Nostalgia for Eternity: Book of the Month, Elul 5785

It took very little time for us to choose as this month's featured book Nostalgia for Eternity: Ideas, Insights, and Inspirations from Rabbi Berel Wein.  The title of this book, compiled by Rabbi Doniel Staum, itself summarises and epitomises the outlook and philosophy of our dear, departed Rabbi: anyone who has ever listened to his words will have sensed his nostalgia for the power and the purity of the Torah-driven Lithuanian learning tradition in which he was schooled by his father and his rebbes. And no-one who has read his words will have missed his frequent references to eternity--the gift of an eternal bond between God and His chosen people.

Published in 2023 and distributed by Feldheim, Nostalgia for Eternity consists of 24 short and accessible chapters that record in literary form a number of lectures given by Rabbi Wein in Yeshiva Shaarei Torah, supplemented by presentations made by him in various forums over the years. As the inscription on the back cover aptly states:

"What unites [all the chapters] is Rabbi Wein's ability to present poignant lifelong Torah values and lessons in a dynamic and engaging manner".

You can see for yourself just how true this claim is when you pick up the shul's copy from our Beit Midrash library and dip into its pages. 

Chodesh Elul: a time to prepare

Ahead of Rosh Chodesh Elul, let's contemplate the opportunities that this month provides through the eyes of Rabbi Berel Wein ztz'l.

The Hebrew month of Elul has traditionally been the month of intensive reflection and spiritual preparation. It is the month that precedes the holy days of judgment, the time for repentance and forgiveness. Elul personifies the preparations necessary for an individual who is about to face trial on a serious charge, even one of life and death. No rational person would enter such a trial in a human court without preparation, proper representation, and a careful analysis of the evidence, both pro and con, that will undoubtedly be introduced during the trial. How much more so must our attitude and thoughts be sharpened for the heavenly trial that awaits us all on the day of judgment, Rosh Hashanah.  

This intensification of attitude has become the hallmark of the preparatory month of Elul. We live in a frivolous time, where society generally is much more occupied with issues of meager substance than with the serious business of living our daily lives. Because of this, it is very difficult for us to achieve any sort of intensive mood regarding the month of Elul.  

There was a time, not so far distant in the past, when it was said in Eastern Europe that even the fish in the rivers trembled when they heard the announcement that the month of Elul had arrived. That certainly is not the case today. People are still on vacation, in the midst of trips and visits, which by their very nature are meant to be a diversion from the serious matter of life itself. Tradition trembles when human beings are no longer serious. 

The German Chancellor Bismarck (left) reputedly once characterized the situation in the Austro-Hungarian Empire of his time as being hopeless but not serious. Indeed, there were many times in history when it was clear that governments and leaders embarked upon actions and provocations that ultimately led to war and disaster, simply out of a mood akin to frivolity. In a permissive society such as ours is today, when people are not held accountable for their behavior, when felonies are now only misdemeanors and misdemeanors are no longer punishable under any circumstances, it is really difficult to take a serious view of life.  

Judaism holds every individual personally responsible for his or her actions, attitudes, speech, and behavior. Mitigating circumstances are acknowledged, but Judaism never accepts excuses or blaming others for one's own faults and misdeeds. Human beings are responsible creatures. Their behavior engenders consequences that cannot be ignored. We are judged on our behavior, not on the quality of our excuses.  Chodesh Elul always imparted this fundamental lesson of heavenly judgment and correct human performance. When understanding the full import of this message, it is no wonder that even the fish in the rivers trembled at the advent of the month of Elul.

 The new month also brings with it a note of optimism and goodness. The spirituality of the holidays that follow in Tishrei remains a source of strength for all of us during the new year that will soon be upon us. We are confident that our sins and shortcomings will be forgiven and ameliorated, and that the Lord of goodness and kindness will embrace us and our actions and turn them into positive and fruitful ones.  

Judaism is built upon optimism, good cheer and a balanced view of life and its vicissitudes. We may not be able to change the past, but we are certainly capable of improving our future. This is also a basic lesson of Elul. We may tremble in anticipation but, even in our moments of trepidation, there is an innate belief that eventually things will come right, and all will be well.  

By realizing the impending moments of majesty and eternal memory, Elul transforms us into vessels that can receive holiness and eternal reward. Achieving this level of human character is itself a joyful experience that one can achieve in life. It is this mixture of trepidation and joyful expectation that the month of Elul produces within us that allows us to appreciate and treasure this final month of the Jewish calendar year 5785.

The Sound of the Shofar, the Voice of the Volcano

Rabbi Wein ztz'l wrote this piece back in 2012.

The sound of the shofar reverberated in our synagogue this week as the month of Elul began. It signaled the approach of the Days of Awe and its attendant holidays only a few short weeks from now.  In previous generations, devoid of today’s omnipresent technological wonders and the obsessive need for instant communication, Elul took on a somber, serious note. It was an opportunity for introspection and deep reflection  about life, mortality, mission and purpose. 

Part of our problem with modernity and technology is that we have become desensitized and even disconnected from our own inner selves. We are so busily occupied in messaging and speaking to others that we have no time, desire or perhaps even ability to hear our own souls speaking to us and clamoring for meaningful attention. The sound of the shofar may reverberate in our ears but the still small voice of our inner being is drowned out by the cacophony of the frenetic activity that has become our daily fare. Prisoners of our own progress, we are increasingly isolated and lonely. Elul does not register with us—it’s just another month of the calendar year. 

On a trip I once took to Italy and Sicily, for a whole week I had no access to my email or the internet generally. I usually receive about twenty emails a day, some of which I do deem to be important so,, as you can imagine, I underwent a painful withdrawal syndrome for the first two days of my technological isolation. But as the days passed I found myself more relaxed, more in touch with my inner self. One of the highlights of our summer tour was a visit to Sicily’s Mount Aetna. As the hardier members of my family and the rest of the group began their ascent of the cratered top of the mountain, I sat on a bench part way up Mount Aetna and contemplated the boiling steam eruptions emanating from the crater of this still active volcano. All around me, people were prattling away on their cell phones. I asked myself if it is even possible to appreciate Mount Aetna under such conditions. The two are not only incongruous: they are antithetical.

Sitting on that bench, watching the steam belch forth from the mountain, I quietly began to review my personal year that was coming to an end, its accomplishments and disappointments.  After a while I began to hear myself and I truly contemplated the arrival of Elul—and of the approaching new year.  I thought that it was no wonder that many of the great men of Israel returned to the original places of Torah study of their youth to spend the month of Elul there in preparation for the approaching time of judgment and compassion. They did so in order to regain their inner voice. 

I realize that it is quite impossible to bring Mount Aetna to my study in my apartment. But, nevertheless, I am striving to regain that moment of introspection that I experienced sitting on that bench in Sicily. When I am deluged with telephone calls, emails to respond to, articles to write, lectures to prepare, haircuts, chores and all the trivia that fill my life, the atmosphere of that reverie on the bench at Mount Aetna is almost impossible to replicate. Even so, now it is Elul and the sound of the shofar stirs emotions and contemplation within all of us. 

Somehow, Elul does feel differently than any of the other months of the year. It is as though our inner self waits the entire year for Elul to arrive and, when it finally does, our souls demand our attention and concern. This is, in fact, the challenge of the month of Elul today and in our world—to experience an Elul that allows us to speak to ourselves and to hear our inner beings. There can be no better preparation for the Days of Awe than creating such an Elul for ourselves.

A taste of the bittersweet: Re'eh 5785

Though Rabbi Wein ztz'l may no longer be with us, we are still privileged to benefit from his words of wisdom. All the divrei Torah that we post between now and Simchat Torah were sent to us for publication by the Destiny Foundation before he died. We are grateful for the opportunity to reproduce them here.

In this week’s parsha the Torah continues with the theme that runs through the previous parshiyot of Devarim: we are always faced with the stark choice between  blessings and curses, good and evil. The words of the Torah seemingly offer little scope for any middle ground on these basic matters of belief and behavior. Yet we know that life’s events are rarely ‘all or nothing’, 100% blessing or curse.  In fact, Jewish tradition and teachings instruct us that, hidden in tragedy, there is always a glimmer of hope and goodness, and that all joy and happiness contains within it the taste of the bitter. 

Jewish philosophy and theology teach us that evil somehow has a place in God’s good and benign world. We face the problem of why the Torah addresses these matters without nuance, in such a harsh way which seemingly brooks no compromise, without a hint of a middle ground. After all, the Torah is not a debating society where one is forced to take an extreme uncompromising stand in order to focus the issue being discussed more sharply and definitively. 

Many rabbinic scholars of previous generations have maintained that it is only in our imperfect, post-Temple period that we are to search for good in evil, and to temper our joy with feelings of seriousness and even sadness. But, in an idyllic world, where the Divine Spirit is a palpable entity, the choices really are stark and the divisions are 100% to zero.

Far be it from me to reject the opinion of these great scholars of Israel. However, I wish to interject a slightly different perspective into this matter. This parsha begins with the word re’eh – “see”. We know that there are stages in life that we can see well only with the aid of corrective lenses, especially when reading small print. Without that correction, we can easily make grave mistakes in seeking to size up what appears before us. Well, this situation is not limited to the physical world: it applies equally to our spiritual world of Torah observance and personal morality. 

Many times we think we are behaving righteously when we are in fact behaving badly because we fail to see the matter correctly. We are not wearing our corrective lenses,. But, with the benefit of halacha, history, good common sense and a Jewish value system that should govern our lives, we see things so much more clearly. Without this advantage, we see blessings and curses, good and evil, in a manner that is blurred, their edges lacking definition.

The Torah wishes us to see clearly, so that we will be instinctively able to recognize what is the blessing in our life and what is not. The Torah has been kind enough to provide us with the necessary corrective lenses. These lenses consist of observance of Torah and its commandments and loyalty to Jewish values and traditions. 

For "Comfort from the Calendar", Rabbi Wein's devar Torah on this parashah for last year, click here.

Rabbi Berel Wein (1934–2025)

Scholar, Historian, Teacher, Leader, and Beloved Rabbi of Beit Knesset Hanassi--Rabbi Berel Wein was all of these things, and more. The Hanassi Blog adds its own tribute to the many that have been pouring out for this remarkable man, 

With profound sorrow, yet deep gratitude for a life richly lived, we mark the passing of Rabbi Berel Wein, our revered rabbi at Beit Knesset Hanassi in Jerusalem. At the age of 91, after a lifetime of tireless scholarship, spiritual leadership, and heartfelt teaching, Rabbi Wein leaves behind an indelible legacy that has shaped generations of Jews across the world.

Even in his final months, weakened by illness, Rabbi Wein remained committed to his mission—to teach, to inspire, and to uplift. With great courage, he continued to give his weekly classes, each word delivered with the same clarity, wit, and depth that had long been his hallmark. Colleagues and students came from all corners of the country and beyond, eager to hear the timeless words of Torah shaped by his singular voice: steeped in tradition, laced with insight, and always delivered with a glint of humor and humanity.

Rabbi Wein’s passing is a personal loss to the Hanassi community, which he has served as our spiritual guide, teacher, and friend for more than two decades. But his influence reaches far beyond the walls of our synagogue. He was a giant in the world of Torah learning, Jewish history, and public discourse—an Orthodox thinker who managed to bridge generations, continents, and worlds with grace, erudition, and warmth.

A Scholar and Teacher from Early On

Berel Wein was born in 1933 in Chicago, Illinois, into a family of proud rabbinic lineage. After graduating from the Hebrew Theological College in Skokie and receiving his rabbinic ordination, he also pursued a secular education, earning a law degree from DePaul University. He practiced law for a time, but his heart was always in teaching Torah and guiding souls.

In 1964, Rabbi Wein became the rabbi of Congregation Beth Israel in Miami Beach, Florida, where his oratory talents and charismatic leadership quickly became known. From there he moved on to Congregation Bais Torah in Suffern, New York, a pulpit he held for nearly 25 years. It was in Suffern and Monsey that he began to reach a wider audience—not only as a pulpit rabbi, but as a prolific author, historian, and communal leader. In 1976 he established Yeshiva Shaarei Torah, which flourished under his inspirational guidance and basked in the warmth and wisdom of his close personal involvement until he made aliyah in 1997. His constant message to his students there was that life is full of messages to be gleaned—if only one is tuned in to them. 

A Voice for the Jewish Past and Present

To most of the Jewish world, Rabbi Wein was best known for his pioneering work in making Jewish history accessible, engaging, and relevant. Through his many books, recorded lectures, and later, documentary films, he brought the grand sweep of Jewish history alive—telling the story of our people with passion, integrity, and clarity. He understood that the story of the Jews was not merely a tale of persecution and survival, but one of spiritual greatness, moral responsibility, and eternal purpose.

His monumental four-volume Jewish History series—Echoes of Glory, Herald of Destiny, Triumph of Survival, and Faith and Fate—became instant classics, studied in schools and adult classes across the globe. Through these works, Rabbi Wein gave thousands their first real introduction to Jewish history, not as dry facts and dates but as a living legacy. His message? That, if we are to understand who we are as Jews, we must know where we come from—and more importantly, where we are meant to go.

His countless recorded lectures—on Torah, Talmud, halacha, history, ethics, and current events—became a staple of learning in Jewish communities worldwide. Always infused with his signature blend of depth, narrative skill, and wry humor, his teachings were as accessible to laypeople as they were profound to scholars.

He also served as the executive vice president of the Orthodox Union’s Kashrut Division and founded the Destiny Foundation, through which he produced films, books, and curricula to strengthen Jewish identity and historical consciousness.

A New Chapter in Jerusalem

Upon retiring from the rabbinate in the United States, Rabbi Wein fulfilled a lifelong dream by making aliyah to Israel. Far from slowing down, he began a new and deeply fruitful chapter in his life. In 2000, he accepted the position of rabbi at Beit Knesset Hanassi in the Rechavia neighborhood of Jerusalem. From his first drasha, it was clear that he had found a spiritual home—and that we had found a rabbi of extraordinary caliber.

His Shabbat sermons were eagerly awaited: thoughtful, often humorous, sometimes gently provocative, always rooted in eternal Torah values. His weekday classes drew a devoted following that grew over the years to include not only regulars but visitors from abroad who arranged their travel schedules around his shiurim.

It was not just what he taught that moved people—it was how he taught. Rabbi Wein had the rare ability to speak to a diverse crowd and make each listener feel personally addressed. As a speaker he was never aloof, never above his audience. He had lived in the modern world, understood its challenges, and always sought to bring Torah into dialogue with contemporary life. His intellect was formidable, but his manner was humble. He was accessible, funny, and wise—qualities that made him not just our rabbi, but our teacher, confidant, and friend.

A Man of Principle and Grace

Throughout his life, Rabbi Wein stood for intellectual honesty, moral clarity, and fidelity to Torah tradition. He was unafraid to speak uncomfortable truths, but always did so with sensitivity and kindness. He had no interest in ideological grandstanding or political posturing. He believed in the Jewish people—in all of us—and devoted his life to building bridges within our diverse community.

Those who knew him best will remember his gentle smile, his thoughtful pauses, the quiet strength with which he bore personal losses, and the integrity with which he lived every day. His faith was deep but never showy; his convictions strong but never overbearing. He loved Torah, he loved the Jewish people, and he loved the land of Israel—not as abstract ideals, but as living realities.

A Legacy That Endures

Rabbi Wein is survived by his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren—each a testament to his love, his values, and his lifelong commitment to Jewish continuity. His family was a constant source of pride to him, and he spoke of them often—with joy, humility, and immense gratitude.

But he is also survived by countless spiritual children—students and readers, congregants and listeners—whose lives were enriched and uplifted by his teachings. To them, and to us, he leaves behind not just memories, but a living inheritance: a love of Torah, a passion for Jewish history, and a model of integrity, faith, and wisdom.

As we mourn his loss, we also give thanks for the extraordinary blessing of having had Rabbi Berel Wein as our rabbi, teacher, and guide. In his honor, may we strive to carry forward his legacy—with courage, with clarity, and with love.

Yehi zichro baruch—May his memory be a blessing.

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

If you would like to offer the family your condolences, please email them to bkhanassi@gmail.com with the subject line ‘Condolences’. We will print them out and present them to the family.

If you have fond memories of Rabbi Wein ztz’l that you wish to share, please email them to bkhanassi@gmail.com with the subject line ‘Memories’.  We will do our best to share these memories with the family and with the Beit Knesset Hanassi community.

May we all be spared to share only good news.

Elihu Levine and the Kli Yakar

This Thursday morning we broke the sad news to our members that we had lost one of our most senior members, Eli Levine. Eli was a very special individual, as is evidenced by the following remarkable piece by Rabbi Berel Wein, which was published in 2009 in Jewish Action.

Forty-five years ago, when Elihu Levine was an electrical engineer working for ITT Corporation, he was assigned to work on a special project on behalf of the United States Navy. The work involved creating an underwater test range to be installed in the water off Andros Island in the Bahamas. In order to maintain a Jewish atmosphere while stationed on the remote island for the four-month duration of the project, Levine’s family began spending Shabbat with two other Shomer Shabbat families there, discussing Torah subjects at every meal.

“That is when the Kli Yakar entered my life,” says Levine. “For some reason, my Torah discussions always centered on an observation of Kli Yakar.”

At the time, Levine dreamed of bringing the richness and depth of the monumental Torah commentary to the English-speaking world. Decades later, the retired engineer is doing just that.

“I found the Kli Yakar so creative in his commentary, and he is not reticent to disagree with other commentators,” says Levine. “It’s also remarkable the way he seamlessly weaves phrases from Tanach, the Gemara and midrashim [into his text], which lends such flavor to his commentary.”

Levine recently published his translation and elucidation of Kli Yakar on both Bereishit and Shemot (Brooklyn, 2007). Kli Yakar is the Torah commentary written by Rabbi Efraim Luntshitz, a sixteenth-century Bohemian scholar and a disciple of the Maharal of Prague. Popular, albeit somewhat esoteric, it has been a standard commentary included in the Chumash for almost five centuries. Combining kabbalistic mysticism and spirituality, halachic reasoning, flashes of brilliant insight and deep analysis of the text, the commentary is often difficult to follow. This problem is only compounded for English speakers who already grapple with the difficult rabbinic Hebrew syntax.

“Work is how you make a living, but it does not define you as a person. On the other hand, Torah learning does define you as a person and therefore must be an integral part of daily life.”

A soft-spoken, genial individual, Levine was born and raised in the Borough Park section of Brooklyn. With a physics degree from Yeshiva University (YU) and two post-graduate engineering degrees from Columbia University, Levine worked for ITT Corporation in Nutley, New Jersey, from 1955 to 1967, mainly on government defense projects. Subsequently, he was a senior research associate at Columbia University’s research labs and later became president of Decision Systems, Inc. He retired as a director of DSSI Corporation. His work, he says, was challenging and pressured, but rewarding.

But above all else, Levine is a meticulous Torah scholar and is living proof that Jewish scholarship and Torah wisdom are not the exclusive properties of rabbis and teachers. Indeed, he achieved most of his Torah erudition long after he left the confines of YU.

Levine’s wife, Dvorah (Doris) Alter, is a direct descendant of the great Alter dynasty of the Chassidic leaders of Gur. The Levines lived in Monsey, New York, with their four daughters for most of their married life; they were members of the shul where I served as rabbi, Congregation Bais Torah, before they made aliyah some twelve years ago.

While working, Levine had a chavruta with Rabbi Zev Wein, my father. “It was a joy to be associated with this great talmid chacham, who was at the same time modest and self effacing,” says Levine. He continued this chavruta even after they both made aliyah, until my father’s death in 2002.

Levine admits that being kovea itim (setting aside time for learning Torah) while working full time was a challenge. “Learning while working was always a difficult juggling act,” he says. But he strove to devote whatever time he could to learning Torah. “I came to realize that being an observant Jew requires a great degree of sophistication and that Torah learning is primary. Work is how you make a living, but it does not define you as a person. On the other hand, Torah learning does define you as a person and therefore must be an integral part of daily life.

“I think that it is important not to become frustrated in the balancing of family, work, learning and other pursuits,” he says. “I was the captain of the basketball team in college and over fifty years later I still play basketball on Friday afternoons with my yeshivah grandsons. They, who are much more pious than I am, express wonderment at how their grandfather, who is writing a commentary on Kli Yakar, can still hit a jump shot from fifteen feet. I have found that this sports activity, strangely enough, helps me in my learning and writing,” says Levine, who is a regular tennis player.

Levine began working on his life’s project—elucidating Kli Yakar into English—once he retired from his full-time job. In spite of his family commitments (he is a terribly doting grandparent), Levine spends three or four hours a day working on translating the commentary. In addition, he has a chavruta, with whom he has learned the Kuzari, Mesillat Yesharim and the Eight Perakim of the Rambam (his introduction to Pirkei Avot). They are now working on Chovot Halevavot.

Levine spends time in the libraries of Jerusalem, comparing original manuscripts and discussing the difficulties in Kli Yakar with eminent Torah scholars. Through his work on Kli Yakar he has also, of necessity, become a Hebrew grammarian, a Talmudic scholar and a student of kabbalistic thought. Levine is an example of how a person at any stage of life can continue to grow intellectually in Torah study and can make a mark on the entire Jewish world. Interestingly, it is very possible that his former career as an engineer assists him in his Torah scholarship: for Levine, the laborious task of sifting through the copyists’ and printers’ errors to arrive at the correct text of Kli Yakar is not as daunting as it may be to others.

While Levine proves that retirement from worldly occupation can allow for extraordinary Torah achievement, he confesses that balancing the various pieces of one’s life—family, work, Torah, recreation—is an ongoing struggle. “One can only do the best that one can and should not be disappointed when events interfere with the optimum schedule devised for one’s self,” he says. But, he adds, “Learning requires constant resilience and commitment.”

May Eli Levine's memory be a blessing to us all.

Our fate is in our hands: Eikev 5785

 Moshe’s review of the life of the Jewish people in the Sinai desert over the previous 40 years recounts each miracle that occurred to them, but he does so not for the purpose of narrative. Rather, he teaches an important moral lesson for all ages: that, after all the miracles that God may perform on our behalf, our fate stays mainly in our hands. We can summarize this eternal lesson in one verse: “For not by bread alone – even miraculous bread such as the manna itself—shall Jews live by but rather by the word of God, so to speak: that is, the values, commandments and strictures of Torah”.

All attempts to avoid this lesson, to substitute other words, ideas and ideologies for the words of Torah have turned into dismal failures. But reliance upon miracles is just as dangerous a path. My yeshiva teachers would tell us pious young men that prayer helps one to become a scholar in Torah. But they emphasized that sitting and studying Torah for a protracted time with concentration and effort may help even more in the quest for true Torah scholarship. Moshe uses the constant miracles of the desert to drive home the point that much of the responsibilities of life are in our hands. They are governed by our decision-making processes. In essence, the clear conclusion from Moshe’s oration is that God helps those who help themselves. 

In our post–Tisha B’Av mood, and in the run-up to Elul and the High Holy Days, we must remember how much of our fate truly lies in our own hands. Even the small choices that we make in our everyday lives contribute to our life’s achievements and accomplishments. That is what Rashi means when he states that “these are the commandments that one grinds under with one’s heel (eikev)”.  Those little things that we imagine to be insignificant at the time often translate themselves into major decisions that may even have irreversible consequences. The question always before us is this: do our actions measure up to the standards set by God’s word? We live not “by bread alone” nor by miracles alone, but by our own choices and what we do once we have made them.

Once, while driving on a New York City highway—an exercise in patience and utter futility—I missed the exit at which I was supposed to turn off. Many miles and a quarter of an hour later, I somehow managed to retrace my journey and exit at the proper place. I felt that it was a miracle that I was able to do so. In reality, though, it was my negligent error in failing to exit from the highway that forced the necessity of the occurrence of this “miracle” upon me. Moshe teaches us that this is truly a daily occurrence in our lives—and this message is as clear and cogent today as it was to our forebears in the desert of Sinai long ago. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein    

For "It's the small things that count", Rabbi Wein's devar Torah on parashat Eikev last year, click here.

The nuance of desire: Va'Etchanan 5785

The Torah, as we all well know, is multilayered. The rabbis have taught us that there are 70 facets to every piece of the written Torah. We are also aware that it is impossible to adequately convey every nuance and possible meaning that lies embedded in the Torah. Each word demands elucidation, commentary and explanation before we can gain any proper understanding of its message. The entire book of Devarim is itself an elucidation and explanation of the first four books of Moshe. This is why Devarim employs different words to describe those events and commandments that were mentioned earlier.

A prime example is the repetition in this week’s parsha of the Ten Commandments revealed to Israel at Sinai: the text here differs slightly from the wording recorded in the book of Shemot. The Talmud, in its rendition of the Oral Law, states that these variants—such as the use of the word shamor for the observance of Shabbat instead of zachor—indicate that God uttered both words simultaneously, a feat that is beyond human comprehension and ability. The Talmud means to show us that every possible interpretation and layer of meaning in the Torah was delivered in one go at Sinai. Only the Oral Law and the work of Torah commentators through the ages has revealed these original strata of meaning for our study and practice.

In the last of the Ten Commandments, the Torah here in Parashat Va'Etchanan uses the word titaveh whereas in Parashat Yitro it uses the word tachmod. Both words mean “desire”, but they are differently nuanced.  One carries overtones of an impulsive, spur of the moment desire that arises out of seemingly random circumstance – an advertisement in the media or a chance meeting or sighting. Such a desire is not planned, but stems from our inherent human weakness in wanting to possess what we do not yet have. The other desire is long planned and may have been part of our lives for years or even decades. It borders on being an obsession or an addiction within our makeup. Both types of desire can destroy a person and the Torah cautions us against these symptoms of self-destructive behavior.

The Talmud tells us that the eyes see and the heart then desires. Guarding one’s eyes guards one’s heart as well. This example of the Torah’s self-elucidation makes each lesson clear to all and challenges us to apply it wisely in our own lives. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

For "Comfort and Contentment", Rabbi Wein's devar Torah on this parashah last year, click here.

Of prophecy and practicality

The Talmud traces the causes for the destruction of the First and Second Temples to the spiritual failings and sins of the Jewish people. As those assessments are undoubtedly correct, they are observed in the popular view of the events to be the sole cause of these national tragedies. However, it should be obvious that failed policies, false assessments of the military and diplomatic situations of the times and a certain amount of foolhardy bravado certainly were also involved in destruction of the First and Second Commonwealths. 

In both instances the Jewish rulers pursued irrational policies, in the mistaken belief that somehow they would prevail and that Heaven would overlook their mistakes and the national sins. As is often the case in human history, when caution and good sense are substituted for emotion and personal calculations, disasters are likely to follow. 

And so it was in our first two attempts at Jewish national sovereignty in the Land of Israel. There is no escape, for good or for worse, from the consequences of national behavior and of governmental policies. Though the supernatural is always present in human affairs, no policies or strategic decisions should be made on the basis of mystical interference with the consequences of behavior and governmental policies. 

Faith in supernatural help is a basic idea in Judaism. However, Judaism teaches self-reliance, wise choices in life and in diplomacy, and a realistic and rational outlook on unfolding events and prevalent societal forces. Heaven helps the wise and astute. 

The mighty empire of Babylonia destroyed the First Temple. It did so after a rash and wholly irrational decision by the Judean king to rebel against its authority and ally himself and his small, weak country with Egypt, then the competing empire in the Middle East. This decision was opposed by the prophet Jeremiah. He warned the king and the people of the folly of this policy. No one knows what would have been the result had the king listened to Jeremiah and not taken up arms against Babylonia. But no one can deny that the decision of the king to rebel was foolish. The prophet Jeremiah was certainly more practical and wise than the monarch of his day.

One would have thought that the prophet would have invoked the power of faith over the practicality and the reality of the situation. But that was certainly not the case. The Jewish people then were simply unable to imagine that God, so to speak, would allow His own holy house to be destroyed. But the prophet warned them that they were mistaken in that belief and that disaster would follow their erroneous assessment of the situation.

One of the bitter lessons of this period in the calendar is that practicality and wisdom are necessary in order to insure Jewish national survival. Faith in God is everything in Jewish life. But the faith must be founded on the realities of the world and the circumstances of life that surround us. The same lesson is to be learned from the story of the destruction of the Second Temple. Realistically, the Jewish Commonwealth had no chance or ability to defeat the then mighty Roman Empire. The great rabbis of Israel at that time, almost to a man, opposed the war of rebellion against Rome. They foresaw defeat and disaster. The Zealots, who fomented and fought the rebellion to its ruinous conclusion, proclaimed loudly and often that somehow Heaven would bless their efforts and provide them with miraculous victory. Again, this was a disastrous miscalculation on their part. 

Again. We can never know what the Jewish story would have been like if the Zealots would not have mounted their ill-fated rebellion. But we do know that their actions led to a long and painful exile for the Jewish people. Everything is in the hands of Heaven but without the human execution and participation, the will of Heaven is never executed on this earth. 

So, the Jewish world in our time also needs a heavy dose of practicality and reality in order to translate our limitless faith into concrete achievements and goals. Abandoning the worship of false idols, of immoral behavior and wanton murder, coupled with the mitigation of baseless hatred in our community are the spiritual and emotional weapons for our redemption. 

Added to these is the requirement for hard realistic thinking, wise policies and tempered utopianism. May we all be comforted, both nationally and personally in this difficult time. 

Rabbi Berel Wein

Soothing words, sweet nothings: Devarim 5785

The parsha of Devarim traditionally precedes the saddest day of the Jewish calendar, Tisha b’Av. There are many connections between the parsha and the fast, but I feel that the main connection lies perhaps in the word “devarim” itself. It means “words” and, as Rashi points out, the nuance in Hebrew is quite harsh. The words of Moshe in Devarim are stern and reprimanding. They spell out the bitter truth that people are so loath to hear. 

Soothing promises and vague commitments are much more popular and acceptable to the public. However, the rabbis of the Midrash emphasize Solomon’s statement that it is better to hear criticism from a true friend than to flattery and compliments from an enemy.  This precept should always be remembered. The enemy that the Midrash refers to is Bilaam and the friend is Moshe. The flattery of Bilaam led eventually to thousands of Jewish deaths, while those of Moshe have preserved the Jewish people for countless generations. And this is the connection of Tisha b’Av to the parsha and the word “devarim.” 

The prophets of Israel (Yeshayahu, Yirmiyahu, Amos and Hoshea, among others) all spoke harsh words to Israel and warned of their impending tragedy. The false prophets who are always to be found in our midst retorted with soothing words and lies that were sweet to the ears of the public. This made the destruction of the Temple and Jewish sovereignty inevitable. We always prefer sweet lies over painful truths.  

The haftorah of Shabbat Devarim is always the first chapter of Yeshayahu, which begins with the Hebrew word “chazon.” Indeed, the Shabbat preceding Tisha b’Av is known as Shabbat Chazon. Why? Because “chazon” means vision, prophecy. Vision can be positive or otherwise. A madman has a vision of world domination and the extermination of other human beings. A righteous person has a vision of a better, more peaceful, moral society. The great Chasidic masters stated that we are judged in heaven not only on what we accomplished or omitted to do, but on the visions and goals that motivated us in this world. 

Though “chazon” may often indicate a negative or sad prophecy, the word itself is a neutral one. One can choose whatever vision one wishes to choose.  Yeshayahu therefore chooses the word “chazon” to begin his book of prophecy. What is the vision of the Jewish people? What kind of a nation do they wish to be? This choice is specific and pertinent to individual human beings as well. Hearing the words of Moshe and of Devarim can be of immense help to us in deciding what our “chazon”—both national and individual—should be.  

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

For "Impossible Demands", Rabbi Wein's devar Torah for parashat Devarim/Chazon last year, click here.

Rootless--but coming home: Mattot-Masei 5785

The reading of the book of Bamidbar concludes this week with the parshiyot of Mattot and Masei. Jews are inveterate travelers. The long exile that we have suffered has of necessity forced us to travel a great deal. There is almost no place in the world that we have not visited, settled and eventually moved from to a different location. Thus the record of all of the travels and way stations that the Jews experienced in their years in the Sinai desert is a small prophecy as to the future historical experiences of Jews over millennia of wandering.

Our enemies around the world have always accused Jews of being “rootless.”  But that is untrue. We have always been rooted in the Land of Israel, consciously or subconsciously, throughout our history as a people. It is in the Exile that we feel less grounded, never certain of the shifting ground beneath our weary feet. But, being a restless people, we are filled with curiosity over locations that we have not seen and wonders that we have yet to experience. 

The history of the Exile is that Jews arrive at a new destination, settle, help develop that country or part of the world, begin to feel at home and seek to assimilate into the majority culture. Suddenly this all collapses. A mighty and unforeseen wind uproots them  and they move on to new shores. There are hardly any Jews to speak of in Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, The Czech Republic, Slovakia, Romania, and so forth. This was the Jewish heartland for centuries. But now we have moved on again to other shores. 

The travels described in this week’s parsha had one ultimate goal, one destination in mind: to enter the Land of Israel and settle there. The Israel deniers in our midst, religious and secular, leftists and rightists, the scholars and the ignorant all share a common delusion—that the home of Jews, especially now, is not the Land of Israel. 

We are taught that the Jews stayed at the oasis of Kadesh in the desert for 38 of their 40-year sojourn in the Sinai desert. They became accustomed to life there and felt comfortable. The Land of Israel was a distant dream, an eventual goal perhaps but not an immediate imperative. But the Lord pushed them out of the desert to fight wars that they probably would have wished to avoid and to settle a land, harsh in character but with the potential of being one of milk and honey. 

The Torah records every way-station and desert oasis in order to remind us that these places exist only in our past. Our present and our future lie in the Land of Israel alone. This lesson is as valid today in our Jewish world as it was for our ancestors so long ago at Kadesh. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

For Rabbi Wein's devar Torah on Mattot-Masei last year ("The Reuven-Gad Syndrome"), click here.

Comfort -- and refusal to be comforted

The following is a piece written by Rabbi Wein some years ago for the Destiny Foundation on the significance of the month ahead being designated Menachem Av.

Though the month of Av carries with a title – menachem – meaning comfort and consolation, it nevertheless remains the saddest and most disturbing month of the Jewish calendar. Comfort is a great and necessary word but, as a true concept in the real world, it is very difficult to obtain. This is particularly true for individuals reeling from the loss of a beloved one, but it is also generally true for our national entity—the  Jewish people as well. 

There has as yet been neither comfort nor closure regarding the terrible national tragedy of the Holocaust, even though some eight decades have passed since the event. This should come as no surprise to Jews. This is because,  to a great extent, the Jewish people have yet to be comforted for the destruction of our Temple and our exile—events which are almost two millennia old. 

No person or institution in Jewish life is indispensable. But neither are they replaceable. It is the void that is left because of this irreplaceability that prevents us from experiencing  true comfort. This is why the Jewish people have remained restless and often disoriented over the long exile that we have endured. 

The sadness of the first ten days of Av permeates and resonates within us precisely because the sense of closure and comfort has eluded us. The Talmud states that there is a heavenly decree that engenders forgetfulness of the departed by those still living. However, if the object of grief and despair and loss is not truly dead but is only absent, as was the case regarding Jacob’s grief over the loss of Joseph, this sense of closure and comfort remains absent too. That is why the Torah records Jacob’s refusal to accept comfort and solace from his family and friends. Since Joseph was not dead, the heavenly decree of forgetfulness which allows comfort was inoperative. 

I believe that in a strangely ironic way the fact that the Jewish people still suffer from the anguish of the Holocaust is because of the intense efforts made by the Jewish community to prevent forgetfulness of the Holocaust from settling in. It is the Holocaust-deniers that wish to lull us into a false sense of comfort, to proclaim that it is over and that therefore bygones should remain bygones. 

The Bible records that our mother Rachel refuses to be comforted over the exile of her children because she is convinced that they are not permanently lost or exiled and will return. This shows that there is a positive side to not being comforted. It allows for a connection to an unknown future that will not only provide comfort but even replacement of what and who was lost. 

The sadness and tension of the first part of the month of Av are still with us centuries after the event of the destruction of the Temple simply because deep within the heart and psyche of the Jewish people the Temple is not gone, it is only missing. The entire enterprise of the return of the millions of Jewish people to the Land of Israel over the past two centuries and the establishment of the Jewish state in our ancient homeland is testimony to the fact that to the Jews the Land of Israel and the Temple were not dead issues. Those Jewish communities and individuals who “proclaimed that Berlin is our Jerusalem” and therefore sought permanent comfort in being “good” Germans, Russians or Poles, did not fare well in God’s world.

False comfort is far more damaging than no comfort at all. It remained for those Jews who did not forget that they were from Zion and Jerusalem to arise and help the Jewish people survive the worst and bloodiest century in its long history. The prophet warns us against “being comfortable in Zion.” Living in the Land of Israel is not a comfortable experience though it is a holy, challenging and inspiring one. For living in the Land of Israel makes us aware of what we have achieved against all odds and at the same time to appreciate what is still missing. The awareness of what is missing is what prevents us from being “comfortable in Zion.” 

Accordingly the month of Av symbolizes the angst and challenge of living a Jewish life, of being grateful for what we have and yet maintaining a sense of loss for what we are still missing. May this month yet bring us the feeling of menachem—of a better time and the eventual comfort promised to us by God and His prophets.

Festive sacrifices and their deeper meaning: Pinchas 5785

The recounting of the mandatory Temple sacrifices for the holidays of the Jewish year occupies significant space in this week’s parsha. While I have many times discussed the overall meaning of animal sacrifices in my parsha pieces, I wish to explore the uniqueness of the sacrifices that are meant to somehow characterize each chag. For example, the sacrifices offered on the seven days of Succot differ for each day of that holiday, unlike the daily sacrifices ordained for the last six days of Pesach, which are identical. This difference has halachic implications regarding the recitation of a Haftorah blessing on the Shabbat of Chol Hamoed. On Succot, since a different sacrifice was offered each day, the blessing is a festive blessing, not just a Shabbat one. On Shabbat Chol Hamoed Pesach the blessing is a purely Shabbat blessing.

A subtle message of general insight is provided here. Pesach, representing a one-time redemption from Egyptian slavery—a great but essentially singular event—repeats the same sacrifice throughout its six last days. But Succot, representing Divine protection over Israel and all individual Jews, is a renewed daily event which captures the differing circumstances that each day brings: a new salvation for each and every day. This is why each day of Succot has a different sacrifice.

The description of the sacrifices for Shavuot is also significant. The Torah describes the holiday as Yom Habikkurim, the day of the offering of the first fruits of the agricultural year. It also states that a new offering—the offering of the two loaves of bread—is to form part of the mincha offering of that day. Now,  each holiday revolves around the natural and agricultural year in the Land of Israel: Pesach is the festival of springtime and the offering of grain symbolizes the harvest of the winter wheat crop; Succot represents the holiday of the fall harvest season. But it is the offerings of Shavuot that are most intertwined with nature and agriculture. 

We know Shavuot as the festival of the granting of the Torah on Sinai to the Jewish people. The Torah does not mention this directly but rather concentrates upon nature, agriculture and the blessings of the bounty of the earth. By not dwelling especially on the granting of the Torah, the Torah subliminally suggests that it is as natural and necessary to us as is the seasons of the year and the bounty of the earth. 

Torah is truly our lives and the length of our days. It is therefore an integral part of nature itself, the very wonders of nature that Shavuot celebrates. Perhaps that is the intention of the rabbis in their statement that the world was created in the image of God’s Torah. 

Shabbat shalom. Rabbi Berel Wein

Rabbi Wein's devar Torah on parshat Pinchas for 5784 ("Outer Peace, Inner Peace") can be accessed here.

The Three Weeks -- why do we need them?

According to Ashkenazic custom, the period beginning with the fast of 17 Tammuz and ending after the fast day of 9 Av is the longest slice of time in the Jewish calendar that is dedicated to remembering any historical event that happened to the Jewish people.  In the world a large, such days and commemorations are usually limited to a single day. But to stretch this period of time over three full weeks is a particularly Jewish phenomenon.

One of the reasons that such a considerable period has been set aside for sad remembrance is that mourning and self-reflection are processes that build themselves up on a cumulative basis. Our emotions and mindset require time if we are to be able to understand and respond to tragedies, both personal and national. If the fast day of 9 Av were to arrive without preparation or introduction, it could very well be deemed only a formality and become an insignificant day on the Jewish calendar. It is the build-up that allows for a true assessment of the events in the history of the day itself.

 These three weeks that lead to 9 Av are necessary in order that this special day be imbued with significance and historical meaning. Almost two millennia have passed since the events of that day of the destruction of Jerusalem and of the holy Temple in the year 70 CE. The fact that that they have been remembered and commemorated over such a long period of time is testimony to the power of the ritual and observance that this three-week period imposes upon Jewish life.

 It is interesting to note that the apparent discomfort that this period imposes upon us is relatively of minor consequence. Even the restrictions regarding eating meat and drinking wine during the days immediately preceding the fast of 9  Av are of relatively little discomfort to us. Fish restaurants look forward all year long to these days. Yet all the restrictions of the three weeks that precede 9 Av do have a spiritual and emotional effect upon us, even if only subliminally. 

 Somehow, over the centuries and through the dark and abysmal nights of Jewish history, this time of remembrance kept our memory of Zion and Jerusalem, of the holy Temple, and of Jewish sovereignty alive and real. Today's State of Israel is a product of this three-week period. There have been many twists and turns in the Jewish story over the past millennia. However, the one constant has been the fact that the Jewish people instinctively realize that, wherever they live in the wider world and no matter how successful and peaceful their sojourn might be, they are not really at home. Home is our ancient land, promised to us by Heaven and which Jews have contended for over all of the ages.

 There are those who say that, since we have been privileged to regain Jewish sovereignty in the land of Israel and that Jerusalem is now a large, modern and inhabited city, there is little reason for us to preserve the observances that these three weeks have imposed upon us. In my opinion this would be a classic example of throwing out the baby with the bathwater. It is only because of this three-week period that we can appreciate the gift that Heaven has bestowed upon our time, in restoring the Jewish people to their homeland and to national sovereignty.

 Without perspective, nothing in life can truly be appreciated. Generations now born, 77 years after the founding of the state of Israel and 58 years after the liberation of Jerusalem, really have no background against which to judge the wonders that have occurred—and continue to occur. These three weeks allow us to frame the events of our time and our current situation. They give us a sense of gratitude and understanding instead of just relying upon sometimes vapid patriotism and formal staged commemorations. The ninth of Av will yet be a day of joy and feasting, when Jewish history has finally completed its long journey.

"It's not the mouse that is the thief": Balak 5785

Although Bilaam is the major villain of the piece in this week’s parsha, we should not overlook Balak’s nefarious role in events. Balak is the instigator of the plot to curse and destroy the Jewish people. He finances Bilaam and is most persistent in pursuing his evil goal—even after Bilaam apparently despairs of the success of his mission and tells Balak so. Balak nevertheless insists that Bilaam continue, in case he might yet be able to curse the people of Israel.

Often in Jewish history we find this scenario repeated, with those behind the scenes persistently encouraging the masses to destroy the Jews while they stay a pious distance behind, causing, but somehow apparently not participating in, the murderous mayhem. As hate-filled as Bilaam is, he cannot operate alone. He needs financial and social backing for him to do his worst. As Balak’s hired hand, Bilaam is eventually killed by the very people he attempted to destroy. But Balak lives on, to try again to accomplish the destruction of the Jewish nation. Balak never makes peace with the idea that the Lord does not allow him his goal. His tenacity for hatred and his evil behavior are the true hallmark of his identity. 

Centuries later, the prophet reminds us of Balak’s scheme and of his advice to Bilaam; he warns us not to overlook Balak’s role in this story of aggression and unreasoned hatred. By invoking the original Balak, the prophet informs us that we will be better able to identify and deal with his successors in deceit and hatred throughout the ages. 

The suicide bomber (Bilaam) is not the only guilty party in terrorist attacks. It is the Balaks who send them and support them that are certainly equally as guilty. The self-righteous human rights organizations that promote only hatred and violence under the guise of doing good deeds are also responsible for the loss of the precious lives of innocents, killed by those whom such organizations nurture and support. The Talmud stated this reality by coining the famous Jewish aphorism: “It is not the mouse alone that is the thief. It is rather the hole in the wall that lets the mouse in that is the real thief.” It is the persistence of those that are determined to undermine the Jewish people and the State of Israel that places them as direct descendants of the immoral Balak. 

In the Pesach Haggadah we read that in every generation we face this challenge. No matter how many Bilaams we dispose of, Balak somehow survives to continue to try again. The words of the prophet in this week’s haftorah—to remember Balak’s role in the story of the Jewish people in the desert of Sinai—are addressed to us and to our times as well. We should not be shocked, though our sadness over this fact is understandable, that the malevolence against Jews of the 1930s can repeat itself in our time too. For as long as Balak remains a force in the world, the Jewish problem will not go away. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein  

To read Rabbi Wein's devar Torah for this parasha last year, "Who is the real villain?", click here.

Nothing if not mysterious: Chukkat 5785

Life is nothing if not mysterious. The unknown and the uncertain far outweigh what we believe we understand and live by. We often experience events that are unforeseen and sometimes less than fortuitous, jarring our sense of security and serenity. Though this week's parashah dwells on one of the laws of the Torah called a chok—a law without rational explanation—it actually tells us much about human life.

The Torah states explicitly zot chukkat haTorah—this is the law of the Torah regarding all matters of life. Things we think we understand are never fully understood by humans. Every layer of scientific discovery, every fresh advance, reveals for us the specter of untold new mysteries of which we were previously quite unaware. The nature of all life is a chok. So too is the Torah, when we look at life through  the mitzvah and mystery of the parah adumah. 

From the Torah’s viewpoint, we humans have a limited ability to understand and rationalize our existence and purpose. “No living creature can see Me” is interpreted in Jewish tradition to mean “No living creature can ever understand fully the world, nature and logic of the Creator of us all”. Man is doomed to wander in a desert of doubt, without ever being able to find the way on his own. Every frustration and disappointment stems from this hard fact of life. 

Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto in his immortal work, Mesilat Yesharim, compares life to a gigantic maze from which, without direction or guidance, one can never emerge. I remember that once when I visited the grounds of a royal palace in Europe, I tried my luck at entering the maze of tall hedges. Many other people were there with me. Suffice it to say that after 40 minutes none of us had found our way out. Some people were bemused by their predicament. Others were visibly frustrated and almost angry in their inability to escape. Some even panicked. Eventually a guard entered the maze and guided us safely out. 

Rabbi Luzzatto made the point that, if one stands on a high platform that overlooks the maze and maps it out in one’s mind, negotiating the maze then becomes possible, even simple. That high platform is the Torah, which allows us to deal with the maze of life. That is the ultimate lesson of this week’s parsha. Life is a chok—a confusing maze of events, personalities and forces. Why this maze is constructed as it is, why it is even needed, is a chok—something that lies beyond our level of comprehension. But how to negotiate the maze, how to stand on the high platform overlooking and informing about it, that is within our grasp and abilities. And that is really the chukkat haTorah that is granted to us.  

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

 For "Spiritual Mysteries in the Real World", Rabbi Wein's devar Torah on parashat Chukkat last year, click here

Tragedy follows tragedy: Korach 5785

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

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

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

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

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

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

Tzitzit and Torah methodology: Shelach Lecha 5785

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

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

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

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

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

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

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