Showing posts with label Paul Bloom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Paul Bloom. Show all posts

Thursday, 26 March 2026

The Eternal Fire: From the Altar to the Heart

In this week’s parashah, the Torah introduces us to one of the most powerful and enduring images in all of Jewish thought: the fire upon the Mizbe’ach that must never be extinguished. Our member Rabbi Paul Bloom leads us through the multifaceted significance of this image.

The Torah commands that this fire burn continuously—“a constant fire shall remain on the altar; it shall not be extinguished.” This is not merely a technical instruction. It defined the very center—the focal point—of the entire Mishkan, and later, the Beit HaMikdash. The word used is “tamid”—constant, eternal. This fire was not occasional. It was not symbolic alone. It was alive, ongoing, and central to all avodah.

Three Fires, Three Functions

Rashi, drawing from Chazal, teaches that there were actually three distinct fires on the Mizbe’ach:

  1. The Great Fire – used to consume the korbanot
  2. The Fire for the Ketoret – producing coals for the incense
  3. The Eternal Flame – a constant fire that was never extinguished

From this third fire, the Kohen would light the Menorah each day. The Menorah’s light did not come from an external source—it came from the Mizbe’ach itself. These three fires represent the three essential functions of fire:

      Fire consumes – transforming physical offerings into something elevated

      Fire produces heat – enabling preparation and transformation

      Fire produces light – illuminating and revealing

And, at the center of all three, stood the idea of tamid—continuity, constancy, eternity.

The Deeper Fire: Torah Itself

But the Torah is not only describing a physical reality. It is pointing us to something far deeper. Chazal repeatedly compare Torah to fire: “Are not My words like fire?” (Jeremiah). The Zohar goes even further, suggesting that the very first word of the Torah—Bereishit—contains within it the concept of a covenant of fire.

The message is profound: 3ven when the physical Mishkan and Beit HaMikdash are no longer standing, the fire has not gone out. This is because the true, eternal fire is the fire of Torah itself.

The Light That Never Disappears

To understand this, imagine looking at the night sky. Scientists tell us that many of the stars we see no longer exist. Their light, traveling across vast distances, continues to reach us long after the stars themselves have faded. So too with the Beit HaMikdash—physically it is no longer present, but its light still shines. That light is carried through Torah—through its study, its wisdom, its depth, and its eternal relevance. That fire is still burning.

The Torah of the Korbanot

This idea is expressed explicitly in the Gemara: even in the absence of korbanot, one who studies the laws of the korbanot is considered as if he has brought them. This is not mere remembrance. It is spiritual continuity. The Torah itself becomes the vehicle through which the avodah continues. The physical act may be absent, but the inner reality remains fully alive.

The Role of the Kohanim—and Ours

The Torah describes the role of the Kohanim not only as those who perform the service, but as those who teach Torah. Their primary mission was not only to maintain the fire on the Mizbe’ach but to ignite the fire within the people. That dual role still exists today. We may no longer tend the physical flame, but we are each responsible for maintaining the spiritual flame—through learning, teaching, and living Torah.

Five Korbanot, Five Books

The Kli Yakar develops this idea even further. He notes that five types of korbanot in this parashah are each described as a “Torah”—not just an offering, but a teaching. He  then  connects these to the five books of the Torah:

      BereishitOlah (complete elevation, like Noach’s offering)

      ShemotMinchah (structured service, formation of a nation)

      VayikraChatat / Asham (atonement and correction)

      Bamidbar → continued struggle and need for kapparah

      DevarimShelamim (wholeness, relationship, closeness)

This progression reflects a deeper truth: our relationship with Hashem evolves from obligation to growth, to atonement, to ultimately closeness and partnership.

Servants… and Children

The korbanot also reflect two modes of relationship with Hashem:

      Sometimes we serve as avodim—servants, fulfilling obligation

      Sometimes we stand as banim—children, sharing closeness

This is why certain offerings, like shelamim, are eaten by their owners. A servant prepares the meal. A child sits at the table. Torah allows us to move between these roles—from discipline to intimacy, and from obligation to connection.

The Fire Within Us

Today, we do not have the physical Mizbe’ach, but we are not without fire.Every time we learn Torah, every time we engage deeply with its wisdom, every time we internalize its message—we are feeding the eternal flame. The “aish tamid” did not disappear; it was transferred—from the altar to the Torah and to the Jewish people.

A Fire That Must Never Go Out

The Torah’s command still echoes: The fire must burn continuously. It must not go out. Not only on the Mizbe’ach—but within us. And, when we sustain that fire through learning, through teaching, through living Torah, we do more than remember the past. We actually recreate it. We become the Mishkan. We become the light. We become the continuation of that eternal fire—for ourselves, and for future generations.

Thursday, 19 March 2026

The Secret of Closeness

Parashat Vayikra opens a new world in the Torah—a world that feels both deeply familiar and yet distant: the world of the Mishkan, the Beit HaMikdash, and the korbanot. It is a world we read about, study, and long for, but one that we do not fully experience. And yet, at its core, it speaks directly to us today. Rabbi Paul Bloom shows us what this new world is all about.

The Torah begins: 

אָדָם כִּי יַקְרִיב מִכֶּם קָרְבָּן לַה׳

“When a person brings from among you an offering to Hashem…” (Vayikra 1:2)

At first glance, korban is often translated as “sacrifice.” But this translation misses the essence. The root of the word korban is קרב—to come close. The korban is not about loss; it is about closeness.

What Does It Mean to Be Close?

Closeness in Torah is not geographic. A person can live thousands of miles away and feel deeply connected, while another can be physically present yet spiritually distant. Closeness to Hashem is an inner state—emotional, spiritual, existential. There are moments in life when we feel it:

      A powerful tefillah

      A רגע של תשובה

      A moment of אמת

And there are moments when that connection feels distant.

The entire מערכת הקרבנות was designed to create peak moments of closeness—structured, intentional encounters with Hashem. Each korban expressed a different pathway:

      חטאת / אשם – repairing distance caused by sin

      תודה / שלמים – expressing gratitude and joy

      עולה – total elevation and yearning

But the goal was always the same: קרבהcloseness to Hashem.

From Korban to Tefillah

Chazal teach that, in the absence of the Beit HaMikdash, tefillah replaces korbanot. When we daven, we are not merely reciting words—we are reenacting the spiritual goal of the korban:

      To focus

      To align

      To come close

That is why even one moment of true kavanah can define an entire תפילה. Because the goal is not quantity—it is connection.

The Strange Requirement: Salt on Every Korban

Amidst all the complexity of korbanot, the Torah introduces a striking constant:

עַל כָּל־קָרְבָּנְךָ תַּקְרִיב מֶלַח

“On all your offerings you shall offer salt.” (Vayikra 2:13)

Every korban—animal or meal offering—required salt. Why? What does salt add to this process of closeness? Before understanding its deeper meaning, we notice something remarkable: this mitzvah never disappeared. To this day, we place salt on our tables and dip the challah. Chazal teach that the table is like a מזבח. A meal can be an act of physical consumption—or an act of spiritual elevation. When there are

      דברי תורה

      שלום

      awareness of Hashem

the table becomes a מקום של קרבה. Salt therefore connects our everyday life back to the Beit HaMikdash.

The First Lesson: Moderation

On a simple level, salt teaches balance. A little enhances everything. Too much ruins everything. This is a powerful message: not everything more is better and, in physical life—and in spiritual life—measured balance creates harmony.

The Deeper Symbol: Eternity

Rabbenu Bachya and the Abarbanel explain that salt has a unique property: it does not spoil and it does not decay. Salt therefore represents permanence. That is why the Torah refers to a בְּרִית מֶלַח” — a covenant of salt. This symbolizes:

      The eternal bond between Hashem and Am Yisrael

      The unchanging truth of Torah.

In a world of shifting values, changing norms, and unstable foundations, the Torah is the “salt”—constant, enduring, and indestructible. When a korban is brought with salt, it is not just an emotional moment—it is rooted in something eternal.

The Cosmic Secret of Salt

The Ramban, drawing on Midrash and deeper teachings, reveals a profound idea.The world is built on a balance between:

      אש (fire) – דין, strict justice, unchanging law

      מים (water) – רחמים, flow, life, kindness

These are opposites. And yet, the world can only exist when they are brought together. Now let us ask: “What is salt?” We see that salt is created when the heat of the sun (fire) interacts with the waters of the sea. Salt is thus the product of harmony between opposites. It represents:

      דין and רחמים working together

      Structure and compassion in balance

      Justice tempered by kindness

That balance is not just a philosophical idea—it is the very condition for the world’s existence.

The Message of Vayikra

Now we can understand the deeper meaning. The korban is about drawing close to Hashem. But closeness cannot exist in chaos. It requires:

      Stability (salt as eternity)

      Balance (salt as moderation)

      Harmony (salt as fire + water)

Every act of closeness must be anchored in something eternal and balanced.

Our Avodah Today

We no longer bring korbanot, but the mission remains exactly the same. Every day we are given opportunities to create moments of קרבה in tefillah, in Torah, in our homes and at our tables. And every time we dip bread into salt, we are quietly reminding ourselves of two things: closeness to Hashem is not a moment—it is a relationship, and that relationship is eternal, balanced, and built into the very fabric of creation.

A Closing Thought

Parshas Vayikra is not about a lost world of ancient rituals. It is about a timeless question: How do we come close to Hashem? The answer is hidden in something as simple as salt: not dramatic, not overwhelming but constant, balanced and enduring.

And perhaps that is the deepest lesson of all: True closeness to Hashem is not found in extremes, but in the quiet, consistent, eternal rhythm of a life lived with Him.

 

Thursday, 12 March 2026

Three Lessons from Parashat Pekudei: Accountability, Inner Substance, and the Foundations of Jewish Life

With Parashat Pekudei we arrive at the conclusion of Sefer Shemot. The final five parashiyot—Terumah, Tetzaveh, Ki Tisa, Vayakhel, and Pekudei—are devoted in remarkable detail to the construction of the Mishkan. The Torah repeatedly lists the materials, measurements, vessels, garments, and procedures involved in building the sanctuary. At first glance, the repetition seems excessive. Yet Chazal teach that within these details lie profound lessons not only about the Mishkan itself, but about Jewish life and leadership in every generation. In the following piece, our member Rabbi Paul Bloom shows how Chazal hav done so.

From Parashat Pekudei in particular, three striking ideas emerge: the principle of accountability, the relationship between external beauty and inner spiritual content, and the foundations upon which Jewish life is built.

Giving an Account

Parashat Pekudei begins with a careful accounting of all the materials donated for the Mishkan: the gold, the silver, the copper, the precious stones, and every other contribution brought by the people. This raises an obvious question asked by Chazal. Why was such an accounting necessary?

The Torah testifies that Moshe Rabbeinu was the most trustworthy individual imaginable. God Himself trusted Moshe completely to transmit the Divine word without alteration. One of the foundations of Judaism is our absolute confidence that Moshe faithfully conveyed the Torah exactly as he received it. Moshe’s humility and selflessness ensured that his own interests never interfered with his sacred mission. But if this is so, why did Moshe feel the need to provide a detailed financial report of every ounce of gold and silver used in the Mishkan? Chazal explain that Moshe was teaching a fundamental principle of communal life. Even when a person is completely trustworthy, communal funds must still be handled with total transparency. Leaders and treasurers must not only act with integrity—they must demonstrate that integrity openly.

This principle is codified in halachah and practiced throughout Jewish history. The treasurer of communal funds, the gizbar, must be someone beyond suspicion. Yet even that is not enough. The Mishnah describes how the Temple treasurer would enter the treasury chamber to withdraw funds for the service of the Beit HaMikdash. He would wear clothing without pockets and without cuffs. He would even remove his shoes. The purpose was simple: there should be no possible way—even theoretically—to hide a single coin. The reason is based on the verse:

וִהְיִיתֶם נְקִיִּים מֵה' וּמִיִּשְׂרָאֵל

"You shall be innocent before Hashem and before Israel” (במדבר ל״ב:כ״ב)

A person must act properly not only in the eyes of Heaven but also in the eyes of other people. The Gemara adds a striking observation: every generation contains leitzanim—cynics and mockers who interpret events in the most negative way possible. If the treasurer later became wealthy, they would say he stole from the treasury. If he became poor, they would say his poverty was punishment for stealing. People who are determined to suspect wrongdoing will always find a way to do so. Therefore Jewish leadership demands that one be “whiter than white,” especially when dealing with communal resources. Thus from Moshe Rabbeinu we learn that integrity must be accompanied by accountability.

The Mishkan: Small in Size, Great in Sanctity

A second insight is offered by the Sforno. When we read the detailed description of the Mishkan, we might imagine a massive and magnificent structure. Yet the opposite is true. The Mishkan was actually quite small. Consider the Aron—the Ark at the heart of the sanctuary. Its dimensions were only two and a half cubits long, one and a half cubits wide, and one and a half cubits high. In modern measurements this is roughly the size of a modest table. The entire Mishkan was a relatively small, portable sanctuary. Why does the Torah emphasize this?

The Sforno offers a profound idea. If we compare the Mishkan with the later Temples in Jerusalem, we see a clear pattern. The Mishkan was small and simple—but filled with the highest level of Divine presence. The First Temple was larger and more magnificent. The Second Temple became even more architecturally impressive, especially after the grand renovations of Herod. Yet, as the buildings increased in external beauty and grandeur, their spiritual intensity diminished. There seems to be an inverse relationship between outward magnificence and inner spiritual depth.

This does not mean that beauty has no place in Judaism. On the contrary, we have the principle of הידור מצוה, beautifying mitzvot. Synagogues, homes, and batei midrash should be dignified and aesthetically pleasing. But the Sforno points to a subtle danger: the law of diminishing returns. Beyond a certain point, external grandeur can overwhelm the spiritual purpose. A building can become so architecturally impressive that people are distracted by its beauty rather than inspired by its sanctity.

The Mishkan teaches that spiritual greatness does not depend on size or spectacle. Authentic holiness is created not by grandeur, but by the presence of the Shechinah.

The Foundations of the Mishkan

A third insight appears in the final verses of Pekudei describing the foundations of the Mishkan. The walls of the Mishkan were made from wooden beams called kerashim. Each beam had two pegs at its base. These pegs were inserted into heavy silver sockets known as adonim. These silver sockets served as the foundation that stabilized the entire structure. Where did these foundations come from?

The Torah explains that each one was made from a kikar kesef, a large measure of silver equal to three thousand shekels. And where did this silver originate? From the half-shekel contribution that every Jew gave. Each person donated exactly the same amount: a half-shekel. When the contributions of the entire nation were collected, they produced precisely enough silver to create one hundred foundations for the Mishkan.

The Ba’al HaTurim draws a beautiful connection here. The word adonim (foundations) is related to the Divine Name Adonai. The Gemara teaches that a Jew should recite one hundred blessings each day. According to the Ba’al HaTurim, these one hundred daily blessings correspond to the one hundred silver foundations of the Mishkan. Just as the silver sockets supported the entire sanctuary, the daily recitation of blessings forms the spiritual foundation of Jewish life.

Every time a Jew says a berachah—before eating, after eating, during prayer, or when performing a mitzvah—he acknowledges that everything in the world comes from Hashem. These blessings anchor our lives in awareness of God. They are the adonim upon which our spiritual Mishkan stands.

Building the Mishkan Within

Parashat Pekudei concludes the construction of the Mishkan, but its lessons continue to guide us.Moshe teaches us the importance of accountability and transparency in communal life. The Sforno reminds us that true spirituality lies not in outward grandeur but in inner holiness. And the Ba’al HaTurim shows us that the foundations of Jewish life are built through our daily blessings.

If we live with integrity, focus on inner substance, and strengthen our connection to Hashem through our berachot, each of us can build a Mishkan within our own lives. And through those foundations, may we merit once again to see the Divine Presence dwell openly among the Jewish people.

Thursday, 5 March 2026

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.

Friday, 27 February 2026

Hidden Light: Hallel, Amalek, and the Inner Work of Purim

Hiddenness is the theme that runs through so much of our understanding of Megillat Esther, In the piece that follows, our member Rabbi Paul Bloom pulls aside the curtain and offers us a glimpse of that which lies just out of normal sight.

The Gemara in Talmud Bavli asks a striking question: Why do we not recite Hallel on Purim? After all, we recite Hallel on Yom Tov. True, Purim is not a biblical festival like Pesach or Sukkot — but neither is Hanukkah, and yet we recite Hallel then. Why? Because we were redeemed from persecution. If redemption warrants Hallel, then Purim — when annihilation was decreed against the Jewish people — should certainly require it.

The Gemara offers three answers.

Three Answers — and One Halachic Conclusion

1. The Megillah Is Hallel

The first answer is revolutionary: There is Hallel on Purim — the reading of the Megillah is its Hallel. According to this view, the public reading of Book of Esther fulfills the mitzvah of praise. We do not say the standard Hallel psalms because Purim has its own unique form of thanksgiving. The Meiri takes this position very literally. He writes: if someone is stranded without a Megillah but has a siddur, he should recite Hallel with a berachah — because Purim fundamentally requires praise, and if the Megillah is unavailable, regular Hallel substitutes for it. However, the Mishnah Berurah rules otherwise. The Megillah is not merely a substitute — it is the exclusive Hallel of Purim. If one cannot read the Megillah, one does not replace it with standard Hallel. Why?

2. Rav Hutner: Open Miracle, Open Praise — Hidden Miracle, Hidden Praise

Rav Yitzchak Hutner explains with extraordinary depth: Hallel must mirror the nature of the redemption. There are two types of miracles:

      Nes Nigleh — open, supernatural miracle

      Nes Nistar — hidden, concealed miracle

The redemption of Passover was filled with open wonders: the Ten Plagues, the splitting of the Red Sea, supernatural intervention that shattered nature itself. Such an open miracle demands open praise — the full-throated declaration of Hallel.

Purim is different. Not a single supernatural event appears in the entire Megillah. Everything can be explained politically or psychologically:

      Vashti is executed — royal intrigue.

      Esther is chosen — palace politics.

      Mordechai overhears a plot — coincidence.

      Haman rises — ambition.

      Haman falls — miscalculation.

Even Esther’s name means concealment. Her birth name was Hadassah; “Esther” evokes hiddenness. The name of Hashem does not appear explicitly even once in the Megillah. And yet — when the pieces are viewed together — the hidden Hand becomes unmistakable. Purim is the paradigm of Nes Nistar.

 A hidden miracle requires hidden praise. Thus, the Hallel of Purim is not an open psalm of praise — it is the telling of a story in which God is never mentioned but always present. If you lack the Megillah, you cannot substitute open Hallel — because Purim’s praise must reflect concealment.

3. Still in Exile

The Gemara’s third answer deepens the message: Hallel is recited when we are fully redeemed. After the Exodus, we were no longer Pharaoh’s slaves. But after Purim?
We were still subjects of Achashverosh. Yes, Haman was defeated. But the exile remained. In this sense, Purim is the festival of redemption within exile. And that is why Purim remains eternally relevant — even in modern Israel. We have sovereignty, but we do not yet have the Beit HaMikdash. We visit the Kotel — a remnant of a retaining wall — and rejoice, yet we mourn simultaneously. Purim teaches us to see God in partial redemption, in unfinished stories, in exile that has not yet lifted.

Ad D’Lo Yada — Beyond the Surface

The Gemara famously teaches that one must drink on Purim until he cannot distinguish between “Cursed is Haman” and “Blessed is Mordechai.” This statement is deeply misunderstood.

The Nefesh HaChaim explains that the Gemara elsewhere states something astonishing: The removal of Achashverosh’s signet ring — when it was handed to Haman — accomplished more repentance than the rebuke of 48 prophets and seven prophetesses. Why? Because fear awakened the people. The decree itself brought about teshuvah.

We naturally thank Hashem for salvation. But Purim demands something harder: recognizing that even the decree was part of redemption. Without Haman’s threat, there would have been no national awakening. Thus “ad d’lo yada” does not mean moral confusion. It means reaching a level where one recognizes that even what appears as “cursed” was ultimately woven into Divine good. This is not gratitude to Haman, but gratitude to Hashem for both the cure and the illness that led to growth.

The Downfall of Amalek — Outside and Within

Haman is called “Haman HaAgagi” — descendant of Agag, king of Amalek. Purim is not only about survival. It is about the defeat of Amalek. But Amalek is not merely an external enemy. Chazal describe Amalek as coldness — “asher karcha baderech.” Amalek cools enthusiasm. Amalek makes mitzvot mechanical. One can keep Torah meticulously — yet coldly. That inner coldness is Amalek within.

The second internal Amalek is division. Sinat chinam, polarization, hatred among Jews. When Jews are divided, Amalek thrives. The mitzvot of Purim directly address this:

      Mishloach Manot — creating bonds of friendship

      Matanot La’Evyonim — compassion and responsibility

      Se’udat Purim — shared joy

      Kabbalat HaTorah Me’Ahavah — reaccepting Torah out of love

The Gemara teaches that at Sinai we accepted the Torah under coercion — “He held the mountain over us.” But on Purim, we re-accepted it willingly.

Love replaces fear. Enthusiasm replaces coldness.That is the eradication of inner Amalek.

Hiddenness Is Not Absence

Purim sustains us in dark times. Hiddenness is not abandonment. Like a parent watching a child from behind a curtain — unseen but fully present — so too Hashem “peeks through the lattice,” as described in Shir HaShirim. The miracle is concealed — but the love is not.

Even in the most painful chapters of Jewish history, we have witnessed souls rise to unimaginable spiritual heights under duress. Not because suffering is good — but because within suffering lies the potential for greatness that comfort might never awaken. Purim teaches us to see beyond the surface of events — to detect Divine choreography in what appears ordinary, political, or even tragic.

The Work of Purim

Purim is joyous. But it is also sacred. It calls us to:

      See God when He is hidden.

      Thank Him for redemption — and for the process that led to it.

      Replace coldness with passion.

      Replace division with unity.

      Accept Torah not from fear, but from love.

If we eradicate the Amalek within — the complacency, the indifference, the hatred — then Hashem protects us from the Amalek without.

Purim is not merely a celebration of survival. It is the annual training of Jewish vision
to see light inside concealment, purpose inside chaos, and redemption unfolding even when history looks ordinary.

And that vision — more than open miracles — is what sustains us in exile until the final redemption is no longer hidden at all.

Taking the First Step: Shabbat HaGadol 5786

This piece was first published in Hanassi Highlights, Thursday 26 March. You can also read it in Hebrew here , thanks to ChatGPT. The Shulch...