemoration and celebration.

The Promise of Security, the Path of Brotherhood

There are few sounds as moving to the Jewish soul as hearing the Torah offer a promise so complete and reassuring: a life in Eretz Yisrael marked by security, prosperity, and freedom from threat. In Parashat Behar, the Torah grants us a breathtaking vision of what life can be—if we commit to a society rooted in justice, compassion, and mutual responsibility. Rabbi Paul Bloom explains the nature of this commitment and the benefit it confers.

A Divine Promise with a Condition

In Vayikra 25:18–19 we are told that, if we follow God's statutes, “you shall dwell in the land securely”. Not only that, but the land will be fruitful, the economy will flourish, and we will live free from fear. It is a beautiful promise—but it is not unconditional. The Torah presents this vision alongside a profound and revolutionary system for economic justice—the Yovel, the Jubilee Year.

Yovel: The Torah’s Economic Reset Button

Every 50 years, the nation of Israel hits a spiritual and economic "reset." Land is returned to its ancestral owners. Those who have sold themselves into servitude are set free. Debts are cancelled. The entire structure of inequality is dissolved, and the people start anew.

In today’s terms, the Yovel is like a factory reset—a complete restoration of original settings. In Biblical times, when over 90% of the population worked in agriculture, land ownership was the foundation of economic life. Losing one's land meant losing one's livelihood and dignity. The Torah ensured that such loss could never be permanent. No family could be condemned to generational poverty. No oligarchy could ever permanently control the economy. Through Yovel, the Torah mandated a national act of compassion—a cycle that sustained social balance, human dignity, and national unity.

Stages of Descent, Opportunities for Redemption

Parashat Behar doesn’t just stop at the macroeconomic scale. It explores, in striking detail, the personal descent into poverty, marking four distinct stages, each one more desperate than the last:

1. Selling one’s land – the first sign of distress.
   
   
2. Borrowing money – the Torah forbids charging interest, commanding us to lend without profit.
   
   
3. Selling oneself to a fellow Jew as a servant – requiring humane treatment and dignity.
   
   
4. Selling oneself to a non-Jew – the lowest point, prompting a communal obligation of redemption.

Each stage begins with the phrase כִּי־יָמוּךְ אָחִיךָ (“when your brother becomes impoverished”), emphasizing not just the individual’s decline but our responsibility toward him. At every level, the Torah commands us to intervene, to lift up, to restore—not from pity, but from brotherhood.

“Achicha” – Your Brother

A remarkable feature of this parasha is the repeated use of the word “achicha”—your brother. Time and again, the Torah reminds us that those who fall on hard times are not strangers. They are not burdens. They are our brothers.

Just as Yehudah promised his father to be responsible for Binyamin, saying, “I will be his guarantor” (Genesis 43:9), so too must we take personal responsibility for one another. This is the foundational ethic of Jewish society—not competition, but commitment; not survival of the fittest, but upliftment of the fallen.

The Rambam adds a deeper dimension to this idea. He explains that our brotherhood is not merely biological but spiritual. We are brothers because we are all children of God, bonded by Torah, Shabbat, and mitzvot. Our unity is rooted in shared purpose and divine mission.

Living in God's Land

The Torah reminds us that the Land of Israel ultimately does not belong to us—it belongs to God. We are tenants, stewards entrusted with His land. That awareness demands a society built not on exploitation but on holiness, not on greed but on generosity. The Yovel year is therefore not just economic—it is profoundly spiritual. It is a year of freedom, of return, of reconnection. It reminds us that liberty, dignity, and opportunity must be the birthright of every Jew.

A Prophetic Hint: 1948 in the Torah

There’s a touching gematria (numerical hint) in the parasha. The Torah says: "וְשַׁבְתֶּם אִישׁ אֶל־אֲחֻזָּתוֹ וְאִישׁ אֶל־מִשְׁפַּחְתּוֹ תָּשֻׁבוּ"—“Each person shall return to his ancestral land, and each to his family shall you return” (Leviticus 25:10).

The seemingly redundant final word "תשובו" (you shall return), has a gematria (numerical value) of 708, which corresponds to the Hebrew year 5708 (תש"ח)—the year 1948 in the Gregorian calendar and the year the State of Israel was established.

This small detail becomes a monumental reminder: the return to the Land of Israel is not just a historical event—it is a fulfillment of a divine promise etched into the Torah itself.

The Ultimate Blessing

Parashat Behar outlines a society where no one is left behind, where freedom is regularly restored, and where unity is sacred. If we build such a society—rooted in responsibility, anchored in Torah, and animated by the spirit of achicha, your brother—then we merit the ultimate blessing: to live in the Land of Israel in security, prosperity, and peace.

May we continue to witness the unfolding of this vision in our days, and may we rise to the responsibility it demands of us.