Seeing Beyond the Grasshoppers: The Message of Tzitzit in a Time of Challenge

One of the most striking juxtapositions in the Torah appears at the end of Parashat Shelach Lecha. Immediately following the tragic story of the Meraglim—the spies who discouraged the nation from entering Eretz Yisrael—the Torah presents the mitzvah of Tzitzit. At first glance, the connection seems puzzling. Why does the Torah place the commandment of Tzitzit directly after one of the greatest national failures in Jewish history? Our member Rabbi Paul Bloom suggests an answer. Perhaps, he wonders, the Torah is teaching us that Tzitzit is not merely another mitzvah. It is a corrective to the very mistake that led to the sin of the spies.

The Sin of the Spies: Seeing Without Understanding

The spies did not fabricate their report. They saw fortified cities. They saw powerful armies. They saw giants. Their observations were factually correct. Their failure was not in what they saw, but in how they interpreted what they saw. They concluded:

"We were like grasshoppers in our own eyes."

They looked at reality through the lens of fear rather than faith. They evaluated the challenges before them without considering the presence of Hashem. As a result, they transformed a difficult mission into an impossible one.

The tragedy was not merely historical. Every generation faces its own version of the sin of the spies. Whenever Jews convince themselves that a challenge is insurmountable, that redemption is impossible, that the Jewish people cannot overcome their enemies, the echo of the Meraglim can still be heard. The spies saw giants. Yehoshua and Kalev saw opportunities. The facts were the same. The vision was different.

Tzitzit: A Mitzvah of Perspective

Immediately after this national collapse, the Torah commands:

"And you shall see it and remember all the commandments of Hashem and perform them” (Bamidbar 15:39).

The Torah does not merely say that Tzitzit will remind us of mitzvot. It says: "U're'item oto" — "You shall see it." Tzitzit is fundamentally about learning how to see. The spies saw a world without Divine assistance. Tzitzit trains us to see a world filled with Divine presence. That is why Chazal teach that Tzitzit possesses a unique power to remind a Jew of all the mitzvot. It restores spiritual perspective.

The Uniform of the King

Rashi famously notes that the numerical value of the word ציצית together with its threads and knots corresponds to the 613 mitzvot. Seeing the Tzitzit reminds us of the entire Torah. But the Sforno offers an even deeper understanding. Tzitzit functions like a royal uniform. A soldier wearing the king's insignia remembers whom he serves. An officer of the court conducts himself differently because he is conscious of his mission. So too, when a Jew wears Tzitzit, he is reminded: "I am an eved Hashem. I represent something greater than myself." The reminder is not simply about commandments. It is about identity—and, when a person remembers who he is, he naturally remembers what he is supposed to do.

The Wings That Lift Us Higher

The Torah commands us to place Tzitzit on the kanfei begadim—the corners of our garments. The commentators note that the word kanaf also means "wing." The Tzitzit are attached to the wings of our garment because they are meant to lift us above a purely material existence. They elevate our vision beyond the immediate and the physical. The spies looked only at military realities. Tzitzit teaches us to look at spiritual realities as well. The spies saw obstacles. Tzitzit teaches us to see purpose.

Learning to See Hashem

The Maharal takes this idea even further. The purpose of Tzitzit is not merely to remind us of mitzvot. It is to train us to perceive the presence of Hashem in the world. A Jew is called upon to see beyond the surface. To see history not as a random collection of events but as the unfolding of Divine providence. To see the return of the Jewish people to Eretz Yisrael not merely as a political phenomenon but as part of a larger story. To see challenges not only as threats but as opportunities for growth and redemption. This is the antidote to the sin of the spies.

The Mystery of the Techelet

Perhaps nowhere is this message more beautifully expressed than in the mitzvah of Techelet. Chazal teach:

"Techelet resembles the sea, the sea resembles the sky, and the sky resembles the Throne of Glory."

At first glance, this seems strange. The sea is not truly blue. The sky is not truly blue. The blue we perceive is largely an optical phenomenon. Yet it is precisely this seemingly elusive color that directs our thoughts toward the infinite. When we gaze at the horizon of the sea or the expanse of the heavens, we experience something beyond ourselves. We sense transcendence.

Techelet reminds us that there is more to reality than what appears on the surface. The spies saw only what was in front of them. The Techelet teaches us to look beyond what is in front of us.

A Message for Our Generation

We live in a time when the Jewish people once again face enormous challenges. We hear voices that say certain problems are unsolvable. We hear predictions of despair. We hear calls to surrender confidence in our future. Parashat Shelach reminds us that Jewish history is shaped not only by military strength or political calculation, but by vision. The Meraglim saw themselves as grasshoppers. Yehoshua and Kalev saw themselves as servants of Hashem. The difference changed the destiny of a nation.

The mitzvah of Tzitzit calls upon us every day to remember who we are, whose mission we carry, and how we are meant to view the world. When we look at the Tzitzit, we are reminded that we are not grasshoppers. We are the people whom Hashem redeemed from Egypt. We are the people entrusted with His Torah. We are the people destined to build His land.

May we merit to see the world not through the eyes of fear, but through the eyes of faith; not through the vision of the spies, but through the vision of Yehoshua and Kalev.

And may the message of the Tzitzit help us recognize the presence of Hashem in our lives, in our nation, and in the unfolding redemption of Am Yisrael.

Seeing a Land — or Entering a Relationship? Shelach Lecha 5786

This piece was first published in Hanassi Highlights, Thursday 4 June 2026. You can also read it in Ivrit, thanks to ChatGPT, here.

Seeing a Land — or Entering a Relationship?

The tragedy of the spies in Parshat Shelach is often misunderstood. At first glance, their sin seems difficult to identify. Moshe instructed them to scout the Land of Israel, to observe the strength of its inhabitants, the nature of its cities, and the quality of the land itself. When they returned, they simply reported what they had seen: the cities were fortified, the inhabitants were powerful, and the challenges ahead were formidable.

The spies did not fabricate facts. Their failure lay elsewhere. Their mistake was that they misunderstood the very nature of the mission. 

Rav Soloveitchik explains that this was never intended as a purely military reconnaissance exercise. The Jewish people were not merely preparing to cross a border or conquer territory. Rather, “the entry signified the destiny of a people united with the destiny of a land.” Am Yisrael was not simply crossing into its homeland; it was entering into a relationship of covenant and destiny. 

To describe this, Rav Soloveitchik uses the analogy of a marriage. Before marriage, a couple must meet one another. Marriage cannot be built through technical information alone. It is not enough to exchange data from afar. A relationship requires encounter, connection and the ability to see beyond surface impressions. So too, the spies were sent not only to gather information, but to encounter the land—to experience its holiness, its promise and its destiny. That was precisely what Yehoshua and Kalev understood. They saw the same giants, the same fortified cities, and the same dangers. Yet they interpreted those realities differently because they approached the land not merely as observers, but as participants in a covenant. 

The other spies viewed the land through the lens of fear and pragmatism alone. Everything became a calculation of risk and vulnerability. Their famous declaration — “We were like grasshoppers in our own eyes” — revealed that the true problem was not the strength of the inhabitants, but the smallness with which they viewed themselves.

Perhaps this is one of the Torah’s enduring warnings. Human beings rarely see reality in a purely objective way. We interpret the world through the lens of our assumptions, anxieties and expectations. Two people can confront the very same circumstances and emerge with entirely different conclusions.

 In many areas of life, modern culture encourages us to think like the spies: to evaluate everything solely in terms of practicality, efficiency and risk. The Torah challenges us to look deeper. Beneath the external facts lies another question entirely: what kind of relationship are we being asked to build?

The spies saw a land to be analysed. Yehoshua and Kalev saw a land to be loved. Sometimes, that difference can change the course of history itself.

 Shabbat Shalom!

Am KeLavi - Rectifying the Sin of the Spies

Through the lens of history, some images become more than photographs — they become turning points. The paratroopers gazing up at the Kotel in 1967. Rav Goren blowing the shofar. These were not just moments — they became part of our national soul.

And now, as we live through a defining chapter in our own history, we find ourselves asking: what image will capture this moment?

Perhaps it may not come from the battlefield. It may just come from the airport. This week, a photograph was published of a woman who, upon landing in Israel, knelt to kiss the ground. Her act, so quiet and personal, says more than a thousand words. To much of the world, returning to a war zone makes no sense. But we — the Jewish people — understand. This is not recklessness. It is teshuva. It is a return of the heart.

As rockets fall and sirens sound, thousands of Israelis abroad are doing everything they can to come home. And what we are witnessing is not just a logistical operation — it is a spiritual movement, a national teshuva unfolding before our very eyes.

The Sin of the Spies: A Threefold Failure

This week’s parsha, Shelach, recounts one of the most devastating episodes in the Torah: the sin of the spies. Sent to scout the land, they returned not with lies, but with fear. They acknowledged the land’s beauty — but saw only its threats. “We cannot ascend,” they said. “The people are stronger than us.”

The sin was layered — and each layer cut deep:

• Against the Land: They slandered Eretz Yisrael, calling it “a land that devours its inhabitants.”
• Against the People: Their report demoralized the nation, spreading fear and despair.
• Against God: Most profoundly, they doubted Hashem’s promise, acting as though He could not fulfill it.

The result was national paralysis. Hashem decreed that the generation who rejected the land would not enter it.

Teshuva Done Wrong

The next day, a group known as the ma’apilim tried to undo the damage. “We will go up!” they declared, ready to fight. But it was too late. They acted without Hashem’s guidance and were defeated. The lesson is clear: teshuva must come with humility, not just urgency.

Our Generation’s Response

Today, we are blessed to witness something altogether different — a slow, sincere tikkun of that ancient sin. And remarkably, it addresses all three of its dimensions:

1. Love for the Land

While the spies recoiled, today Jews across the globe are embracing Eretz Yisrael. Even amidst rockets and fear, rescue flights are full. People are desperate to return. The photo of a woman kissing the ground of Israel was not staged — it was instinctive. The Rambam writes that the Sages would kiss the dust of the land, fulfilling the verse, “For Your servants cherished her stones and loved her dust.” What was once rejected is now held close.

2. Unity of the People

The spies’ words broke the spirit of the nation. But today, we see remarkable unity. After Simchat Torah and again during Operation Rising Lion, Israelis across all divides stood as one. Political rivals speak with mutual support. One opposition leader said it best: “Today, in this war, there is no right and left — only right and wrong.”

3. Rekindling of Faith

The deepest sin was spiritual. The spies questioned God’s protection. And in the aftermath of October 7, many asked: Where was God? Yet what followed was not spiritual collapse, but renewal. Faith and prayer have reentered the public sphere — from soldiers, from leaders, from returned hostages. Just hours before Israel’s pre-emptive strike on Iran, the Prime Minister was photographed at the Kotel, wrapped in a tallit, placing a handwritten verse inside the stones:

הֶן־עָם כְּלָבִיא יָקוּם וְכַאֲרִי יִתְנַשָּׂא — “Behold, a people that rises like a lioness and lifts itself like a lion.”

The Power of This Moment

The Rambam writes that the highest form of teshuva (teshuva gemura) occurs when a person is faced with the same challenge and chooses to act differently. As a nation, we find ourselves in a great moment of teshuva gemura. The fear is still here. The threats are real. And yet, we choose to return. We choose to stay. We choose to believe.

Parshat Shelach is more than a story of failure — it is a challenge to future generations. Will we learn from the past? Will we respond with faith instead of fear?

This Shabbat, our tefillot continue — even in limited numbers. And while we may not all be gathered together in shul, we remain deeply united in spirit and in purpose.

May we merit to continue this process of teshuva, and to write a new chapter — of love for our land, of unity among our people, and of renewed faith in Hashem.

Shabbat Shalom, Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg

The Sin That Still Echoes—And the Redemption That Awaits

Parashat Shelach Lecha is one of the most pivotal and haunting portions in the Torah. It contains not only the tragic episode of the spies—the meraglim—but also four mitzvot that Chazal compare to the entire Torah: Shabbat, Tzitzit, Challah, and Yishuv Eretz Yisrael—the mitzvah to live in the Land of Israel. While each of these is powerful, one stands at the heart of our national destiny: the command to love, cherish, and settle the Land of Israel. Our member and eloquent exponent of Aliyah, Rabbi Paul Bloom, explains.

The Sin That Defined an Exile

It was on Tisha B’Av that the twelve spies returned from their mission. Ten of them, leaders and men of stature, brought a report laden with fear and negativity. They acknowledged the land’s beauty but punctuated it with one crushing word -- "But." “The people are strong… we cannot succeed.” This single word undid generations of promise. That night Bnei Yisrael wept, and Hashem declared, “You wept for nothing; I will give you weeping for generations.”

That moment—a night of baseless despair and rejection of the Promised Land—became the root of Tisha B’Av, a day that would echo with destruction through Jewish history. The sin was not only lashon hara about the land, but something deeper: a rejection of the land itself, a bizayon ha’aretz, despising the very gift Hashem had prepared for them.

Lashon Hara, Again—and Again

The Torah places the story of the spies immediately after the episode of Miriam speaking against Moshe. Rav Yisrael Ordman explains this is no coincidence. The spies should have learned from Miriam’s punishment the danger of slander. She failed to see Moshe’s unique spiritual level; the spies failed to see Eretz Yisrael’s unique spiritual status. They were not sent just to report military strategies—they were told by Moshe to look for the segulah of the land, its Divine uniqueness. But they got caught up in the mundane: the giants, the cities, the fears. They were blind to holiness.

Rav Soloveitchik offers another dimension: the spies were elite leaders who could not bear the idea of losing their status. Entering the land meant new leadership, new roles, new structures. The spies’ vision was clouded not just by fear—but by ego. They failed as sheluchim—messengers—not because they lacked information, but because they lacked bitul, the humility to carry a message that wasn’t about them.

Contrast this with the second mission, decades later. Yehoshua sends two anonymous spies to Jericho. The Torah doesn’t name them. They are “cheresh,” silent, like klei cheres—simple, humble vessels. Their report is filled with faith: “Hashem has given the land into our hands.” No fear. No ego. Just clarity.

The Eternal Sin of Despising the Land

Rav Yaakov Filber points out that the sin of the spies didn’t end in the desert. It repeated itself during the Babylonian exile. Despite Hashem's miraculous opening of the gates for return through Ezra and Nechemiah, most Jews stayed behind in the comfort of exile. They preferred their homes, their jobs, and their familiarity over the challenge—and holiness—of rebuilding life in Eretz Yisrael.

Tragically, we see the same today. The Vilna Gaon recognized this centuries ago. He urged his students to return and rebuild. One of his disciples, Rav Hillel of Shklov, wrote in Kol HaTor that many Jews in his time—especially observant ones—were still committing the sin of the spies. They rationalized their comfort in exile and denied the mitzvah of Yishuv Eretz Yisrael, despite clear Talmudic sources stating that dwelling in the Land is equal to all the mitzvot of the Torah.

Rav Yaakov Emden, in his introduction to his siddur, pleads with future generations not to settle permanently in chutz la'aretz, warning that the sin of despising the "desirable land" is the root of our eternal weeping.

A Test That Returns in Every Generation

Today, we are seeing open miracles—whether in the resilience of Israel in times of war, the unity among Jews under fire, or the blossoming of Torah and technology in a once-barren land. Yet many still view Eretz Yisrael through the lens of cynicism: bureaucracy, climate, personalities. As in the time of the meraglim, they ignore the Divine Presence, the spiritual vitality, the promise unfolding before our eyes.

We must ask: Are we repeating the sin of the spies?

Do we speak of the Land with reverence—or with lashon hara? Do we view Aliyah as a central mitzvah—or an optional inconvenience? Do we focus on the difficulties—or the destiny?

Redemption Awaits the Shift

The Mesilat Yesharim warns that kavod, the pursuit of honor, distorts perception. The spies feared loss of position. But Yehoshua’s messengers embraced their role as simple vessels. That’s the model we need today. The mitzvah of living in Eretz Yisrael is not merely a footnote—it is, as Chazal say, equal to all the mitzvot. When we embrace it with humility, with emunah, and with joy, we begin to undo the tears of Tisha B’Av. We open the door to redemption. As we approach the final stages of exile, the question is no longer whether we can return, but whether we are willing to.

Moshiach is not waiting on history. He is waiting on us.

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.

Sin and exile: a parallel narrative

Our member, rabbi and author Steven Ettinger, has turned his downtime during missile attacks to positive use by exercising his brain and his imagination to good purpose. Look what he has been thinking:

Sitting in the ma’amad with little else to do, one’s mind can wrestle with anxiety or can be distracted with something more constructive. I am choosing the latter – typing some stream of consciousness ideas about this week’s parshah, Shelach Lecha.

For some prognosticators, this is the start of World War II, an “end of the world” scenario.  So naturally, a good launching pad for my thoughts is at the very beginning. Hashem created the world with “asarah ma’amarot”, ten utterances. He completed the process by animating Adam HaRishon, the prototype human – who promptly succumbed to his evil inclination and was exiled from paradise.

Several millennia later Hashem repeated this pattern, albeit for a nation rather than for an individual. He did not create a single person but the ultimate people, Am Yisroel.  In place of ten utterances there were ten plagues. In place of seven days there were seven weeks.  There is one significant difference, however. Adam, after eating from the Tree of Knowledge, was prevented from eating from the Tree of Life. Hashem gave the Jewish Nation a tree of BOTH knowledge and life, the Torah, “eitz chaim hi.”

There is still one aspect left to discuss, the sin and the exile. In Eden, the story is succinct and clear – a well-known narrative.  The story has a beginning (“do not eat from the fruit of the tree”), a middle (the story of how they ate) ,and an end (the punishment).  There is even a villain upon whom some of the blame can be cast.

If the events of the Exodus present a parallel creation story, then where is this sin and exile narrative?

It would be tempting to answer that Am Yisrael or, more precisely, the generation that was redeemed from Egypt, was denied entry to the Land of Israel, a form of pre-exile, because of the sin of the Golden Calf. This would fit the mold precisely. They were given two interrelated commands, that they heard directly from Hashem: that He is their God and they are to have no others besides Him. They proceeded immediately to violate these directives.

This MAY have been the “sin.” However, “the consequence was NOT “exile”. Several thousand died, but there was forgiveness (“salachti ki’dvarecha”), not punishment. So perhaps the parallel narrative is to be found elsewhere, like in parashat Shelach Lecha.

In our parashah, the spies go out to see the land, they return with a bad report and the people despair. For this they are all punished and condemned to die in the desert over the next 40 years. This is their sin and exile.

However, if this truly is the “sin and exile”, if this is a continuation of our nation’s creation story: Where is the parallel narrative?  Where were they tempted? What command did they violate? Why the length of the punishment?  The answers to these questions will show us just how similar the two patterns are.

The parallel narrative is the story of the spies, with one caveat – there is one small link back to the sin of the Golden Calf. When Hashem forgave them, it was not exactly unconditional. In Ex. 32:34 He states: “u’veyom pakdi, uphakaditi alehem chatatam.” (on the day of accounting, I will call to count their sin). In other words, they may be getting a pass today. However, in the future, I will remember what they did now and the future punishment will be enhanced.

The temptation here for the nation, their protagonist, is the spies. Like the nachash in the Creation story, they present themselves as good guys.  They show concern for the nation.  But they, literally, are snakes in the grass.

The command they violated was based on Hashem’s concession to Moshe, “shelach lecha” (“send for yourself”).  Hashem in this instance delegated to Moshe the authority to “command” a task.  Moshe provided the meraglim with a specific set of instructions in order to enable Am Yisrael to immediately thereafter enter the Land of Israel, without any further delay.

 Moshe had been their leader for a little over two years. He had not only led them out of Egypt, performing many miracles, and twice delivered the Torah, but he defended them from destruction after the sin of the Golden Calf. How could they pervert his command and then rebel against him? THIS was the violation of God’s command – not following the letter and spirit of Moshe’s directives. The consequences of their actions were so fatal that Moshe himself would never enter Eretz Yisroel!

The length of the punishment is forty years. Moshe defended them for forty days; Hashem even offered to destroy the Jewish People and start again with Moshe as the progenitor. Forty years, the period necessary to eliminate this entire generation, was the required consequence. This is more than paying mere lip service to the concept of measure for measure, this defines justice.

We cannot ever presume to understand Hashem’s plans and actions in this world. But, looking back, we can sometimes discern patterns. There was a pattern in the creation of Man and we can see a similar pattern in the creation of our nation. Great tragedies have befallen our nation and out of the ashes we have experienced a great re-birth and many, many miracles.

So we sit in our shelters, seeing the Hand of Hashem revealed minute by minute. When we look back, perhaps in a mere few days from now, we might well find that we witnessed Hashem completing the pattern of His third and final creation -- not the creation of  Adam HaRishon -- the prototypical man or the creation of Am Yisrael – the ultimate people, but the creation of Yemot HaMashiach – the purpose for all existence.

The seductive sway of self-interest: Shelach Lecha 5784

This week’s parsha raises the age-old issue of human behavior: altruism versus personal interest. While we all pay lip service to the ideal of altruism when dealing with public affairs and the general good , we all remain human beings at heart and the Talmud long ago posited that “a human being is first and foremost closest and prejudiced in favor of one’s own self-interest".

 The conflict between the general good of the many and the private benefit of the few—or even of a single individual—is the stuff of politics, government, power and influence. Throughout history this it has been a core element in human existence. Our sense of rectitude and our consciences are constantly buffeted by self-interest and personal factors. We are born as selfish grasping individuals, and the challenges in life that follow all revolve about our ability to recognize and modify this basic human instinct.

 One may say that all the commandments of the Torah come to enable us to counter this primal instinct. This is what the rabbis meant when they taught us that the “evil instinct”—our innate selfishness—is with us from our first breath on this earth. The struggle to include others—family, community, fellow Jews and human beings generally—within our worldview is the story of our lives.

 The Torah recognizes Avraham’s victory in this struggle and it is he, above all others, who is seen as our father and role model, the founder of God’s people.

 One of the explanations offered by the commentators to the negative behavior and damning report regarding the Land of Israel is that the spies, who were the leaders of their tribes, were aware that, when the Jews entered the Land of Israel, new leaders were to be chosen and that they were at risk of losing their titles and positions of power and influence. This awareness preyed upon their minds and prejudiced their view of the Land of Israel.  

They valued their personal interests in a manner that overwhelmed their view of the general good of the people they were supposed to serve. This has always been a problem for communal leadership, when hubris and self-service dominate the sight of the leadership so that one is unable to distinguish between public good and private interest.

 Even worse, many times the private interest of the leader is disguised as the public good. Dictators have always stated that “I am the state!” The great prophet Shmuel is characterized in the same category as Moshe and Aharon because of his selflessness in leading the Jewish people. The tragedy of the spies, and of the Jewish people of that generation generally, is this inability to rise over personal interests and view the general picture of Jewish destiny and accomplishment.

 Like many leaders blinded by their own agendas, the spies soon descended into falsehoods and slander to make their case. The tragedy in cases such as this is that the people often follow this flawed leadership, bringing calamity upon one and all. We should always be wary of the true motives of those who profess to lead us for the alleged public good.

  Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein