Let the cow clean up the mess of the calf: Ki Tisa 5786

This piece was first posted in Hanassi Highlights, Thursday 5 March. You can also read it in Hebrew, via AI, by clicking here.

Parshat Ki Tisa contains one of the most jarring moments in the Torah. Only weeks after the revelation at Har Sinai, Bnei Yisrael construct the Golden Calf. The speed of the collapse is almost as disturbing as the sin itself. How, so soon after Har Sinai, could the nation that heard the voice of Hashem fall so far?

Chazal link this parsha with Parshat Parah, which we also read this Shabbat. Their striking formulation is: “Tavo parah vetekane’ach et tzo’at b’nah” — let the cow come and clean up the mess made by her calf. On the surface, the association is symbolic. But the connection runs far deeper.

The Kuzari famously explains that, in building the Calf, the people were not consciously seeking to abandon Hashem. They were afraid. Moshe had not returned, and they felt spiritually disoriented and vulnerable. They wanted something tangible through which to focus their Divine service—a visible intermediary that would provide structure and reassurance.

In that sense, their impulse was not entirely foreign to the Torah itself. Surrounding the episode of the Calf are the parshiyot describing the Mishkan, with its physical vessels, sacred space, and golden keruvim atop the Aron. Judaism does not reject the physical; it channels and sanctifies it.

The crucial difference, however, is that the Mishkan was commanded; the Calf was not.

That distinction is decisive. When religious creativity detaches itself from the framework of Divine command, even sincere intentions can become spiritually destructive. The desire to make avodat Hashem accessible, tangible, or emotionally resonant is understandable—but, without commandedness, it risks becoming self-directed spirituality.

Parshat Parah responds with a very different posture. The Torah introduces the Red Heifer with the words: “Zot chukat haTorah.” It is the quintessential chok—a mitzvah that resists human logic. The Parah Adumah purifies the impure while rendering the pure impure. It cannot be neatly explained or fully rationalized. It calls for obedience even in the absence of full comprehension.

The Golden Calf represents the instinct to shape avodat Hashem in a way that feels understandable and reassuring. Parah represents the willingness to serve even when we do not fully understand—to act because we are commanded, not because we have constructed a system that satisfies our expectations.

Ki Tisa invites quiet reflection. Spiritual passion is essential. The desire for depth, connection, and meaning is not a weakness; it is one of our strengths. But that passion must remain anchored in something beyond ourselves. The difference between the Mishkan and the Golden Calf was not artistic talent or symbolism—it was submission to Divine command.

The message of Ki Tisa and Parshat Parah is that Torah does not always yield to our logic. Sometimes growth comes precisely through accepting that we do not stand at the centre. The purification of the Parah begins not with understanding, but with humility. Spiritual purity emerges when we allow the Torah to shape us, rather than insisting that we shape it.

Shabbat Shalom!

Shabbat in a New Light: Duality, Destiny, and the Covenant of Israel

Shabbat is not new to us in Parashat Ki Sisa. Klal Yisrael had already encountered it at the mon, and it appears again in Parashat Mishpatim. Yet in Parashat Ki Sisa, something profoundly new is added. The Torah reframes Shabbat — not merely as a mitzvah to observe, but as a covenant, a worldview, and a defining mark of Jewish identity. Here, Shabbat is illuminated in a way we may never have fully heard before. Our member Rabbi Paul Bloom explains.

 “Shabtotai” — The Plural Mystery

The Torah states:

אַךְ אֶת־שַׁבְּתֹתַי תִּשְׁמֹרו

“However, My Sabbaths you shall keep.” (Shemot 31:13)

Why the plural — Shabtotai?

The Ramban: Love and Awe

Nachmanides (Ramban) explains that the duality reflects Shamor and Zachor — the two formulations of Shabbat in the Aseret HaDibrot.

●      In the Book of Exodus, it says זָכוֹר — Remember.

●      In the Book of Deuteronomy, it says שָׁמוֹר — Guard.

These two expressions represent two modes of relationship with HaKadosh Baruch Hu:

●      Shamor — restraint, reverence, yirah.

●      Zachor — celebration, sanctification, ahavah.

Shabbat is not one-dimensional. It is the fusion of awe and love, discipline and delight. It teaches us that our connection to Hashem must contain both boundaries and embrace.That is the first dimension of “Shabtotai.”

The Kli Yakar: Beginning and End

Rabbi Shlomo Ephraim Luntschitz (Kli Yakar) offers a different perspective. Shabbat represents two cosmic poles:

1. Ma’aseh Bereishit — Creation, the beginning of time.
2. Geulah Acharonah — The ultimate redemption, the end of history.

Every Shabbat, we stand at the axis of time. We connect to:

●      The origin of existence — Hashem as Creator.

●      The destiny of existence — Hashem as Redeemer.

The dual korbanot of Shabbat — the two lambs — reflect this duality. Shabbat gathers the arc of history into a single sacred day. To keep Shabbat is to know where we came from and where we are going. That is the second meaning of “Shabbtotai.”

 “Lada’at” — Shabbat as a Way of Knowing

The Torah continues:

לָדַעַת כִּי אֲנִי ה' מְקַדִּשְׁכֶם

“To know that I am Hashem Who sanctifies you.” (Shemot 31:13)

Shabbat is not merely observance. It creates da’at — a consciousness, a mindset. It reshapes how we understand our existence, our relationship with Hashem and our place in the world

Rashi: A Sign to the Nations

Rashi explains that this “knowledge” extends outward: the nations of the world will recognize that Shabbat is a unique covenant between Hashem and Klal Yisrael. Shabbat becomes our hallmark. There is a striking story that illustrates this. A young Orthodox law graduate once interviewed at a prestigious non-Jewish law firm. Wearing his yarmulke, he explained he could not work on Shabbat. The partners pressed him: “What if it’s our biggest client?” “What if the firm loses the deal?” “What if we desperately need your signature?” His answer never changed: “If it’s Shabbat, I’m not available.”

To the partners, this was incomprehensible. They had no value that overrode career, money, or prestige. They could not imagine a commitment so absolute. He likely did not get the job. But he carried something they could not understand — a covenant. That is lada’at. That is what Shabbat does. It engraves into a Jew the awareness that there is something greater than professional success, greater than public acclaim. Shabbat declares: we belong to Hashem.

Mishkan and Shabbat — A Deliberate Reversal

The structure of the parshiyot surrounding the Mishkan reveals something extraordinary. In Terumah through Ki Tisa, we find six chapters of Hashem instructing Moshe privately about the Mishkan and six parallel chapters of Moshe relaying those instructions to the people. But there is one striking difference. When Hashem Speaks to Moshe. The Mishkan details come first, with Shabbat at the end (in Ki Tisa). But when Moshe Speaks to the People (Vayakhel), Shabbat comes first, followed by the Mishkan.

Why reverse the order? The Kli Yakar explains beautifully. When Hashem speaks, He first emphasizes the Mishkan — the kavod of Klal Yisrael, the dwelling of the Shechinah among them. Then He concludes with Shabbat — do not forget the honor of Heaven. But when Moshe speaks to Klal Yisrael, he reverses it. He begins with Shabbat since, before we build, before we create, before we demonstrate national glory. first comes Kavod Shamayim. This reflects a broader Torah principle: in our speech and orientation, we begin with Hashem.

This idea is echoed in a remarkable Gemara in Berachot (6a). There the Gemara asks: What is written in Hashem’s tefillin? Of course, this is metaphor — but the answer is stunning: “Who is like Your people Israel, one nation in the world?” Our tefillin proclaim Hashem’s unity: “Hashem Echad.” Hashem’s “tefillin” proclaim Israel’s uniqueness. It is a reciprocal covenant — ani l’dodi v’dodi li.

And so too with Yom Tov: the Torah calls it Chag HaMatzot — emphasizing what we did. We call it Pesach — emphasizing what Hashem did. We begin with praise of Heaven. Moshe therefore teaches Shabbat first.

Shabbat as Brit — More Than a Mitzvah

In Ki Tisa, Shabbat is called

אוֹת הִוא לְעוֹלָם

“It is an eternal sign.”

Not merely a mitzvah, but a Brit, a covenant. The Mishkan may symbolize Divine Presence among us. But Shabbat symbolizes something deeper: an unbreakable bond between Hashem and His people. The Mishkan can be destroyed. Shabbat cannot.

The Dual Vision of Shabbat

We now see how the strands converge:

●      Ramban — Love and Awe.

●      Kli Yakar — Beginning and End.

●      Rashi — A sign to the nations.

●      The structure of the Mishkan — Kavod Shamayim before Kavod Yisrael.

●      The Gemara in Berachot — Reciprocal uniqueness.

All point to the same truth: Shabbat teaches us who we are. It connects creation with redemption, love with reverence, Heaven with earth, Israel with Hashem. What is more, it also gives us da’at — the inner clarity to live by that knowledge.

Conclusion: Shabbat as Identity

Shabbat is not merely about refraining from melachah. It is about standing in sacred time and knowing where history began, where history is heading and to whom we belong.

Every week, Shabbat gathers the arc of existence into a single day and whispers: You are part of something eternal. That is why it is plural. That is why it is a covenant. That is why it is unforgettable.

Calves may come and calves may go: Ki Tisa 5785

This week’s Torah reading is dominated by the tragedy of the Golden Calf and its consequences. This episode follows teachings regarding the sanctity of the Shabbat. The rabbis attributed the presence of Shabbat as an indication that even the construction of the Mishkan cannot take precedence over the sanctity of Shabbat.  But that is not all. The dangers of Golden Calves, false gods, superficially bright and enticing ideals that only lead to eventual disaster, are ever-present in Jewish society. Our long history as a people contains is a long list of Golden Calves that have led us astray, to our great cost.

 Paganism, Hellenism, false messianism, Marxism, secularism, nationalism, humanism and unbridled hedonism—to name but a few—have all exacted a terrible toll over our history. But Shabbat, its holiness and its withdrawal from the mundane and impious world have always stood as a refuge, a bulwark against these Golden Calves. Shabbat is our first and strongest line of defense against the wave of falsehood and evil that constantly threatens to engulf us.

Without Shabbat we are lost. With Shabbat we are ever strong. Few things in history are that simple to discern, but the saving grace of Shabbat for Jewish society is plainly obvious. This is why, in parshat Vayakhel, the admonition regarding the laws of Shabbat is repeated in conjunction with a further review of the construction of the Mishkan. The Torah wishes to emphasize, that short of human life itself, no cause—no matter how seemingly noble—takes precedence over the sanctity of Shabbat which, in its eternity and God-given holiness, is likened to the World to Come. How often, when we rush to build, do we destroy and, in our desire to accomplish great things, trample on nobility and moral righteousness.

In the Talmud the great sage Baba ben Buta warned King Herod not to destroy the old until the new has already been erected. The world often believes that the destruction of the old is somehow a necessary prerequisite to constructing the new. The Torah however comes to teach us that the old Shbabat already observed by the People of Israel, even before it was given at Mount Sinai, will outlive and outperform any shiny new Golden Calf that is worshipped so avidly. Golden Calves come and calves may go but Shabbat and Torah remain valid for all times and circumstances. This reflection is buttressed in the Torah by its repetition. The message: our Mishkan is built only with Shabbat and never in contravention of it.

 Shabbat shalom,  Rabbi Berel Wein  

It cannot happen. What the nations would say!

 Here's a delightful recollection by one of our more senior members, Professor George S. Moschytz, of a devar Torah by Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik on this week's parashah.

Some years ago, I was in the USA for a technical meeting and spent Shabbat in Boston. It was Shabbat Ki Tisa and I decided to walk to the Shul that I knew Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik (“the Rav”) would attend.

Ki Tisa is the sedra in which, after the Golden Calf incident, Moshe ‘reasons’ with Hashem why he should not destroy the Jewish people and instead make the descendants of Moshe into a great nation (Shemot 32:11-13). His argument was: why should the Mitzri’im say,

“He brought them out with evil intent, to kill them in the mountains and to annihilate them from the surface of the earth?”

The Rav asks (in his beautiful Lithuanian accent): “What kind of an argument is that to Hashem? Why should Hashem care about the gossip of the Egyptians, or of anyone else for that matter?” The Rav’s answer: ‘Since mankind is supposed to follow, as far as possible, in the ways of Hashem (‘Imitatio Dei’), and a principle of our ethics is that man is not free to do what he likes with his reputation, or, in the words of the Rav, “man’s reputation is not his own to do with it what he likes”, it follows that Hashem must also, so to speak, guard his reputation vis-à-vis mankind!

Fast forward to our time. Hashem has permitted the establishment of the Jewish State. He has permitted the return of millions of Jews from all over the world—from a few hundred thousand in 1948 to many millions today. Yet any kind of nuclear attack on Israel, presumably on heavily populated areas, would destroy the country forever.

Nuclear pollution has a so-called half-time survival rate of thousands of years.

A small country like ours would be utterly destroyed. According to the Rav’s comments, it cannot happen! What would the nations surrounding us say….?

Shabbat: a pllar of Jewish identity and faith

Though this week’s Torah reading, Ki Tisa, is best known for the episode of the Golden Calf and its aftermath, it has some positive content too when it addresses the all-important mitzvah of Shabbat. Rabbi Paul Bloom explains.

This week's parsha, Ki Tisa, presents the mitzvah of Shabbat in a profound and unique light, offering insights that deepen our understanding beyond what has been previously discussed. Although the concept of Shabbat had already been introduced at Marah, reaffirmed at Har Sinai, and reinforced through the giving of the manna in Parashat Beshalach, Ki Tisa brings additional dimensions to its significance.

One striking feature in this parsha is the reference to Shabbat in the plural form: "Shabtotai" (שבתותי). The Torah could have used the singular form, yet it deliberately chooses the plural, hinting at a dual aspect of Shabbat that requires exploration.

Additionally, the Torah states, "Loda’at ki ani Hashem mekadishchem" (לדעת כי אני ה' מקדשכם), implying that Shabbat is not merely about observance but also about attaining a new mindset, a deeper awareness of our relationship with Hashem. It is through Shabbat that we gain an elevated understanding of our connection to the Divine.

The Ramban explains this duality of Shabbat as stemming from the two expressions found in the Aseret Hadibrot: "Zachor" (זכור) in the first set of commandments and "Shamor" (שמור) in the second. He elucidates that "Zachor" represents Ahavat Hashem (love of God), while "Shamor" signifies Yirat Hashem (fear of God). Observing Shabbat involves both dimensions: Yirah, expressed through the meticulous guarding of its sanctity, and Ahavah, reflected in the joy and positive remembrance of the day. This synthesis of love and reverence encapsulates the essence of Shabbat.

The Kli Yakar approaches the dual nature of Shabbat from a different perspective. He posits that Shabbat connects us both to the beginning of time—Ma’aseh Bereishit (the act of Creation)—and to the ultimate destiny of mankind—Ge’ulah Acharonah (the final redemption). Thus Shabbat serves as a bridge between the origins of existence and its ultimate fulfillment, offering us a glimpse of both past and future. This is symbolized in the korbanot of Shabbat, the "shnei kevasim" (two lambs), which reflect this dual connection.

Rashi, in his commentary, adds another layer of understanding, explaining that "loda’at" (לדעת) signifies that the nations of the world recognize the unique status of Shabbat as the defining covenant between Hashem and Klal Yisrael. Shabbat is our national hallmark, a distinction that sets us apart from all other nations.

The Kli Yakar further notes an interesting pattern in the structure of the Torah’s discussion of the Mishkan and Shabbat. The Torah dedicates six chapters to Hashem instructing Moshe regarding the construction of the Mishkan and another six chapters to Moshe relaying these details to Bnei Yisrael. However, there is a key difference between these two sequences: when Hashem commands Moshe, Shabbat is mentioned at the end, after the details of the Mishkan. Yet when Moshe conveys these laws to the people in Parashat Vayakhel, he first mentions Shabbat and only afterward discusses the Mishkan.

This reversal is significant. When Hashem speaks to Moshe, He first emphasizes the Mishkan, highlighting the presence of the Shechinah among Bnei Yisrael. Only afterward does He introduce Shabbat as an eternal covenant. In contrast, when Moshe addresses the people, he first underscores the importance of Shabbat before discussing the Mishkan, emphasizing that spiritual connection to Hashem takes precedence over the physical construction of the sanctuary. This distinction underscores a fundamental principle: while the Mishkan is a place of holiness, Shabbat is a time of holiness. The sanctity of Shabbat is intrinsic and unchanging, whereas the Mishkan, though sacred, is a physical entity subject to destruction.

This idea aligns with a well-known teaching from Chazal regarding the structure of various mitzvot in the Torah. The Gemara in Berachot (6a) discusses the reciprocal relationship between Hashem and Klal Yisrael, stating that just as we declare Hashem’s oneness in Kriat Shema, so too does Hashem "praise" Bnei Yisrael. This reciprocal recognition is reflected in the prioritization of Shabbat when Moshe speaks to the nation—emphasizing that before we engage in any physical construction, we must first acknowledge our spiritual foundation.

A parallel concept is found in the way we refer to Pesach. While the Torah refers to the holiday as "Chag HaMatzot", emphasizing our obedience in eating matzah, we commonly refer to it as "Pesach," highlighting Hashem’s kindness in passing over our homes during the plague. This linguistic distinction mirrors the relationship between Hashem and Bnei Yisrael—each side recognizing and honoring the greatness of the other.

In conclusion, Parashat Ki Tisa presents Shabbat not merely as a day of rest, but as a fundamental pillar of Jewish identity and faith. It encapsulates both Yirat Hashem and Ahavat Hashem, connects us to the beginning and end of time, and serves as an eternal covenant distinguishing Klal Yisrael from the nations. The contrast between the divine and human perspectives on the Mishkan and Shabbat further illustrates the profound significance of this holy day, reinforcing its centrality in our spiritual lives.

Be Proud!

Speaking in shul yesterday between minchah and maariv, Rabbi Wein spoke positively about something we usually associate with the negative: pride. When it’s attached to an individual, pride can be a big problem: people who are proud are, by definition, not humble. They may crave honour and status and their pride can be at the expense of other people on whom they look with disdain. But this wasn’t the sort of pride that Rabbi Wein was talking about.

Next Shabbat’s leining begins with the mitzvah of counting the Children of Israel—but the Torah doesn’t give the usual word for counting. Instead, it says “Ki Tiso”, when you lift up the heads of those whom you are counting. Holding up one’s head is a sign of pride.

Secular Jews, Rabbi Wein continued, are rarely proud of being Jewish and, as Jews, have little sense of self-respect. This is why the Purim story offers an explanation for the gezerah, the decree of destruction that was made against the Jewish people: they joined in the six-month-long party celebrations of Acheshverosh while that king was seeking to embarrass and humiliate them. Dressed in the garb of the Kohen Gadol and serving food and drink from vessels pillaged from the Temple, he was blatantly mocking his Jewish guests—yet they came, they ate and they drank.  It was not avodah zarah (idolatry) that sealed their fate. Rather, it was their abandonment of any pretence of self-respect. They had no pride.

Rabbi Wein added that it is not a mitzvah to be proud of being Jewish. No-one commands us to do it. But it is a value, and an important one at that. Without proudly recognizing our status as Jews, we have missed the whole point of our Judaism. In short, without being proud of who and what we are, we are doomed.

Concluding with a litmus test that we can all apply in our lives, Rabbi Wein quoted an aphorism from his cheder rebbe: “If your grandparents can look at you and take pride in who you are, and if your grandchildren can look at you and take pride in you, then you know you are doing something right”.

Purim same’ach—and have a proud Purim!