Taking responsibility: Nitzavim 5785

 This essay by Rabbi Wein ztz'l has been kindly furnished by the Destiny Foundation.

One of the shortest parshiyot of the Torah, Nitzavim is however one of the most important in its message to the people of Israel. It features Moshe’s final oration to his people after more than 40 years of leadership, to be heard not only by his immediate audience but by each subsequent generation. 

Moshe reminds his listeners that there is an eternal covenant between God and Israel. The Lord will not allow the Jewish people to wriggle out of that commitment. Many strange things will happen to the people of Israel over its many centuries of existence. There will be events that are beyond human understanding or comprehension. 

God’s mind and actions, so to speak, remain inscrutable and beyond our judgment, let alone our reason. Moshe warns us that “the hidden things are the matter of the Lord but what is clear and revealed to us is that we are to remain faithful to this covenant [of Sinai and of Moshe]”. No matter how the Jewish people twist and turn to avoid keeping their side of the covenant, they remain bound by its consequences and results. Moshe warns them that eventually a high price would be exacted from the Jewish people for the abandonment of this covenant.  He advises them not to be too clever: times change, technology improves and there are new discoveries in God’s world—but the covenant of God with Israel remains as ever it was. Acceptance of this truth is the only way to deal with Jewish history and with all of the issues of Jewish life—past, present and future. 

The word “nitzavim” is key to conveying the above message to us with clarity and in perspective. The word suggests not only “present and accounted for” but also “upright and formidable”. Moshe fears that the Jewish people might feel unworthy and not strong enough for the rigors of the covenant. He reminds them of their true strength and capabilities. Moshe knows that a lack of self-confidence will automatically defeat the intent and goal of the covenant. If someone says “I cannot do it,” then that certainly becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy of failure.

Moshe reminds the Jewish people that they are “nitzavim”—strong, capable, resilient and able to stand up to all crises and problems. Moshe appeals to their self-image and inner strength. This attitude is both necessary and correct in the lead-up to the High Holy days. One cannot appeal to God, so to speak, on the basis of personal incompetence and weakness of will and vision. It is like requesting further cash flow from lenders into an obviously failing venture. 

When we pass before our Creator, during the Days of Judgment just ahead, we should do so with strong backs and confident hearts. We can and should say “Continue to invest in me and my family and generations. We will not desert the covenant, nor shall we fail You.”   

For "Renewing the Covenant", Rabbi Wein's essay on Nitzavim-Vayelech last year, click here.     

A living link in the chain of destiny

 Here''s the full text of Rabbi Kenigsberg's speech at the Sheloshim for Rabbi Wein et'l, delivered at Beit Knesset Hanassi on 14 September 2025. The full proceedings of the Sheloshim, including Rabbi Kenigsberg's speech, can also be viewed on YouTube, here.

As we gather tonight to mark the Sheloshim for Moreinu veRabbeinu, Rav Berel Wein zt”l, finding words of hesped feels no easier now, than it did 30 days ago. If anything, with time to reflect, the sense of loss is even greater, and the void more keenly felt.

Over these weeks, I have often caught myself instinctively wondering: What would Rabbi Wein say? Faced with a dilemma, confronted by the turmoil of our times, I have longed for his sharp, clear voice - the voice that could, in a moment, place events into perspective and set our minds at ease. That voice is no longer here, and how bereft we feel.

In keeping with Rabbi Wein’s wishes, our remarks tonight will be brief. But the outpouring of tributes from across the length and breadth of the Jewish world reminds us of what we already knew: Rabbi Wein was a connector of worlds. Who else could be admired and loved by the President of the State of Israel and at the same time revered in the halls of Satmar Chassidut? To all of them, and to all of us, Rabbi Wein was the voice of Torah, the voice of the Jewish people. He showed us our place in the eternal story of Am Yisrael and charged us with the mission of writing its next chapter.

Many times he would recall the verse we recite in Shofarot of Mussaf of Rosh Hashana:

וַיְהִי קוֹל הַשֹּׁפָר הוֹלֵךְ וְחָזֵק מְאֹד מֹשֶׁה יְדַבֵּר וְהָאֱלֹקים יַעֲנֶנּוּ בְקוֹל

 In his own words, penned just three years ago in Majesty, Memory and Resonance – Insights on Musaf for Rosh Hashana, he captured the verse’s meaning thus:

“When Human beings sound shofar blasts, the sound weakens as the length of the note increases. The Ba’al Tokeah simply runs out of breath. But the sound of the shofar at Sinai emanated from Heaven and had eternity encased within it. The sound of that Shofar did not weaken in time, but rather continued and strengthened.

That mighty sound came to symbolize Torah itself: not only has it maintained itself in Jewish life over millenia, it has the uncanny ability to become stronger and evermore resonant as the generations of Israel proceed… one of the great phenomena of our time… has been the resurgence of Torah study on a mass scale in Jewish populations the world over… the sound of the shofar at Sinai never weakens or abates…

The verse states… Moshe yedaber… the Torah uses the past perfect form of the verb “to speak”. It infers that Moshe not only spoke in the past, but that he continues to speak, even in the present and future.

This is the timeless quality of Torah; it has the ability to speak to every generation, providing values and guidance under all human circumstances.”

 Moshe yedaber, veHaElokim ya’anenu bekol. Rabbi Wein heard that eternal voice of Torah echoing through the generations and the events of our day - and when he spoke, he allowed us to hear it too.

Rabbi Wein was a bridge. A bridge across communities and ideologies, and a bridge across generations. His countless students are proof of that. There is hardly a rabbi in the English-speaking world today who does not, in some way, see himself as a talmid of Rabbi Wein. Though renowned for his history tapes, lectures, and books, Rabbi Wein never simply recounted the past. He revealed history not as a chronicle of what once was, but as a living continuum – in which we each take part. To sit in his presence was to sense the company of the Gedolim of the past. How many times did a conversation with him begin “The Ponovezher Rav told me...” or the like. Now it is upon us to keep his presence alive for the generations to come.

Rabbi Wein was a living link in the great chain of Jewish destiny. In a world of confusion, he was an anchor of clarity. He had the rare gift of making the complex simple: That’s what’s written in the Torah. What more do you need?

As we enter the Yamim Noraim without his guiding voice, the loss is especially sharp. Yet his charge to us is clear: to carry forward his lessons, his love of Torah, his faith in HaKadosh Baruch Hu, and his unwavering commitment to the Jewish people. May we be worthy to do so, and ensure that his voice continues to resound – not only for us but for generations to come.

Learning from our errors: Ki Tavo 5785

Here is another piece of Rabbi Wein ztz'l's Torah legacy, which we are privileged to share.

This week’s Torah reading describes two very different situations in Jewish life that have been present throughout our long history as a people. One is when we inhabited and controlled our own land—the Land of Israel. That is clearly indicated in the opening words of the parsha—“ki tavo”—when you will come into your land. The second, much more difficult, situation is recorded in the bitter, lengthy and detailed description of the lot of the Jewish people in exile, scattered amongst hostile nations and subject to violent hatreds. 

Over the many millennia of the Jewish story, we have been in exile far longer than we were at home in the Land of Israel. The recounting of the troubles and persecutions resulting from the exile of Israel from its land occupies greater space (and perhaps even greater notice) in the parsha than does the section relating to our living in Israel. 

Our land carries with it special commandments and rituals as described in the parsha such as various types of ‘ma’aser’ (tithing) and ‘bikurim’ (the first fruits of the agricultural year). Our exile from it poses problems of extinction and continued tension, fear and a constant state of uncertainty. In the words of the parsha, the conditions of the exile were capable of driving people into insanity and fostered hopelessness. 

Yet the strange, almost unfathomable result of exile is that the Jewish people survived, and at times even thrived, under these hostile conditions, while our record as a national entity living in our own country was much spottier. Jews are a special people—but our behavior is oftentimes strange and counterproductive. We don’t seem to deal too well with success and stability. 

By the grace of God we are once again back in our land. Having read the words of the parsha, in all of its terror, literally fulfilled in our own lifetimes, we have nevertheless restored our national sovereignty, built a wonderful country and an intriguing society, and are engaged in facing great challenges as to our future development here. 

We would be wise to remember why we failed in the past in our nation-building and why, paradoxically, we succeed in achieving major successes while in exile and under very negative circumstances. Straying from the path of Torah and tradition has always brought us to harm. The pursuit of alien cultures and fads is no way to fulfill our national interest and purpose. 

Our historical experiences, both in Israel and in the exile, have taught us that it is extremely foolhardy to repeat our errors. Returning to our land carries with it the challenges of living in holiness and having a special relationship with our Creator. Our efforts should be concentrated in strengthening and broadening that relationship. It may be wise for us to discard the bath water of the exile now that we have returned home. But we must preserve at all costs the baby—the Torah and its values—that has brought us home to the land that the Lord has promised to us. 

For "Jewish History in Just Two Scenarios" Rabbi Wein's piece on parashat Ki Tavo last year, click here.

What's inside the Selichot?

Here are some further thoughts on Selichot, penned by Rabbi Wein zt’l back in 2017.

The custom of reciting selichot –- penitential prayers –-preceding Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is an ancient one. It dates back to the period of the Geonim in Babylonia ,if not to Talmudic times.  There are different customs as to when to begin reciting these prayers. Most Sephardic and Middle Eastern Jewish congregations begin the recitation of selichot at the beginning of the month of Elul while European Jewish communities begin their recitation the week preceding Rosh Hashanah itself. 

Over the centuries the number of piyutim available for the selichot recitation has increased exponentially. There are many hundreds of such selichot piyutim in our repertoire of religious poetry. A substantial number of them were composed during the early and later Middle Ages and were the work of the great men of both the Ashkenazic and Sephardic worlds. 

It was commonly accepted and even expected that Torah scholars would produce such selichot. Some of the greatest sages of Israel, such as Rashi, Rabbenu Gershom, Rabbi Asher ben Yechiel and others, are represented in the Ashkenazic version of the selichot services. 

In later times, especially in the modern era, the number and authorship of the selichot has become fixed, though even in the Ashkenazic tradition there is quite a difference between the selichot of German, Lithuanian, and Polish custom. Needless to say, all of these Ashkenazic versions of selichot vary widely from the piyutim recited by the Middle Eastern Sephardic communities—and there too there are differences between certain localities and ethnic groups. 

The basic prayer of selichot, upon which all various communities agree, is the recitation of the thirteen so-called attributes of the Almighty. These are revealed to us in the Torah when Moshe hid his face in the presence of the Divine spirit passing over him. The recitation of this Torah description of Godly attributes is one of the central themes of Yom Kippur, when we recite this section of selichot numerous times during the prayer services of the day.  In fact, the climactic prayer of Neilah on Yom Kippur incudes the recitation of these thirteen attributes thirteen times! It is as though this prayer, ordained so to speak by God, is the only weapon left in our arsenal of prayer and tears that will deliver us to life and goodness. The theme of the High Holy Days is to call to our Creator when He is close to us and can be easily reached. The recitation of the selichot prayers, from before Rosh Hashanah until through the day of Yom Kippur, reinforces this idea of closeness and immediacy with the divine and the infinite. 

Selichot is an invaluable conduit to achieve this exalted connection with godliness and spirituality. It is no wonder that throughout the ages the Jewish people have constantly observed and even strengthened this custom in our never-ending quest for soulful spirituality. Early hours of rising and devotion testify to the level that all Jewish communities dedicate to this custom of penitential prayer. 

What I have always found interesting and noteworthy in the piyutim of selichot is that most of them are concerned with the sorry state of the Jewish people in our long and bitter exile. It is as though we not only expect to be forgiven for our sins and shortcomings but that we also implore Heaven to intercede on our behalf and improve our lot in life. 

Except for the Ashamnu prayer, the selichot piyutim reveal very little contrition or assumption of guilt for sins on our part. It is as though we are saying to Heaven that the deplorable circumstances of Jewish life in the exile are why we are unable to fulfill our spiritual obligations on a constant and productive basis. This emphasis on national calamity, rather than on personal guilt, points out to us that the High Holy Days are not merely a personal experience but a national one as well. We are all in this together and the eternal covenant of Sinai joins all of us into one unit. Every Jew’s personal fate is intertwined with our national fate and future. 

And in an even further leap, the prayers of Rosh Hashanah tie us all as human beings to common fates and challenges. In Judaism, the individual, the national and the universal are all bound together in judgment and in blessing. Therefore there can be no better introduction to and understanding of the holy days that are coming upon us than the prayers of the selichot services.

For ""Of Emotions, Memories and a Sense of Purpose", Rabbi Wein zt'l's previous post on Selichot, click here

Torah and History

Rabbi Wein ztz'l was renowned for his perspicacious comments on the State of the Jewish Nation and how important it is for us to learn the lessons of the past when boldly facing our future. The following post has been composed as a perspective on history in Rabbi Wein's honor, by Rabbi Steven Ettinger.

I am writing this piece three weeks after the funeral of our esteemed and beloved Mara d’Atra, Rabbi Wein. The day following this Shabbat we will be gathering to mark his sheloshim. I am limiting myself to just those two adjectives—esteemed and beloved—as there is a nearly endless fount of words and phrases that could be used to describe his accomplishments, abilities and impact. Like many of you, I attended eulogies, read articles about his life, listened to podcasts and viewed videos—entirely fitting insofar as these are all media that he mastered in order to communicate his teachings to millions.

So many others are better positioned to appreciate his essence and have a more intimate awareness of it that I will not even attempt to write anything about him. Instead, I will share a thought about this parashah of which Rabbi Wein, as a man of history, would most likely have been aware—and which I am sure he would certainly have appreciated.

The most noteworthy part of this parashah is the tochachah, the fearsome curses that would befall our people if they did not follow their covenant with Hashem (these curses have, in fact, befallen us, down to the most minute and sordid detail).

It is perplexing that, after forty years in the midbar and on the precipice of entering the Land of Israel, Am Yisrael would be subjected to having to hear and accept such a litany of horror. After all, their own parents were condemned to die as the result of a single sin. One midrash describes how, each year on Tisha b’Av, the entire nation dug graves and slept in them. Those who rose the next day knew they were spared, at least for another year. Thus they truly understood the consequences of failing to heed the word of God.

But the curses in our parashah were not directed at that particular generation: they were projected out towards history, and to a specific era of history.

This is the interpretation of a particularly shocking interpretation revealed by the Vilna Gaon. He declares that Sefer Devarim corresponds to the sixth millennium of world history. There are ten parshiyot in Devarim and each corresponds to a particular century (Nitzavim-Vayelech count as one). For example, Devarim corresponds to the years 1240-1340 (5,000-5100), Va’etchanan to 1340-1440 (5100-5200), etc. The years 1840-1940 would equate to Ki Savo – years filled with pogroms, the upheaval of World War I and the rise of Hitler and the Holocaust.

Of course, the Holocaust continued for five more years. These are alluded to in the parshiyot of Nitzavim-Vayelech which is our present era 1940-2040:

וַיִּחַר־אַ֥ף ה בָּאָ֣רֶץ הַהִ֑וא לְהָבִ֤יא עָלֶ֙יהָ֙ אֶת־כׇּל־הַקְּלָלָ֔ה הַכְּתוּבָ֖ה בַּסֵּ֥פֶר הַזֶּֽה׃

וַיִּתְּשֵׁ֤ם ה מֵעַ֣ל אַדְמָתָ֔ם בְּאַ֥ף וּבְחֵמָ֖ה וּבְקֶ֣צֶף גָּד֑וֹל וַיַּשְׁלִכֵ֛ם אֶל־אֶ֥רֶץ אַחֶ֖רֶת כַּיּ֥וֹם הַזֶּֽה׃

Hashem’s anger flared against the land to bring against it the entire curse that is written in this book. And Hashem, removed them from their land with anger and wrath and great fury and he cast them to another land, as this very day.

It should be noted that the gematria of בְּאַ֥ף וּבְחֵמָ֖ה וּבְקֶ֣צֶף גָּד֑וֹל is the same as הפתרון הסופי, the final solution!

Our Torah is not a history book. Our Torah is history. While we have lost perhaps the greatest guide to viewing and appreciating Torah in this light, we can honor his legacy by continuing to appreciate how the knowledge of our Nation’s past enhances our learning and our perspective on Hashem’s plans for His world.

Of emotions, memories and a sense of purpose

This piece, from the Destiny Foundation archives, was penned by Rabbi Wein ztz’l back in 2012—but its message is as fresh and relevant as ever.

Next week, selichot—the penitential prayers that are added to the weekday morning prayer service—are recited in the synagogue according to Ashkenazic custom. Sephardic Jews have been reciting selichot in their morning prayer services since the start of the month of Elul. There are different customs even within these two main groupings of Jews as to which particular penitential prayer is recited on which of the days preceding Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. 

I have always been intrigued by the fact that most of the selichot prayers deal with the national angst and exile of the Jewish people rather than concentrating exclusively on the personal penitential aspect of the individual Jew who is actually doing the praying. Of course, many personal prayers are included in the selichot liturgy, but there is a strong focus on the plight of the Jewish people on a national and global scale—and this is expressed in terms that are powerfully emotive.  This is understandable since most of the selichot prayers were composed during the Middle Ages when the Jewish people, especially in Europe, found itself in desperate straits. Nevertheless, the emphasis on national troubles instead of personal failings carries with it a clear message about the reality of being Jewish. 

One’s individual fate and even the judgment of Heaven on Rosh Hashanah are inextricably bound to the general fate and welfare of the Jewish people as a whole. That is in reality the message of the book of Yonah that we read on Yom Kippur afternoon. Yonah knows that the storm that strikes the ship is because of him, so he answers his fellow passengers and shipmates who ask him to explain why these events are occurring with the simple words: “I am a Jew!” He sought to escape that reality but the Lord, by means of the storm on the sea, returned him to it. 

since the concept of selichot is, of necessity, national as well as personal, one cannot expect to survive spiritually and morally as a Jew by separating oneself from the Jewish people and its destiny. In effect, all those who deny their Jewishness, who substitute foreign ideologies and current political correctness for true Jewish Torah values, who are the first to raise their voices against the Jewish people and its state, who deny their Jewishness by assimilation and intermarriage, doom themselves eventually not to be heard and accounted for in the continually unfolding Jewish story. 

Someone who does not wish to share in the burden of the Jewish nation as a whole cuts the cord of Jewishness that grants one identity, self-worth and an overall purpose in life. The selichot prayers are so constructed as to be a retelling of the Jewish story and a declaration of fealty to Jewish destiny. In that context the selichot prayer services connect us to our Creator but also to the Jewish people in every generation, both past and future. 

There are many emotions that accompany the advent of the selichot season. Memories of past High Holy Day seasons, of generations that have passed on, of previous synagogue services and other venues of prayer, of childhood wonderment and of more mature seriousness and awe. These all flood our minds and hearts when the prayers of selichot are recited and the melodies of holiness are heard and sung.  The special quality of this time of the year, of anticipation and tension, of hopeful confidence combined with trepidation, is refleced in our attention to the immortal words of the prayer services. 

Every possible human hope and emotion is to be found in those words. I always have felt that the preparation for Rosh Hashanah should include a review of the texts of the prayer services beforehand so that one can savor the majesty and genius that lies embedded in the legacy of our prayer services. The selichot prayers come to us from Babylonia and North Africa, the Land of Israel and Spain, France and Germany, and Central and Eastern Europe. They cover centuries of Jewish life and creativity, piety and scholarship. 

They also record for us dark days of persecutions and massacres, of trial and testing, and of hope and resilience. Their prose/poetic style may oftentimes be difficult to understand and decipher but their soul and message of genius is revealed and obvious to all those who recite their words with serious intent. May the selichot season usher in a renewed sense of holy purpose in our lives and may we all be blessed with a good and happy, healthy new year.

Torah and mitzvot -- nothing else will do! Ki Teitze 5785

Here is another piece left for us by Rabbi Wein ztz'l and which we are privileged to share.

Ki Teitzei contains the second most numerous count of mitzvot in the Torah, topped only by parashat Kedoshim in Chumash Vayikra. The commentators to the Torah discuss why these mitzvot that first appear in Ki Teitzei, all of which are ultimately derived from the granting of the Torah at Mount Sinai almost 40 years earlier, find their place in the Torah here in Moshe’s final oration to the Jewish people. Their approach to the issue differs.

Some say that since many of these mitzvot are related to war, settling the land, domesticated human life and the like, they reflect the impending life-altering change for the Jewish people as they shift from a miraculous existence in the desert to a more natural and normal lifestyle.  Soon they would be in their own land, facing all the changes and problems that such a radical shift of circumstances implies. Others merely say that this is an example of the Talmudic dictum that the Torah is not bound in its teachings and text to any narrative timeline; there is no chronological order to the Torah. Even though these mitzvot appear in writing here for the first time, they were essentially already taught to the Jewish people in the desert long before by Moshe. Other explanations can be found; all are valid and they are not mutually exclusive. 

If I may be bold enough to add my insight to this matter, I would say this: the Jewish people are about to become a nation and to establish their own government in the Land of Israel. They will have to fight many battles, bloody and painful, to establish their right to the Land of Israel and to establish their sovereignty over the territory that it encompasses. They will need an army, a civil government, a judicial system, an economy and labor force and all the other trappings that accompany nation building and establishing a territorial entity and effective government.

In the face of these demands they might think that they can discard the spiritual yoke of the mitzvot imposed upon them at Sinai. It would be easy to say that mitzvot were all very well in the Sinai desert, where no other demands were made on our time, energy and commitment. But with more pressing business at hand, perhaps the punctilious observance of mitzvot was no longer required. 

Moshe comes in this parsha, in the midst of his valedictory oration to the Jewish people, to remind them that mitzvot and Torah are the only effective guarantee of Jewish success and survival, even while they are engaged in building and defending Jewish sovereignty in the Land of Israel. Moshe in effect says to them: “Here are some more mitzvot—and they will help you succeed in building the land and preserving your sovereignty over it.” Moshe’s message is as germane to our time as it was to the first Jews who arrived en masse to settle in the Land of Israel thirty-three centuries ago. 

Two paths, one destination

Jeremy Phillips writes:

I have had the rare good fortune to work both with Rabbi Berel Wein ztz’l and Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks ztz’l—two rabbis whose Jewish roots—and the routes they took—could scarcely have been more different.

Rabbi Wein was raised and schooled within a long and distinguished tradition of Lithuanian Torah scholarship; Rabbi Sacks came from an unlearned family of merchants. Rabbi Wein was par excellence a Torah scholar whose natural habitat was the yeshiva and the beit midrash; Rabbi Sacks’ preferred milieu was the synagogue pulpit and the university lecture hall. Rabbi Wein was a rabbi first and only secondly a historian; Rabbi Sacks was a first a philosopher, but a philosopher with semicha.

Within the vast field of Jewish learning, Rabbi Wein was for the Talmud and poskim; Rabbi Sacks’ comfort zone was that of Tanach and midrash. Rabbi Wein cautioned powerfully against the embrace of popular and secular culture and warned of its corrosive effect on living a life of Torah; Rabbi Sacks admired and absorbed much secular culture and sought to use it to understand and strengthen his Torah. Rabbi Wein’s messages were often blunt, sometimes brutal in their force—though delivered with a note of paternal kindness. Rabbi Sacks’ words were carefully crafted orations, aesthetic and elegant—but shocking when delivered with unexpected passion. Rabbi Wein was a man of mitzvot; he gave halachic rulings with the wisdom and confidence of a man backed by deep knowledge and siata dishmaya; Rabbi Sacks was a man of impeccable middot, shrinking from giving halachic rulings and always deferring on matters of halacha to the dayanim of the Beit Din of which he was the titular head,

These two giants of the contemporary Torah scene, who have both been taken from us in the very recent past, were so different in every respect that it seems astonishing that they held each other in such high regard, indeed affection. Those of us who were there will recall Rabbi Sacks’ warm words in his congratulatory message to Rabbi Wein when the latter celebrated 20 years at the helm of Beit Knesset Hanassi, as well as Rabbi Wein’s moving words on his shul’s event to mark the first yahrzeit of Rabbi Sacks. Can anyone doubt that these two men held each other in the highest regard? Why might this be?

If we distil the messages of the two rabbis, we find that they are so similar as to be virtually identical. Both cared passionately about Jewish demographics, writing and speaking on this subject with power and passion. Both were desperately unhappy about the rising tide of ignorance, indifference and assimilation, and both cried out for their audiences to seize the moment to address the problem full-on.  Rabbi Sacks shocked his English constituents when he published ‘Will We Have Jewish Grandchildren?’ and the final plea of Rabbi Wein in his last book launch at Hanassi, shortly before his death, was for the audience to place a copy of his book on antisemitism before every one of their grandchildren.

It was not just the messages but also the means of disseminating them that marked these two luminaries out. Both recognized the power of the media and the emerging technologies to bring their words before audiences who might never otherwise encounter them. To this end Rabbi Wein established the Destiny Foundation, harnessing sound and video recordings and embracing YouTube and Zoom. Similarly, Rabbi Sacks' works, thoughts and ideas are promulgated through The Rabbi Sacks Legacy. Thus the life's work of Rabbis Wein and Sacks lives on.

That these two men, so different in so many respects, should have identified the same issues as crucial and fought for them with every fibre of their being, is something in which I take great comfort. I am sure that, should their paths cross in a better world than this, they will celebrate not their differences but the convergence of their love for the People of Israel and their prayer for its growth and continued success.

Leave it to Heaven: Shofetim 5785

Though Rabbi Wein ztz'l may no longer be with us, we continue 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.

Everyone favors equality and justice, and the goal of all democratic societies is to have, as far as humanly possible, a fair and incorruptible judicial system. But judges are only human—no matter how knowledgeable and altruistic they may be—which is why the perfect judicial system has yet to be achieved. 

To sustain a viable society, we are bidden to obey the decisions of the court. As the Talmud points out, "even if they proclaim to you that left is right and right is left, you have to listen to them”. Judicial error is a fact of life in a world where we know that left is never right and right is never left. So, how are judicial errors ever to be corrected? 

The answer usually comes with the passage of time and with the application of common sense to the realities of life. There is a famous saying that “what wisdom cannot accomplish, time will." Heaven, so to speak, takes a hand over time in adjusting erroneous judicial decisions and somehow making things come out right in the end. 

The Torah emphasizes that, even though judicial error is possible if not even probable, we must follow the decisions of our judges if anarchy is not to reign and society to dissolve. Judicial decisions may be analyzed and even disagreed with, but we must respect our judges and comply with their judgments, ultimate justice being left to the province of Heavenly guidance. 

Jewish tradition ascribes judicial decisions not merely to book knowledge or even precedent, but also to a sensible appraisal of fairness and equity. The great Rabbi Israel Lipkin of Salant often pointed out that Heaven alone can take into account all of the facts, consequences and results of judgment, reward and punishment. The human judge is limited in perspective and foresight. 

We know how the law of unintended consequences can dog every law  and legal decision—and that is why the Talmud ruefully depicts God, so to speak, busily undoing many of the decisions and actions of leaders and ordinary people in order to achieve the Divine will and purpose through the actions and decisions of humans. 

All judicial systems contain a process of review and appeal from decisions made by lower courts. This is an inherent realization the judicial error is ever-present and likely in all human affairs—and this is why the phrase “trial and error” is so well known in the English language. Despite its efforts to correct itself, the judicial system is always subject to bias, preconceived notions and erroneous logic and decisions. Even so, the Torah emphasizes that judicial systems are mandatory if society is to function. It is one of the basic seven laws of Noachide tradition. So, as in every other facet of life, the Torah bids us to do the best that we can—but to remain aware of our human limitations. 

“Law, Order, Justice—and an Open Mind”, Rabbi Wein’s essay on Parashat Shofetim last year, can be accessed here.

Rabbi Wein, America and Aliyah

Here’s the text of a piece by our member Rabbi Paul Bloom, which will appear in this week’s Jewish Link. Thanks, Paul, for giving us a chance to enjoy it. Paul explains:

I had the distinct privilege of being a member of Rabbi Wein’s shul, Beit Knesset Hanassi, for over twenty years, and of deepening my connection to him and his Torah since making Aliyah with my wife four years ago. While he was not a Navi, he was perhaps the closest we had — through his masterful analysis of Nevi’im, Jewish history, and world events. I have read many of the appreciations written by his friends, students, and colleagues, and I agree with them all. Yet, what I feel was not emphasized enough was not only his love for Eretz Yisrael, Medinat Yisrael, and Bnei Yisrael — which many have already noted — but also his penetrating analysis of the state of American Jewry and the urgency of planning to make Aliyah.

I was privileged to hear a discussion that Rabbi Wein gave about five years ago, in which he spoke candidly about the trajectory of America and the pressing need to consider Aliyah. What follows is a summary of that conversation.

For those who wish to hear it in full, it can be found here (duration: 23 minutes 50 seconds).

Here a summary of Rabbi Berel Wein ztz’l said.

History does not move in circles — it moves in patterns. Anyone who wishes to know what tomorrow holds need only look at yesterday. The story of the Jewish people has been written in every exile: communities flourish, assimilate, decline, and ultimately close down. This has happened across Europe, North Africa, and the Arab lands. It is happening, slowly but surely, in America as well.

American Jewry once prided itself on size and vitality. In 1950, there were six million Jews in the United States. Today, the numbers are smaller, despite population growth. Assimilation and intermarriage have eroded Jewish continuity, and even the Orthodox community faces new external pressures that will make life in America increasingly difficult. The truth is that there are likely fewer committed Jews in America today than there were 70 years ago.

This is not just about demographics. Great civilizations collapse not from outside threats but from within. Greece, Rome, the Soviet Union — all disintegrated because of internal corruption and the acceptance of values that undermined their own foundations. America is showing similar signs. Once a country proud of religion and family, it now elevates values that run directly against Torah. As the Navi warns: "הוי הגוי חוטא, עם כבד עון, זרע מרעים, בנים משחיתים" (“Woe to the sinful nation, a people laden with iniquity, children who deal corruptly” – Yeshayahu 1:4). Societies built on such moral decline do not endure.

I am not a pessimist, but I am a realist. The curve of American Jewish life has flattened. The freedoms our parents enjoyed will not last. Governments will dictate how our schools operate, whether we can separate boys and girls, what we are allowed to teach. Orthodox Jews in America will face restrictions they never imagined possible.

What then is the response? The Torah has already provided the answer: the Land of Israel. "כי רצו עבדיך את אבניה ואת עפרה יחננו" (“For Your servants have cherished her stones and favored her dust” – Tehillim 102:15). Our love for the Land is not theoretical — it must express itself in practical attachment. It is not easy to move, nor is it simple to succeed. I know from personal experience how much sacrifice Aliyah requires — my wife and I planned for forty years, scrimping and saving to buy an apartment in Jerusalem. But the effort was worth it. In Israel, Jewish life is not a side project; it is the air you breathe. Shabbat is felt in the streets, even among the secular. Every struggle here is balanced by the simple truth that this is where Jewish life belongs.

To those who ask whether it is realistic — yes, it is. Professional skills are transferable. Opportunities abound. Israel needs families with talent, resources, and vision. The adjustment can be difficult, especially for teenagers, but history demands that we see the larger picture. If you come with modest expectations, every success is a blessing; if you expect perfection, disappointment will follow.

Some argue that leaving America weakens Jewish outreach there. My response is simple: no one is indispensable. As Chazal teach: "אין הקדוש ברוך הוא מקפח שכר כל בריה" (“The Holy One, Blessed be He, does not withhold reward from any creature” – Bava Kamma 38b). Others will rise to the task. But the Jewish future cannot be built on prolonging exile. It must be built where it has always been destined to flourish — in the Land of Israel.

A Call to My Students and Colleagues

 My dear friends, history is speaking to us with a clear and uncompromising voice. Every exile ends — some slowly, some suddenly, but all inevitably. America has given us much, but it is no longer the safe, welcoming haven it once seemed. The warning lights are flashing, and to ignore them is to gamble recklessly with the Jewish future. 

Do not delude yourselves into thinking, “שָׁלוֹם יִהְיֶה לִי, כִּי בִּשְׁרִרוּת לִבִּי אֵלֵךְ” (“Peace will be mine, though I follow the desires of my own heart” – Devarim 29:18). That is exactly what Jews said in Berlin, in Warsaw, in Baghdad — in countless communities that flourished and then vanished. We cannot afford to repeat their error. 

The time has come for action. Invest in Israel, plant roots in Israel, live your Jewish life in Israel. Lower your expectations of comfort, raise your expectations of holiness, and you will discover that the sacrifices are small compared to the privilege of shaping Jewish destiny in the Land of our fathers. 

To my students, to my colleagues, to all who hear these words: the window of opportunity is open, but it will not remain open forever. Do not wait for it to close. Jewish history has brought us to this decisive moment. “כִּי מִצִּיּוֹן תֵּצֵא תוֹרָה וּדְבַר ה' מִירוּשָׁלָ͏ִם” (“For from Zion shall go forth Torah, and the word of Hashem from Jerusalem” – Yeshayahu 2:3). The future of our people will not be written in exile. It will be written in the Land of Israel. The only question is: will we be part of it?

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.