Sefirat HaOmer and God’s Sapphire: The Journey from Story to Splendor

Here, citing a shiur which he heard from Rabbi Kimche, Rabbi Paul Bloom tells of a transformative path that leads from Pesach to Shavuot, via the counting of the days of the Omer.

In Psalm 90, Moshe Rabbeinu beseeches God: "Limnot yameinu kein hoda, v'navi l'vav chochma" – “Teach us to number our days, so that we may gain a heart of wisdom.” There is profound depth in this seemingly simple request. What does it truly mean to "number our days"? Why is it considered the path to wisdom?

One mitzvah in particular embodies this principle: Sefirat HaOmer, the counting of the Omer. Spanning from Pesach to Shavuot, these 49 days are far more than a calendar transition. They represent a spiritual journey—an ascent from redemption to revelation, from physical freedom to spiritual fulfillment.

This transformative path is echoed in one of Judaism’s most ancient mystical texts, the Sefer Yetzirah. Older even than the Zohar, this enigmatic work is traditionally attributed to Avraham Avinu and is referenced in the Zohar itself. Though deeply cryptic in its language, Sefer Yetzirah opens with a powerful conceptual triad that illuminates the Omer journey: Sefer (book), Sippur (story), and Sefirah (counting)—all rooted in the same Hebrew letters.

Sefer – The Book

The Torah is not only a legal or spiritual code; it is a book, a sefer, in the deepest sense. It is the foundational narrative of the Jewish people. As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks z”l so eloquently described in A Letter in the Scroll, every Jew is a letter in that sacred book. We are not isolated individuals but part of an eternal story—one that began at Bereishit and continues through each of us. The sefer gives us identity and continuity. It anchors us to our people and our purpose.

Sippur – The Story

From Sefer emerges Sippur—the telling of the story. This is especially evident on Leil HaSeder, when we recount the Exodus in vivid detail. Telling the story isn’t just educational; it is existential. When we tell our story, we realize we are in the story. The narrative of Am Yisrael is our own narrative. It gives our lives context, dignity, and direction.

Sefirah – The Counting

Next comes Sefirah, the act of counting. The Omer count is not a mere tally of days. It reflects a growth mindset, a structure of spiritual development. The process transforms us. Unlike those who wander through life aimlessly—like slaves who cannot distinguish one day from the next—those who count their days live with intention. They know they are moving somewhere.

Each of the 49 days corresponds to a particular spiritual attribute (midah) in the Kabbalistic system: from chesed (kindness) to gevurah (strength), tiferet (beauty), and beyond. The count is a ladder of refinement, preparing us for the ultimate gift: Kabbalat HaTorah.

Sapir – The Sapphire

The culmination of this journey is Shavuot, the day we stood at Sinai. In that awe-inspiring moment of revelation, the prophet Yechezkel beheld a mystical vision of God’s throne: "Ke’mar’eh even sapir"—"like the appearance of sapphire stone" (Yechezkel 1:26). This brilliant sapphire represents radiance, divine clarity, and transcendent beauty. It is the ultimate vision of godliness, the destination of our spiritual ascent.

Here lies the symmetry: from sippur to sefirah to sapir. The sefer gives us our story, the sippur allows us to own it, the sefirah guides our daily growth, and the sapir is the sublime presence of God revealed at Sinai.

Conclusion

To count our days is to give them meaning. To live in time is to live with purpose. From the story of our past, through the structure of our days, to the divine radiance of revelation—we journey through Sippur, Sefirah, and ultimately Sapir.

As we count the Omer, let us remember: we are letters in the book, voices in the story, and seekers of the Sapphire.

How our holidays teach us history: Emor 5785

The Torah reading this week includes a review of the holidays of the Jewish calendar. The list of holidays is recited several times in the Torah. We find it in the book of Shemot and again in the books of Bamidbar and Devarim, as well as here in our reading in the book of Vayikra. Since there are no needless repetitions in the holy text of the Torah, commentators over the ages have offered many varied explanations as to why this calendar is repeated.

A closer examination of the context and background to each of these holiday listings can offer us an insight and historical overview as to the import of the regular festive seasons of the Jewish people. In each place where the Torah outlines these occasions, a specific textual background is affiliated with it. There is no mere repetition of the same ideas. Rather, they offer us an indication of the multilayered nuances that these special days seek to impart to the Jewish people throughout its history. Each reference to the holidays contains a particular message for a particular event that occurred, or will occur, during the long saga of the Jewish story. It is an understanding of this alliance of text and historical overview that makes these portions of the Torah so important and relevant to us, more than three millennia after they were written down for us by our teacher Moses.

But the context of these festivals is also relevant according to the personal lives and experiences of its celebrants. In this week's reading, the holidays are attributed to the commemorations and celebration of specific historical events once the Jewish people reside in the land of Israel. There are agricultural innovations and references to seasonal climate that place these holidays in a geographical context. The Jewish people have a natural existence only when they are in the land of Israel. Accordingly, even though the Torah’s first reference to them allows us to celebrate the holidays no matter where we live and no matter what time-frame we are consigned to, this second reference in our reading places it within the framework of the Jewish people as inhabitants of the land of Israel, attached to its land and its traditions.

We also read of the Torah holidays in the book of Bemidbar. There, the backdrop relates to the offerings of the particular sacrifices in the Temple that were to be brought upon the date of each holiday. This reading concentrates on the Temple service associated with each festival, and not necessarily with the reason for its existence in the first place. The final reference in the book of Devarim seems to sum up all the previous references: its backdrop is the Temple, the land of Israel and the explanation of the days on which each holiday is to be commemorated. Thus, the combination of all these references makes our calendar eternal and valid in all places and for all times and allows us to celebrate the commandments that the festivals bring with them in joy and good purpose.

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

Judging by appearances

 Continuing our series of erev Shabbat Pirkei Avot posts on the perek of the week, we now turn to a mishnah from Perek 4.

Judging by appearances—it’s something we all do. But should we? Rabbi Meir forces us to consider if we should, at Avot 4:27:

אַל תִּסְתַּכֵּל בְּקַנְקַן, אֶלָּא בְּמַה שֶּׁיֶּשׁ בּוֹ, יֵשׁ קַנְקַן חָדָשׁ מָלֵא יָשָׁן, וְיָשָׁן שֶׁאֲפִילוּ חָדָשׁ אֵין בּוֹ

Don’t look at the vessel, but at what’s inside it. There are new vessels that are filled with old wine, and old vessels that don’t contain even new wine.

Rabbi Meir is not merely talking about wine. He is referring to every occasion on which we let ourselves be guided by superficial impressions. But is he being realistic?

We live in a world where appearances are important. If a person wears a police uniform or a soldier, we immediately determine that person’s role and, often, their rank or status. We assume that charedi garb or hippie get-up are measures of their wearer’s religious or cultural preferences. Daniel Kahneman (Thinking, Fast and Slow) argues that reliance on these snap assessments is the only way to navigate life in a world such as ours which is laden with messages and constantly changing situations.

But Rabbi Meir enjoys support too. The popular rock number by Bo Diddley, “You can’t judge a book by the cover”, has been performed or recorded on countless occasions by artistes as distinguished as The Rolling Stones since its release in 1962. Another song, “The cover is not the book”, is known to a new generation of children following the release of the “Mary Poppins” movie in 2018. Going back to earlier times, Rambam summarises (Mishneh Torah, Hilchot De’ot 5:9) the way a Torah scholar should appear in public, raising the implication that anyone who confirms to these norms will be judged as one.

Taking things at face value is an impressively powerful marketing tool. Toothpastes, for example, never seem to deliver the same set of sparkling white teeth as the model who appears on the promotional material. But that is only a fraction of the reality with which we live. Who has not purchased a large packet of breakfast cereal or a bloated bag of so-called artisan chips/crisps, only to find that much of it is empty? Or, in the world of pascal gastronomy, bought a manufactured product bearing a label that proclaims kasher lePesach in large print and the words le’ochlei kitniyot in print so small you need a microscope to read it. We do judge the container, but the product can so easily let us down.

There is another aspect to judging by appearance, a rather more sinister one. At many junctures in the long, hard history of Jewish life in the Diaspora, we have been required to wear distinctive and sometimes deliberately degrading clothes or badges so that non-Jews can instantly and without inquiry ascertain our religious status. Can we learn anything from this? Perhaps we can say that, just as we can’t judge wine by looking at the vessel (or, in modern parlance, by reading the label on the bottle), we should not impose external appearances on others where the effect is to humiliate them or to deny their individuality.

The day we stopped dying

Here's a piece written a while back by Rabbi Berel Wein but which remains of timeless relevance.

The thirty third day of the counting of the sefirah between Pesach and Shavuot has become, by Jewish tradition, a minor holiday on our yearly calendar. The origin of this day of commemoration lies in the Talmud’s reference to it being the day when the disciples of Rabbi Akiva stopped dying. Most commentators interpret this to mean that the deadly plague that afflicted thousands of disciples of Rabbi Akiva had run its course and abated after the thirty-third day of counting the Omer. 

Some hold that this may refer to the participation of Rabbi Akiva and his disciples in the revolt of Bar Kochba against Roman oppression and that these thousands of disciples were killed by the Romans during and after the failed rebellion. However, we will view the actual origin of this day of muted celebration as it is now, having morphed into something entirely different through the addition of Jewish customs adopted over the ages. 

Today hundreds of thousands  of people have made pilgrimages to Meron, the grave of Rabbi Shimon ben Yochai. Then there are the lighting of bonfires, parades for children and adults, weddings, music and entertainment and a relief from the tension that the earlier days of the Omer carry with them. 

Yet after all of the layers of trappings and customs of this day are accounted for, Lag B’Omer stands out starkly as commemorating a day when Jews stopped dying. The death of millions of Jews throughout our history seems be such a common occurrence that we manage to take comfort from celebrating the day when this dying stopped. To my knowledge there is no such comparable day of commemoration in any other faith.  

The Talmud offers us the insight that, even among the great disciples of Rabi Akiva, there was a lack of mutual respect one for the other. We are often reluctant to legitimize another’s opinions and viewpoints. We feel somehow threatened or demeaned by people who hold beliefs and opinions contrary to our own. This gives rise to eventual tragedy in Jewish life, as the Talmud points out regarding Rabi Akiva’s disciples.

Just as this is true regarding life within the Jewish community, as exemplified by the story of the disciples of Rabi Akiva, so too is it applicable to the relationship of the general world towards Judaism and Jews both currently and throughout the ages. The world begrudges us even a modicum of respect; we are perceived as being the most nonconformist of all faiths and peoples—and therefore the most threatening. 

Eventually this lack of respect cumulatively builds to the concerted attempt to deal with this nonconforming people in a violent fashion. We state in the Pesach Haggadah that this remains an ongoing situation in Jewish relations with the rest of the world. In every generation there exist those that wish to eliminate us completely and yet somehow, with God’s help, we survive, bloodied but unbowed. 

So this people that lives under the constant, indeed omnipresent, threat of annihilation will mark on its calendar as a special day, a day when Jews stopped dying. It is not much of a stretch of the imagination from not giving basic respect to others to finally demonizing them and wishing to destroy them root and branch. Just as the fires of Lag B’Omer consume the wood gathered for the bonfire, so too does the lack of basic human respect of each one for the other consume the lives of many innocent people.     

Lag B’Omer thus comes to redirect our moral and social compass to allow us to respect those that are different than from us. We certainly need not agree with those who we believe to have wrong ideas, ideals and policies. We are also certainly not bidden to “turn the other cheek”. But unnecessary divisiveness and callous disrespect for others, an inability to honor those that somehow differ with us, are a sure-fire recipe for future disaster and tragedy. 

I feel that this is the basic underlying message of Lag B’Omer: in commemorating the day when Jews stopped dying almost nineteen centuries ago, we are to internalize the message of what happens when we do not give honor one to another. 

The commemoration of Lag B’Omer this year, as in many years in the past as well, is clouded by threats and dangers directed against us. But we believe that there will again be a day when Jews will stop dying and that day will be hastened by a better social comity of mutual respect given by one Jew to another.

A second bite at the cherry: Pesach Sheni

The following is a vintage piece by Rabbi Wein, drawn from the Destiny Foundation's archives. We are delighted to share it with you.

A truly unique and exceptional idea is embedded in the commemoration of Pesach Sheni. The Torah generally provides no opportunities to make up for what one has missed. One cannot fulfill the commandments of shofar or lulav at any other time except those set aside for those commandments in the month of Tishrei. Yet here, regarding the Pesach offering, complete with the commandments of matzah and maror, the Torah provides that if, under certain circumstances, one was unable to fulfill those commandments in the month of Nissan, it was still possible to do so in the month of Iyar. 

There are many ramifications to understanding this exceptional situation. If one was ritually impure or was too distant from Jerusalem to perform the commandment in the month of Nissan, the Torah provides an  opportunity to fulfill this obligation a month later. Since the holiday and commandments of Pesach are inextricably associated with the general concept of the redemption of Israel from exile and persecution, the ramifications of the laws regarding Pesach Sheni have special relevance and importance in Jewish history, even when a fully operational Temple no longer stands in Jerusalem. 

There is an immediacy associated with this concept and that immediacy perhaps has even greater relevance and insight for our present time and national circumstances. For, in effect, our generations have been granted another opportunity to rebuild the Jewish people in the Jewish homeland. If we were unsuccessful, as apparently we previously were, or that earlier Jewish generations lacked or did not take the opportunity to return to the land of Israel, we their descendants have certainly been granted that ‘do-over’, a make-up opportunity that Pesach Sheni represents. We will be charged as to what we did or did not do with this opportunity and situation. 

Over the centuries many opportunities for Jewish settlement in the land of Israel were ignored or even aborted by the Jewish people themselves. There were many historical and even religious reasons for this behavior. But the main reason was that they felt themselves to be impure and unworthy of success in such a momentous endeavor. They were also physically very far away from Jerusalem, a city mostly desolated and physically unattractive, dominated by foreign faiths and by rulers who were not particularly friendly towards any sort of Jewish presence within their domain. 

So the idea of redemption, national revival and the return to the land of Israel was, in practical terms, placed on the back burner of Jewish life. The very idea of a messianic redemption served to postpone if not even negate any action on the part of the Jewish people themselves in returning and rebuilding themselves as a nation in their ancient homeland. 

The messianic idea of a supernatural person who would rectify all wrongs and overcome all problems in an instant became a legendary truth amongst the people of Israel. Because of this we have suffered from false messianism, which allowed both charlatans and other, more well-meaning individuals to claim that they had the keys of redemption in their hands. For nineteen centuries the Jewish people dreamt of Jerusalem, but dreams by themselves are no substitute for actual progress. 

The state of Israel as it is presently constituted, after 77 years of its existence and success, is a national illustration of the idea of redemption as expressed in the concept of Pesach Sheni. This time, against all odds, predictions, religious sentiments and political experts, the Jewish state arose after thousands of years of exile and persecution. And it did so in a completely unpredictable and perhaps very uncomfortable manner. It was headed by Jews whose loyalty to Torah and Jewish tradition was questionable and sometimes not apparent. It had with it many moments of matzah and maror—disputes, violence, half-baked ideas and no shortage of enemies both from within and from without. Yet it has weathered these storms and the miracle of the ingathering of the exiles has occurred before our eyes, just as the ancient prophets of Israel stated that it would. 

The challenge before all of us is how to deal with this opportunity that the Lord has granted us in an intelligent, realistic and faithful manner. We will have to admit to ourselves and perhaps even publicly that the ways of the Lord are not discernible to us and that it is arrogant for us to think that the One Above must somehow conform to our preset ideas and imagined processes. We are living in an era of Pesach Sheni.

Two goats, one truth

The two goats sacrificed on Yom Kippur are a phenomenon with which we are familiar. But what can their sacrifice teach us? What lies behind the Torah narrative. Here Hanassi member Rabbi Paul Bloom takes a deeper look.

Two Goats, One Truth: Lessons from Parashat Acharei Mot

This week’s Torah reading presents a rich overlap: Acharei Mot and Kedoshim are often read together in a non-leap year, creating an expansive canvas of mitzvot and spiritual lessons. I’d like to focus on a fascinating insight from Acharei Mot.

The Yom Kippur Service—And a Hidden Revelation

Acharei Mot describes the dramatic Yom Kippur service performed by the Kohen Gadol (High Priest). Central to this service is his entry into the Kodesh HaKodashim, the Holy of Holies, a moment that embodies the deepest mysteries of atonement for the Jewish people.

An illuminating comment by the Vilna Gaon reveals something subtle yet profound. Although we instinctively associate this passage with Yom Kippur, the Torah only mentions Yom Kippur explicitly after describing the ritual. The verses describe Aaron’s entry into the Holy of Holies in great detail—yet only conclude by saying "And this shall be the service of Yom Kippur for all generations."

The Vilna Gaon explains: During the 40 years in the wilderness, Aaron HaKohen was permitted to enter the Kodesh HaKodashim on any day of the year—as long as he performed the full ritual described. It was only for subsequent generations that this service became limited to Yom Kippur.

Some commentators tie this exceptional status to Aaron’s unique character as a relentless pursuer of peace. His personal sanctity was so elevated that every day of his service bore the holiness of Yom Kippur. This insight, once noticed, becomes strikingly clear from the text—and reminds us of the immense spiritual power of the individual tzaddik.

The Scapegoat: The Most Potent Act of Atonement

Among the numerous Yom Kippur rituals, one might assume that the climax is the Kohen Gadol’s entry into the Holy of Holies. Yet the Sages teach otherwise. The most powerful act of atonement does not occur within the sacred confines of the Temple at all—but rather through the mysterious ritual of the two goats.

The Torah instructs that two identical goats—matching in appearance, size, and age—are brought before the Kohen Gadol. Lots are drawn: one goat is designated "for God" and is sacrificed in the Temple, while the other is sent into the wilderness—La’Azazel. This second goat is led far from the city and ultimately pushed off a cliff, bearing, as the Torah describes, the sins of the Jewish people.This raises profound theological questions. What is the meaning of sending a goat to what seems to be a demonic force? Isn’t that dangerously close to idolatry? Indeed, Chazal themselves seem uneasy with this and often refer to it not as La’Azazel but rather as the Se’ir HaMishtale’ach—the goat that is simply "sent away."

Ramban’s Kabbalistic Lens

The Ramban, a great mystic, addresses the symbolism directly. He explains that the goat to Azazel is a kind of bribe to the Satan. Using a vivid metaphor: imagine trying to enter the king’s palace while ferocious guard dogs threaten to attack. To gain entry, you distract them with a juicy steak, allowing you safe passage to the king.So too, says the Ramban, the Se’ir La’Azazel distracts the prosecuting angels—the cosmic forces that aim to obstruct our atonement. By "feeding" them this goat, we gain unimpeded access to divine forgiveness.

Rav Dessler’s Psychological Reading

Rav Dessler offers a brilliant psychological interpretation of this mystical idea. He points to a mitzvah in the Torah: when besieging a city in war, we are commanded to leave an escape route. The reason? When enemies feel cornered, they fight with desperate ferocity; an escape option calms their defense.

Similarly, the Yetzer Hara—our inner negative drive—fights hardest when it feels totally eradicated. If a person declares, "I will never speak lashon hara (gossip) again," the inner resistance becomes overwhelming. But if one says, "Today, until noon, I will refrain," the challenge feels manageable, and over time, true transformation can take root.

The scapegoat, then, symbolizes the wisdom of gradual growth and concessions—psychologically "bribing" the Yetzer Hara to step aside as we strengthen our spiritual muscles.

Rav Hirsch: The Illusion of Freedom

Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch adds yet another dimension. Imagine the scene from the goats’ perspective: the goat for God is swiftly slaughtered and offered in sacred service, while the Azazel goat embarks on what seems like a carefree journey into the wilderness. To the unknowing eye, the latter appears "free" and unburdened.

Yet the end is stark: the goat to Azazel meets a destructive fate, while the other achieves sanctity and purpose. Rav Hirsch explains that this teaches a crucial life lesson. A life committed to God may seem restrictive at first glance, but it leads to profound connection and holiness. In contrast, a life of apparent freedom—disconnected from higher purpose—ultimately ends in emptiness and ruin.

The dual readings of Acharei Mot and Kedoshim remind us that holiness is found not only in ritual but in the way we live every day. The mysterious goats of Yom Kippur symbolize deep truths: the power of incremental growth, the importance of seeing beyond short-term illusions, and the ultimate goal of aligning ourselves with God’s will.

May we internalize these lessons—finding strength in gradual spiritual progress and seeking true freedom through commitment and purpose.

Responding to tragedy: Acharei Mot-Kedoshim 5785

Usually, a person’s reaction to defeat and tragedy is the true defining moment of one’s inner strength and faith. Aharon’s silence in the face of the loss of his two older sons is reckoned in Jewish tradition as an act of nobility and sublime acceptance of the unfathomable judgment of Heaven. Contrast Aharon’s reaction with that of Iyov to his troubles and tragedies. Iyov has a great deal to say, to complain against, to bitterly question and to debate almost endlessly with his companions and visitors as to the unfairness of what has befallen him.

To the human eye, we are all aware that life and its events are often unfair. I know of no one who has successfully “explained” the Holocaust. So it seems that we are faced with two diametrically opposed choices as to the proper response to mindless fate and tragedy. Do we remain mute—or do we rail against the cruel, harsh fate that has brought misfortune to us? 

The Torah does not appear to resolve this dilemma for us. it apparently even contradicts itself regarding this continually recurring facet of human existence. Yet the Torah and all the books that it contains are a single, seamless whole. The seeming contradictions lie within us and not within its holy words and exalted ideas. We are brought to study this matter with greater introspection and less pre-judgment and personal bias. 

I think that the Torah means to teach us that there is no one correct, one-size-fits-all response to the failures and tragedies of life. Aharon is correct in his response to inexplicable tragedy and so is Iyov. King Solomon correctly noted that there is a time for silence and a time for speech. So too there are people for whom silence is the proper response to tragedy while there are others who must give vent to their feelings of grief and frustration through words, debate and even complaint. In most instances the rabbis of the Talmud voted for silence over speech, and for acceptance of one’s fate over complaint and public debate. Yet the rabbis did not exclude the book of Iyov from the biblical canon of holy books. In that act of inclusion, they allowed for varying degrees of response to troubles and travail. 

So Iyov also has a place in the pantheon of heroic human views regarding tragic events. Within limits and with a faith-based attitude one can question and complain, express bewilderment and even demand answers. But, deep down, all humans understand that they cannot fathom Heaven’s wisdom, or the decisions and the individual fate that are visited upon them. Thus the death of Aharon’s sons serves as a template for life, a lesson for all of us. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein  

Playing out our role

 Continuing our series of pre-Shabbat Pirkei Avot posts on the perek of the week, we now turn to Perek 3.

Rabbi Akiva is universally acknowledged in the Jewish world as one of our greatest and most influential scholars. He is also the most prominent contributor to this week’s Perek, providing four of its 23 mishnayot. We are fortunate that so much of his learning has been preserved for us in the Mishnah and Talmud—but unfortunate in that we no longer have a full understanding and appreciation of his teachings.

An example of this is the three-part mishnah of Avot 3:19:

הַכֹּל צָפוּי, וְהָרְשׁוּת נְתוּנָה, וּבְטוֹב הָעוֹלָם נִדּוֹן, וְהַכֹּל לְפִי רוֹב הַמַּעֲשֶׂה

Everything is foreseen, but freedom of choice is granted. The world is judged in goodness, and everything is in accordance with the majority of the action.

The first part of this teaching is a conundrum, but at least we can see that it is so: the notion that we have absolute freedom to do what we want cannot be conveniently reconciled with God’s knowing in advance that this is exactly what we are going to do; Rambam tells us—as if we could not see for ourselves—that the way this works is beyond human comprehension. The second part can be comprehended as a proposition, but we have no indication as to what it means in cosmic terms or in our daily lives. The third part demands some sort of explanation because its meaning lies beyond us. Knowing Rabbi Akiva as we do, we appreciate that deep meaning lies locked away within his words—but we have lost the key.

The first thing we must understand is that Rabbi Akiva was not an ordinary thinker and it is difficult for us to put ourselves into his mind-frame or into his historical context as a Jewish scholar and revolutionary at a time of Roman oppression. The second thing we have to understand is that, when he says something we cannot immediately understand, it is our task to work at it and try to give it some meaning. If you or I were to declare “The world is like an apricot”, no-one would take us seriously and we would be accounted fools or comedians. However, if a sage like Rabbi Akiva were to say the same thing, our respect for him would demand that we seek a meaning in his words even if it is not immediately apparent.

 This week’s mishnah has generated volumes of learned commentary, much of which Rabbi Akiva might have found quite surprising. Rabbi Yehudah HaNasi chose to include this teaching in Avot even though Rabbi Akiva said many things that are apparently more relevant (for example that “love your neighbour like yourself” is the great general principle of the Torah). From this we may infer that this mishnah says something about our role as humans. Even so, many explanations seemingly turn on global considerations and do not appear to address the individual at all. Be that as it may, each generation looks carefully at Rabbi Akiva’s words and we too engage in this task. If we cannot pull his meaning out of it, we can at least attempt to breathe meaning into it.

So this Shabbat let us ask ourselves: “What does this mishnah say with regard to our role as individuals in a social context? How can it improve us or aid us in the various roles we are required to fulfil?”

Is Mashiach Waiting for Us to Come Home?

 Is Mashiach Waiting for Us to Come Home? This is the big question that our member Rabbi Paul Bloom poses powerfully in the following piece, which was first published last week in Jewish Link. Please feel welcome to send a link to this article to any family and friends you may have back in the "Old Country" -- whichever it may be --and encourage them to take up the rewarding challenge of making Aliyah.

We have just experienced our redemption from Egypt: we experienced the splitting of the Red Sea and the singing of the Shira. The Redemption of Egypt is the prototype for our final redemption. We have seen many signs over the past 77 years that indicate that we are approaching the final redemption, but why aren’t we there yet?

Is Mashiach Waiting for Us?

In Siach Nechama, Rabbi Chaim Kanievsky wrote that the Mashiach is alive and already with us—and that the redemption is fully prepared. It will come the moment Am Yisrael merits it.That was several years ago. So why hasn’t the Mashiach revealed himself yet?

Over the past 18 months, Hashem has shown us open miracles. Hundreds of Iranian and Houthi missiles have failed to cause significant harm. Countless personal miracles have taken place across Israel. A spiritual awakening is underway—Jews are returning to mitzvot, putting on tefillin, wearing tzitzit, keeping Shabbat. Torah learning is booming throughout the Diaspora.

And still, no redemption.

The Rambam gives us a clear sign of Mashiach’s approach:

“The very sign that Mashiach is on the way is when Jews from all over the Diaspora make Aliyah” (Laws of Kings, 11:1).

The Voices of Our Gedolim

Rav Yitzchok Breuer said: “It was Hashem who exiled us—but it was our sins that distanced us from our Land. The distancing was our own doing.”

Rav Yosef Chaim Sonnenfeld taught: “Anyone who has the ability to come to Eretz Yisrael and does not will have to account for it in the World to Come.”

Rabbi Shlomo Aviner observed:
 “People don’t make Aliyah because they are in love with the exile and don’t want to give it up. Rabbis must make Aliyah a central part of Jewish education.”

But It's a Big Decision...

Of course it is. Aliyah affects your entire family—career, finances, education, comfort zones. But many of the common objections are less overwhelming than they seem. Here are a few, with some perspectives:

“I have a great job in America.”

Israel has a booming economy—4th strongest in the world. Salaries may be lower, but healthcare and education are much more affordable. Many jobs are now remote or in-demand in Israel.

“My elderly parents need me.”

 This is a real concern—but Israel is one of the most elderly-friendly countries in the world, with better healthcare, higher life expectancy, and deep cultural respect for seniors.

“My children are too old to adapt.”

 Yes, transitions are tough between ages 7–16. But today there are Anglo-focused schools, youth programs, and strong support systems to help your kids thrive.

“I love American culture.”

 So much of American culture—innovation, individuality, creativity—is also thriving in Israel. You may miss some things, but you'll find plenty of cultural vibrancy in return.

“My children/grandchildren are here.”

 True, it’s hard. But many olim report that they spend more meaningful time with family post-Aliyah, because visits are more intentional and focused.

“The cost of living is too high.”

 Prices are rising everywhere—but competition in Israel is increasing, and the savings on healthcare and tuition are major. Financial planning makes a big difference.

“I don’t speak Hebrew.”

 English is widely spoken, especially in Anglo communities. There’s Ulpan, Nefesh B’Nefesh programs, and plenty of people willing to help.

“I’m afraid of change.”

 We’ve all faced big changes—marriage, moving, new jobs. Change is hard, but it’s often the door to growth.

“My Rabbi isn’t going.”

 Many American rabbis stay to support those still in the Diaspora. But a large number do make Aliyah after retirement.

“I don’t like the Israeli government.”

 Governments change. Over half the members of the Knesset are Shomrei Shabbat. The best way to have a voice in Israel’s future is to live there and vote.

Other Objections?

You enjoy two-day Yom Tov? You want more time to "get mitzvot right" first? Florida is warmer? We all have rationalizations. But they deserve honest reflection.

The Bottom Line

Yes, making Aliyah is a major decision. It deserves serious thought. But don’t let fear, comfort, or misinformation be your guide. Research. Ask questions. Listen to the Gedolim. Look at what’s unfolding in our world.

We pray every day to return to Zion. Hashem is showing us the door. Will we walk through it?

So, when you meet that “Aliyah zealot,” remember: they may just be holding up a mirror. Take a moment to ask—what’s really holding me back?

Because Mashiach is already here.  He’s just waiting for you to come home.

A Brivele der Mamen

The Hanassi Blog does not usually carry reports on what happens at our weekly se’udah shelishit—but last week’s was different. It was sponsored by Geoffrey Gilbert in memory of his mother, for whom he has yahrzeit this week, and Geoffrey’s words so touched Pessy Krausz that she sat down after Shabbat and wrote her recollection of Geoffrey’s words. We share them with you here: 

Many readers may have heard the Yiddish song A Brivele der Mamen (A Little Letter to Mama) written in 1938, describing a mother’s pain when her son, who left Poland for America, forgets to write a letter to the mother he left behind. Last Shabbat, when Geoffrey Gilbert, who together with his wife Judy, sponsored se’udah shelishit, the very reverse was true. 

In his usual low-key gentle tones Geoffrey proceeded to explain about his grandma, who lived to the remarkable age of 103; she only visited Israel once in her life but returned to England with a small bag of its holy soil which she requested to be buried with her. He then told us of his mother, who came to be in their family home in London for the last 20 years of her life until she passed on aged 97. 

With a small gesture Geoffrey opened the ruby red Chumash in front of him, drawing out a pure white page. You could hear the proverbial pin drop as he unfolded it, explaining that throughout the years his mother, and in his lifetime his father also, had read the weekly portion from it. It was to her dear son that she entrusted this precious volume in the knowledge that he would treasure and use it too. 

Geoffrey’s mother’s words created a lump in our throats—but more was to come. Geoffrey had dedicated this evening not only to the memory of his beloved mother, but to the one who had so lovingly looked after his mother throughout those years. His wife Judy! It seems that Geoffrey’s mother also appreciated Judy—and enjoyed playing her part in looking after their children and feeding them: he might get a phone call to his surgery and, when this skilled orthodontist was told “Your mother is on the phone!”, being a most devoted son, he would take the call, only to be told “Geoffrey, it’s pasta night. Take Judy out!” 

Ending with his thoughts on this week’s Torah portion, Geoffrey focused on the word “Achuzah” (אחוזה, a special portion), as Israel is described. He mentioned how, if we are not deserving, the land will throw us out. On the other hand. we must strive to be worthy of it and cherish it. Obviously both Geoffrey (Gershon Yitzchak) and Judy (Gittel) have done just that. Though neither like to be in the spotlight, they have lit up the Hanassi community with their thoughtful sponsorships and by running events on many occasions, not least by being among those who created a memorable Shul breakfast celebration to mark Israel's 77th birthday. 

Mother would have been proud of both of you! Her memory is indeed for a blessing. 

If you’ve not heard A Brivele der Mamen, you can listen to it here. 

When imagination is the mother of invention: Tazria-Metzora 5785

This week’s double parashah presents to us a difficult set of rituals regarding a type of disease that evinces physical manifestations. The rabbis associated this disease with the sins of improper speech and personal slander. We no longer have any real knowledge of the disease, its true appearances and effects, its quarantine period and the healing process that restored people to their community and society. The ritual laws of purity and impurity no longer apply in our post-Temple society and, since the Babylonian Talmud offers no specific analysis of these laws, they are not subject to the usual intensive scholarship and study that pertain, for instance, to the laws of money and torts in the Talmud. 

In the nineteenth century a great and learned Chasidic rebbe composed a “Talmud” regarding the laws of purity and impurity. This feat of erudition however met with criticism from other scholars, remaining controversial and largely ignored in modern yeshivot and the world of scholarship. Accordingly this topic remains mysterious and relatively inexplicable to us. When these two parshiyot occur together, as they do this year and in most years, the question of their relevance becomes even more acute and perplexing.

The Torah, which always challenges us to understand it, retains its inscrutability. And perhaps this is the message of the Torah to us. There is a world that is beyond our earthly eyes and rational vision. Modern man dreams of space aliens and universes other than the one we inhabit. An almost innate sense pervades us that there is more to creation than what we sense and feel. It fuels our individual drive to immortality, our dreams and imaginations, and it allows us to think creatively and to invent.

There is a popular saying that necessity is the mother of invention. I do not feel that this is so. Imagination is the mother of invention. There was no real necessity for the astonishing advances in technology that our past century has witnessed, but people who lived in a place beyond our own real world imagined the computer, the wireless phone and the internet. This capacity to deal with an unseen universe and bring it to fruition is one of the great traits of the human mind.

The Torah indicates to us the existence of an intangible world, a world of purity and impurity, of holiness and of the human quest for attachment to the Creator of all worlds. Even though our mindsets do not quite relate to this concept, the Torah wishes us to realize that such a world does exist beyond our limited human vision. And that is a very important and essential lesson in life. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein      

Getting paid the going rate

 Continuing our series of pre-Shabbat posts on the perek of the week, we now turn to Avot Perek 2.

The mishnah in Avot that was most frequently cited online last year is taught by Rabbi Tarfon (Avot 2:21):

לֹא עָלֶֽיךָ הַמְּלָאכָה לִגְמוֹר, וְלֹא אַתָּה בֶן חוֹרִין לְהִבָּטֵל מִמֶּֽנָּה, אִם לָמַֽדְתָּ תּוֹרָה הַרְבֵּה, נוֹתְנִין לָךְ שָׂכָר הַרְבֵּה, וְנֶאֱמָן הוּא בַּֽעַל מְלַאכְתֶּֽךָ שֶׁיְּשַׁלֶּם לָךְ שְׂכַר פְּעֻלָּתֶֽךָ, וְדַע שֶׁמַּתַּן שְׂכָרָן שֶׁל צַדִּיקִים לֶעָתִיד לָבֹא

It is not up to you to finish the task, but neither are you free to quit it. If you have learned much Torah you will be well paid—and your employer can be trusted to pay the price for your work. And know that the righteous get paid in the World to Come.

To be frank, it’s only the first part that gets cited, about not being able to finish the job or to abandon it—and that’s often by politicians, civic dignitaries, communal leaders and captains of industry. But the mishnah taken in its entirety paints a comforting picture for us:  we keep on toiling in Torah and God picks up our labour costs, settling up with us in a better world than this: a world where there is lots of leisure and no household chores, no taxes, plenty of opportunities to learn a bit more Torah, and so on. In other words, a great incentive.

But in last week’s perek, Antigonus Ish Socho teaches (Avot 1:3) a mishnah that begins:

אַל תִּהְיוּ כַּעֲבָדִים הַמְשַׁמְּשִׁין אֶת הָרַב עַל מְנָת לְקַבֵּל פְּרָס, אֶלָּא הֱווּ כַּעֲבָדִים הַמְשַׁמְּשִׁין אֶת הָרַב שֶׁלֹּא עַל מְנָת לְקַבֵּל פְּרָס

 Do not be like workers who serve their master on condition that they will receive payment. Rather, be like masters who serve their master without the condition that they will receive payment.

So while Rabbi Tarfon reassures us that we will get paid even if we don’t finish the job, Antigonus cautions us not to work in the expectation of being paid at all. Are these rabbis arguing with one another. And, if they are, can they both be right?

One answer is that even though you know for sure that you will be rewarded (as Rabbi Tarfon says), you have to put that prospect out of your head and just get on with the task of learning Torah. But if it completely slips your mind that you are going to receive a reward, you can’t truly be doing it only for the pay-off (as Antigonus suggests). There is an analogy here with top footballers, tennis players and other athletes who receive vast sums of money for their work. When they are involved in their sport in mind and body, the only thing that matters is the game or competition in which they are engaged. All thoughts of pay disappear.

Another answer is based in the Hebrew words themselves. Rabbi Tarfon’s word for payment is שְׂכַר (sechar). This is typically the going rate for the job. Antigonus however uses the word פְּרָס (peras), which is more like a tip, a gratuity that the worker receives in addition to any regular pay. On this basis it is reasonable to work for one’s ordinary pay, but one should not work in the expectation of picking up unearned bonuses.

The Torah being what it is, there are many other commentaries and explanations based on the theme of reward versus altruism in the service of God. The words of Torah are always open to us and there is no end to the way we read and understand them.