Elihu Levine and the Kli Yakar

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Our fate is in our hands: Eikev 5785

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

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

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

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

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein    

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

Through the Eyes of a Child

This week’s pre-Shabbat Pirkei Avot post picks up on a mishnah from Perek 5

There’s a highly problematic mishnah at Avot 5:25. Some editions omit it entirely; others place it out of its usual sequence, and there’s no consensus as to who teaches it—is it Yehudah ben Teyma or Shmuel HaKatan? Setting this matters aside, this is what it says:

בֶּן חָמֵשׁ שָׁנִים לְמִקְרָא, בֶּן עֶֽשֶׂר שָׁנִים לְמִשְׁנָה, בֶּן שְׁלֹשׁ עֶשְׂרֵה לְמִצְוֹת, בֶּן חֲמֵשׁ עֶשְׂרֵה לִגְמָרָא, בֶּן שְׁמוֹנֶה עֶשְׂרֵה לְחֻפָּה, בֶּן עֶשְׂרִים לִרְדּוֹף, בֶּן שְׁלֹשִׁים לְכֹֽחַ, בֶּן אַרְבָּעִים לְבִינָה, בֶּן חֲמִשִּׁים לְעֵצָה, בֶּן שִׁשִּׁים לְזִקְנָה, בֶּן שִׁבְעִים לְשֵׂיבָה, בֶּן שְׁמוֹנִים לִגְבוּרָה, בֶּן תִּשְׁעִים לָשֽׁוּחַ, בֶּן מֵאָה כְּאִלּוּ מֵת וְעָבַר וּבָטֵל מִן הָעוֹלָם

Five years is the age for the study of the Written Torah; ten, for the study of Mishnah; thirteen, for being bound by mitzvot; fifteen, to learn Talmud; eighteen, for marriage; twenty, to pursue a livelihood; thirty, for strength; forty, for understanding; fifty, for giving advice; sixty, for sagacity; seventy, for elderliness; eighty, for power; ninety, for being bent over. A hundred-year-old is as one who has died and passed away and no longer counts for anything in the world.

Since the age at which to commence the various stages of a child’s education is a matter that spans both religious and secular concerns, it is unsurprising that there is a vast literature on the topic. But let's look at just one question: since the tractate of Avot is not a textbook on educational methodology, what is our takeaway message from a teaching which, prima facie, addresses the way we as Jews should conduct ourselves?

It is immediately apparent that there is no uniform consensus about what “Torah at five” means. Some scholars, including Rambam, the Sforno and R’ Chaim Volozhiner (Ruach Chaim), make no comment at all. Those who do comment tend to have little to say on it in terms of mussar and middot, focusing instead on issues of functional efficacy. Thus the commentary ascribed to Rashi cautions that “five” really means “five and not before” since the study of Torah weakens those who attempt it, the implication being that we should not impose upon a child a greater burden than it can handle. For Rabbenu Yonah, citing the Gemara (Rabbi Shmuel ben Shilat at Ketubot 50a), it’s the age at which a child has the necessary intellectual capacity—though for the Me’iri it’s fine to teach a child the alphabet from the age of three. 

We can also look at the instruction of “Written Torah at five” in quite a different way, even though this view has neither support nor pedigree. These words are not addressed at five year-old children. Nor are they addressed specifically to their parents. They are spoken to us all. Arguably they say: “When you open any of the works contained in the canon of Jewish tradition—whether Torah, prophecy, psalms or anything else—look at its words afresh. Read them through the eyes of a five year-old child who has never read them before. Cast aside all your assumptions and your half-remembered opinions that linger on from your previous reading and start again from scratch. That way, having rid yourself of the baggage of your old habits of thought, you can give yourself a chance to see, through the eyes of youthful innocence, those things that were previously hidden in full sight in the too-familiar words of a text you’ve grown too comfortable with”.

Do you agree?

One day -- and another

Why were we forty years in the desert before entering our Promised Land? We all know what the Torah tells us -- or do we? Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger challenges our reflex answer to this well-known question

If you were to ask most anyone with basic knowledge of the narrative of the Five Books of Torah why the Children of Israel wandered in the desert for 40 years, they would most likely answer that it was because Hashem punished them for despairing over the negative report of the spies. Hashem condemned them to sojourn one year for each day that the spies scouted in the Holy Land.  This is written in black and white in the text. 

However, in Parshat Eikev Moshe provides a completely different and quite strange answer, one that is repeated, presumably for emphasis, twice in quick succession!  Hashem forced them to travel forty years in the desert:

לְמַ֨עַן עַנֹּֽתְךָ֜ לְנַסֹּֽתְךָ֗ לָדַ֜עַת אֶת־אֲשֶׁ֧ר בִּֽלְבָבְךָ֛ הֲתִשְׁמֹ֥ר מִצְוֺתָ֖ו אִם־לֹֽא׃

וַֽיְעַנְּךָ֮ וַיַּרְעִבֶ֒ךָ֒ וַיַּאֲכִֽלְךָ֤ אֶת־הַמָּן֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר לֹא־יָדַ֔עְתָּ וְלֹ֥א יָדְע֖וּן אֲבֹתֶ֑יךָ לְמַ֣עַן הוֹדִֽיעֲךָ֗ כִּ֠י לֹ֣א עַל־הַלֶּ֤חֶם לְבַדּוֹ֙ יִחְיֶ֣ה הָֽאָדָ֔ם כִּ֛י עַל־כׇּל־מוֹצָ֥א פִֽי־יְהֹוָ֖ה יִחְיֶ֥ה הָאָדָֽם׃

In order to test you by hardships to learn what was in your hearts: whether you would keep the divine commandments or not. [God] subjected you to the hardship of hunger and then gave you manna to eat, which neither you nor your ancestors had ever known, in order to teach you that a human being does not live on bread alone, but that one may live on anything that ה decrees.(Deut 8:2-3).

הַמַּאֲכִ֨לְךָ֥ מָן֙ בַּמִּדְבָּ֔ר אֲשֶׁ֥ר לֹא־יָדְע֖וּן אֲבֹתֶ֑יךָ לְמַ֣עַן עַנֹּֽתְךָ֗ וּלְמַ֙עַן֙ נַסֹּתֶ֔ךָ לְהֵיטִֽבְךָ֖ בְּאַחֲרִיתֶֽךָ׃

Who fed you in the wilderness with manna, which your ancestors had never known, in order to test you by hardships only to benefit you in the end (Deut 8:16).

In other words, they wandered in the desert for forty years not because of a sin but so Hashem could test them by feeding them manna!  This almost sounds absurd.

For a question that seems so big, there is a dearth of commentary. Only Ramban provides a detailed explanation of this test of the Manna.

כִּי הָיָה נִסָּיוֹן גָּדוֹל לָהֶם שֶׁלֹּא יָדְעוּ עֵצָה לְנַפְשָׁם וַיִּכָּנְסוּ בַּמִּדְבָּר הַגָּדוֹל לֹא מְקוֹם לֶחֶם וְאֵין בְּיָדָם כְּלוּם מִן הַמָּן, אֲבָל יָרַד דְּבַר יוֹם בְּיוֹמוֹ וְחַם הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ וְנָמָס וַיִּרְעֲבוּ אֵלָיו מְאֹד. וְכָל זֶה עָשׂוּ לִשְׁמֹר מִצְוַת הַשֵּׁם לָלֶכֶת כַּאֲשֶׁר יְצַוֶּה. וְהַשֵּׁם הָיָה יָכוֹל לְהוֹלִיכָם בְּדֶרֶךְ הֶעָרִים אֲשֶׁר סְבִיבוֹתֵיהֶם, אֲבָל הֱבִיאָם בַּנִּסָּיוֹן הַזֶּה כִּי מִמֶּנּוּ יִוָּדַע שֶׁיִּשְׁמְרוּ מִצְוֹתָיו לְעוֹלָם:

 [The manna itself] was a great trial to them. They did not know what counsel to adopt for themselves when they entered the great wilderness, a place of no food, and they had none of the manna [in reserve because it could not be stored from day to day] but each day’s portion came down on its day, and as the sun waxed hot, it melted, although they hungered mightily after it. All this they did to keep the commandment of G-d, to follow as He commanded. Now G-d could have led them through the [populated] cities that were around them, but instead He brought them into this trial [of never having any food in reserve] for He knew that as a result [of this experience] they would keep His commandments forever.

Let us return to that “black and white” text that implies the forty years was punishment for the sin of the spies. The language used (Numbers 14:34) י֣וֹם לַשָּׁנָ֞ה י֣וֹם לַשָּׁנָ֗ה is a bit unusual. It is repetitive, doubled. Writing the phrase once would have been enough.  A number of commentaries (i.e., the Kli Yakar) explain that one is for that moment – that generation – and one to prophesize that there will be one day of suffering, Tisha B’Av eternally set aside for crying and pain because of their sin.

However, in light of how Moshe connects the forty-year wandering in the midbar to the manna, perhaps the repetition of י֣וֹם לַשָּׁנָ֞ה foreshadows that their task was not to earn forgiveness for their sin but to exhibit steadfastness in faith in the face of ongoing adversity.

If we interpret this correctly, Moshe is saying that the forty years was preordained.  It had less to do with their despairing over the spies and much more to do with Hashem wanting to be assured that the Jewish nation could withstand daily hardship and remain committed to His commandments. Extrapolating from this, the fact that we have been afflicted with (and continue to experience) so many calamities and intense hatred and have nevertheless endured is simply a continuation of this trial – through the centuries we have merited Divine protection (our manna) but must continuously prove steadfast in our worthiness to remain his Chosen People.

Ultimately, there is another “day” that is a constant test that we not simply hope, but are promised, will be לְהֵיטִֽבְךָ֖ בְּאַחֲרִיתֶֽךָ for our benefit in the end. Every day, like the test of the manna falling, as a fundamental element of our belief as Jews we must proclaim regarding the Mashiach: “We await him that he may come any single day.”  אֲחַכֶּה לּוֹ בְּכָל יוֹם שֶׁיָּבוֹא. May today be that day!

Quick greet, dead heat

This week’s pre-Shabbat Pirkei Avot post takes us back to Perek 4.

There’s something of a conundrum at Avot 4:20, where Rabbi Matya ben Charash opens his teaching with this short piece of advice:

הֱוֵי מַקְדִּים בִּשְׁלוֹם כָּל אָדָם

Be first to greet everyone.

Usually we all benefit from the fulfilment of precepts in Avot that recommend a particular course of conduct. But here we have a zero sum game. If I greet you first when we meet, you cannot greet me first, and vice versa. Does this matter? Probably not. If we look at the major commentators on Avot, we do not find anyone who raises this point.

Some commentaries suggest that the thrust of this teaching lies in its tail: that it should apply even to a non-Jew (commentary ascribed to Rashi), an idolator (Bartenura) or even an enemy (R’ Shmuel di Ozeda, Midrash Shmuel). Rabbenu Yonah says that these words are mussar but does not spell out what that mussar is, unlike R’ Shmuel di Ozeda, who pointedly observes that it’s not enough to deign coldly to return someone else’s greeting if that person should greet him first.

Rabbi Matya is actually reminding us that greeting another human being should not be a mere mechanical act or conventional social reflex. As Rabbi Yisrael Meir Lau (Yachel Yisrael) notes, when a Jew greets another person, the word used is שָׁלוֹם (shalom, “peace”). To offer another person peace is to confer a blessing. By being first to greet others we express our peaceful intent—with one major caveat. There is no magic power in the word shalom: as important as it is for us to choose the right words when we greet others, it is equally important for us to greet them with a friendly disposition (Shammai at Avot 1:15; R’ Marc D. Angel, Koren Pirkei Avot). Growling “shalom” while you scowl is unlikely to produce the requisite effect.

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The nuance of desire: Va'Etchanan 5785

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

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

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

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

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

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

What are we doing when we say Shema?

Sometimes our own familiarity with the things we daily say, see and hear can cause us to stop thinking about their meaning and significance. We say Shema each day, but must never take it for granted. Our member Paul Bloom looks further into this mitzvah and points out things we may easily miss.

One of the most famous sentences in the entire Torah is:

 שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל ה׳ אֱלֹקֵינוּ ה׳ אֶחָד

This pasuk is found in our parashah. We say it every day. But what does it really mean?

Rabbi Alan Kimche explains something powerful: even though Shema appears in the siddur, it’s not actually a prayer — at least not in the way we usually think of prayer. Normally, in tefillah, we ask Hashem for things: health, peace, livelihood, wisdom, redemption. But Shema is different. It’s not a request — it’s a declaration. A pledge of allegiance.

Just like soldiers pledge loyalty to their country, when we say the Shema, we are pledging our loyalty to Hashem, to the Jewish people, and to our mission in this world. And those first two words — “Shema Yisrael” — aren’t just a poetic beginning. They’re a command: Listen. Pay attention. Tune in.

Why “listen”? Why not “see”? Rav Yitzchak Hutner points out that seeing can mislead us — it’s easy to be fooled by appearances. Just think back to the very first sin in the Torah: Chava saw the fruit and it looked good — and we all know where that led. But true understanding, true depth, comes from listening. Hearing the voice of Hashem, hearing the wisdom of Torah, listening to the truth that often can’t be seen with the eye, only felt in the heart. That’s why we cover our eyes when we say Shema — because the truths we’re affirming aren’t visible in the world around us. The world today looks divided, broken, chaotic. But we say “Hashem Echad” — we declare that beneath it all, there is unity. There is a Divine plan.

Another beautiful idea comes from the Maharal of Prague. He explains that when we say “Shema Yisrael,” we’re not talking to Hashem — we’re talking to each other. To all of Am Yisrael. This isn’t just a personal statement. It’s a national mission. I don’t say Hashem is my God — I say He’s our God. We’re in this together.

There’s a third layer — from the Sfas Emes. He reminds us that we actually heard the first two commandments directly from Hashem at Har Sinai — not through Moshe, but with our own ears. That voice of Hashem still echoes in the world, even if we can’t hear it in the usual sense. When we say the Shema, we’re reconnecting to that eternal voice.

And finally, the Gemara tells us something beautiful: the very first people who ever said “Shema Yisrael” were the sons of Ya’akov Avinu. When Ya’akov was on his deathbed, he asked his sons if they shared his faith — and they replied: “Shema Yisrael” — Listen, our father Yisrael, Hashem is our God, Hashem is One. In that moment they were saying, “We are with you. We carry your faith forward.” And so when we say Shema today, we’re also speaking to our ancestors — saying to them: “We are still here. We believe. We continue your path.”

We are part of that eternal chain. When we say “Shema Yisrael”, and we connect to Ya’akov, to Har Sinai, to thousands of years of Jews who came before you — and, IY”H, to generations who will come after us.

Ode to Zion

There is a famous kinah, penned by Rabbi Yehudah HaLevi. It’s called "Tzion Halo Tishali" (“Zion, will you not ask?”), and we recited it in shul yesterday morning following a beautiful explanatory introduction by Eli Friedwald.  A prominent part of the Tisha b'Av liturgy, it expresses the poet's deep love and longing for the Land of Israel and Jerusalem. The author, a 12th-century Spanish Jewish poet and philosopher, wrote this kinnah while yearning for a return to the Land of Israel. 

Max Stern took this kinah as his inspiration for composing a two-part Ode to Zion for violin solo, woodwind quintet and strings. Max describes this Ode as a tone poem in two parts. The opening section, “Ani Kinnor”, is the song of a bird awaiting the dawn while it poses the question “O Zion, will you not ask how your exiles are?” The second section, “Dawn”, describes the breaking forth of the light:  "Happy is he who waits to see your dawn breaking forth".

You can listen to Ode to Zion on Max’s YouTube channel here.

A year earlier, Max wrote a shorter Ode to Zion, for flute and viola, that you can listen to here.

Moshe’s Final Message and the Challenge of Success

 “These Are the Words”: Moshe’s Final Message and the Challenge of Success

 As Sefer Devarim begins, a profound shift in tone, audience, and mission unfolds. The Torah introduces this book with the phrase “אֵלֶּה הַדְּבָרִים אֲשֶׁר דִּבֶּר מֹשֶׁה” – “These are the words that Moshe spoke.” The Sages note that this introductory phrase marks a break from the style of the previous four books of the Torah, which were relayed directly by God through Moshe. In contrast, Sefer Devarim is Moshe’s own voice – his reflections, his warnings, and his reinterpretations. It is a Torah for a new generation. In this article Rabbi Paul Bloom reveals what it is that Moshe has in mind. 

This fifth book of the Chumash is addressed not to the Israelites who left Egypt, but to their children, a generation born in the wilderness, destined not for wandering but for conquest and settlement. Their challenges are different: not slavery and survival, but sovereignty and success. And Moshe, having led them for forty years, now must begin again—not with new laws, but with new perspective.

The Or HaChaim HaKadosh notes that the word “אֵלֶּה” (“These”) has a gematria of 36, signifying that the entire book of Devarim was spoken by Moshe over the last 36 days of his life, from Rosh Chodesh Shevat to his passing on 7 Adar. In these final weeks, Moshe condenses a lifetime of teaching into a series of powerful addresses, culminating in VeZot HaBerachah, his final blessing to the people.

Hidden Messages in Names: What Is “Di Zahav”?

At the outset of Sefer Devarim, the Torah presents a list of six mysterious place names. Some are familiar, but others are either unknown or symbolic. One such place is “Di Zahav” – literally, “enough gold.”

The name “Di Zahav” appears nowhere else in the Torah, and it does not refer to a real geographic location. What is it, then? Chazal, in Berachot 32a, offer a stunning interpretation: Moshe is not criticizing Bnei Yisrael – he is defending them.

Moshe is subtly alluding to the sin of the Golden Calf (Egel HaZahav), suggesting that part of the blame rests not with the people, but with God Himself. “You gave them too much gold,” Moshe argues. They were like children overwhelmed by sudden wealth. Just as a spoiled child, given too much and too soon, is likely to falter, so too did Bnei Yisrael stumble under the weight of affluence they could not yet handle.

This is a radical idea. Moshe, as a sanegor, a defender, pleads for mercy and understanding. In doing so, he raises a crucial theme that reverberates throughout Sefer Devarim: the spiritual danger of prosperity.

The True Test: Affluence and Forgetting Hashem

While generations of Jews have perished al kiddush Hashem, martyred through persecution and hatred, far more have been lost through comfort, wealth, and cultural assimilation. In Devarim, Moshe warns again and again:

“You will eat and be satisfied… your silver and gold will increase… and your heart will become haughty, and you will forget Hashem your God.” (Devarim 8:10-14)

Affluence brings independence, and independence breeds spiritual amnesia. This is the underlying current of Sefer Devarim. Moshe’s great fear is not Canaanite armies or desert thirst. It is that, once the people have vineyards and villas, they will forget their Source.

The placement of “Di Zahav” at the beginning of the book is Moshe’s coded message : “Success will be your greatest test.” And it remains ours today.

From Theory to Practice: Preparing for Life in the Land

Another major shift in Sefer Devarim is the transition from theoretical halachah to practical mitzvah observance. For 40 years, many commandments – especially those concerning land ownership, agriculture, and social justice – remained abstract. The people had no private property in the wilderness, no fields to tithe, no courts of inheritance.

Now, as they stand on the eastern bank of the Jordan, Moshe begins again: “הוֹאִיל מֹשֶׁה בֵּאֵר אֶת הַתּוֹרָה הַזֹּאת” – “Moshe began to explain this Torah…” (Devarim 1:5). Rashi says this means he explained it in 70 languages but, on another level, he translated Torah into real life. He taught them how to live the Torah not as wanderers, but as a sovereign society.

The Sefas Emes sees in Devarim the beginning of Torah Shebe’al Peh – the Oral Law. While it is still part of the Written Torah, the style and substance of Devarim begin to reflect human articulation and interpretation. This marks the evolution of Torah – from divine dictation to human integration.

Modern Echoes: The American Dream and the Torah Challenge

We live in a time of remarkable affluence. In Western countries – especially in America – Jews enjoy freedoms, wealth, and opportunities unprecedented in our history. We should be deeply grateful for this. But we must also remember: Di Zahav – “too much gold” – is not a blessing without risks.

Comfort can dull conviction. Success can weaken memory. The challenge Moshe foresaw in Devarim is no less real today: How do we hold on to our spiritual identity in a world that gives us everything?

Yom Kippur’s Vidui ends with the double expression: “תִּעִינוּ וְתִּעְתָּנוּ” – “We have strayed and You have let us stray.” Built into our confession is an acknowledgment of environment. We ask Hashem to judge us not only by our choices, but by the context in which they were made, a theme Moshe introduced with Di Zahav.

The Watchmen of Yerushalayim: Who Guards Our Spirit?

The Radak, commenting on a verse in Yeshayahu, offers a poetic insight: Who are the true guardians of Yerushalayim? Not only soldiers, but those who remember it in their daily prayers. Those who cry for its loss and long for its restoration.

Through centuries of exile, the spiritual memory of Yerushalayim, recited in every birkat hamazon, every tefillah, every Tisha b’Av – kept the dream alive. That memory brought us home.Today, as we rebuild Yerushalayim with stone and steel, we must also rebuild it with soul and memory. The walls will stand strong only if the spirit within remains rooted in Torah.

Conclusion: A New Beginning

Sefer Devarim is not a mere repetition; it is a reinvention. Moshe Rabbenu takes the eternal truths of Torah and adapts them for a new generation, a new landscape, a new spiritual battleground.

We are that generation. The affluence of our time is both a blessing and a burden. Moshe’s voice, echoing across millennia, reminds us: Don’t forget. Don’t let the gold distract you. Don’t mistake comfort for purpose.

May we hear Moshe’s words anew. May we rise to the challenge of our own Di Zahav, and live lives of gratitude, commitment, and clarity.

“These are the words…”

Let us listen. Let us remember. Let us build.

Of prophecy and practicality

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rabbi Berel Wein

Soothing words, sweet nothings: Devarim 5785

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

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

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

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

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

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

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

Words Speak Louder Than Actions

From the moment God called to him from the Burning Bush, the life of Moshe Rabbenu was a counterpoint, a fugue composed of words and deeds. In this perceptive piece, Rabbi Steven Ettinger shows exactly how this is so.

Perhaps the five most ironic words of the Torah are those that open the Book of Devarim: אֵ֣לֶּה הַדְּבָרִ֗ים אֲשֶׁ֨ר דִּבֶּ֤ר מֹשֶׁה֙ (“These are the words that Moshe spoke”).  Of the five books of the Torah, nearly one complete book is comprised the orations of Moshe – his spoken words to the gathered nation. This is the same man who tried to refuse the Divine mission to lead the Jews out of Egypt by claiming: לֹא֩ אִ֨ישׁ דְּבָרִ֜ים אָנֹ֗כִי גַּ֤ם מִתְּמוֹל֙ גַּ֣ם מִשִּׁלְשֹׁ֔ם גַּ֛ם מֵאָ֥ז דַּבֶּרְךָ֖ אֶל־עַבְדֶּ֑ךָ כִּ֧י כְבַד־פֶּ֛ה וּכְבַ֥ד לָשׁ֖וֹן אָנֹֽכִי׃ (“I am not a man of words, not today or yesterday or from whenever you have spoken to your servant as I am slow of mouth and slow of tongue”).

We can add other elements of irony as we consider this phrase and its bold association of words and speech with Moshe:

1. We view Moshe as the instrument of our salvation from Egypt. He was the miracle worker.  He spoke with Pharaoh and confronted him time after time (another irony – the man who had hard speech כְבַד־פֶּ֛ה confronted the man with the hard heart כְבַד־לב). Yet, on the one night throughout the ages that we experience and commemorate the Exodus, we only mention Moshe once and proclaim: וַיּוֹצִאֵנו ה מִמִּצְרַיִם. לֹא עַל־יְדֵי מַלְאָךְ, וְלֹא עַל־יְדֵי שָׂרָף, וְלֹא עַל־יְדֵי שָׁלִיחַ, אֶלָּא הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא בִּכְבוֹדוֹ וּבְעַצְמוֹ  (“and He took us out of Egypt, not with an angel, and not with an intermediary, but HKB”H Himself”).

2. Moshe is renowned as the one who presented our people with the tablets – twice in fact (A relief portrait of Moshe is on display the chamber of the US Congress as he is celebrated as the one who brought down the law that underlies the American system of government).  The first set was fashioned by Hashem, which Moshe broke during the “chet ha’egel” but it was the second set that Moshe carved himself that endured. The luchot are inscribed with the iconic “aseret hadibrot,” the Ten Commandments. However, the Torah never uses this phrase, they are never referred to as “dibrot.” Instead, as stated in Ex. 20:1: וַיְדַבֵּ֣ר אֱלֹקים אֵ֛ת כׇּל־הַדְּבָרִ֥ים הָאֵ֖לֶּה לֵאמֹֽר. They, are דְּבָרִ֥ים -- words spoken by Hashem but NOT spoken by Moshe! Thus, as with the Exodus itself, Moshe is seemingly placed on the side.

3. Moshe did, in fact, employ his oratory skills one time on behalf of the Jewish People to stave off their destruction – after they sinned with the Golden Calf. However, at perhaps an equally crucial juncture, he remained silent and did not speak. The spies returned with their unfavorable report and the Jewish nation accepted it and despaired. This resulted in the horrific punishment of the deaths of the entire generation over the next forty years. Calev and Yehoshua give an impassioned plea to convince the people to go and inherit the land. The Torah tells us that Moshe, however, remained silent and that all he did was: וַיִּפֹּ֥ל מֹשֶׁ֛ה וְאַהֲרֹ֖ן עַל־פְּנֵיהֶ֑ם לִפְנֵ֕י כׇּל־קְהַ֥ל עֲדַ֖ת בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃, he (and Aaron) merely conceded, they fell to their faces before the masses.

How is it that, as we have explained, three books of the Torah seem to relegate Moshe to a secondary role, yet the fifth book provides him with a “soapbox” to recast the narrative (and many of the laws) to such an extent that that it is described as Mishneh Torah – a second  or re-telling of the Torah? But this time it is all in Moshe’s “words” and they are entirely from his perspective.

So why is it that the prime/original version in many ways is so different from the one in Devarim? Perhaps the key to the answer is in those same “ironic” opening words, the very fact that Moshe is now speaking words. Despite that fact that Moshe previously protested his role and denied the mantle of responsibility, he is now performing the task that Hashem demanded of him. Until he accepted it, he was, in a sense, suppressed.

Let us quickly contrast his past and present. At the Exodus he did not want to be a man of words, he preferred to act (as when he killed the Egyptian), so he was excluded from the Haggadah. At Sinai, after forty days, he acted – he destroyed the tablets and then he physically fashioned the second set as a remedy – so he is disassociated from the spoken element – the “aseret devarim.” He is successful in saving Am Yisrael from the sin of the Golden Calf when he uses words, but he does not save them from the sin of the spies when he falls down and does not use his words. Finally, and perhaps the ultimate proof in this pattern – he receives his drastic punishment when he takes an action and hits the rock instead of using his words and speaking to it.

This final chastisement is Hashem telling Moshe that this punishment is fair because it represents the cumulative result of all his past failures. Ironically, as the time comes for Am Yisrael to cross over into Eretz Yisrael they now require a leader who is a man of action – Yehoshua. He led the army to battle against Amalek, he tried to encourage the people to rise and go into the land despite the report of the spies, he would battle against the nations of Canaan.

Moshe was our greatest leader, our greatest teacher and our greatest prophet. When he understood that his task was to influence Am Yisrael then and for all future generations with his words, he was given the opportunity to speak and to set out his version and vision of the Torah – of a society of Torah, of a life of Torah and of a future of Torah. These are his words – of course not simply through his mouth but, “al pi Hashem!”