Together: The Test of Our Generation

We are living through exceptional times—times that future generations will one day study as a turning point in Jewish history. We are witnessing events that pierce the heart and stir the soul. Rabbi Paul Bloom explains.

On one hand, we are surrounded by heartbreak and horror—unspeakable atrocities committed against Am Yisrael, acts that defy comprehension. The suffering of individuals, families, and communities has reached depths that words cannot capture. And yet, within this darkness, something extraordinary has emerged: the radiant light of unity. Across Israel and throughout the Jewish world, Am Yisrael has come together in a spirit of generosity, volunteering, and love unlike anything many of us have ever witnessed. The strength of this unity—the achdut of the Jewish people—has become a wellspring of hope and resilience for our nation.

Three Words That Define Our Strength

This unity has deep roots. It is embedded in three words that appear in the Torah’s description of the supreme test of faith in Jewish history—the Akeidat Yitzchak, the Binding of Isaac. What are these words? The Torah tells us: “Vayelchu sheneihem yachdav”—And the two of them went together (Bereishit 22:6). Father and son, Avraham and Yitzchak, walking side by side toward the greatest test of their lives. Each knew that something incomprehensible was about to occur, yet they went together—united in faith, in purpose, and in an eternal bond.

The Akeidah was a test of emunah that stretched the limits of human endurance. Yet, as the Zohar teaches, it was not only Avraham who was tested—it was also Yitzchak. And in some ways, the test for Yitzchak was even greater. Avraham heard directly the Devar Hashem—the clear word of God. As a prophet, he had absolute certainty of what he was commanded to do. Yitzchak, however, did not. He heard the command only through his father. His faith was not just in God—but in his father, in mesorah, in the unbroken chain of transmission that defines our people. That, says the Zohar, was the moment when the foundations of Torah sheb’al Peh, the Oral Torah, were laid. For Yitzchak’s trust in his father mirrors our trust in the sages, in the chain of mesorah through which we hear the word of God echoed across generations. “Vayelchu sheneihem yachdav”—they went together: faith transmitted, unity forged, generations bound in all eternity.

A Covenant Misplaced

But the Akeidah has another dimension, one that carries a painful contemporary relevance. The Torah introduces the episode with the words, “Achar hadevarim ha’eileh”—“After these things” (Bereishit 22:1).   After which things? The Midrash and classic commentaries, including the Rashbam and the Ralbag, explain that the Akeidah followed a significant episode—Avraham’s covenant with Avimelech, the Philistine king.

Avimelech ruled over Eretz Pelishtim, the coastal strip of the Land of Israel—what we know today as the Gaza region. Avraham entered into a covenant with him, promising peaceful coexistence and effectively conceding part of the land of Israel. But, says the Rashbam, this was a mistake. The land had been promised to Avraham’s descendants by God Himself. It was not Avraham’s to give away, even as a gesture of diplomacy or goodwill.

The Midrash Tanchuma teaches that as a result, Avraham’s descendants suffered for generations. When Yehoshua later entered the Land of Israel, he was unable to conquer the territory of Eretz Pelishtim—Ashdod, Ashkelon, Ekron, and Gaza—because of that covenant. It remained unconquered for centuries until the days of King David.

In this light, the Akeidah was not only a test of faith—it was also a form of atonement, a painful consequence of Avraham’s earlier misjudgment. He had trusted in a political covenant rather than in the eternal covenant of God.

A Lesson for Our Generation

We, too, have witnessed the tragic results of yielding parts of our land in pursuit of peace. The withdrawal from Gush Katif and the Gaza Strip was done with hopes of security and coexistence. Yet the bitter reality that has unfolded since then echoes the words of our sages: Eretz Yisrael cannot be secured through covenants with those who deny its divine promise. The lesson of the Akeidah is clear. The future of Am Yisrael does not depend on treaties or fences—it depends on faith, on courage, and on unity.

Our Test: Going Together

Just as Avraham and Yitzchak faced their supreme trial “together”, so too must we face ours. The unprecedented unity we witnessed over the past two years—families opening their homes to evacuees, soldiers risking their lives for their brothers, Jews around the world giving, praying, and standing with Israel—is the modern echo of “Vayelchu sheneihem yachdav.” Through our shared acts of kindness, our tefillot, our mitzvot, and our collective resolve, we are weaving the spiritual armor that protects Am Yisrael. Every mitzvah, every gesture of solidarity, every prayer for our soldiers, for those held hostage and their families builds unseen walls of protection—malachim born from unity and faith.

May the zechut of our togetherness—our faith and our unity—bring safety to our soldiers and comfort to the bereaved. And may the light of “Vayelchu sheneihem yachdav” continue to guide Am Yisrael toward redemption—together.

Are we Listening?

God gave the message. Avram heard and responded positively. But are we listening as attentively as our illustrious forebear?  Rabbi Paul Bloom explains.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

From Resistance to Redemption

Here in this powerful piece of analysis, our member Rabbi Paul Bloom parallels the lives and challenges of Noach and Avraham with the middot ascribed to their generations in Pirkei Avot.

Noach: The Righteous Man in His Generations

נֹחַ אִישׁ צַדִּיק תָּמִים הָיָה בְּדֹרֹתָיו, אֶת הָאֱ-לֹהִים הִתְהַלֶּךְ נֹחַ

 “Noach was a righteous man, perfect in his generations; Noach walked with God”   (בראשית ו:ט)

Few figures in the Torah are explicitly described as ‘tzaddik’. The Torah’s introduction of Noach, however, includes a striking qualifier — בְּדֹרֹתָיו, “in his generations.”

Much ink has been spilled over this phrase. Rashi famously cites two views: some interpret it as praise — that, even amid corruption, Noach remained righteous; others, as limitation — that only “in his generations” was he righteous but, compared to Avraham, he would not have stood out.

Yet Midrash Rabbah offers a different and profound perspective. The phrase “in his generations” refers not to comparison, but to context — to the dark and morally decaying generations through which Noach lived and against which his righteousness shone.

שלוש הדורות המקולקלים – The Three Corrupt Generations

The Midrash (בראשית רבה ל:ז) teaches that Noach lived through three particularly depraved generations — each marked by a different form of spiritual collapse:

1.           דור אנוש – The Generation of Enosh

 This was the first generation to turn from faith (אמונה) to idolatry (עבודה זרה). As the Torah says,

 אָז הוּחַל לִקְרֹא בְּשֵׁם ה' (בראשית ד:כו) 

 which Chazal interpret as “then they began to profane the Name of Hashem.”  Humanity shifted from belief in the Creator to the worship of created forces, inaugurating the long history of paganism.

2.           דור המבול – The Generation of the Flood

 The Torah describes this generation as being consumed by desire and corruption:

 (כִּי מָלְאָה הָאָרֶץ חָמָס מִפְּנֵיהֶם (בראשית ו:יא

 Their society was driven by ta’avah — unrestrained self-gratification. They took whatever they wanted, without regard for others, leading to theft, immorality, and violence.

3.           דור הפלגה – The Generation of the Tower of Bavel

 These people were motivated by ga’avah — arrogance and hubris. Discovering how to make bricks,

 וַיֹּאמְרוּ הָבָה נִבְנֶה לָנוּ עִיר וּמִגְדָּל וְרֹאשׁוֹ בַשָּׁמַיִם (בראשית יא:ד)

 Their newfound technology bred the illusion of limitless human power. They sought to dominate nature and dethrone Heaven itself. Each generation embodied a different corruption of the human spirit — the idolater’s denial of God, the hedonist’s indulgence in pleasure, and the arrogant’s rebellion through pride.

קִנְאָה, תַּאֲוָה וְכָבוֹד – The Triple Threat

The Mishnah in Pirkei Avot (ד:כח) summarizes these corruptive tendencies in timeless psychological terms:

הַקִּנְאָה וְהַתַּאֲוָה וְהַכָּבוֹד מוֹצִיאִין אֶת הָאָדָם מִן הָעוֹלָם

 “Jealousy, desire, and the pursuit of honor drive a person from the world.”

Each of these drives, when unrestrained, destroys both the individual and society. Yet in moderation, they have a legitimate, even necessary, place in life. A measure of ta’avah is needed for sustenance and family; kavod inspires self-respect; kin’ah — in its positive form — motivates personal growth. But excess turns them toxic. Already in the earliest chapters of Bereishit, we see how they manifest:

●           Kayin, whose name derives from (קָנִיתִי אִישׁ (בראשית ד:א, embodied possessiveness and envy. His jealousy of Hevel led to murder.

●           The Generation of the Flood was destroyed by ta’avah, unbounded lust and greed.

●           The Builders of Bavel were consumed by kavod, imagining that human achievement could replace divine authority.

נֹחַ וְכֹחוֹ לַעֲמֹד בְּנִסָּיוֹן – Noach’s Resistance

The opening verse of Tehillim (א:א) beautifully mirrors these three eras:

אַשְׁרֵי הָאִישׁ אֲשֶׁר לֹא הָלַךְ בַּעֲצַת רְשָׁעִים, וּבְדֶרֶךְ חַטָּאִים לֹא עָמָד, וּבְמוֹשַׁב לֵצִים לֹא יָשָׁב

Chazal (מדרש רבה שם) interpret this verse as follows:

●           לא הלך בעצת רשעים — He did not follow the sinners of the Generation of Enosh.

●           ובדרך חטאים לא עמד — He did not stand with the Generation of the Flood.

●           ובמושב לצים לא ישב — He did not join the Generation of the Tower of Bavel.

Thus, Noach is “fortunate” because he resisted all three corrupt influences.  He walked with God when others mocked faith, indulged the flesh, or glorified human arrogance. As the Rambam writes in Hilchot De’ot (ו:א),

דֶּרֶךְ בְּרִיָּתוֹ שֶׁל אָדָם לִהִימָשֵׁךְ בְּדֵעוֹתָיו וּבְמַעֲשָׂיו אַחֲרֵי רֵעָיו וְאַחֲרֵי אַנְשֵׁי מְדִינָתוֹ

 “It is the nature of man to be influenced by his companions and environment.”

To remain righteous in a corrupt world is, therefore, no small feat.  This was Noach’s greatness — he resisted. But here too lies his limitation. Noach saved himself and his family, but not his generation. He built an ark, not a movement. His righteousness was defensive, not transformative.

אָבְרָהָם – הַשָּׁלָב הַבָּא בַּתִּקוּן – Avraham’s Advancement

With Avraham Avinu, the Torah’s story takes a new direction. Avraham not only resisted the surrounding idolatry; he challenged it. He “called out in the name of Hashem” —

וַיִּקְרָא בְּשֵׁם ה' 

Chazal teach that Avraham traveled from place to place, teaching humanity about the Creator, even at personal risk. His mission was to restore the world’s moral order. Where Noach withstood, Avraham inspired. The Mishnah in Pirkei Avot (ה:יט) contrasts the disciples of Avraham with those of Bil‘am:

כָּל שֶׁיֵּשׁ בּוֹ שָׁלוֹשׁ מִדּוֹת הַלָּלוּ – עַיִן טוֹבָה, רוּחַ נְמוּכָה, וְנֶפֶשׁ שְׁפֵלָה – מִתַּלְמִידָיו שֶׁל אַבְרָהָם אָבִינוּ

These three middot directly correspond to the rectification of the earlier corruptions:

●           עַיִן טוֹבָה — a “good eye,” rejoicing in others’ success, rectifies kin’ah (jealousy).

●           נֶפֶשׁ שְׁפֵלָה — modest desires, rectifies ta’avah (lust).

●           רוּחַ נְמוּכָה — humility, rectifies kavod (arrogance).

In Avraham, human nature itself is healed.  He transforms the destructive impulses that ruined the early world into traits of holiness.

מִנֹּחַ לְאַבְרָהָם – From Resistance to Redemption

The Torah’s record of human corruption is not a chronicle of despair, but a moral blueprint. It shows how far mankind can fall — and how far it can rise. Noach was righteous within his world; Avraham was righteous for his world.  Noach preserved; Avraham built.  Noach walked with God; Avraham walked before God (בראשית יז:א), taking initiative to bring others along. The spiritual history of humanity thus moves from survival to mission — from tzaddik bedorotav to av hamon goyim.

By learning these early parshiyot, we see the continuity of moral repair:

• ·       from the corruption of kin’ah, ta’avah, kavod, to their sanctified opposites of ayin tova, nefesh shefeilah, ruach nemuchah.
  
  
• ·       from resistance, to transformation, to redemption.

May we, the children of Avraham, continue his legacy —

• ·       to resist the moral floods of our time,
  
  
• ·       to build arks of Torah and faith,
  
  
• ·       and to call out, like Avraham, in the name of Hashem.

Before the Dawn: Prophecies and Signs of Redemption

Throughout Jewish history, our prophets have painted vivid pictures of the end of days — of exile and return, destruction and renewal, suffering and redemption. For generations, these prophecies were studied with awe and yearning. Today, as we witness dramatic changes in the Land of Israel and throughout the world, many wonder: Are we seeing the early light of their fulfillment? Rabbi Paul Bloom reflects on this long-asked question and offers an insightful approach to it.

This essay explores those timeless visions through the words of Tanach and Chazal, together with reflections on recent events that may echo their call. Our purpose is not prediction, but perspective — to view our moment in history through the lens of prophecy and faith.

Walking the Streets of Jerusalem

As I walk the streets of Yerushalayim during this deeply spiritual season — from Rosh Hashanah through Yom Kippur, culminating in Sukkot — I sense that we are living in extraordinary times. Never before has it been so clear that the words of our Nevi’im are unfolding before our very eyes. The vision of the prophets is not ancient poetry; it is a living reality, a call to awaken and prepare.

1. קִבּוּץ גָּלוּיוֹת —  Ingathering of the Exiles

One of the clearest signs of redemption foretold in the Tanach is the return of Am Yisrael to its land:

וְשָׁב ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ אֶת שְׁבוּתְךָ וְרִחֲמֶךָ, וְשָׁב וְקִבֶּצְךָ מִכָּל הָעַמִּים אֲשֶׁר הֱפִיצְךָ ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ שָׁמָּה

 “Then Hashem your God will bring back your captivity and have compassion upon you, and will return and gather you from all the nations where Hashem your God has scattered you.” (Devarim 30:3)

קִבַּצְתִּי אֶתְכֶם מִכָּל הָאֲרָצוֹת וְהֵבֵאתִי אֶתְכֶם אֶל אַדְמַתְכֶם

 “I will gather you from all the lands and bring you into your own land.”
 — Yechezkel (Ezekiel) 36:24

For nearly two millennia, Jews were scattered across the globe. Yet today, from every continent — North America, South Africa, France, Russia, Ethiopia, and beyond — the Jewish people are returning home. This is nothing less than the fulfillment of ancient prophecy. This prophecy can be found in at least 18 places in Tanach (See Appendix).

2. תְּחִיַּת הָאָרֶץ — The Land’s Rebirth

The prophets spoke not only of the people’s return, but of the land itself coming back to life:

וְאַתֶּם הָרֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל, עַנְפְּכֶם תִּתֵּנוּ וּפִרְיְכֶם תִּשְּׂאוּ, לְעַמִּי יִשְׂרָאֵל, כִּי קֵרְבוּ לָבוֹא

 “But you, O mountains of Israel, you shall give forth your branches and yield your fruit to My people Israel; for they are soon to come.” (Yechezkel 36:8)

For centuries, Eretz Yisrael was desolate, barren, and neglected. But with the return of her children, the land has awakened — vineyards flourish, cities rise, and deserts bloom. Today, Israel leads the world in desert agriculture, drip irrigation, and reforestation. Hills once barren are now green; valleys bloom with orchards. Every fruit tree and field seems to testify that the Divine promise is alive once more.

3. שׁוּב רִבּוֹנוּת יִשְׂרָאֵל — Restoration of Sovereignty

The return to the land was always tied to the renewal of Jewish sovereignty. After centuries under foreign rule, the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948 marked a historic turning point. For the first time since the destruction of the Second Temple, the Jewish people govern their ancestral homeland.

וְשָׁבוּ בָנִים לִגְבוּלָם  

“And children shall return to their borders.” (Yirmeyahu 31:16)

Though challenges remain, the existence of a Jewish state is a miracle in itself — a declaration that prophecy is not a relic of the past but a living promise.

4. יְרוּשָׁלַ͏ִים בְּמֶרְכַּז הָעוֹלָם  — The Rebuilding of Jerusalem

No city embodies the story of Am Yisrael like Yerushalayim. The prophets foretold that it would once again be filled with life:

עוֹד יֵשְׁבוּ זְקֵנִים וּזְקֵנוֹת בִּרְחֹבוֹת יְרוּשָׁלַ‍ִם... וּרְחֹבוֹת הָעִיר יִמָּלְאוּ יְלָדִים וִילָדוֹת מְשַׂחֲקִים בִּרְחֹבֹתֶיהָ  

“Old men and old women shall yet again sit in the streets of Jerusalem… and the streets of the city shall be full of boys and girls playing.” (Zechariah 8:4–5)

Today, one can walk through the alleys of the Old City and witness exactly this — elders on benches, children laughing, Torah scholars hurrying to shiurim. The recognition of Jerusalem as Israel’s capital by nations of the world marks yet another step toward the fulfillment of Zechariah’s vision.

5. בִּלְבּוּל הָעוֹלָם וּמַשְׁבֵּר הָאֱמוּנָה —Moral Confusion and Global Upheaval

Our sages taught that before the coming of Mashiach, the world would enter a time of moral confusion and upheaval — what Chazal called Chevlei Mashiach, the “birth pangs” of redemption.

We live in a century of remarkable technological progress yet profound spiritual disorientation. Values once considered sacred are questioned, while evil often masquerades as good. Injustice, violence, and the distortion of truth dominate global headlines. This turmoil, though painful, may be the darkness that precedes the dawn.

6. דִּין הַגּוֹיִם — The Judgment of Nations

The prophets also foresaw that, in the end of days, the nations would be judged for their treatment of Israel:

וְנִשְׁפַּטְתִּי אִתָּם שָׁם עַל עַמִּי וְנַחֲלָתִי יִשְׂרָאֵל, אֲשֶׁר הֵפִיצוּ בַגּוֹיִם, וְאֶת אַרְצִי חִלֵּקוּ  

“There I will enter into judgment with them concerning My people and My heritage Israel, whom they have scattered among the nations, and they have divided up My land.” (Yoel 4:2)

Recent debates over dividing the Land of Israel echo this prophecy with chilling clarity. Yet we have also seen unexpected moments when world leaders, against political odds, have defended Israel’s right to exist and to protect its people — reminders that the hand of Hashem guides history.

7. תְּשׁוּבָה וְהִתְעוֹרְרוּת רוּחָנִית — Awakening of Teshuvah

A further sign of redemption is the spiritual awakening among our people. Even amid pain and crisis — such as the tragic events of October 7 — there has been a surge of faith, unity, and return to Torah.

Jews across the globe have deepened their connection to mitzvot, tefillah, and Shabbat. Many have embraced tzitzit, tefillin, and acts of kindness as never before. This collective return reflects the promise:

וְשַׁבְתָּ עַד ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ, וְשָׁמַעְתָּ בְּקֹלוֹ  

“And you shall return to Hashem your God and listen to His voice…” (Devarim 30:2)

8. הֲכָנוֹת לַבֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁ — Preparations for the Temple

Even the longing for the Beit HaMikdash — the dream of rebuilding — is stirring once again. From renewed study of Temple laws to the crafting of priestly garments and instruments, signs of readiness abound.

כִּי מִצִּיּוֹן תֵּצֵא תּוֹרָה, וּדְבַר ה' מִירוּשָׁלָ‍ִם

 “For out of Zion shall go forth Torah, and the word of Hashem from Jerusalem.” (Yeshayahu 2:3)

 The Temple Institute in Jerusalem has prepared vessels, priestly garments, and identified red heifers suitable for purification. While these efforts are symbolic beginnings, they reveal a yearning rooted deep in the Jewish soul — a yearning that itself is part of the redemption process.

 

9. ‘שָׁלוֹם עוֹלָמִי וְדֵעַת י —Universal Peace

Isaiah envisioned a world transformed by the knowledge of God:

לֹא־יִשָּׂא גוֹי אֶל־גוֹי חֶרֶב, וְלֹא־יִלְמְדוּ עוֹד מִלְחָמָה  

“Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.” (Yeshayahu 2:4)

While we are not there yet, we see growing global awareness of the futility of war and the power of peace. Perhaps these are early footsteps of a new moral consciousness — the distant echoes of Isaiah’s dream.

The Dawn Before Day

Yet shadows remain — conflict, confusion, and suffering. Even so, Rabbi Akiva taught us how to see light amid ruin. When his colleagues wept at the desolation of the Temple, he smiled:

נִתְקַיְּמָה נְבוּאָתוֹ שֶׁל עוּרִיָּה — מִתְקַיֶּמֶת נְבוּאָתוֹ שֶׁל זְכַרְיָה

“If the prophecy of Uriah [destruction] has been fulfilled, then surely the prophecy of Zechariah [consolation] will also be fulfilled.” (Makkot 24b)

Rabbi Akiva’s faith was not naive optimism; it was a recognition that history itself is the canvas of Divine promise.

Reflection

What are we to do in such times? The prophets teach that redemption demands response:

• To see the hand of Hashem in history.
• To strengthen our commitment to Torah and mitzvot.
• To support the rebuilding of our people and land.
• To prepare our hearts for the Geulah.

These are not luxuries, but necessities.

Conclusion

Prophecy is like the dawn — faint light breaking through night. What we are witnessing are the beginnings of that light. This is a moment both solemn and hopeful.

While not everyone can make Aliyah immediately, it is imperative that each of us begin — and hasten — our preparation for that day. Hashem continually gives us signs. All we need do is open our eyes, thank Hashem, and listen.

“Ki Tov” and “Tov Me’od”: Seeing the Divine in Creation

When we say something is good, we usually mean that we like it and it has our approval. But when God uses this term, He perceives something of greater value. In this penetrating analysis, Rabbi Paul Bloom looks more deeply into what we should understand when God describes His creations as "good".

When the Torah describes the unfolding of Creation, a single phrase recurs six times: “וַיַּרְא אֱלֹקים כִּי־טוֹב” — “And God saw that it was good.”  At first glance, this seems like a simple statement: God looked upon what He had made and declared it good. Yet, on closer reflection, the expression “ki tov” raises a profound question. The word “טוֹב – good” in Tanach usually refers to something of spiritual and eternal value, not merely something that functions well. The Torah itself is called “טוֹב”, as is the Divine Will — goodness that is not only efficient, but enduring and holy.

Why, then, does the Torah use this lofty term to describe the physical processes of nature — the growth of vegetation, the shining of the sun, the movement of the stars? And why, after all these six stages of “ki tov”, does the Torah conclude the chapter with a final, elevated declaration:

וַיַּרְא אֱלֹהִים אֶת-כָּל-אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה, וְהִנֵּה-טוֹב מְאֹד  

“And God saw all that He had made, and behold, it was very good”.

What changed between “tov” and “tov me’od”?

The Whole Greater Than Its Parts

One level of interpretation, offered by many classical commentators, is that “tov me’od” marks the moment when the entire creation came together as a unified whole. Each element — the plants, the animals, the heavenly bodies, the seas — was indeed good on its own. But when they began to function together in perfect harmony, forming a complex, interdependent system, the result was something greater than the sum of its parts.  This interconnectedness — what we would now call the ecological balance of the universe — is what made creation not merely good, but “tov me’od.”

The Kli Yakar: “Ki Tov” as Future Potential

The Kli Yakar, however, offers a strikingly different and deeper insight.  He notes that in Biblical Hebrew, the word “כי” (ki) often refers to a future event — something that will happen, rather than something that already is. For example: “כי תבוא אל האר” — “When you will come into the Land,” or “כי תצא למלחמה” — “When you will go out to war.”

Applying this principle to “וַיַּרְא אֱלֹקים כִּי־טוֹב”, the Kli Yakar suggests:  God saw that it would one day become good.  Each stage of creation contained within it the potential for eternal goodness, but that goodness had not yet been realized. The world at that point was magnificent, awe-inspiring — but it lacked meaning. It awaited something, or rather someone, who could perceive and internalize its Divine source.

“Tov Me’od”: When Humanity Awakens

That realization came only with the arrival of Adam and Chavah. When human beings opened their eyes and saw the world not as a collection of phenomena, but as a revelation of the Creator’s wisdom, everything changed. At that moment, all the previous “ki tovs” became “tov me’od.”  Creation now had an observer capable of recognizing its purpose. The universe was no longer a silent masterpiece; it became a living testimony to the glory of its Maker.

The Kli Yakar even finds a beautiful hint in the phrase “טוֹב מְאֹד”. Rearrange the letters of מְאֹד, he says, and it spells “אָדָם” — man.  It was Adam’s consciousness — the human capacity to perceive and declare “מָה רַבּוּ מַעֲשֶׂיךָ’” (How great are Your works, Hashem) — that transformed creation from merely good to very good. Humanity conferred meaning on the world.

Becoming Partners with the Creator

This insight resonates deeply with the teaching of Chazal in Masechet Shabbat (119b):

“Anyone who recites Kiddush on Friday night becomes a partner with the Holy One, blessed be He, in the work of Creation.”

How can a human being be a partner in creation? We cannot form matter from nothing; we cannot shape galaxies or call forth life. Yet, in a profound sense, we complete creation — not physically, but spiritually. God created the physical universe, but it was human awareness that gave it meaning. When a person stands on Friday night and declares “ויכלו השמים והארץ” — “Thus were completed the heavens and the earth” — he affirms that the world has a purpose and a Creator. At that moment, he invests the cosmos with spiritual significance.

In that sense, man is indeed a shutaf laKadosh Baruch Hu — a partner with God. The universe was waiting for beings who could look upon it and see “Kevod Shamayim” — the glory of Heaven — reflected in every element of nature.

“Vayechulu”: The World as a Vessel

The Sfas Emes adds a beautiful layer to this idea. The Torah says:

 “וַיְכֻלוּ הַשָּׁמַיִם וְהָאָרֶץ”

“The heavens and the earth were completed.”

 The word “ויכלו” shares its root with “כֵּלִי” — a vessel or instrument.  When Shabbat entered, and Adam and Chavah recognized their Creator, the entire world became a single great vessel — a kli through which the Divine Presence could dwell and be revealed. Thus, “ויכלו” means more than completion; it means transformation. The universe became a receptacle for holiness, a medium for the Divine will. Creation was not just finished — it was fulfilled.

The Eternal “Ki Tov” in Our Lives

The lesson of “ki tov” and “tov me’od” extends far beyond the opening chapter of Bereishit. Each of us, in our own lives, is called to see the Yad Hashem — the hand of God — in nature, in history, and in our own experiences. When we open our eyes to the miraculous balance of the natural world, when we perceive Divine providence in the unfolding of events, and when we sanctify time through Shabbat — we continue the work of Creation.  We turn potential goodness into realized goodness; “ki tov” into “tov me’od.”

On Shabbat, when we cease our own creative work and simply recognize God’s world, we achieve the highest human calling: to be a partner with the Creator, seeing His light in every corner of existence.

וַיַּרְא אֱלֹהִים אֶת-כָּל-אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה, וְהִנֵּה-טוֹב מְאֹד 

When man recognizes the Divine within creation — only then is the world truly very good.

Taking Leave of the Sukkah -- and the Sukkah of the Leviathan

In this post, Rabbi Paul Bloom fastens on to our farewell to the temporary home that has accommodated us for the past week. What should we be thinking? What is the takeaway message from our poignant parting?

Today, on Hoshanah Rabbah, we reach the spiritual crescendo of the festival of Sukkot. Soon we will transition into Shemini Atzeret, the day that symbolizes Hashem’s special closeness to His people — “ָשָׁה עָלַי פְּרִידַתְכֶםק”, “Your separation is difficult for Me.”

And yet, even before we take leave of the festival, there is a tender custom — recorded by the Rema — to say a Yehi Ratzon upon leaving the sukkah:

נהגו לומר כשנפטר מן הסוכה:
 יהי רצון מלפניך ה' אלקי ואלקי אבותי
 כשם שקיימתי וישבתי בסוכה זו,
 כן אזכה בשנה הבאה לישב בסוכת עורו של לויתן

“May it be Your will, Hashem our God and God of our fathers,
 that just as I have fulfilled the mitzvah and dwelt in this sukkah,
 so may I merit next year to dwell in the sukkah of the Leviathan.”

This is remarkable. We do not recite a similar farewell after other mitzvot. We do not say goodbye to the shofar, nor to the lulav, nor even to matzah. Only the sukkah receives this parting prayer. Why?

Rav Yitzchak Hutner (Pachad Yitzchak, Sukkos 27) uncovers the reason. The Torah commands us on the festivals to appear before Hashem “in the place which He will choose.” Regarding Pesach and Shavuot, the Torah specifies: “in the place where Hashem rests His Name” — the Beit HaMikdash in Yerushalayim. But regarding Sukkot, the Torah omits that phrase. He notes that when the Torah speaks about the pilgrimage festivals, it says:

שָׁלֹשׁ פְּעָמִים בַּשָּׁנָה יֵרָאֶה כָל זְכוּרְךָ
 אֶת פְּנֵי ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ
 בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחָר
 (דברים ט״ז:ט״ז)

Pesach

וְזָבַחְתָּ פֶּסַח לַה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ צֹאן וּבָקָר
 בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר ה' לְשַׁכֵּן שְׁמוֹ שָׁם
(דברים ט״ז:ב׳)

כִּי אִם אֶל הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ
 לְשַׁכֵּן שְׁמוֹ שָׁם תִּזְבַּח אֶת הַפֶּסַח
(שם ו׳)

Shavuot

וְשָׂמַחְתָּ לִפְנֵי ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ
 בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ לְשַׁכֵּן שְׁמוֹ שָׁם

(דברים ט״ז:י״א)

By Pesach and Shavuot, the Torah adds:

בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר ה' לְשַׁכֵּן שְׁמוֹ שָׁם

 “the place where Hashem rests His Name.”

But by Sukkot, that phrase is missing. Why?  Rav Hutner explains: because on Sukkot, the Shechinah does not dwell solely in Yerushalayim. Every Jew’s sukkah becomes a Mikdash me’at — a miniature Temple — a dwelling for the Divine Presence. Hashem leaves His Palace and comes to dwell with His people in their fragile huts.

Thus, the sukkah itself becomes a Yerushalayim, a sanctuary in time and space. And just as one who visited Yerushalayim for the festivals was required to remain overnight — mitzvat lina — and take leave with reverence, so too do we bid farewell to our sukkah with a blessing and a prayer.

We do not simply step out. We say goodbye. We whisper: “Just as I sat beneath this shade, may I merit to sit beneath the shade of the Leviathan.”

The Sukkah of the Leviathan: A Glimpse of the Future

But what is this Sukkah of the Leviathan?

In the Gemara in Bava Batra 75a, Rabbah quotes Rabbi Yochanan’s description of two wondrous scenes of the World to Come:

עָתִיד הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא לַעֲשׂוֹת סְעוּדָה לַצַּדִּיקִים מִבְּשָׂרוֹ שֶׁל לִוְיָתָן

עָתִיד הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא לַעֲשׂוֹת סוּכָּה לַצַּדִּיקִים מֵעוֹרוֹ שֶׁל לִוְיָתָן

In the future, the Holy One, Blessed be He, will make a feast for the righteous from the flesh of the leviathan…

In the future, the Holy One, Blessed be He, will prepare a sukkah for the righteous from the skin of the leviathan

This is no simple fable. It is a vision — aggadah — teaching us deep truths about spiritual reward and the nature of closeness to God.

The Leviathan, the great sea creature, represents the most hidden of God’s creations — "לויתן זה יצרת לשחק בו” (Tehillim 104:26), “You created the Leviathan to play with.” The Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 7:4) explains that Leviathan symbolizes the joy of divine play, the overflowing abundance of God’s creative energy.

In the world as we know it, that spiritual light is too vast for us to contain. The Leviathan must remain hidden beneath the sea — the realm of the concealed. But in the future, when the world is purified and humanity refined, the hidden will become revealed, and we will be able to “feast” upon that light — to draw nourishment from the very mysteries of creation.

The skin of the Leviathan — its outer covering — represents the vessel that contains that great spiritual energy. Hashem will fashion from it a sukkah — a canopy of light — to shelter the righteous. It will be a dwelling of pure Divine radiance, a structure not of wood and branches but of spiritual comprehension, where every soul will bask in God’s Presence.

The Zohar calls this the “צִלָּא דְּמְהֵימְנוּתָא” — “the shade of faith.” Our earthly sukkah, built of simple materials, is a rehearsal for that ultimate sukkah. When we sit under the s’chach, we dwell in the “shadow of faith,” acknowledging that all security comes from Hashem. But in the future, when faith becomes sight, the temporary shade will give way to eternal illumination — the sukkah of the Leviathan.

Thus, when we take leave of our sukkah, we are not merely stepping out of a hut — we are stepping toward eternity. We say, “Ribono Shel Olam — let this experience not fade. Transform the fragile shade of this sukkah into the everlasting shelter of Your Presence.”

The Farewell and the Promise

Leaving the sukkah is bittersweet.  All week, we have lived surrounded by holiness — our meals, our songs, our prayers wrapped in sanctity. And now we must return to the ordinary world. Like those who once left Yerushalayim, our hearts whisper, “קָשָׁה עָלַי פְּרִידַתְכֶם— the separation is hard.”

Yet we leave with hope. For every moment inside the sukkah has eternal value. Every song we sang, every guest we welcomed, every word of Torah spoken — all of it builds the walls of that future sukkah above.

When we say Yehi Ratzon, we are not uttering a poetic line — we are expressing faith. Faith that history moves toward redemption. Faith that the fragile branches of today will one day become the shining canopy of tomorrow.

And so, as we step from the sukkah into the world, we carry its light with us. We have tasted the joy of Divine protection, the sweetness of trust. And we pray that soon —בִּמְהֵרָה בְּיָמֵינוּ — we will once again dwell, together with all of Israel, “בְּסֻכַּת שְׁלוֹמֶךָ,” in the Sukkah of peace — the Sukkah of the Leviathan, radiant with the light of the Shechinah.