Learning to Read the Torah

An inquiring mind will pick up items of information from wherever they may be found. But what are the lessons one can learn from them--and what is the yardstick by which their veracity and usefulness may be measured? Our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger shares this answer with us:

While describing his early yeshiva years in Teach Them Diligently (p. 21), Rabbi Wein ztz’l fondly recalled what he learned in ninth grade from Rabbi Mendel Kaplan. Along with Talmud, this famed disciple of the Mir Yeshiva and Rabbi Elchanan Wasserman taught his young student “how to actually read the newspaper, spotting its unintended lessons in life.” Undoubtedly, these were lessons in how to distinguish truth from falsehood, how to remain steadfast to Torah values in a world that celebrated vanity and immorality, and how to understand proper use of political power in contrast with its abuse.

Today’s newspapers and news media are not the information sources that existed in the late 1940s. Now, they report opinions, not facts. Reporters are biased and not objective. There is no longer such thing as verifying sources – there are no standards of truth.

The Torah, of course, is a primary unimpeachable source. The Torah is truth. The Torah is unbiased. Finally, the Torah is eternal. Thus the Torah should be the contemporary global news source – 24-hour – six day - TNN (Torah News Network). The key, perhaps, is only learning to read/interpret it.

Many (certainly those in the media and who appear or attempt to shape public opinion) are heretics or sceptics. They do not believe any of statements made in the previous paragraph regarding our Torah.  They would claim that the Torah is a 3,000 years old manuscript, likely a work of fiction, written in ancient times and completely irrelevant for a modern enlightened society.  They would certainly scoff at concepts like those found in parshat Shofetim: worshiping trees, witchcraft and sorcery, talking to the dead, false prophets allowing killers to flee from avenging family members, breaking a calf’s neck, etc.

However, this parsha is perhaps the penultimate example of the Torah as today’s media source. Nearly every significant story that we can find in our daily news, regardless of topic or discipline, has its roots and more – perhaps its entire arc –in its verses.

The parsha opens with the requirement to establish a justice system and the overriding imperative to pursue righteousness (“tzedek tzedek tirdof”). This prescription is so intense that it is stated as a continuing condition for remaining in the Land of Israel. Looking closely, these pesukim are today’s stories of judicial reform, of the trial of political leaders and of activist courts both here and abroad.

We know how miserly the Torah is with words. Yet in our parsha there is significant redundancy. The word tzedek appears three times in these three verses. Hashem repeats the phrase, “that Hashem has given you” referencing the Land of Israel, twice in these verses. Ramban translates tzedek here as truth and peace. If we commit to unbiased truth and a desire for peace among our people, then these stories become footnotes.

The next topic is the ashera tree that was worshipped as an idol. This seems incomprehensible to our modern sensibilities. Yet how many hundreds of millions “worship” their “Apples.” How many hours a day are their attentions absorbed and subsumed by the content on these devices. More drastic – and alarming – how many of our youth are influenced to the point of experiencing record levels of depression (and epidemic numbers of teen suicides), lower academic achievement levels, behavioral issues, not to mention issues with gender and sexuality. How many headlines and articles are devoted to these topics and can be attributed to this ashera?

Let’s jump forward to another headline, leaders and elections. In Gaza there is a leadership vacuum. In New York they may soon hail the “new generation” leader, the future of American politics -- an antisemitic communist. In Israel, of course, who the Prime Minister is or should be may be the most polarizing issue of all.

This parsha has the only direct commandments regarding leadership – the commandments regarding the Jewish king. It is interesting to note that there is no commandment to anoint one – but there can be a king IF the people request one. More interesting is that we find only two positive commandments, only two tasks that a Jewish king is commanded to perform (in contrast with things he is forbidden to do). He must (i) write a “sefer Torah” and (ii) gather the nation once every seven years to read the Torah to them. Bottom line, the purpose of a Jewish leader is to set an ethical example – one of universal values, God’s values – and to serve the people, not himself or his vanity or ego or pocketbook.

There are so many others, witchcraft and bone reading, cities of refuge, false prophets, the rules of war, ecology, etc. However, let us conclude with another mitzvah that seems so superstitious – that it could easily subject our religion to ridicule – eglah arufah. How strange is this: someone randomly finds an unidentified corpse and no-one knows who killed him. The elders then come out and determine (through precise measurement) which city was nearest. The representatives of that city must take a calf and perform a ceremony involving breaking its neck in order to absolve themselves from sin- on account of the blood that was shed.

How many of today’s stories involve violence and bloodshed? In the newsroom, the bloodier the better. How many murders and assaults? How many gunmen opening fire in shopping centers and schools and stadiums? How many crime-related killings? How many innocent victims of terror and war world-wide.

If mankind could only value life so much that they could gather and regret and have a solemn ceremony for the death of a man they cannot even identify.  If humanity could ask forgiveness for the loss of a single life and ask Hashem to remove guilt for this death – because this is “doing what is right in the sight of Hashem,” then mankind might only be reading the Torah and there would be no news. That day will come – that is the day Moshiach comes.

Nostalgia for Eternity: Book of the Month, Elul 5785

It took very little time for us to choose as this month's featured book Nostalgia for Eternity: Ideas, Insights, and Inspirations from Rabbi Berel Wein.  The title of this book, compiled by Rabbi Doniel Staum, itself summarises and epitomises the outlook and philosophy of our dear, departed Rabbi: anyone who has ever listened to his words will have sensed his nostalgia for the power and the purity of the Torah-driven Lithuanian learning tradition in which he was schooled by his father and his rebbes. And no-one who has read his words will have missed his frequent references to eternity--the gift of an eternal bond between God and His chosen people.

Published in 2023 and distributed by Feldheim, Nostalgia for Eternity consists of 24 short and accessible chapters that record in literary form a number of lectures given by Rabbi Wein in Yeshiva Shaarei Torah, supplemented by presentations made by him in various forums over the years. As the inscription on the back cover aptly states:

"What unites [all the chapters] is Rabbi Wein's ability to present poignant lifelong Torah values and lessons in a dynamic and engaging manner".

You can see for yourself just how true this claim is when you pick up the shul's copy from our Beit Midrash library and dip into its pages. 

A "grounding" in Torah

This week’s pre-Shabbat Pirkei Avot post takes us back to Perek 6.

The Baraita at Avot 6:4 makes uncomfortable reading for those of us who appreciate a good night’s sleep tucked up in a warm and comfortable bed:

כַּךְ הִיא דַּרְכָּהּ שֶׁל תּוֹרָה: פַּת בְּמֶֽלַח תֹּאכֵל, וּמַֽיִם בִּמְשׂוּרָה תִּשְׁתֶּה, וְעַל הָאָֽרֶץ תִּישָׁן, וְחַיֵּי צַֽעַר תִּחְיֶה, וּבַתּוֹרָה אַתָּה עָמֵל, אִם אַתָּה עֽוֹשֶׂה כֵּן, אַשְׁרֶֽיךָ וְטוֹב לָךְ, אַשְׁרֶֽיךָ בָּעוֹלָם הַזֶּה, וְטוֹב לָךְ לָעוֹלָם הַבָּא

This is the way of Torah: bread with salt you shall eat; water in small measure you shall drink, and on the ground you shall sleep. Live a life of hardship and in Torah shall you toil. If you do so, "you are fortunate, and it is good for you" (Tehillim 128:2): you are fortunate—in this world, and it is good for you—in the World to Come.

Why should sleeping on the ground make any difference whatsoever in terms of one’s pursuit of a Torah-based way of life? And do we humans not learn better when we have had a good night’s sleep in a comfortable bed than if we spend the night writhing around on the ground in the forlorn hope of finding a position conducive to at least some sort of sleep?

Even among the Tannaim there were reservations about the wisdom of this advice. Indeed, Ben Azzai (Berachot 62b) advised that one should sleep anywhere but on the ground, though admittedly his prime concern was to avoid danger from snakes.

Perhaps this teaching is only focusing on a worst-case scenario. It would then mean that EVEN if we live on a subsistence diet and EVEN if we have to sleep on the ground and struggle to make ends meet, so long as we can keep learning Torah and feel its buzz we will find it a rewarding and enjoyable experience. We might make a comparison with the sort of discomfort we are prepared to tolerate when undertaking a potentially lucrative business trip: fatigue, jet-lag, problems accessing kosher food—all of which we willingly accept as part and parcel of our acquisition of earthly material wealth. How much more so should we be prepared to put up with discomfort and inconvenience when passing through this temporary, ephemeral world on the way to our spiritual World to Come [based on R’ Simcha Bunim of Pesischa, in MiMa’ayanot HaNetzach].

Chodesh Elul: a time to prepare

Ahead of Rosh Chodesh Elul, let's contemplate the opportunities that this month provides through the eyes of Rabbi Berel Wein ztz'l.

The Hebrew month of Elul has traditionally been the month of intensive reflection and spiritual preparation. It is the month that precedes the holy days of judgment, the time for repentance and forgiveness. Elul personifies the preparations necessary for an individual who is about to face trial on a serious charge, even one of life and death. No rational person would enter such a trial in a human court without preparation, proper representation, and a careful analysis of the evidence, both pro and con, that will undoubtedly be introduced during the trial. How much more so must our attitude and thoughts be sharpened for the heavenly trial that awaits us all on the day of judgment, Rosh Hashanah.  

This intensification of attitude has become the hallmark of the preparatory month of Elul. We live in a frivolous time, where society generally is much more occupied with issues of meager substance than with the serious business of living our daily lives. Because of this, it is very difficult for us to achieve any sort of intensive mood regarding the month of Elul.  

There was a time, not so far distant in the past, when it was said in Eastern Europe that even the fish in the rivers trembled when they heard the announcement that the month of Elul had arrived. That certainly is not the case today. People are still on vacation, in the midst of trips and visits, which by their very nature are meant to be a diversion from the serious matter of life itself. Tradition trembles when human beings are no longer serious. 

The German Chancellor Bismarck (left) reputedly once characterized the situation in the Austro-Hungarian Empire of his time as being hopeless but not serious. Indeed, there were many times in history when it was clear that governments and leaders embarked upon actions and provocations that ultimately led to war and disaster, simply out of a mood akin to frivolity. In a permissive society such as ours is today, when people are not held accountable for their behavior, when felonies are now only misdemeanors and misdemeanors are no longer punishable under any circumstances, it is really difficult to take a serious view of life.  

Judaism holds every individual personally responsible for his or her actions, attitudes, speech, and behavior. Mitigating circumstances are acknowledged, but Judaism never accepts excuses or blaming others for one's own faults and misdeeds. Human beings are responsible creatures. Their behavior engenders consequences that cannot be ignored. We are judged on our behavior, not on the quality of our excuses.  Chodesh Elul always imparted this fundamental lesson of heavenly judgment and correct human performance. When understanding the full import of this message, it is no wonder that even the fish in the rivers trembled at the advent of the month of Elul.

 The new month also brings with it a note of optimism and goodness. The spirituality of the holidays that follow in Tishrei remains a source of strength for all of us during the new year that will soon be upon us. We are confident that our sins and shortcomings will be forgiven and ameliorated, and that the Lord of goodness and kindness will embrace us and our actions and turn them into positive and fruitful ones.  

Judaism is built upon optimism, good cheer and a balanced view of life and its vicissitudes. We may not be able to change the past, but we are certainly capable of improving our future. This is also a basic lesson of Elul. We may tremble in anticipation but, even in our moments of trepidation, there is an innate belief that eventually things will come right, and all will be well.  

By realizing the impending moments of majesty and eternal memory, Elul transforms us into vessels that can receive holiness and eternal reward. Achieving this level of human character is itself a joyful experience that one can achieve in life. It is this mixture of trepidation and joyful expectation that the month of Elul produces within us that allows us to appreciate and treasure this final month of the Jewish calendar year 5785.

The Sound of the Shofar, the Voice of the Volcano

Rabbi Wein ztz'l wrote this piece back in 2012.

The sound of the shofar reverberated in our synagogue this week as the month of Elul began. It signaled the approach of the Days of Awe and its attendant holidays only a few short weeks from now.  In previous generations, devoid of today’s omnipresent technological wonders and the obsessive need for instant communication, Elul took on a somber, serious note. It was an opportunity for introspection and deep reflection  about life, mortality, mission and purpose. 

Part of our problem with modernity and technology is that we have become desensitized and even disconnected from our own inner selves. We are so busily occupied in messaging and speaking to others that we have no time, desire or perhaps even ability to hear our own souls speaking to us and clamoring for meaningful attention. The sound of the shofar may reverberate in our ears but the still small voice of our inner being is drowned out by the cacophony of the frenetic activity that has become our daily fare. Prisoners of our own progress, we are increasingly isolated and lonely. Elul does not register with us—it’s just another month of the calendar year. 

On a trip I once took to Italy and Sicily, for a whole week I had no access to my email or the internet generally. I usually receive about twenty emails a day, some of which I do deem to be important so,, as you can imagine, I underwent a painful withdrawal syndrome for the first two days of my technological isolation. But as the days passed I found myself more relaxed, more in touch with my inner self. One of the highlights of our summer tour was a visit to Sicily’s Mount Aetna. As the hardier members of my family and the rest of the group began their ascent of the cratered top of the mountain, I sat on a bench part way up Mount Aetna and contemplated the boiling steam eruptions emanating from the crater of this still active volcano. All around me, people were prattling away on their cell phones. I asked myself if it is even possible to appreciate Mount Aetna under such conditions. The two are not only incongruous: they are antithetical.

Sitting on that bench, watching the steam belch forth from the mountain, I quietly began to review my personal year that was coming to an end, its accomplishments and disappointments.  After a while I began to hear myself and I truly contemplated the arrival of Elul—and of the approaching new year.  I thought that it was no wonder that many of the great men of Israel returned to the original places of Torah study of their youth to spend the month of Elul there in preparation for the approaching time of judgment and compassion. They did so in order to regain their inner voice. 

I realize that it is quite impossible to bring Mount Aetna to my study in my apartment. But, nevertheless, I am striving to regain that moment of introspection that I experienced sitting on that bench in Sicily. When I am deluged with telephone calls, emails to respond to, articles to write, lectures to prepare, haircuts, chores and all the trivia that fill my life, the atmosphere of that reverie on the bench at Mount Aetna is almost impossible to replicate. Even so, now it is Elul and the sound of the shofar stirs emotions and contemplation within all of us. 

Somehow, Elul does feel differently than any of the other months of the year. It is as though our inner self waits the entire year for Elul to arrive and, when it finally does, our souls demand our attention and concern. This is, in fact, the challenge of the month of Elul today and in our world—to experience an Elul that allows us to speak to ourselves and to hear our inner beings. There can be no better preparation for the Days of Awe than creating such an Elul for ourselves.

Time for Tehillim: Hallel for orchestra

Standing at the threshold of Rosh Chodesh Elul, we are about to recite our last Hallels for six weeks--the longest gap between Hallels in the Jewish calendar. This is because Rosh Chodesh Tishrei is also Rosh Hashanah, far too solemn and momentous an occasion for the singing of Hallel, and the next chance we get to say it is at the beginning of Sukkot, when we begin a straight run of eight days of full Hallel that culminate with Shemini Atzeret/Simchat Torah (that's nine days for members who are spending the Chag chutz la'aretz).

We have two days' Rosh Chodesh Elul ahead of us, on Sunday 24 and Monday 25 August.

To get you into the mood to celebrate Hallel in all its joyful majesty, here's a recording of a new composition, 'Hallel for Orchestra', by our member and leading Israeli composer Max Stern. It's Max who's doing the conducting, and the band is none other than our own Jerusalem Symphony Orchestra.

So what is this piece about?  According to Max:

Hallel for Orchestra is a hymn of jubilant praise inspired after the Hallel Psalms (Tehillim 113-118). Its asymmetric rhythmic motifs are derived from trope-like pronunciations of the Hebrew text to Psalm 113. These alternate with traditional melodies sung to Psalms 114 and 117 in Ashkenaz synagogue liturgy.

You can enjoy Hallel for Orchestra (all 12 minutes and 34 seconds of it) by clicking here.

The text of Tehillim 113, with English translation, runs like this:

Psalm 113 תְּהִלִּים

א  הַלְלוּ-יָהּ

הַלְלוּ, עַבְדֵי יְהוָה;    הַלְלוּ, אֶת-שֵׁם יְהוָה

1 Hallelujah. 

Praise, O ye servants of the LORD,

praise the name of the LORD.

ב  יְהִי שֵׁם יְהוָה מְבֹרָךְ--    מֵעַתָּה, וְעַד-עוֹלָם

2 Blessed be the name of the LORD

from this time forth and forever.

ג  מִמִּזְרַח-שֶׁמֶשׁ עַד-מְבוֹאוֹ--    מְהֻלָּל, שֵׁם יְהוָה

3 From the rising of the sun unto the

going down thereof the LORD'S name is

to be praised.

ד  רָם עַל-כָּל-גּוֹיִם יְהוָה;    עַל הַשָּׁמַיִם כְּבוֹדוֹ.

4 The LORD is high above all nations; His

glory is above the heavens.

ה  מִי, כַּיהוָה אֱלֹהֵינוּ--    הַמַּגְבִּיהִי לָשָׁבֶת

5 Who is like unto the LORD our God,

that is enthroned on high,

ו  הַמַּשְׁפִּילִי לִרְאוֹת--    בַּשָּׁמַיִם וּבָאָרֶץ

6 That looketh down low upon heaven

and upon the earth?

ז  מְקִימִי מֵעָפָר דָּל;    מֵאַשְׁפֹּת, יָרִים אֶבְיוֹן

7 Who raiseth up the poor out of the

dust, and lifteth up the needy out of the

dunghill;

ח  לְהוֹשִׁיבִי עִם-נְדִיבִים;    עִם, נְדִיבֵי עַמּוֹ

8 That He may set him with princes,

even with the princes of His people.

ט  מוֹשִׁיבִי, עֲקֶרֶת הַבַּיִת--    אֵם-הַבָּנִים שְׂמֵחָה

הַלְלוּ-יָהּ

9 Who maketh the barren woman to

dwell in her house as a joyful mother of

children. Hallelujah.

A taste of the bittersweet: Re'eh 5785

Though Rabbi Wein ztz'l may no longer be with us, we are still privileged to benefit from his words of wisdom. All the divrei Torah that we post between now and Simchat Torah were sent to us for publication by the Destiny Foundation before he died. We are grateful for the opportunity to reproduce them here.

In this week’s parsha the Torah continues with the theme that runs through the previous parshiyot of Devarim: we are always faced with the stark choice between  blessings and curses, good and evil. The words of the Torah seemingly offer little scope for any middle ground on these basic matters of belief and behavior. Yet we know that life’s events are rarely ‘all or nothing’, 100% blessing or curse.  In fact, Jewish tradition and teachings instruct us that, hidden in tragedy, there is always a glimmer of hope and goodness, and that all joy and happiness contains within it the taste of the bitter. 

Jewish philosophy and theology teach us that evil somehow has a place in God’s good and benign world. We face the problem of why the Torah addresses these matters without nuance, in such a harsh way which seemingly brooks no compromise, without a hint of a middle ground. After all, the Torah is not a debating society where one is forced to take an extreme uncompromising stand in order to focus the issue being discussed more sharply and definitively. 

Many rabbinic scholars of previous generations have maintained that it is only in our imperfect, post-Temple period that we are to search for good in evil, and to temper our joy with feelings of seriousness and even sadness. But, in an idyllic world, where the Divine Spirit is a palpable entity, the choices really are stark and the divisions are 100% to zero.

Far be it from me to reject the opinion of these great scholars of Israel. However, I wish to interject a slightly different perspective into this matter. This parsha begins with the word re’eh – “see”. We know that there are stages in life that we can see well only with the aid of corrective lenses, especially when reading small print. Without that correction, we can easily make grave mistakes in seeking to size up what appears before us. Well, this situation is not limited to the physical world: it applies equally to our spiritual world of Torah observance and personal morality. 

Many times we think we are behaving righteously when we are in fact behaving badly because we fail to see the matter correctly. We are not wearing our corrective lenses,. But, with the benefit of halacha, history, good common sense and a Jewish value system that should govern our lives, we see things so much more clearly. Without this advantage, we see blessings and curses, good and evil, in a manner that is blurred, their edges lacking definition.

The Torah wishes us to see clearly, so that we will be instinctively able to recognize what is the blessing in our life and what is not. The Torah has been kind enough to provide us with the necessary corrective lenses. These lenses consist of observance of Torah and its commandments and loyalty to Jewish values and traditions. 

For "Comfort from the Calendar", Rabbi Wein's devar Torah on this parashah for last year, click here.

Following in Their Ways – The Eternal Struggle Against Avodah Zarah

This parashah shiur is based on a Shiur given by Rabbi Wein ztz’l on August 30,2024

 In this week’s parashah, we encounter a passage that reverberates throughout Jewish history and Jewish life. Moshe warns the people:

הִשָּׁ֣מֶר לְךָ֗ פֶּן־תִּנָּקֵשׁ֙ אַֽחֲרֵיהֶ֔ם אַֽחֲרֵ֖י הִשָּֽׁמְדָ֣ם מִפָּנֶ֑יךָ וּפֶן־תִּדְר֨שׁ לֵאלֹֽהֵיהֶ֜ם לֵאמֹ֗ר אֵיכָ֨ה יַֽעַבְד֜וּ הַגּוֹיִ֤ם הָאֵ֨לֶּה֙ אֶת־אֱלֹ֣הֵיהֶ֔ם וְאֶֽעֱשֶׂה־כֵּ֖ן גַּם־אָֽנִי

“Take heed… lest you inquire after their gods, saying: ‘How did these nations serve their gods, that I may do the same?’” (דברים י״ב:ל)

 This verse is not merely a historical warning about ancient idolatry. It points to a deep spiritual and cultural struggle that the Jewish people have faced in every generation: the temptation to imitate the practices, priorities, and lifestyles of the nations around them.

 How Far Does Avodah Zarah Go?

 Rashi, citing the Gemara (סנהדרין ס׳ ע״ב), explains: 

“כְּגוֹן מַרְקוּלִיס שֶׁדַּרְכּוֹ לְהַשְׁלִיךְ לוֹ אֲבָנִים, וְהַשּׁוֹלֵךְ לוֹ אֶבֶן, חַיָּיב”

 “For example, the idol Marculis, whose way of worship is to throw stones at it—one who throws even a single stone is liable.”

 Even though such an act appears disrespectful, when done as ritual it becomes idolatry. But what if someone bows to Marculis, even though its typical service is throwing stones? Rashi notes that bowing itself is universally considered an act of worship, so it too constitutes avodah zarah: 

“אֲבָל הַמִּשְׁתַּחֲוֶה לוֹ—אַף עַל פִּי שֶׁאֵין דַּרְכּוֹ בְּכָךְ—חַיָּיב”

 “But one who bows to it—even though that is not its way—he is liable.”

 The Rambam expands on this principle: 

“כָּל עֲבוֹדָה שֶׁהִיא דֶּרֶךְ כָּבוֹד—אַף עַל פִּי שֶׁאֵינָהּ דֶּרֶךְ עֲבוֹדָתוֹ—חַיָּיב עָלֶיהָ”

 “Any form of service that is a way of honor—even if not the idol’s usual service—one is liable for.” (הלכות עֲבוֹדַת כּוֹכָבִים ג:ג)

The Torah’s purpose, says the Rambam, is to distance us from avodah zarah entirely, for it has always exerted a powerful psychological pull. 

The Pressure of the Majority

Moshe’s warning is not only theological but deeply psychological: How could it be that so many nations are wrong? How can a tiny minority insist on saying “no” when the whole world seems to say “yes”?

כִּי עַם־קָדוֹשׁ אַתָּה לַה׳ אֱלֹהֶיךָ… וּבְךָ בָּחַר ה׳ לִהְיוֹת לוֹ לְעַם סְגֻלָּה

 “For you are a holy people to Hashem your God… and Hashem has chosen you to be His treasured people.” (דברים ז:ו)

 The Torah recognizes that it is hard to be a despised minority, mocked for standing apart. Yet that is precisely the Jewish destiny: to remain faithful even against the tide of the majority. 

Darkei Emori – The Ways of the Nations 

Beyond worship itself, the Torah forbids imitating pagan practices—darkei Emori. The Mishnah teaches: 

“דַּרְכֵי הָאֱמוֹרִי—כָּל מִינֵי נִחוּשׁ שֶׁהָיוּ אוֹמְרִים…”

“The ways of the Emorites—these are all forms of superstition that they would practice…” (שבת סז ע״א)

 Throughout Jewish history, this principle sparked debate:

● In 19th-century Germany, Reform synagogues introduced organ music to imitate churches. Orthodox authorities banned it, declaring it darkei Emori.

● Rabbi Yaakov Emden forbade decorating synagogues with flowers on Shavuot because it resembled Christian Easter celebrations—though most communities kept the custom, claiming Jewish precedent.

● The Rambam insisted that all superstition—lucky numbers, red strings, omens—is forbidden: 

“כָּל הַמְנַחֵשׁ אוֹ מְעוֹנֵן—לוֹקֶה. וְאֵין בְּדְבָרִים הָאֵלּוּ דָּבָר שֶׁל חָכְמָה כְּלָל”

 “Anyone who practices divination or soothsaying is liable to lashes. There is no wisdom in these things whatsoever.” (הלכות עֲבוֹדַת כּוֹכָבִים יא:טז)

 The reasoning is clear: imitation in custom can lead to assimilation in spirit.

 Drawing the Line 

Where, then, do we draw the line?

● Should rabbis wear clerical robes like priests? Some German communities said yes; Eastern European Jews said no.

● Should synagogues adopt church-like decorum? Opinions diverged.

● Even the simple presence of a clock in a synagogue once sparked a Lithuanian rabbi to quip: “I see Reform has already arrived here!” 

The Rambam provides a guiding principle: 

כָּל מַה שֶּׁנִּמְצָא שֶׁיֵּשׁ בּוֹ תּוֹעֶלֶת מִנִּימוּסֵי הַגּוֹיִם—אֵין בּוֹ מִשּׁוּם חֻקּוֹתֵיהֶם. וְכָל מַה שֶּׁאֵין בּוֹ טַעַם רָאוּי—אָסוּר

 “Anything found among the nations that has a clear benefit is not included in the prohibition. But anything with no rational basis is forbidden.” (הלכות עֲבוֹדַת כּוֹכָבִים יא:א)

 Thus, medicine is permitted because it heals, while quack remedies—once tied to superstition—are forbidden. 

The Eternal Struggle 

Moshe’s words echo through the generations: the Jewish people must often stand apart, resisting the lure of majority culture. This has never been easy. 

הֶן־עָם לְבָדָד יִשְׁכֹּן וּבַגּוֹיִם לֹא יִתְחַשָּׁב

 “Behold, it is a people that dwells alone, and is not reckoned among the nations.” (במדבר כג:ט)

 The idols of today are different: money, fame, power, ideology. Yet the temptation to bow to them, to imitate the world, remains just as strong. The Torah reminds us to guard our uniqueness, to hold fast to truth, and to avoid being swept away by borrowed customs.  

שַׁבָּת שָׁלוֹם

Rabbi Berel Wein (1934–2025)

Scholar, Historian, Teacher, Leader, and Beloved Rabbi of Beit Knesset Hanassi--Rabbi Berel Wein was all of these things, and more. The Hanassi Blog adds its own tribute to the many that have been pouring out for this remarkable man, 

With profound sorrow, yet deep gratitude for a life richly lived, we mark the passing of Rabbi Berel Wein, our revered rabbi at Beit Knesset Hanassi in Jerusalem. At the age of 91, after a lifetime of tireless scholarship, spiritual leadership, and heartfelt teaching, Rabbi Wein leaves behind an indelible legacy that has shaped generations of Jews across the world.

Even in his final months, weakened by illness, Rabbi Wein remained committed to his mission—to teach, to inspire, and to uplift. With great courage, he continued to give his weekly classes, each word delivered with the same clarity, wit, and depth that had long been his hallmark. Colleagues and students came from all corners of the country and beyond, eager to hear the timeless words of Torah shaped by his singular voice: steeped in tradition, laced with insight, and always delivered with a glint of humor and humanity.

Rabbi Wein’s passing is a personal loss to the Hanassi community, which he has served as our spiritual guide, teacher, and friend for more than two decades. But his influence reaches far beyond the walls of our synagogue. He was a giant in the world of Torah learning, Jewish history, and public discourse—an Orthodox thinker who managed to bridge generations, continents, and worlds with grace, erudition, and warmth.

A Scholar and Teacher from Early On

Berel Wein was born in 1933 in Chicago, Illinois, into a family of proud rabbinic lineage. After graduating from the Hebrew Theological College in Skokie and receiving his rabbinic ordination, he also pursued a secular education, earning a law degree from DePaul University. He practiced law for a time, but his heart was always in teaching Torah and guiding souls.

In 1964, Rabbi Wein became the rabbi of Congregation Beth Israel in Miami Beach, Florida, where his oratory talents and charismatic leadership quickly became known. From there he moved on to Congregation Bais Torah in Suffern, New York, a pulpit he held for nearly 25 years. It was in Suffern and Monsey that he began to reach a wider audience—not only as a pulpit rabbi, but as a prolific author, historian, and communal leader. In 1976 he established Yeshiva Shaarei Torah, which flourished under his inspirational guidance and basked in the warmth and wisdom of his close personal involvement until he made aliyah in 1997. His constant message to his students there was that life is full of messages to be gleaned—if only one is tuned in to them. 

A Voice for the Jewish Past and Present

To most of the Jewish world, Rabbi Wein was best known for his pioneering work in making Jewish history accessible, engaging, and relevant. Through his many books, recorded lectures, and later, documentary films, he brought the grand sweep of Jewish history alive—telling the story of our people with passion, integrity, and clarity. He understood that the story of the Jews was not merely a tale of persecution and survival, but one of spiritual greatness, moral responsibility, and eternal purpose.

His monumental four-volume Jewish History series—Echoes of Glory, Herald of Destiny, Triumph of Survival, and Faith and Fate—became instant classics, studied in schools and adult classes across the globe. Through these works, Rabbi Wein gave thousands their first real introduction to Jewish history, not as dry facts and dates but as a living legacy. His message? That, if we are to understand who we are as Jews, we must know where we come from—and more importantly, where we are meant to go.

His countless recorded lectures—on Torah, Talmud, halacha, history, ethics, and current events—became a staple of learning in Jewish communities worldwide. Always infused with his signature blend of depth, narrative skill, and wry humor, his teachings were as accessible to laypeople as they were profound to scholars.

He also served as the executive vice president of the Orthodox Union’s Kashrut Division and founded the Destiny Foundation, through which he produced films, books, and curricula to strengthen Jewish identity and historical consciousness.

A New Chapter in Jerusalem

Upon retiring from the rabbinate in the United States, Rabbi Wein fulfilled a lifelong dream by making aliyah to Israel. Far from slowing down, he began a new and deeply fruitful chapter in his life. In 2000, he accepted the position of rabbi at Beit Knesset Hanassi in the Rechavia neighborhood of Jerusalem. From his first drasha, it was clear that he had found a spiritual home—and that we had found a rabbi of extraordinary caliber.

His Shabbat sermons were eagerly awaited: thoughtful, often humorous, sometimes gently provocative, always rooted in eternal Torah values. His weekday classes drew a devoted following that grew over the years to include not only regulars but visitors from abroad who arranged their travel schedules around his shiurim.

It was not just what he taught that moved people—it was how he taught. Rabbi Wein had the rare ability to speak to a diverse crowd and make each listener feel personally addressed. As a speaker he was never aloof, never above his audience. He had lived in the modern world, understood its challenges, and always sought to bring Torah into dialogue with contemporary life. His intellect was formidable, but his manner was humble. He was accessible, funny, and wise—qualities that made him not just our rabbi, but our teacher, confidant, and friend.

A Man of Principle and Grace

Throughout his life, Rabbi Wein stood for intellectual honesty, moral clarity, and fidelity to Torah tradition. He was unafraid to speak uncomfortable truths, but always did so with sensitivity and kindness. He had no interest in ideological grandstanding or political posturing. He believed in the Jewish people—in all of us—and devoted his life to building bridges within our diverse community.

Those who knew him best will remember his gentle smile, his thoughtful pauses, the quiet strength with which he bore personal losses, and the integrity with which he lived every day. His faith was deep but never showy; his convictions strong but never overbearing. He loved Torah, he loved the Jewish people, and he loved the land of Israel—not as abstract ideals, but as living realities.

A Legacy That Endures

Rabbi Wein is survived by his children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren—each a testament to his love, his values, and his lifelong commitment to Jewish continuity. His family was a constant source of pride to him, and he spoke of them often—with joy, humility, and immense gratitude.

But he is also survived by countless spiritual children—students and readers, congregants and listeners—whose lives were enriched and uplifted by his teachings. To them, and to us, he leaves behind not just memories, but a living inheritance: a love of Torah, a passion for Jewish history, and a model of integrity, faith, and wisdom.

As we mourn his loss, we also give thanks for the extraordinary blessing of having had Rabbi Berel Wein as our rabbi, teacher, and guide. In his honor, may we strive to carry forward his legacy—with courage, with clarity, and with love.

Yehi zichro baruch—May his memory be a blessing.

***** ***** ***** ***** *****

If you would like to offer the family your condolences, please email them to bkhanassi@gmail.com with the subject line ‘Condolences’. We will print them out and present them to the family.

If you have fond memories of Rabbi Wein ztz’l that you wish to share, please email them to bkhanassi@gmail.com with the subject line ‘Memories’.  We will do our best to share these memories with the family and with the Beit Knesset Hanassi community.

May we all be spared to share only good news.

One Mitzvah or All Mitzvot? The Singular Lesson of Parashat Eikev

In his devar Torah this week, our member Rabbi Paul Bloom focuses on a small, unexpected piece of phraseology in our Torah reading and shows how much we can learn from it. He writes:

In parashat Eikev, the Torah speaks about the benefits and consequences of living a life of Torah and mitzvot. One fascinating detail is the way Moshe Rabbeinu refers to “כָּל־הַמִּצְוָה” — the commandment — in the singular, rather than the expected plural form:

 (דברים ח:א) "כָּל־הַמִּצְוָה אֲשֶׁר אָנֹכִי מְצַוְּךָ הַיּוֹם תִּשְׁמְרוּן לַעֲשׂוֹת"

Why use the singular when referring to the entire system of mitzvot? Many commentators ask this, and their answers reveal a profound key to our avodat Hashem.

All Mitzvot as One Unified System

The Ramban and others explain that “כָּל־הַמִּצְוָה” in the singular emphasizes that the mitzvot form one integrated, inseparable system. The Torah is not a menu from which one can select a few favorite commandments and consider oneself fulfilled.

They draw on the Midrash (Bamidbar Rabbah 18:21) which teaches that the 248 positive mitzvot and 365 prohibitions correspond to the 248 limbs and 365 sinews of the human body. If one finger is broken, the whole body is affected. Likewise, if one mitzvah is missing, the entire spiritual structure is impaired:

"אִם חִסֵּר אֵחָד מֵאֵבָרָיו — נִפְגָּם כֻּלּו"

This is a demanding — even daunting — interpretation. It means that partial observance misses the Torah’s goal. The mitzvot are designed to work together as a whole; only by fulfilling all of them does one achieve “כָּל־הַמִּצְוָה,” the one great commandment in its entirety.

The Infinite Value of One Mitzvah

The Kli Yakar and Rashba reverse the focus entirely. They read “כָּל־הַמִּצְוָה” as meaning that even a single mitzvah contains within it the value of the whole. Every mitzvah is a direct connection to the Ribono Shel Olam.

The Mishnah teaches:

"רצה הקדוש ברוך הוא לזכות את ישראל לפיכך הרבה להם תורה ומצוות"
 (מכות ג:טז)

The Rashba explains: this is not to burden us, but to multiply opportunities. Even if a person does just one mitzvah with pure intent (לשמה), from beginning to end, it has infinite significance.That single achievable goal of doing one  mitzvah and once there, often brings  you to do many more. This is exactly the Kli Yakar’s point: even one mitzvah is worth worlds.

Two Paragraphs of Shema: Maximum and Minimum

This interplay between “all” and “one” appears again in our parashah, in the second paragraph of Shema. The first paragraph (דברים ו:ד–ט) is written in the singular, addressed to the individual:

"וְאָהַבְתָּ אֵת ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ בְּכָל־לְבָבְךָ וּבְכָל־נַפְשְׁךָ וּבְכָל־מְאֹדֶךָ"

This is the maximum ideal — serving Hashem with total love, unconditionally, with no mention of reward or punishment. It is pure, selfless devotion, as exemplified by Rabbi Akiva, who gave his life על קידוש השם.

The second paragraph (דברים יא:יג–כא), found in Parashat Eikev, shifts to the plural, addressing the nation:

"וְהָיָה אִם־שָׁמֹעַ תִּשְׁמְעוּ... וְנָתַתִּי מְטַר־אַרְצְכֶם בְּעִתּו"

Here mitzvah observance is tied to tangible rewards — rain, produce, security, and long life for us and our children. This is the realistic framework for a community: the motivation of blessing alongside the responsibility of obedience. The first paragraph presents the aspirational summit; the second provides the practical, accessible baseline.

Living Between the Minimum and the Maximum

The Torah thus sets two guiding poles:

●       Aim for the maximum — see the mitzvot as one complete system, serve with unconditional love, and aspire to total observance.

●       Value the minimum — recognize that even one mitzvah done purely connects you to Hashem in an eternal way.

Both poles are essential. Without the maximum, we lack vision; without the minimum, we lose accessibility.

May we merit to live with both אהבה and יראה, to integrate all mitzvot as one whole, and to treasure even a single act of connection to our Creator.