The Writing on the Wall

A Call from Hashem and a Message for Our Families Abroad

As we returned to shul this Shabbat we heard inspiring words from our rabbis, we read moving accounts of the miracles we all experienced here in Eretz Yisrael. But a critical question remains: What do these miracles mean for our loved ones still living in the Diaspora? How can we, who are already here, help them see that now is the time to join us in our homeland? Rabbi Paul Bloom explores these questions and offers some practical answers.

The Miraculous Protection of Eretz Yisrael

As you know, Israel was recently subjected to an unprecedented aerial assault. Hundreds of ballistic missiles and thousands of drones were launched by Iran and its proxies with the clear intent to inflict catastrophic harm. By any logical calculation, this attack should have resulted in thousands of casualties.

And yet, something incredible happened: The vast majority of those missiles and drones were intercepted by the IDF or neutralized with help from Israel’s allies. Cities that could have turned into infernos were spared. Lives that should have been lost were miraculously saved.

Some might credit Israel’s advanced technology or strategic alliances—and there is truth in that. But it is not the whole truth. There is a deeper reality that only eyes of emunah can see: this was the unmistakable hand of Hashem. A visible, tangible reminder that Eretz Yisrael is under Divine protection. That there is a Shomer Yisrael—a Guardian of Israel—who neither slumbers nor sleeps.

It is no coincidence that we are living in a time when evil is being uprooted from our land. The enemies of Israel are reeling from the reality of Mi ke’amcha Yisrael—“Who is like Your nation, Israel?” This is a moment of revelation, a moment calling out to our fellow Jews around the world: Come home. Hashem is protecting this land not just for those already here, but for you and your children, too. He has kept His promise. Now it’s time for you to keep yours.

A Dangerous Shift in the Diaspora

While Israel experiences open miracles, the Diaspora tells a far more troubling story.

In the recent New York City mayoral primary, the leading candidate—now virtually assured of election—expressed open hostility toward Israel and its leadership. This is not subtle bias. This is blatant antisemitism. He has aligned himself with Hamas supporters and threatened to arrest Israel’s Prime Minister if he sets foot in New York.

And yet, this man was embraced by voters in America’s largest Jewish city—a city long considered a safe haven for Jews. In fact, 43% of Democratic primary voters supported him.

This, too, is a sign from Hashem. A wake-up call. For decades, many Jews in America believed antisemitism was a relic of the past, that New York was an unshakeable Jewish stronghold, that “it could never happen here.” That illusion is crumbling. The public square is turning against our people. Jewish visibility, once a badge of honor, is becoming a liability.

We must help our families see this reality through the lens of emunah. Hashem is not only guarding Israel—He is also removing illusions about the long-term safety of exile. He is gently but unmistakably reminding us all that galut is not our destiny. That our future as a people is not in Manhattan or Miami, but here—in Yerushalayim, Beit Shemesh, and Netanya.

Time to Reach Out—Not from Fear, but from Love

These two realities—one miraculous, one alarming—are two sides of the same coin. Hashem is showing both what is possible in our land, and what is no longer sustainable in foreign lands. Our families are being pushed and pulled, shaken and embraced, warned and invited—all at once.

This is not a call to panic. It is a call to clarity. And it is our responsibility, as family already in Israel, to reach out to our loved ones abroad with this message. To share what we have seen with our own eyes. To invite them not out of fear, but out of love—love for our people, our heritage, and our destiny. To help them understand that Aliyah is not just a response to danger, but an embrace of opportunity. It is a return to the land that Hashem has prepared for us—not just in the past, but right now.

“וְשָׁב ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ אֶת שְׁבוּתְךָ… וֶהֱבִיאֲךָ ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ אֶל הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר יָרְשׁוּ אֲבֹתֶיךָ וִירִשְׁתָּהּ, וְהֵיטִבְךָ וְהִרְבְּךָ מֵאֲבֹתֶיךָ”
“And the Lord your God will bring back your captivity… and He will bring you to the land which your forefathers possessed, and you shall possess it; and He will do you good and multiply you more than your fathers.” (Devarim 30:3–5)

The writing is on the wall. Let us open our eyes to the signs, listen to the call, and gently encourage our families abroad to take the first steps toward coming home. If you’d like ideas on how to start this conversation or resources to share with your loved ones, I’d be honored to help. You can reach me anytime at aliya100reasons@gmail.com—I look forward to partnering with you in bringing our families home.

The Song of Miriam's Well

This coming week’s parashah says different things to different people. Many of us are preoccupied with the mystery of the Red Heifer, but others focus on the death of Miriam and Moses’ punishment for hitting the water-bearing rock instead of speaking to us. But for our member and distinguished composer Max Stern the stand-out feature is a curious song with puzzling words, apparently sung by a well. This episode inspired Max to write a short work, The Song of Miriam's Well, which you can listen to here.

Let Max tell you about it in his own words. He writes:

The Well of Miriam was a sieve-like rock out of which water gushed forth and supplied the Children of Israel with water on their 40-year wanderings in the desert. Legend has it that the Well itself sang while the people responded as a chorus.

This composition recreates the sparkling joy of the Well, and the spirit of universal goodwill that accompanied it.

צִדְקָתְךָ, כְּהַרְרֵי-אֵל

מִשְׁפָּטֶיךָ, תְּהוֹם רַבָּה

 אָדָם וּבְהֵמָה תוֹשִׁיעַ יְהוָה

Thy righteousness is like the mighty mountains; Thy judgments are like the great deep; Man and beast Thou preservest, O LORD. (Ps.36:7)

 וְצִדְקָתְךָ אֱלֹהִים, עַד-מָרוֹם

אֲשֶׁר-עָשִׂיתָ גְדֹלוֹת; אֱלֹהִים, מִי כָמוֹךָ

Thy righteousness, O God, reacheth unto high heaven; Thou who hast done great things, O God, who is like unto Thee? (Ps. 71:19)

 צִדְקָתְךָ צֶדֶק לְעוֹלָם; וְתוֹרָתְךָ אֱמֶת

Thy righteousness is an everlasting righteousness, and Thy law is truth. Ps.119:142)

The piece is scored for a two-part choir, two-part speaking chorus, and contrabass. It was recorded and edited by Shalom Kinnory.

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

As a footnote, some of you may be thinking there's something wrong here. The Song of the Well in parashat Chukkat comes well after the death of Miriam and the end of her well -- so how can the well in question be Miriam's well?  For an excellent answer, click here.

"Death is very good!"

 Much is written on the mysterious operation of the parah adumah, the red heifer whose ashes are so important for the restoration of ritual purity--but much less is said about the condition that triggers a need for the parah adumah in the first place: death. Inspired by an apparently cryptic comment in Rabbi Meir's sefer Torah, our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger offers a fascinating insight into a topic that so many are reluctant to address. This is what he has to say:

The purification ritual involving the “Red Heifer” is one that has baffled the wisest of men and the deepest religious thinkers throughout the ages. Somehow, burning a cow, mixing its ashes with water and a few other ingredients and then sprinkling the concoction on an individual who has contracted ritual impurity via contact with a corpse can, following the proper procedure, purify him.

The aspect that has perplexed many, including King Solomon, is the fact that the one who is “sprinkled” becomes pure and the “sprinkler” is rendered impure. Perhaps a more interesting question is this: why does the Torah require a different ritual to cleanse this taint in contrast with the procedure to remove other ritual impurities from an individual (mikveh or mikveh plus korban)? The answer is because this taint involves human death.

When God created the world, for six days He affirms existence by declaring His own work “good.” In so doing, creation “remains in a pure, untouchable beyond” (Rosenzweig, Star of Redemption). The final time that God comments, He does not observe that the result of His handiwork at that moment of time is “good” (tov). Instead, God describes the “all that He made” as “very good” (tov me’od).

The Midrash Rabba, on Genesis 1:31, brings various opinions regarding the statement “very good”: “In the sefer Torah of Rabbi Meir they found, where the words “and behold it was very good” should be, the words “and behold death was good”. Rashi comments on Rabbi Meir’s teaching that death is good because, once dead, man can no longer sin.

Ramban on Genesis 1:31 parses the verse because he finds the word “very” to be superfluous. His initial observation is that God “added this word because He is speaking of creation in general, which contains evil in some part of it.” Thus, He said that it was very good, meaning its me’od is good [thus conveying the thought that even the small part of it which is evil is basically also good]. For Ramban, me’od refers to evil, but he does not yet identify or quantify that evil until he quotes Rabbi Meir’s statement that it is death. However, he qualifies this by commenting:

“[S]imilarly, the Rabbis mentioned, ‘this means the evil inclination in man,’ and ‘this means the dispensation of punishment.’”

Thus, it seems that Ramban, likewise views death as an external environmental force.

Rambam effectively divorces death from the Man-God relationship altogether. In commenting on the words vehinei tov me’od (Look! It was very good), he writes:

“Even death, which appears to constitute a return to nothingness, God considered as something positive, constructive, seeing it is only a prelude to rebirth, albeit sometimes in a different guise than that the previous incarnation. Death is perceived as the result of the ‘nothingness’ which had preceded the universe having become an integral part of this universe. Hence it had become a necessary phenomenon.” (Moreh Nevuchim 3:10).

In other words, God created death so that there could be an ongoing creation. One might perhaps term this as circular reasoning (if God did not terminate the world, there would be no need for a rebirth).  However, this is not circular reasoning; this is God logic – beyond our human comprehension. Regardless, this is universal death and not Man’s or human death. Thus, according to Maimonides, death is likewise a force without a direct relationship with Man. Thus, it is external to Man.

According to Rabbi Dr Norman Lamm, 

“Tov implies efficient functioning.  The creator saw every step in His developing universe ki tov, that it was functioning efficiently, carrying out the telos which He had assigned to it.” (“Good and Very Good’ Moderation and Extremism in the Scheme of Creation” in Tradition, 45:2, 2012).  

According to Lamm, if each component of creation functioned at its maximum efficiency or full potential, chaos would ensue:

 “This is so because the world is an interdependent system rather than a conglomeration of independent parts and a system requires the synergistic coordination of all of its constituent elements.”

Thus, only when each element functions with restraint (tov) can the whole be considered tov me’od.

Lamm explains that an immortal Man, with freedom of will, has the power to exploit any part of creation to its full potential. Death represents a limit and limits are necessary. The analogy he gives is the human body, itself. If cells multiply unchecked, man dies of cancer. Thus, for Lamm, death/mortality is the me’od, the required limit on the effective functioning, the tov, of every other creation. Thus, in this construct death is an integrated component of man and the functioning of the system, but not a part of the God-Man relationship. 

The sources surveyed, from the earliest to the more recent, seem to perceive death as a device or tool used by God, whether to influence later actions (Midrash), or to provide creative or spiritual counter-balance against good (Ramban), or to set up a system of constant creation and recreation (Rambam), or to sustain systemic balance (Lamm). The image that emerges from these Rabbinic sources of the initial conceptualization of death/mortality in Creation, is that of an instrument or process, something detached from Man, one that influences his environment/world, but that impacts him indirectly.

The impure man, tainted by contact with death, is purified by a bare and minimal contact with an external agent – the ashes of the Red Heifer – bound together with “mayim chayim” waters of life. Death influences him, it taints him by contact, and it will eventually claim him. However, the intrinsic message of this elaborate ritual, that stretches over a week, is that he should NOT be consumed by it – he should not become fully submerged in his own mortality.

Torah 24/7 and Connecting the Dates

We are delighted to announce two new book acquisitions for our small but growing Beit Midrash library. Both are gifts generously donated by  one of our more recent members, Steven Ettinger. Steven is a rabbi, a tax lawyer, a family man and an individual who manifests an obvious fascination with every aspect of contemporary Jewish life in the real world—and this is what makes his books so readable.

The first is Torah 24/7: A Timely Guide for the Modern Spirit. If you are looking for a fresh perspective on those parshiyot you have read so often in the past, this work could be exactly what you are searching for. Each chapter reveals, sometimes quite surprisingly, how an incident or experience in the author's life was reflected in or influenced by the parashah of the week. This is proof positive—as if any were needed—that the narratives contained in the Chumash continue to have a real meaning for the life of modern man.

The second, Connecting the Dates: Exploring the Meaning of Jewish Time, is a book that has been cast in an entirely different mold. In it, Steven poses penetrating questions about the role played by time in our lives and in our relationships with man and God. In particular, he asks:

• What is the relationship of the Jewish Holidays to their Fast Days?
  
  
• How do the Jewish ritual practices of circumcision, tefillin and tefillah express the underlying link between the individual s personal life cycle and the life cycle of the Jewish nation?
  
  
• How do the major events in the lives of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs connect to the core of the Jewish life cycle?

 Steven builds upon this foundation and shows how the Forefathers of the Jewish people were also the cornerstones upon which the Jewish holidays are built.

 If the mood takes you, you can even buy these books online for yourself. Torah 24/7 is available here, while Connecting the Dates can be ordered here.

Just get out of my hair!

 An Avot mishnah for Shabbat: Perek 4 (parashat Korach)

At Avot 4:23 Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar teaches four things about respecting the personal space that others need at certain times:

אַל תְּרַצֶּה אֶת חֲבֵרֶֽךָ בְּשַֽׁעַת כַּעֲסוֹ, וְאַל תְּנַחֲמֵֽהוּ בְּשָׁעָה שֶׁמֵּתוֹ מֻטָּל לְפָנָיו, וְאַל תִּשְׁאַל לוֹ בְּשַֽׁעַת נִדְרוֹ, וְאַל תִּשְׁתַּדֵּל לִרְאוֹתוֹ בְּשַֽׁעַת קַלְקָלָתוֹ

Do not [try to] calm your friend down at the height of his anger; don’t [seek to] comfort him while his dead still lies before him; don’t question him about his vow the moment he makes it; and don’t endeavour to see him at the time of his degradation.

There’s much to be said about this mishnah but this post looks only at the last bit (in bold text).

When someone has been caught something wrong or has just suffered a major setback—desertion by one’s life partner, for example—they may crave a bit of quiet time and solitude in which to think seriously about what has happened, to decide how to react and what to do next. The last thing they want is the intrusive company of others offering advice or unwanted comments. This can apply even to well-meaning companions who sit there, empathising with them and waiting for a distressed friend to open his or her heart and tell them all about it. In a modern context the intrusion may be inflicted by journalists and paparazzi who sense a juicy news story in another’s misfortune.

In our crowded and joined-up world, no one can disappear forever. Eventually even the most ashamed and embarrassed people will have to rejoin human society one way or another. When that happens, we find another mishnah in Avot waiting in the wings. According to Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananya (Avot 2:13) the “good path” a person should take in their life is to be a good friend. When does one act the good friend? Answer: not before a person is ready to receive that friendship.

Like much of Pirkei Avot, in this mishnah there are no cast-iron rules as to how its guidance is to be applied. A proper approach to putting Avot into practice demands that we first assess every situation in its context, in the light of common sense—a commodity that we struggle to acquire in a rapidly-changing world where yesterday’s norms are tomorrow’s no-nos.

Blooming Leadership and Bitter Lessons

The story of Korach’s rebellion in Parshat Korach is one of the most turbulent episodes in the Torah. It’s a saga of ambition, pride, and defiance that threatened to fracture the unity and sanctity of the Jewish people. Yet the Torah does not end this episode with destruction. Instead, it offers us two lasting memorials — one a warning, the other a beacon of hope — to serve as eternal reminders of what was lost and what was gained. In the following piece, Rabbi Paul Bloom leads us through them.

The Poison of Entitlement and the Fall of Korach

At the heart of Korach’s rebellion was a deep sense of entitlement. Korach was not an outsider, but a Levi — a cousin of Moshe and Aharon — and someone of high stature. Yet he felt cheated. According to the Malbim, Korach believed he had been denied the status he rightfully deserved. He was consumed by a distorted sense of superiority, and this sense of being overlooked fed his jealousy and rebellion.

Ibn Ezra adds another dimension: Korach’s allies were largely bechorim, firstborns who had lost their special status when the tribe of Levi was chosen for service. This shift, though divinely commanded, was a bitter pill to swallow for those who felt robbed of an inherited privilege.

But the Torah consistently subverts the idea that leadership is a birthright. From Bereishit onward, firstborns like Kayin, Yishmael, and Esav are passed over in favor of spiritually worthier younger siblings. Yaakov bypasses Reuven and redistributes his privileges to Yosef, Yehudah, and Levi. Spiritual greatness, the Torah teaches us, is not an inheritance—it is earned through merit, humility, and dedication.

Korach, in contrast, clung to a model of leadership rooted in privilege and ego. His rebellion was not just against Moshe and Aharon—it was against Torah min haShamayim, against the divine structure of holiness and leadership.

The blooming staff: a symbol of divine choice and spiritual life

In response to this crisis, Hashem provides a quiet but powerful counterpoint to the noise of rebellion. In Bamidbar Chapter 17, God commands Moshe to place the staffs of all twelve tribal leaders in the Ohel Moed, each inscribed with their respective names. The next morning, a miracle occurs:

"Vehinei parach matei Aharon..." — “And look! The staff of Aharon had bloomed: it brought forth sprouts, blossomed, and bore almonds.” (Bamidbar 17:23)

This dead staff had come to life, bearing flowers and fruit. It was more than a sign — it was a statement. Aharon’s staff didn’t just survive the challenge; it flourished. The blossoming was Hashem’s way of affirming that the Kohanim and Levi’im were His chosen spiritual leaders — not because of nepotism or favoritism, but because of their role in bringing vitality, renewal, and holiness to Klal Yisrael.

The Kli Yakar notes that the term porach (bloomed/blossomed) also connotes youth and regeneration, as in pirchei kehunah — the young Kohanim. The staff’s components — tzitzim (buds) and shekeidim (almonds) — also carry meaning. The tzitz alludes to the golden forehead plate worn by the Kohen Gadol, inscribed with the words “Kodesh LaHashem.” The shekeidim symbolize zeal and urgency — just as the almond tree blooms faster than others, the Kohanim serve with swiftness and spiritual alacrity. As the prophet Yirmiyahu (1:11) says: "shoked Ani al devari la’asoto" — “I am watchful to perform My word.”

According to tradition, this staff remained in bloom for centuries, ultimately hidden by King Yoshiyahu with the Aron Hakodesh before the destruction of the First Temple. It endured as a symbol of what spiritual leadership ought to look like: rooted in service, devoted to truth, and always blossoming with life.

And this message, as Rambam emphasizes at the end of Hilchot Shemitah VeYovel, is not limited to Levi’im. Every Jew — man or woman — who dedicates their life to Torah and service of Hashem can achieve the status of kodesh kodashim. The blossoming is not for the elite — it is for all who choose to live with spiritual purpose.

The Copper Pans: A Warning Against Machloket

But Parshat Korach also leaves us with a darker memorial — the copper pans (machtot) of the 250 rebels who tried to offer incense, seeking priestly status that was not theirs. Hashem commands Moshe to collect these pans and have them hammered into a covering for the Mizbe’ach, the altar:

"Vehayu l’ot l’Bnei Yisrael" — “And they shall be a sign for the children of Israel.” (Bamidbar 17:5)

This covering was not a celebration — it was a warning. The machtot served as a permanent reminder of the dangers of spiritual overreach and unresolved conflict. As the Talmud (Sanhedrin 110a) teaches: "Kol ha’machzik bemachloket over belo ta’aseh" — “One who perpetuates conflict violates a negative commandment.” Disagreements are part of life — even holy ones. But to machzik, to hold on, to fuel division rather than seek peace — that is where the sin lies.

The copper plating was a silent rebuke: Let not pride preserve a fight. Don’t allow ego to calcify into permanent division. It reminded every generation that rebellion against Divine order — and against each other — leads only to destruction.

A dual legacy: warning and inspiration

These two eternal symbols — the Mateh Aharon and the copper machtot — form the dual legacy of Parshat Korach. One uplifts; the other restrains. One blossoms with life and promise; the other is forged from the remnants of ego and collapse. Together, they whisper two timeless truths:

• Seek the staff. Be among the pirchei kehunah, the youthful energy of Torah renewal. Embrace the tzitz, the sanctity of visible holiness. Act with the shekeidim, the swiftness and enthusiasm to do Hashem’s will. Know that vitality flows from humility, and that every Jew can cause Torah to blossom anew.
  
  
• Beware the pans. Let not anger or entitlement pull us into conflict. Disagree when necessary — but never perpetuate strife. Never be a machzik bemachloket. Know that spiritual ambition without humility leads to ruin.

Remember what must never happen again

Korach's story is not merely a historical rebellion. It is an eternal caution against ego-driven leadership and a call toward authentic, God-rooted service. The Torah does not just want us to remember what happened — it wants us to remember what must never happen again, and to live lives worthy of causing the staff to blossom once more.

May we merit to be bearers of that vitality — uplifting our us not through entitlement, but through Torah, humility, and unwavering devotion.

Tragedy follows tragedy: Korach 5785

Tragedy follows tragedy in the book of Bamidbar. The unwarranted complaints of the people regarding the food in the desert and the false report regarding the Land of Israel (discussed in last week’s parsha) end in plague, punishment and disaster. This week’s parsha describes the rebellion of Korach and his cohorts against Moshe and the supremacy of Torah within Jewish society.

It seems that a latent death wish lurks within Jewish society which makes it repeat terrible mistakes. The generation of the desert saw miracles, even God’s presence, so to speak, on a regular basis. Yet it increasingly defied and rebelled against its special role in human civilization. This was really an expression of regret on the part of many Jews in the desert that they accepted the Torah carte blanche at Sinai. This group did not intend to be a chosen people. The plaintive cry of “let us just return to Egypt” is really a demand that “we wish to be just like all other peoples!” This cry has  repeated itself in almost every generation. The struggle within Jews and Jewish society through the ages is whether to accept its God-given role as a “treasure amongst all nations” or to somehow renounce all pretense of being a special people. The choices are not really portrayed as being that stark because we make them in a continuum of Jewish observance, where adherence to Jewish values and the willin
gnes s to remain proudly Jewish is a decision made in a world that is hostile to Jews, a Jewish state and Judaism itself. 

Korach has personal animosity towards Moshe and he is frustrated at not achieving the recognition that he feels is due him, yet he wraps these feelings within a cloak of holiness and altruism. Hypocrisy abounds, especially amongst those who judge others, and the self-righteous give righteousness a bad name. Korach claims, in the name of democracy, that all the people are holy and worthy of leadership. His claims resound with classical correctness. They are hard to argue against and certainly have great public resonance and appeal. The problem with Korach’s appeal and words is that they are basically fraudulent. 

Moshe’s status, determined by God, has been vindicated in Jewish history throughout the ages. While there are no truly unbiased people in the world, t there are those who, at the very least, recognize their bias and attempt to deal with it honestly and intelligently. Hypocrisy is the attempt to cover up one’s bias with false nobility of purpose and affected altruism. It is a reprehensible character trait, far greater in potential destructiveness than is open enmity itself. This is what made Korach so dangerous and why Moshe’s determination to publicly expose and punish him was so strident and insistent. The tragedy of Korach lies not only his own personal downfall but rather in the havoc and confusion that it created in Jewish society. It is a situation that repeats itself today as well. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

Read "The Drive for Power", Rabbi Wein's devar Torah for Korach last year, here.

Double Take, by Rabbi Jesse Horn (Book of the Month, Tamuz 5785)

An occasional speaker at Beit Knesset Hanassi, Rabbi Jesse Horn is a prominent participant in the religious life of Israel's capital city. Within Yeshivat Hakotel he is known for his methodological and Brisker approach to Gemara, his creative outlook on Tanach, and for his warm and approachable personality. 

This month our Book of the Month is Rabbi Horn's Double Take (subtitled 'Biblical Personalities: More Than Meets The Eye'), which was first published in 2016. So what is it all about? According to the book's web page: 

In Double Take, Rabbi Jesse Horn bridges the gap between the traditional interpretations espoused by Chazal and other Rabbinic authorities on the one hand and the simple and straightforward reading of the Tanach on the other. By rigorous and sophisticated Biblical and Rabbinic textual analysis, Rabbinic sources which at first seems at odds with the text can be read harmoniously.

Rabbi Horn uncovers parallels, and answers critical questions such as, Why is this story included in the Torah? Why is this detail left out? Why do these two stories parallel each other? and What understanding does the Torah want us to derive about each character?

The contents of this work contain some surprises. Torah favourites such as Yosef and Yehuda, Aharon and Mordechai will be found in here as well as some names that attract less affection such as Lot and Hagar. 

As you might expect from the pen of an experienced educator, the text is clear and easy to follow. If you hunger for more, the ample footnotes provide a delicious second course packed with references, elucidatory comments and explanations.

A copy of Double Take has recently been procured by our little library in the downstairs Beit Midrash. Enjoy!

Prophet or King?

This coming Shabbat our haftorah is taken from the First Book of Samuel. While the Torah reading addresses the leadership crisis that occurs when Korach challenges the authority of Moshe, the haftorah depicts the prophet Shmuel confronting a people bent on setting a man over themselves as king.  

Prophet or King, another composition by our member Max Stern, vividly sets this confrontation to music, drawing upon the attitude and mindset of mass protest. As Max himself explains:

Reaching beyond the purely historical, this episode marshals power from the voice of the angry mob of all times by placing it within a contemporary context. Strikers, protesters, agitators, and grumblers of all sorts, add their voices to the ancients in demanding the needs of the moment, while ignoring the call of Eternity. 

How ironic is it that challenges to leadership so often lead to divisions in society and to the destruction of achdut, unity, while the ability of any orchestra or choir to function properly depends upon its individuals coming together and accepting the leadership of a single conductor.

Max's piece is scored for baritone soloist, narrators, choir and various instruments. It was first performed on 28 May 2007. The text is based on 1 Samuel, chapters 8, 11, 12 and Psalm 146:10. 

You can listen to this dramatic composition here.

Playing with power

Continuing our series of weekly Pirkei Avot posts on the perek of the week, we return to Perek 3.

Now here’s a mystery. We have a three-part mishnah in the name of Rabbi Yishmael (Avot 3:16) and our sages only agree about the third part:

הֱוֵי קַל לְרֹאשׁ, וְנֽוֹחַ לְתִשְׁחֽוֹרֶת, וֶהֱוֵי מְקַבֵּל אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם בְּשִׂמְחָה

Be easy to a rosh, affable to a tishchoret, and receive every man with happiness.

Our problem is that we cannot agree on the meaning of any of the key words, and especially rosh and tishchoret. One rabbi (R’ Marcus Lehmann, The Lehmann-Prins Pirkei Avoth) actually gives our mishnah four quite different translations.

Commentators over the years have maintained that the rosh is one’s head, one’s ego, a ruler, a leader, a superior, an elder, a civic leader, a venerable old man—and even God.

As for the tishchoret, this has been explained as someone who is young, old, black-haired, oppressed, a town clerk, the king’s secretary, or a time at which one should be slow and steady.

R’ Yishmael’s words were incorporated into this tractate over 1,800 years ago and we have lovingly preserved them while losing track of their original meaning. However, we cannot walk away from a mishnah and pretend it doesn’t exist so we must take on the task of giving it our own meaning, one that is both Torah-compliant and suited to the needs of our generation. R’ Reuven P. Bulka (Chapters of the Sages: A Psychological Commentary on Pirkey Avoth) seeks to do just that. He writes:

“The present mishna deals with ego difficulties relative to communal functioning. Primarily, they may be said to focus around individuals who have not reached the position of prominence in the community they felt was appropriate for them. The general tendency of such individuals is to downgrade those who have superseded them and to discourage those who would in the future gain the very positions they have failed to attain”.

Anyone who has been involved in Jewish communal affairs is likely to have come across people who fit this bill. Basically good-hearted and well-meaning souls, they feel they have been taken for granted and are disgruntled at not being voted into positions of authority or being nominated as one of the chatanim on Simchat Torah. They may become sullen and unhelpful towards those who are less experienced than themselves and who might benefit from the assistance of an older person. It can be a struggle to overcome one’s inner demons and, in R’ Bulka’s view, this is what Rabbi Yishmael has in mind.

Or perhaps we can summarise it simply like this: don’t demean the authority of those above you and don’t abuse your authority when dealing with those below you.

Am KeLavi - Rectifying the Sin of the Spies

Through the lens of history, some images become more than photographs — they become turning points. The paratroopers gazing up at the Kotel in 1967. Rav Goren blowing the shofar. These were not just moments — they became part of our national soul.

And now, as we live through a defining chapter in our own history, we find ourselves asking: what image will capture this moment?

Perhaps it may not come from the battlefield. It may just come from the airport. This week, a photograph was published of a woman who, upon landing in Israel, knelt to kiss the ground. Her act, so quiet and personal, says more than a thousand words. To much of the world, returning to a war zone makes no sense. But we — the Jewish people — understand. This is not recklessness. It is teshuva. It is a return of the heart.

As rockets fall and sirens sound, thousands of Israelis abroad are doing everything they can to come home. And what we are witnessing is not just a logistical operation — it is a spiritual movement, a national teshuva unfolding before our very eyes.

The Sin of the Spies: A Threefold Failure

This week’s parsha, Shelach, recounts one of the most devastating episodes in the Torah: the sin of the spies. Sent to scout the land, they returned not with lies, but with fear. They acknowledged the land’s beauty — but saw only its threats. “We cannot ascend,” they said. “The people are stronger than us.”

The sin was layered — and each layer cut deep:

• Against the Land: They slandered Eretz Yisrael, calling it “a land that devours its inhabitants.”
• Against the People: Their report demoralized the nation, spreading fear and despair.
• Against God: Most profoundly, they doubted Hashem’s promise, acting as though He could not fulfill it.

The result was national paralysis. Hashem decreed that the generation who rejected the land would not enter it.

Teshuva Done Wrong

The next day, a group known as the ma’apilim tried to undo the damage. “We will go up!” they declared, ready to fight. But it was too late. They acted without Hashem’s guidance and were defeated. The lesson is clear: teshuva must come with humility, not just urgency.

Our Generation’s Response

Today, we are blessed to witness something altogether different — a slow, sincere tikkun of that ancient sin. And remarkably, it addresses all three of its dimensions:

1. Love for the Land

While the spies recoiled, today Jews across the globe are embracing Eretz Yisrael. Even amidst rockets and fear, rescue flights are full. People are desperate to return. The photo of a woman kissing the ground of Israel was not staged — it was instinctive. The Rambam writes that the Sages would kiss the dust of the land, fulfilling the verse, “For Your servants cherished her stones and loved her dust.” What was once rejected is now held close.

2. Unity of the People

The spies’ words broke the spirit of the nation. But today, we see remarkable unity. After Simchat Torah and again during Operation Rising Lion, Israelis across all divides stood as one. Political rivals speak with mutual support. One opposition leader said it best: “Today, in this war, there is no right and left — only right and wrong.”

3. Rekindling of Faith

The deepest sin was spiritual. The spies questioned God’s protection. And in the aftermath of October 7, many asked: Where was God? Yet what followed was not spiritual collapse, but renewal. Faith and prayer have reentered the public sphere — from soldiers, from leaders, from returned hostages. Just hours before Israel’s pre-emptive strike on Iran, the Prime Minister was photographed at the Kotel, wrapped in a tallit, placing a handwritten verse inside the stones:

הֶן־עָם כְּלָבִיא יָקוּם וְכַאֲרִי יִתְנַשָּׂא — “Behold, a people that rises like a lioness and lifts itself like a lion.”

The Power of This Moment

The Rambam writes that the highest form of teshuva (teshuva gemura) occurs when a person is faced with the same challenge and chooses to act differently. As a nation, we find ourselves in a great moment of teshuva gemura. The fear is still here. The threats are real. And yet, we choose to return. We choose to stay. We choose to believe.

Parshat Shelach is more than a story of failure — it is a challenge to future generations. Will we learn from the past? Will we respond with faith instead of fear?

This Shabbat, our tefillot continue — even in limited numbers. And while we may not all be gathered together in shul, we remain deeply united in spirit and in purpose.

May we merit to continue this process of teshuva, and to write a new chapter — of love for our land, of unity among our people, and of renewed faith in Hashem.

Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg

The Sin That Still Echoes—And the Redemption That Awaits

Parashat Shelach Lecha is one of the most pivotal and haunting portions in the Torah. It contains not only the tragic episode of the spies—the meraglim—but also four mitzvot that Chazal compare to the entire Torah: Shabbat, Tzitzit, Challah, and Yishuv Eretz Yisrael—the mitzvah to live in the Land of Israel. While each of these is powerful, one stands at the heart of our national destiny: the command to love, cherish, and settle the Land of Israel. Our member and eloquent exponent of Aliyah, Rabbi Paul Bloom, explains.

The Sin That Defined an Exile

It was on Tisha B’Av that the twelve spies returned from their mission. Ten of them, leaders and men of stature, brought a report laden with fear and negativity. They acknowledged the land’s beauty but punctuated it with one crushing word -- "But." “The people are strong… we cannot succeed.” This single word undid generations of promise. That night Bnei Yisrael wept, and Hashem declared, “You wept for nothing; I will give you weeping for generations.”

That moment—a night of baseless despair and rejection of the Promised Land—became the root of Tisha B’Av, a day that would echo with destruction through Jewish history. The sin was not only lashon hara about the land, but something deeper: a rejection of the land itself, a bizayon ha’aretz, despising the very gift Hashem had prepared for them.

Lashon Hara, Again—and Again

The Torah places the story of the spies immediately after the episode of Miriam speaking against Moshe. Rav Yisrael Ordman explains this is no coincidence. The spies should have learned from Miriam’s punishment the danger of slander. She failed to see Moshe’s unique spiritual level; the spies failed to see Eretz Yisrael’s unique spiritual status. They were not sent just to report military strategies—they were told by Moshe to look for the segulah of the land, its Divine uniqueness. But they got caught up in the mundane: the giants, the cities, the fears. They were blind to holiness.

Rav Soloveitchik offers another dimension: the spies were elite leaders who could not bear the idea of losing their status. Entering the land meant new leadership, new roles, new structures. The spies’ vision was clouded not just by fear—but by ego. They failed as sheluchim—messengers—not because they lacked information, but because they lacked bitul, the humility to carry a message that wasn’t about them.

Contrast this with the second mission, decades later. Yehoshua sends two anonymous spies to Jericho. The Torah doesn’t name them. They are “cheresh,” silent, like klei cheres—simple, humble vessels. Their report is filled with faith: “Hashem has given the land into our hands.” No fear. No ego. Just clarity.

The Eternal Sin of Despising the Land

Rav Yaakov Filber points out that the sin of the spies didn’t end in the desert. It repeated itself during the Babylonian exile. Despite Hashem's miraculous opening of the gates for return through Ezra and Nechemiah, most Jews stayed behind in the comfort of exile. They preferred their homes, their jobs, and their familiarity over the challenge—and holiness—of rebuilding life in Eretz Yisrael.

Tragically, we see the same today. The Vilna Gaon recognized this centuries ago. He urged his students to return and rebuild. One of his disciples, Rav Hillel of Shklov, wrote in Kol HaTor that many Jews in his time—especially observant ones—were still committing the sin of the spies. They rationalized their comfort in exile and denied the mitzvah of Yishuv Eretz Yisrael, despite clear Talmudic sources stating that dwelling in the Land is equal to all the mitzvot of the Torah.

Rav Yaakov Emden, in his introduction to his siddur, pleads with future generations not to settle permanently in chutz la'aretz, warning that the sin of despising the "desirable land" is the root of our eternal weeping.

A Test That Returns in Every Generation

Today, we are seeing open miracles—whether in the resilience of Israel in times of war, the unity among Jews under fire, or the blossoming of Torah and technology in a once-barren land. Yet many still view Eretz Yisrael through the lens of cynicism: bureaucracy, climate, personalities. As in the time of the meraglim, they ignore the Divine Presence, the spiritual vitality, the promise unfolding before our eyes.

We must ask: Are we repeating the sin of the spies?

Do we speak of the Land with reverence—or with lashon hara? Do we view Aliyah as a central mitzvah—or an optional inconvenience? Do we focus on the difficulties—or the destiny?

Redemption Awaits the Shift

The Mesilat Yesharim warns that kavod, the pursuit of honor, distorts perception. The spies feared loss of position. But Yehoshua’s messengers embraced their role as simple vessels. That’s the model we need today. The mitzvah of living in Eretz Yisrael is not merely a footnote—it is, as Chazal say, equal to all the mitzvot. When we embrace it with humility, with emunah, and with joy, we begin to undo the tears of Tisha B’Av. We open the door to redemption. As we approach the final stages of exile, the question is no longer whether we can return, but whether we are willing to.

Moshiach is not waiting on history. He is waiting on us.

Nishmat Kol Chai: A special song for 23 Sivan

Earlier this week we posted this piece by Rabbi Paul Bloom on the significance of 23 Sivan. Another of our members, Max Stern, has added to this by sharing with us a musical rendition of the first part of Nishmat Kol Chai for female voice, bassoon and piano. 

You can both watch this work (there are some cute visuals) and listen to it on Max's YouTube channel here.

Max has styled his work "Blessing of Song". It was composed during the Covid pandemic as a prayer for all humanity, expressing a profound and immensely topical desire that life should return to normal.

Tzitzit and Torah methodology: Shelach Lecha 5785

In its discussion of the commandment of tzitzit, which concludes this week’s parsha, the Torah warns us not to follow the dictates of our hearts’ desires and the wants occasioned by our wandering eyes. The Netziv (Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin of nineteenth century Volozhin), among others  who comment on this verse, states that the ‘desires of our heart’ refers to people who perform mitzvot but have no faith in their worth or in their Giver, while ‘after their wandering eyes’ refers to those who view mitzvot that they personally observe through the prism of their eyes and understanding alone. Such people always want to substitute their own desires or their intellectual rationalizations for the pure belief in God and subservience to Him that are needed if one is to serve Him correctly.

Man’s natural inclination to be free of the commands of others, to do what one wants irrespective of duty or tradition with disregard for the consequences, stands in opposition to the Jewish notions of obedience and humility before our Creator. The Torah allows us desires and rational thinking. But, like any other facet of human behavior, these desires must be channeled. They are not meant to run wild and follow the changing whims and vagaries of human society in any given era. Performance of the mitzvot faithfully and in acknowledgement of the One who commands them becomes the foundation for the necessary disciplines that enhance Jewish life for all eternity. 

If this were not so, our hearts and eyes, our uninhibited desires and uncontrolled intellect would lead us astray. But why is the commandment of tzitzit the ultimate method for teaching us the importance of obedience, probity and faith? After all, there are hundreds of other commandments that would seem to be able to instruct us in the same fashion. 

While commentators on the Torah have struggled to find a conclusive and meaningful explanation, this is one that appeals to me the most, one that has to do with the form that the mitzvah takes. Even though it applies only to four-cornered garments, a relative rarity in post-Talmudic times, Jews have purposely worn such garments to obligate themselves in the performance of this mitzvah, making it omnipresent in their lives. It was an item of self-identification, a primary reminder of the yoke of mitzvot that the Jews accepted upon themselves and for all generations at Mount Sinai. Tzitzit is a mitzvah that numerically (through gematria) and in its form (its knots and strings) constantly reminds us of the 613 mitzvot that are the basis of our existence and the responsibilities that shape and govern our lives. 

Tzitzit thus represents the totality of the commandments, and of the very concept of commandments, that lies at the heart of Judaism and forms the nucleus of all Jewish life. Such is the methodology of Torah in shaping our actions and our thoughts. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

For Rabbi Wein's Shelach Lecha devar Torah for 5784 click here.

Sin and exile: a parallel narrative

Our member, rabbi and author Steven Ettinger, has turned his downtime during missile attacks to positive use by exercising his brain and his imagination to good purpose. Look what he has been thinking:

Sitting in the ma’amad with little else to do, one’s mind can wrestle with anxiety or can be distracted with something more constructive. I am choosing the latter – typing some stream of consciousness ideas about this week’s parshah, Shelach Lecha.

For some prognosticators, this is the start of World War II, an “end of the world” scenario.  So naturally, a good launching pad for my thoughts is at the very beginning. Hashem created the world with “asarah ma’amarot”, ten utterances. He completed the process by animating Adam HaRishon, the prototype human – who promptly succumbed to his evil inclination and was exiled from paradise.

Several millennia later Hashem repeated this pattern, albeit for a nation rather than for an individual. He did not create a single person but the ultimate people, Am Yisroel.  In place of ten utterances there were ten plagues. In place of seven days there were seven weeks.  There is one significant difference, however. Adam, after eating from the Tree of Knowledge, was prevented from eating from the Tree of Life. Hashem gave the Jewish Nation a tree of BOTH knowledge and life, the Torah, “eitz chaim hi.”

There is still one aspect left to discuss, the sin and the exile. In Eden, the story is succinct and clear – a well-known narrative.  The story has a beginning (“do not eat from the fruit of the tree”), a middle (the story of how they ate) ,and an end (the punishment).  There is even a villain upon whom some of the blame can be cast.

If the events of the Exodus present a parallel creation story, then where is this sin and exile narrative?

It would be tempting to answer that Am Yisrael or, more precisely, the generation that was redeemed from Egypt, was denied entry to the Land of Israel, a form of pre-exile, because of the sin of the Golden Calf. This would fit the mold precisely. They were given two interrelated commands, that they heard directly from Hashem: that He is their God and they are to have no others besides Him. They proceeded immediately to violate these directives.

This MAY have been the “sin.” However, “the consequence was NOT “exile”. Several thousand died, but there was forgiveness (“salachti ki’dvarecha”), not punishment. So perhaps the parallel narrative is to be found elsewhere, like in parashat Shelach Lecha.

In our parashah, the spies go out to see the land, they return with a bad report and the people despair. For this they are all punished and condemned to die in the desert over the next 40 years. This is their sin and exile.

However, if this truly is the “sin and exile”, if this is a continuation of our nation’s creation story: Where is the parallel narrative?  Where were they tempted? What command did they violate? Why the length of the punishment?  The answers to these questions will show us just how similar the two patterns are.

The parallel narrative is the story of the spies, with one caveat – there is one small link back to the sin of the Golden Calf. When Hashem forgave them, it was not exactly unconditional. In Ex. 32:34 He states: “u’veyom pakdi, uphakaditi alehem chatatam.” (on the day of accounting, I will call to count their sin). In other words, they may be getting a pass today. However, in the future, I will remember what they did now and the future punishment will be enhanced.

The temptation here for the nation, their protagonist, is the spies. Like the nachash in the Creation story, they present themselves as good guys.  They show concern for the nation.  But they, literally, are snakes in the grass.

The command they violated was based on Hashem’s concession to Moshe, “shelach lecha” (“send for yourself”).  Hashem in this instance delegated to Moshe the authority to “command” a task.  Moshe provided the meraglim with a specific set of instructions in order to enable Am Yisrael to immediately thereafter enter the Land of Israel, without any further delay.

 Moshe had been their leader for a little over two years. He had not only led them out of Egypt, performing many miracles, and twice delivered the Torah, but he defended them from destruction after the sin of the Golden Calf. How could they pervert his command and then rebel against him? THIS was the violation of God’s command – not following the letter and spirit of Moshe’s directives. The consequences of their actions were so fatal that Moshe himself would never enter Eretz Yisroel!

The length of the punishment is forty years. Moshe defended them for forty days; Hashem even offered to destroy the Jewish People and start again with Moshe as the progenitor. Forty years, the period necessary to eliminate this entire generation, was the required consequence. This is more than paying mere lip service to the concept of measure for measure, this defines justice.

We cannot ever presume to understand Hashem’s plans and actions in this world. But, looking back, we can sometimes discern patterns. There was a pattern in the creation of Man and we can see a similar pattern in the creation of our nation. Great tragedies have befallen our nation and out of the ashes we have experienced a great re-birth and many, many miracles.

So we sit in our shelters, seeing the Hand of Hashem revealed minute by minute. When we look back, perhaps in a mere few days from now, we might well find that we witnessed Hashem completing the pattern of His third and final creation -- not the creation of  Adam HaRishon -- the prototypical man or the creation of Am Yisrael – the ultimate people, but the creation of Yemot HaMashiach – the purpose for all existence.

The Hidden Messages of Megillat Esther and the Power of 23 Sivan

 Many of us are old enough to remember when Iran used to be called Persia. Appropriately, From Persia to the Present is the theme of this fascinating article by our member Rabbi Paul Bloom. 

Megillat Esther is not merely a historical account of the Jewish people in ancient Persia. Like much of Tanach, it conceals within it deeper spiritual layers—codes, allusions, and prophecies that stretch far beyond its time. One of the most astonishing hidden messages in the Megillah relates to the ten sons of Haman and a shocking parallel in modern history.

The Ten Sons of Haman and the Shadow of Amalek

When the Megillah lists the ten sons of Haman who were hanged (Esther 9:6–10), certain Hebrew letters in their names are written unusually—some are small, and one is large. Specifically, the small letters are ת (Tav), ש (Shin), ז (Zayin), and the large letter is ו (Vav). In gematria (Hebrew numerology), these letters correspond to the Jewish year 5707—that is, 1946 in the secular calendar.

Why is this significant?

On October 16, 1946 (6 Tishrei 5707), ten top Nazi war criminals were executed by hanging following the Nuremberg Trials. One of them, Julius Streicher, a notorious Jew-hater and propagandist, reportedly cried out “Purimfest 1946!” as he was led to the gallows. The eerie parallel between Haman’s sons and these modern-day Amalekites is hard to ignore. It’s as if the Megillah whispered across the ages: “Ten sons of Haman will fall again.”

The Talmud teaches that Amalek is not just a nation but a spiritual force of hatred and opposition to the Jewish people. The Nazis were not merely political enemies; they were ideological Amalekites. The execution of ten of their leaders by hanging—on the exact year encoded in Megillat Esther—is a chilling fulfillment of this idea.

Parashat Shelach Lecha: The Ten Spies and the Sin Against the Land

This week’s Torah portion, Shelach, contains another story involving ten individuals—the ten spies (meraglim) who slandered the Land of Israel and dissuaded the people from entering it. Their actions caused a national tragedy. As a result, that entire generation was condemned to wander the desert and die without ever entering the Promised Land.

The common thread? Ten individuals whose actions had massive consequences for the Jewish people.

Just as Haman’s ten sons and the ten Nazis represented the spiritual force of Amalek, the ten spies represent another destructive force: internal opposition to Eretz Yisrael. Their sin was not merely fear—it was the creation of a false narrative about the Land of Israel, weakening the resolve of the nation to fulfill God’s command.

We must take this lesson seriously today. Any leader or influencer within the Jewish world who discourages or neglects to promote Aliyah—the return to our Land—is, perhaps unknowingly, walking in the footsteps of the meraglim. The message is clear: to speak against Eretz Yisrael is no small matter—it carries national, even generational, consequences.

The Power of 23 Sivan: From Darkness to Light

There is another gem hidden within Megillat Esther: the repeated mention of the 23rd of Sivan (Esther 8). This was the day when the second royal decree was issued by Mordechai and Esther—empowering the Jews to rise and defend themselves against their enemies.

Even after Haman’s execution on 17 Nissan, his genocidal decree remained in effect. But on 23 Sivan, hope returned. A new edict was written, translated into every language of the empire, and sent to all 127 provinces. The Jewish people were no longer victims—they were empowered.

The Sages and kabbalistic writings describe 23 Sivan as a spiritually potent day—a day when evil decrees can be overturned, when darkness begins to give way to light. As it says in Esther 8:15-16:

"And Mordechai went out from before the king in royal garments... and the city of Shushan rejoiced and was glad. The Jews had light, and joy, and gladness, and honor."

This verse became part of our Havdalah service—symbolizing transformation and hope.

How to Tap Into the Power of 23 Sivan

Many spiritual teachers recommend practical steps to draw blessing and protection on this special day:

Light two candles in honor of Esther and Mordechai.

Give charity:

• Use both hands when placing money in the tzedakah box.
• Give amounts that align with gematria:
• 72 (Chesed - Kindness)
• 298 (Rachamim - Mercy)
• Direct the funds to poor Torah scholars or needy individuals in Israel.

Recite specific chapters of Tehillim (Psalms): Chapters: 22, 35, 79, 83, 94, 130, and 142

Read Chapter 8 of Megillat Esther.Pray from the heart—ask Hashem to overturn personal or national decrees of hardship.

Accept a new mitzvah into your daily life—a concrete act of spiritual growth.

From Persia to the Present – The Journey Continues

The messages of Megillat Esther and Parshat Shelach are timeless. They call us to vigilance against external enemies and inner doubts. They remind us that history is not random—it is guided by Divine Providence, encoded with lessons and hints meant to awaken us.

As we approach this 23rd of Sivan, let us remember: history can turn on a single day. A sealed decree can be overturned. A people marked for destruction can become a nation cloaked in joy.

May this Thursday, 23 Sivan, be a day of great light and gladness for all of Am Yisrael—a day when sorrow turns to celebration, fear to strength, and exile to redemption.