"Death is very good!"

 Much is written on the mysterious operation of the parah adumah, the red heifer whose ashes are so important for the restoration of ritual purity--but much less is said about the condition that triggers a need for the parah adumah in the first place: death. Inspired by an apparently cryptic comment in Rabbi Meir's sefer Torah, our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger offers a fascinating insight into a topic that so many are reluctant to address. This is what he has to say:

The purification ritual involving the “Red Heifer” is one that has baffled the wisest of men and the deepest religious thinkers throughout the ages. Somehow, burning a cow, mixing its ashes with water and a few other ingredients and then sprinkling the concoction on an individual who has contracted ritual impurity via contact with a corpse can, following the proper procedure, purify him.

The aspect that has perplexed many, including King Solomon, is the fact that the one who is “sprinkled” becomes pure and the “sprinkler” is rendered impure. Perhaps a more interesting question is this: why does the Torah require a different ritual to cleanse this taint in contrast with the procedure to remove other ritual impurities from an individual (mikveh or mikveh plus korban)? The answer is because this taint involves human death.

When God created the world, for six days He affirms existence by declaring His own work “good.” In so doing, creation “remains in a pure, untouchable beyond” (Rosenzweig, Star of Redemption). The final time that God comments, He does not observe that the result of His handiwork at that moment of time is “good” (tov). Instead, God describes the “all that He made” as “very good” (tov me’od).

The Midrash Rabba, on Genesis 1:31, brings various opinions regarding the statement “very good”: “In the sefer Torah of Rabbi Meir they found, where the words “and behold it was very good” should be, the words “and behold death was good”. Rashi comments on Rabbi Meir’s teaching that death is good because, once dead, man can no longer sin.

Ramban on Genesis 1:31 parses the verse because he finds the word “very” to be superfluous. His initial observation is that God “added this word because He is speaking of creation in general, which contains evil in some part of it.” Thus, He said that it was very good, meaning its me’od is good [thus conveying the thought that even the small part of it which is evil is basically also good]. For Ramban, me’od refers to evil, but he does not yet identify or quantify that evil until he quotes Rabbi Meir’s statement that it is death. However, he qualifies this by commenting:

“[S]imilarly, the Rabbis mentioned, ‘this means the evil inclination in man,’ and ‘this means the dispensation of punishment.’”

Thus, it seems that Ramban, likewise views death as an external environmental force.

Rambam effectively divorces death from the Man-God relationship altogether. In commenting on the words vehinei tov me’od (Look! It was very good), he writes:

“Even death, which appears to constitute a return to nothingness, God considered as something positive, constructive, seeing it is only a prelude to rebirth, albeit sometimes in a different guise than that the previous incarnation. Death is perceived as the result of the ‘nothingness’ which had preceded the universe having become an integral part of this universe. Hence it had become a necessary phenomenon.” (Moreh Nevuchim 3:10).

In other words, God created death so that there could be an ongoing creation. One might perhaps term this as circular reasoning (if God did not terminate the world, there would be no need for a rebirth).  However, this is not circular reasoning; this is God logic – beyond our human comprehension. Regardless, this is universal death and not Man’s or human death. Thus, according to Maimonides, death is likewise a force without a direct relationship with Man. Thus, it is external to Man.

According to Rabbi Dr Norman Lamm, 

“Tov implies efficient functioning.  The creator saw every step in His developing universe ki tov, that it was functioning efficiently, carrying out the telos which He had assigned to it.” (“Good and Very Good’ Moderation and Extremism in the Scheme of Creation” in Tradition, 45:2, 2012).  

According to Lamm, if each component of creation functioned at its maximum efficiency or full potential, chaos would ensue:

 “This is so because the world is an interdependent system rather than a conglomeration of independent parts and a system requires the synergistic coordination of all of its constituent elements.”

Thus, only when each element functions with restraint (tov) can the whole be considered tov me’od.

Lamm explains that an immortal Man, with freedom of will, has the power to exploit any part of creation to its full potential. Death represents a limit and limits are necessary. The analogy he gives is the human body, itself. If cells multiply unchecked, man dies of cancer. Thus, for Lamm, death/mortality is the me’od, the required limit on the effective functioning, the tov, of every other creation. Thus, in this construct death is an integrated component of man and the functioning of the system, but not a part of the God-Man relationship. 

The sources surveyed, from the earliest to the more recent, seem to perceive death as a device or tool used by God, whether to influence later actions (Midrash), or to provide creative or spiritual counter-balance against good (Ramban), or to set up a system of constant creation and recreation (Rambam), or to sustain systemic balance (Lamm). The image that emerges from these Rabbinic sources of the initial conceptualization of death/mortality in Creation, is that of an instrument or process, something detached from Man, one that influences his environment/world, but that impacts him indirectly.

The impure man, tainted by contact with death, is purified by a bare and minimal contact with an external agent – the ashes of the Red Heifer – bound together with “mayim chayim” waters of life. Death influences him, it taints him by contact, and it will eventually claim him. However, the intrinsic message of this elaborate ritual, that stretches over a week, is that he should NOT be consumed by it – he should not become fully submerged in his own mortality.

Torah 24/7 and Connecting the Dates

We are delighted to announce two new book acquisitions for our small but growing Beit Midrash library. Both are gifts generously donated by  one of our more recent members, Steven Ettinger. Steven is a rabbi, a tax lawyer, a family man and an individual who manifests an obvious fascination with every aspect of contemporary Jewish life in the real world—and this is what makes his books so readable.

The first is Torah 24/7: A Timely Guide for the Modern Spirit. If you are looking for a fresh perspective on those parshiyot you have read so often in the past, this work could be exactly what you are searching for. Each chapter reveals, sometimes quite surprisingly, how an incident or experience in the author's life was reflected in or influenced by the parashah of the week. This is proof positive—as if any were needed—that the narratives contained in the Chumash continue to have a real meaning for the life of modern man.

The second, Connecting the Dates: Exploring the Meaning of Jewish Time, is a book that has been cast in an entirely different mold. In it, Steven poses penetrating questions about the role played by time in our lives and in our relationships with man and God. In particular, he asks:

• What is the relationship of the Jewish Holidays to their Fast Days?
  
  
• How do the Jewish ritual practices of circumcision, tefillin and tefillah express the underlying link between the individual s personal life cycle and the life cycle of the Jewish nation?
  
  
• How do the major events in the lives of the Patriarchs and Matriarchs connect to the core of the Jewish life cycle?

 Steven builds upon this foundation and shows how the Forefathers of the Jewish people were also the cornerstones upon which the Jewish holidays are built.

 If the mood takes you, you can even buy these books online for yourself. Torah 24/7 is available here, while Connecting the Dates can be ordered here.

Just get out of my hair!

 An Avot mishnah for Shabbat: Perek 4 (parashat Korach)

At Avot 4:23 Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar teaches four things about respecting the personal space that others need at certain times:

אַל תְּרַצֶּה אֶת חֲבֵרֶֽךָ בְּשַֽׁעַת כַּעֲסוֹ, וְאַל תְּנַחֲמֵֽהוּ בְּשָׁעָה שֶׁמֵּתוֹ מֻטָּל לְפָנָיו, וְאַל תִּשְׁאַל לוֹ בְּשַֽׁעַת נִדְרוֹ, וְאַל תִּשְׁתַּדֵּל לִרְאוֹתוֹ בְּשַֽׁעַת קַלְקָלָתוֹ

Do not [try to] calm your friend down at the height of his anger; don’t [seek to] comfort him while his dead still lies before him; don’t question him about his vow the moment he makes it; and don’t endeavour to see him at the time of his degradation.

There’s much to be said about this mishnah but this post looks only at the last bit (in bold text).

When someone has been caught something wrong or has just suffered a major setback—desertion by one’s life partner, for example—they may crave a bit of quiet time and solitude in which to think seriously about what has happened, to decide how to react and what to do next. The last thing they want is the intrusive company of others offering advice or unwanted comments. This can apply even to well-meaning companions who sit there, empathising with them and waiting for a distressed friend to open his or her heart and tell them all about it. In a modern context the intrusion may be inflicted by journalists and paparazzi who sense a juicy news story in another’s misfortune.

In our crowded and joined-up world, no one can disappear forever. Eventually even the most ashamed and embarrassed people will have to rejoin human society one way or another. When that happens, we find another mishnah in Avot waiting in the wings. According to Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananya (Avot 2:13) the “good path” a person should take in their life is to be a good friend. When does one act the good friend? Answer: not before a person is ready to receive that friendship.

Like much of Pirkei Avot, in this mishnah there are no cast-iron rules as to how its guidance is to be applied. A proper approach to putting Avot into practice demands that we first assess every situation in its context, in the light of common sense—a commodity that we struggle to acquire in a rapidly-changing world where yesterday’s norms are tomorrow’s no-nos.

Blooming Leadership and Bitter Lessons

The story of Korach’s rebellion in Parshat Korach is one of the most turbulent episodes in the Torah. It’s a saga of ambition, pride, and defiance that threatened to fracture the unity and sanctity of the Jewish people. Yet the Torah does not end this episode with destruction. Instead, it offers us two lasting memorials — one a warning, the other a beacon of hope — to serve as eternal reminders of what was lost and what was gained. In the following piece, Rabbi Paul Bloom leads us through them.

The Poison of Entitlement and the Fall of Korach

At the heart of Korach’s rebellion was a deep sense of entitlement. Korach was not an outsider, but a Levi — a cousin of Moshe and Aharon — and someone of high stature. Yet he felt cheated. According to the Malbim, Korach believed he had been denied the status he rightfully deserved. He was consumed by a distorted sense of superiority, and this sense of being overlooked fed his jealousy and rebellion.

Ibn Ezra adds another dimension: Korach’s allies were largely bechorim, firstborns who had lost their special status when the tribe of Levi was chosen for service. This shift, though divinely commanded, was a bitter pill to swallow for those who felt robbed of an inherited privilege.

But the Torah consistently subverts the idea that leadership is a birthright. From Bereishit onward, firstborns like Kayin, Yishmael, and Esav are passed over in favor of spiritually worthier younger siblings. Yaakov bypasses Reuven and redistributes his privileges to Yosef, Yehudah, and Levi. Spiritual greatness, the Torah teaches us, is not an inheritance—it is earned through merit, humility, and dedication.

Korach, in contrast, clung to a model of leadership rooted in privilege and ego. His rebellion was not just against Moshe and Aharon—it was against Torah min haShamayim, against the divine structure of holiness and leadership.

The blooming staff: a symbol of divine choice and spiritual life

In response to this crisis, Hashem provides a quiet but powerful counterpoint to the noise of rebellion. In Bamidbar Chapter 17, God commands Moshe to place the staffs of all twelve tribal leaders in the Ohel Moed, each inscribed with their respective names. The next morning, a miracle occurs:

"Vehinei parach matei Aharon..." — “And look! The staff of Aharon had bloomed: it brought forth sprouts, blossomed, and bore almonds.” (Bamidbar 17:23)

This dead staff had come to life, bearing flowers and fruit. It was more than a sign — it was a statement. Aharon’s staff didn’t just survive the challenge; it flourished. The blossoming was Hashem’s way of affirming that the Kohanim and Levi’im were His chosen spiritual leaders — not because of nepotism or favoritism, but because of their role in bringing vitality, renewal, and holiness to Klal Yisrael.

The Kli Yakar notes that the term porach (bloomed/blossomed) also connotes youth and regeneration, as in pirchei kehunah — the young Kohanim. The staff’s components — tzitzim (buds) and shekeidim (almonds) — also carry meaning. The tzitz alludes to the golden forehead plate worn by the Kohen Gadol, inscribed with the words “Kodesh LaHashem.” The shekeidim symbolize zeal and urgency — just as the almond tree blooms faster than others, the Kohanim serve with swiftness and spiritual alacrity. As the prophet Yirmiyahu (1:11) says: "shoked Ani al devari la’asoto" — “I am watchful to perform My word.”

According to tradition, this staff remained in bloom for centuries, ultimately hidden by King Yoshiyahu with the Aron Hakodesh before the destruction of the First Temple. It endured as a symbol of what spiritual leadership ought to look like: rooted in service, devoted to truth, and always blossoming with life.

And this message, as Rambam emphasizes at the end of Hilchot Shemitah VeYovel, is not limited to Levi’im. Every Jew — man or woman — who dedicates their life to Torah and service of Hashem can achieve the status of kodesh kodashim. The blossoming is not for the elite — it is for all who choose to live with spiritual purpose.

The Copper Pans: A Warning Against Machloket

But Parshat Korach also leaves us with a darker memorial — the copper pans (machtot) of the 250 rebels who tried to offer incense, seeking priestly status that was not theirs. Hashem commands Moshe to collect these pans and have them hammered into a covering for the Mizbe’ach, the altar:

"Vehayu l’ot l’Bnei Yisrael" — “And they shall be a sign for the children of Israel.” (Bamidbar 17:5)

This covering was not a celebration — it was a warning. The machtot served as a permanent reminder of the dangers of spiritual overreach and unresolved conflict. As the Talmud (Sanhedrin 110a) teaches: "Kol ha’machzik bemachloket over belo ta’aseh" — “One who perpetuates conflict violates a negative commandment.” Disagreements are part of life — even holy ones. But to machzik, to hold on, to fuel division rather than seek peace — that is where the sin lies.

The copper plating was a silent rebuke: Let not pride preserve a fight. Don’t allow ego to calcify into permanent division. It reminded every generation that rebellion against Divine order — and against each other — leads only to destruction.

A dual legacy: warning and inspiration

These two eternal symbols — the Mateh Aharon and the copper machtot — form the dual legacy of Parshat Korach. One uplifts; the other restrains. One blossoms with life and promise; the other is forged from the remnants of ego and collapse. Together, they whisper two timeless truths:

• Seek the staff. Be among the pirchei kehunah, the youthful energy of Torah renewal. Embrace the tzitz, the sanctity of visible holiness. Act with the shekeidim, the swiftness and enthusiasm to do Hashem’s will. Know that vitality flows from humility, and that every Jew can cause Torah to blossom anew.
  
  
• Beware the pans. Let not anger or entitlement pull us into conflict. Disagree when necessary — but never perpetuate strife. Never be a machzik bemachloket. Know that spiritual ambition without humility leads to ruin.

Remember what must never happen again

Korach's story is not merely a historical rebellion. It is an eternal caution against ego-driven leadership and a call toward authentic, God-rooted service. The Torah does not just want us to remember what happened — it wants us to remember what must never happen again, and to live lives worthy of causing the staff to blossom once more.

May we merit to be bearers of that vitality — uplifting our us not through entitlement, but through Torah, humility, and unwavering devotion.

Tragedy follows tragedy: Korach 5785

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

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

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

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

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

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

Double Take, by Rabbi Jesse Horn (Book of the Month, Tamuz 5785)

An occasional speaker at Beit Knesset Hanassi, Rabbi Jesse Horn is a prominent participant in the religious life of Israel's capital city. Within Yeshivat Hakotel he is known for his methodological and Brisker approach to Gemara, his creative outlook on Tanach, and for his warm and approachable personality. 

This month our Book of the Month is Rabbi Horn's Double Take (subtitled 'Biblical Personalities: More Than Meets The Eye'), which was first published in 2016. So what is it all about? According to the book's web page: 

In Double Take, Rabbi Jesse Horn bridges the gap between the traditional interpretations espoused by Chazal and other Rabbinic authorities on the one hand and the simple and straightforward reading of the Tanach on the other. By rigorous and sophisticated Biblical and Rabbinic textual analysis, Rabbinic sources which at first seems at odds with the text can be read harmoniously.

Rabbi Horn uncovers parallels, and answers critical questions such as, Why is this story included in the Torah? Why is this detail left out? Why do these two stories parallel each other? and What understanding does the Torah want us to derive about each character?

The contents of this work contain some surprises. Torah favourites such as Yosef and Yehuda, Aharon and Mordechai will be found in here as well as some names that attract less affection such as Lot and Hagar. 

As you might expect from the pen of an experienced educator, the text is clear and easy to follow. If you hunger for more, the ample footnotes provide a delicious second course packed with references, elucidatory comments and explanations.

A copy of Double Take has recently been procured by our little library in the downstairs Beit Midrash. Enjoy!

Prophet or King?

This coming Shabbat our haftorah is taken from the First Book of Samuel. While the Torah reading addresses the leadership crisis that occurs when Korach challenges the authority of Moshe, the haftorah depicts the prophet Shmuel confronting a people bent on setting a man over themselves as king.  

Prophet or King, another composition by our member Max Stern, vividly sets this confrontation to music, drawing upon the attitude and mindset of mass protest. As Max himself explains:

Reaching beyond the purely historical, this episode marshals power from the voice of the angry mob of all times by placing it within a contemporary context. Strikers, protesters, agitators, and grumblers of all sorts, add their voices to the ancients in demanding the needs of the moment, while ignoring the call of Eternity. 

How ironic is it that challenges to leadership so often lead to divisions in society and to the destruction of achdut, unity, while the ability of any orchestra or choir to function properly depends upon its individuals coming together and accepting the leadership of a single conductor.

Max's piece is scored for baritone soloist, narrators, choir and various instruments. It was first performed on 28 May 2007. The text is based on 1 Samuel, chapters 8, 11, 12 and Psalm 146:10. 

You can listen to this dramatic composition here.

Playing with power

Continuing our series of weekly Pirkei Avot posts on the perek of the week, we return to Perek 3.

Now here’s a mystery. We have a three-part mishnah in the name of Rabbi Yishmael (Avot 3:16) and our sages only agree about the third part:

הֱוֵי קַל לְרֹאשׁ, וְנֽוֹחַ לְתִשְׁחֽוֹרֶת, וֶהֱוֵי מְקַבֵּל אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם בְּשִׂמְחָה

Be easy to a rosh, affable to a tishchoret, and receive every man with happiness.

Our problem is that we cannot agree on the meaning of any of the key words, and especially rosh and tishchoret. One rabbi (R’ Marcus Lehmann, The Lehmann-Prins Pirkei Avoth) actually gives our mishnah four quite different translations.

Commentators over the years have maintained that the rosh is one’s head, one’s ego, a ruler, a leader, a superior, an elder, a civic leader, a venerable old man—and even God.

As for the tishchoret, this has been explained as someone who is young, old, black-haired, oppressed, a town clerk, the king’s secretary, or a time at which one should be slow and steady.

R’ Yishmael’s words were incorporated into this tractate over 1,800 years ago and we have lovingly preserved them while losing track of their original meaning. However, we cannot walk away from a mishnah and pretend it doesn’t exist so we must take on the task of giving it our own meaning, one that is both Torah-compliant and suited to the needs of our generation. R’ Reuven P. Bulka (Chapters of the Sages: A Psychological Commentary on Pirkey Avoth) seeks to do just that. He writes:

“The present mishna deals with ego difficulties relative to communal functioning. Primarily, they may be said to focus around individuals who have not reached the position of prominence in the community they felt was appropriate for them. The general tendency of such individuals is to downgrade those who have superseded them and to discourage those who would in the future gain the very positions they have failed to attain”.

Anyone who has been involved in Jewish communal affairs is likely to have come across people who fit this bill. Basically good-hearted and well-meaning souls, they feel they have been taken for granted and are disgruntled at not being voted into positions of authority or being nominated as one of the chatanim on Simchat Torah. They may become sullen and unhelpful towards those who are less experienced than themselves and who might benefit from the assistance of an older person. It can be a struggle to overcome one’s inner demons and, in R’ Bulka’s view, this is what Rabbi Yishmael has in mind.

Or perhaps we can summarise it simply like this: don’t demean the authority of those above you and don’t abuse your authority when dealing with those below you.

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.

Nishmat Kol Chai: A special song for 23 Sivan

Earlier this week we posted this piece by Rabbi Paul Bloom on the significance of 23 Sivan. Another of our members, Max Stern, has added to this by sharing with us a musical rendition of the first part of Nishmat Kol Chai for female voice, bassoon and piano. 

You can both watch this work (there are some cute visuals) and listen to it on Max's YouTube channel here.

Max has styled his work "Blessing of Song". It was composed during the Covid pandemic as a prayer for all humanity, expressing a profound and immensely topical desire that life should return to normal.

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.