To dream or not to dream? that is the question

Yesterday the Women's League, braving the roadworks, urban reconstruction, demonstrations and usual urban congestion -- not to mention an inconveniently-timed missile warning -- ventured down to Rishon LeTzion for a most unusual outing.  Our member Dr Pessy Krausz takes up the story.

When our indefatigably caring Shirley March, Women’s League President, organised our Hanassi Shul tour of the Yaacov Agam Museum of Art, it was hardly to be expected that we were in for a revelation!

After viewing the nine pillars in the entrance, our group was led into a bright airy hall, decorated with Agam works, which contained many colourful carpeted rolling cubes. Upon these we were to sit so that we could propel ourselves across the floor to view a movie shown from four screens—each depicting a different aspect of how the Museum and its hugely tall pillars were erected. Some of us moved, while others simply craned their necks. Even though the many school children experiencing what we might call the rolling cube movement would have no problem returning to their pivotal centre, for our group, (metaphorically speaking) no longer in the first flush of youth, balance is all—along with positioning objects in the same place, so that we’re not forever searching for our keys, glasses or whatever, is a method, we are told, that is essential. 

Equally our sense of balance was challenged viewing the huge pillar which is emblazoned on one side with the Magen David – or as called in the catalogue the Star of David – stretching from here to infinity with the use of mirrors above and below. As we realised his underlying message, “From Here to Eternity”, we also appreciated how in Hebrew we’d say Am LaNezach – our Eternal People. 

Left: A moving triangle casts shadows that develop into a series of Magen Davids

Many of Agam’s works reveal his deep attachment to his Jewish roots. This is hardly surprising since his father, Yehoshua Gibstein, was a rabbi and a Kabbalist who not only Agam’s outlook and encouraged his son to pursue the study of art. agam was born Yaacov Gibstein on May 11, 1928 in Rishon le-Zion, Palestine. Our guide, Yarden, shared that, though reaching a blessed 97 years, he says he is still working on design—though only in his mind! One of our members, Barbara Apelbaum, an art connoisseur who sold his works in the gallery for which she worked, for met Agam and said what a very nice person he is. 

Agam’s prolific 4,382 artworks – called Kinetic art – can be viewed on artnet. Our group was fascinated to see the changing forms that depend on the point from where they are viewed. Our guide explained how Agam connects physics, Judaism and Kabbalah. Thus his work reveals his deep attachment to his Jewish roots. Furthermore, Agam finds the connection between plastic art and music – creating a symphony.  

Agam’s book Agamilim – Reading writing and thinking challenges was published in Israel, 1989. It is aimed at children, particularly preschoolers, to improve their visual thinking, visual memory, and spatial skills by providing tools for a more balanced visual and verbal education. But one might say it would be useful for all, even today. It explores the fundamental principles of his art: visual thinking, multi-dimensionality, and the connection between time and change. Rather than completing a work, the viewer actively participates in its creation by shifting their perception. This continuous interaction means that each work is never fully complete,but is instead an ongoing event for the viewer—who can then participate in creation. 

Perhaps some of us related to the messages his book conveyed during our wonderful experience at the museum. Maybe we appreciated his message that true reality lies beyond mere appearance. Perhaps by engaging with his dynamic art we may have experienced a sense of spiritual elevation, similar to a visual prayer. In any case, our forefather Yaacov’s dream of a ladder was intangible. Yaacov Agam, with his magnificent ladder, has turned such a dream into tangible reality. 

Back to more physical reality, Shirley reminded us that the bus was waiting to take us all to Ikea for lunch – and even a little shopping! We came back down to earth with relief and moved gently towards a welcome meal, some of us quickly paying for carefully selected Agam postcards, posters or linen bags. The magnet on my fridge, depicting Agam’s pillars, will be a reminder that this dreamlike event was, indeed, reality!

What does it mean to take care?

This piece digs into perek 2 of Pirkei Avot--the second of the two perakim we study this Shabbat.

There is no piece of advice that is given—or ignored—more frequently than the injunction: “Take care!”   From our earliest days as children, we hear these words from our parents and elders. When we grow up, the refrain is taken up by our partners and peers, and when we grow old we receive them from our children. It doesn’t matter what we are doing: going out in the rain, playing in the park, climbing a ladder, lifting a suitcase or descending the stairs. We are always told: “Be careful! Take care!” The most annoying thing about this instruction is that it usually comes without the information we really need to know about what care needs to be taken and how we should take it.

Given the prevalence of this unwanted advice, it is almost a disappointment to read Avot 2:18, where Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel teaches three lessons. The first two of them are clearly connected, since both address prayer, and they are at first sight no more than the usual caution to take care:

הֱוֵי זָהִיר בִּקְרִיאַת שְׁמַע וּבִתְפִלָּה. וּכְשֶׁאַתָּה מִתְפַּלֵּל, אַל תַּֽעַשׂ תְּפִלָּתְךָ קְבַע, אֶלָּא רַחֲמִים וְתַחֲנוּנִים לִפְנֵי הַמָּקוֹם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: כִּי חַנּוּן וְרַחוּם הוּא, אֶֽרֶךְ אַפַּֽיִם וְרַב חֶֽסֶד, וְנִחָם עַל הָרָעָה

Be zahir (careful) in reciting the Shema and in tefillah (prayer). When you do pray, do not make your prayers routine, but [pleas for] mercy and supplication before the Almighty, as it says: “For He is gracious and merciful, slow to anger, abundant in lovingkindness, and He has a gentle touch with the bad…”

Why does Rabbi Shimon take the trouble to tell us to be careful when we say Shema and when we pray? Is it not obvious that we should do so? And why should we take the trouble to study and internalise this message? If we are seriously committed to our religious practice, aren’t we doing it anyway? And, if we are not, this advice is hardly going to change us.

Rabbenu Yonah, the Bartenura and the commentary ascribed to Rashi explain that this mishnah addresses the need to say Shema at the right time. But since this is in any event a matter of halachah, Jewish law, we might wonder why it might be necessary to add a Mishnaic warning to take care. Perhaps sensing this, the Me’iri posits that the reason for taking care in reciting Shema and prayer is that it enhances one’s recognition of one’s Creator and one’s ability to become close to Him. The Chida (Ahavah beTa’anugim) sees it as being literally a wake-up call, since Shema and tefillah are the first two big events we have to deal with after we have dragged ourselves sluggishly out of bed. Another possibililty is that this mishnah is a corrective, since a person might be tempted to cut corners in saying Shema and tefillah in order to leave more time to learn Torah (R’ Chaim Pelagi, Einei Kol Chai; R’ Dovid Pardo, Shoshanim LeDavid).

The Shema and prayer aren’t by any means the only things our Sages tell us to take care over. For example, in the fourth perek Rabbi Yehudah tells us (Avot 4:16) to be zahir in our learning. There’s also another we find for being careful: in Avot 1:1 the Men of the Great Assembly warn us to be matunim badin (painstakingly careful in judgement). Again, I would have assumed that it was a no-brainer that judges should take care in deciding the cases before them, so why should there be any need for a warning?

We might speculate as to whether there might be some connection between these two mishnayot. Judges are told to be matunim, while people reciting Shema or praying are told to be zahir. Why aren’t judges told to be zehirim and why aren’t we supposed to be matunim?

With judges there is an extra element of taking care. This ideally involves hearing and discussing a case and then taking a break, sleeping on one’s reason for reaching a conclusion and then reassessing it afresh. That is the highest form of taking care since it not only demands a careful rethink but also allows a judge’s subconscious thoughts and perspectives to come to the forefront of his mind.  We want our judges to be matunim, to leave that space for mature reflection, rather than for them to be merely zehirim.

But when we recite Shema or pray, our care-taking is of a different order. Yes, we must be zehirim, we must say the words correctly, at the due time and with the necessary degree of thought and intention—but we may not be matunim and take a break in order to consider our performance of these commandments in greater depth.  We must complete the task of recitation or prayer in a single session,

Caution in teaching: the need for quality control

This week we double up on Pirkei Avot, reading the first two perakim. This piece dips into Perek !.

At Avot 1:11 Avtalyon gives us the first of only three teachings in Avot that are couched in the form of a narrative:

חֲכָמִים, הִזָּהֲרוּ בְדִבְרֵיכֶם, שֶׁמָּא תָחֽוֹבוּ חוֹבַת גָּלוּת וְתִגְלוּ לִמְקוֹם מַֽיִם הָרָעִים, וְיִשְׁתּוּ הַתַּלְמִידִים הַבָּאִים אַחֲרֵיכֶם וְיָמֽוּתוּ, וְנִמְצָא שֵׁם שָׁמַֽיִם מִתְחַלֵּל

Scholars, be careful with your words. For perhaps you will be exiled to a place of bad water. The students who follow you might drink the bad water and die, and the Name of Heaven will be desecrated.

Once it is appreciated that ‘water’ is a metaphor for Torah and that ‘bad water’ is bad Torah teaching, the meaning of this parable is plain: if you, the chacham, are careless in the way you impart Torah to your students, they may misconstrue or misunderstand God’s message. They will then damage the Torah further when in turn they teach it erroneously to students of their own. Having done so, they are liable to be punished—and this will be a chillul Hashem, a desecration of God’s name.

R' Ovadyah Hedayah (Seh LaBet Avot) points out the irony that is buried within this tale. Here we have talmidim of a rabbi who follow him and, who despite their learning from him in good faith, are guilty of a chillul Hashem. If one of those talmidim should through his inadvertence or negligence unwittingly bring about the death of another person, in Torah times he would have had been exiled to one of the orei miklat (“cities of refuge”) and—because his Torah education was understood to be a priority—his rabbi had to go into exile with him.

Our tradition of Pirkei Avot learning is never so narrow as to admit only one meaning per mishnah, and sometimes we find explanations that are quite surprising. According to the Chida (Chasdei Avot) the chillul Hashem is not the fault of the chacham but of his talmidim: it is they who cause death and destruction through their impaired capacity to absorb Torah. The moral of the mishnah would thus be that the chacham should be ultra-cautious in choosing his words and, it seems to me, in conducting regular quality control tests by examining his talmidim regularly to seek out signs of error or deviation from true Torah teaching. This process should ideally start at the moment that talmidim are selected, to weed out those who lack the ability to understand what is being taught and the maturity to handle it (per R’ Eliezer Papo, Ya’alzu Chasidim).

Like the words of the written Torah, the guidance of tractate Avot is intended to speak to us at all times and in every generation. We can thus take away from Avtalyon’s teaching a message that applies to parents, medical practitioners, accountants, lawyers and indeed anyone whose words will be given the weight of authority and which may cause havoc if distorted or taken out of context.

Two paths, one destination

Jeremy Phillips writes:

I have had the rare good fortune to work both with Rabbi Berel Wein ztz’l and Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks ztz’l—two rabbis whose Jewish roots—and the routes they took—could scarcely have been more different.

Rabbi Wein was raised and schooled within a long and distinguished tradition of Lithuanian Torah scholarship; Rabbi Sacks came from an unlearned family of merchants. Rabbi Wein was par excellence a Torah scholar whose natural habitat was the yeshiva and the beit midrash; Rabbi Sacks’ preferred milieu was the synagogue pulpit and the university lecture hall. Rabbi Wein was a rabbi first and only secondly a historian; Rabbi Sacks was a first a philosopher, but a philosopher with semicha.

Within the vast field of Jewish learning, Rabbi Wein was for the Talmud and poskim; Rabbi Sacks’ comfort zone was that of Tanach and midrash. Rabbi Wein cautioned powerfully against the embrace of popular and secular culture and warned of its corrosive effect on living a life of Torah; Rabbi Sacks admired and absorbed much secular culture and sought to use it to understand and strengthen his Torah. Rabbi Wein’s messages were often blunt, sometimes brutal in their force—though delivered with a note of paternal kindness. Rabbi Sacks’ words were carefully crafted orations, aesthetic and elegant—but shocking when delivered with unexpected passion. Rabbi Wein was a man of mitzvot; he gave halachic rulings with the wisdom and confidence of a man backed by deep knowledge and siata dishmaya; Rabbi Sacks was a man of impeccable middot, shrinking from giving halachic rulings and always deferring on matters of halacha to the dayanim of the Beit Din of which he was the titular head,

These two giants of the contemporary Torah scene, who have both been taken from us in the very recent past, were so different in every respect that it seems astonishing that they held each other in such high regard, indeed affection. Those of us who were there will recall Rabbi Sacks’ warm words in his congratulatory message to Rabbi Wein when the latter celebrated 20 years at the helm of Beit Knesset Hanassi, as well as Rabbi Wein’s moving words on his shul’s event to mark the first yahrzeit of Rabbi Sacks. Can anyone doubt that these two men held each other in the highest regard? Why might this be?

If we distil the messages of the two rabbis, we find that they are so similar as to be virtually identical. Both cared passionately about Jewish demographics, writing and speaking on this subject with power and passion. Both were desperately unhappy about the rising tide of ignorance, indifference and assimilation, and both cried out for their audiences to seize the moment to address the problem full-on.  Rabbi Sacks shocked his English constituents when he published ‘Will We Have Jewish Grandchildren?’ and the final plea of Rabbi Wein in his last book launch at Hanassi, shortly before his death, was for the audience to place a copy of his book on antisemitism before every one of their grandchildren.

It was not just the messages but also the means of disseminating them that marked these two luminaries out. Both recognized the power of the media and the emerging technologies to bring their words before audiences who might never otherwise encounter them. To this end Rabbi Wein established the Destiny Foundation, harnessing sound and video recordings and embracing YouTube and Zoom. Similarly, Rabbi Sacks' works, thoughts and ideas are promulgated through The Rabbi Sacks Legacy. Thus the life's work of Rabbis Wein and Sacks lives on.

That these two men, so different in so many respects, should have identified the same issues as crucial and fought for them with every fibre of their being, is something in which I take great comfort. I am sure that, should their paths cross in a better world than this, they will celebrate not their differences but the convergence of their love for the People of Israel and their prayer for its growth and continued success.

The Subtle Corruption of Shochad

 Here is a devar Torah taken  from a shiur that Rabbi Wein ztz'l gave a couple of years  ago on Shofetim, and summarized by Rabbi Paul Bloom.

One of the central themes of this week’s parashah is the danger of corruption — shochad. The Torah warns explicitly:

“לֹא תַטֶּה מִשְׁפָּט לֹא תַכִּיר פָּנִים וְלֹא תִקַּח שֹׁחַד, כִּי הַשֹּׁחַד יְעַוֵּר עֵינֵי חֲכָמִים וִיסַלֵּף דִּבְרֵי צַדִּיקִים”

“You shall not pervert judgment, you shall not show favoritism, and you shall not take a bribe, for a bribe blinds the eyes of the wise and distorts the words of the righteous.” (Devarim 16:19)

At first glance, the prohibition seems directed only at judges and government officials. But Chazal and Jewish thinkers throughout the ages have seen in this warning a deeper truth: shochad is not limited to bribery in the legal system. Rather, it is a human condition — a distortion of judgment to which every one of us is vulnerable.

Bribery Beyond the Courtroom

The Torah’s language is striking. It does not merely say that bribes are “unfair” or “immoral.” Instead, it teaches that bribery blinds even the wise and corrupts even the righteous. A bribe — whether large or small — undermines objectivity. Once we have a personal stake, we see reality differently.

This is not only about money changing hands. As I heard from my Rebbi, “the entire world is subject to shochad.” Today we might call it “conflict of interest.” And in truth, everything in life carries with it some degree of conflict of interest. Politicians make promises they cannot fulfill in order to win votes — and that too is a form of socially accepted shochad. But the Torah hints to something subtler: the biases that shape our perceptions. Our prejudices, our prior experiences, the way we are “programmed” to see the world — these too can blind us to facts and twist our judgments.

The Sensitivity of Chazal

The Talmud illustrates how deeply Chazal understood the power of shochad. The Gemara (Ketubot 105b) relates that the great sage Shmuel once disqualified himself from judging a case because one of the litigants had stepped aside for him on a narrow bridge, allowing him to pass first.

Was that a bribe? No money was exchanged. Yet Shmuel recognized that even such a small gesture planted in him a favorable impression. That was enough to compromise his impartiality. This story shows the profound awareness our Sages had of human susceptibility. Shochad is not always conscious. It often works subtly, below the surface. It is not about dishonesty — it is about the way our opinions are shaped before we even begin to weigh the facts.

Everyday Biases

This danger extends far beyond the courtroom. Leaders, teachers, rabbis, and parents can all fall prey to it. How often are our opinions about people based not on reality, but on instinct, appearance, or past impressions? A certain style of dress, an accent, a family background — all can bias us unfairly.

There is a famous story about Rav Chaim Shmulevitz. Even as a child, he was known for his strong personality. When he was five years old, his father pointed out the girl who had been designated as his future shidduch. “Do you know who her father is?” he was asked. Rav Chaim immediately responded, “Yes — and I already don’t like him.” The anecdote, though humorous, illustrates how deeply rooted our snap judgments can be.

A World of Madness

A parable captures the depth of this problem. A king was once warned by his advisors that the year’s grain crop had been infected by a fungus that would drive people insane. “Don’t worry,” they said. “We will set aside enough grain for you and for us, so that at least we will remain sane.” But the king replied, “If everyone else becomes insane and we remain sane, then we will appear to be the madmen! The only solution is that we too must eat the grain — but let us put a mark on our foreheads, so that when we see each other, we will remember that we are insane.”

So too with shochad. We are all affected by bias, prejudice, and personal interest. The wise person is not the one who imagines himself immune, but the one who acknowledges his own vulnerability.

The Torah’s Challenge

The Torah therefore gives us a dual message:

1. On a practical level — judges must not take bribes, no matter how small. Legal systems must guard against corruption.
   
   
2. On a deeper, personal level — each of us must be vigilant in recognizing how bias shapes our vision. Our “inner bribes” can blind us just as much as money in an envelope.

By admitting our susceptibility, we can strive toward clearer, fairer judgments of others, and of life itself.

Conclusion

The Torah’s warning against shochad is timeless. It is not merely a legal prohibition but a profound psychological insight: we are never fully objective. Our task is to cultivate awareness, humility, and caution — to place that symbolic “mark on our foreheads” reminding us that our vision may be clouded.

Only with that humility can we hope to approach true justice: “צֶדֶק צֶדֶק תִּרְדֹּף — Justice, justice shall you pursue” (Devarim 16:20).

Leave it to Heaven: Shofetim 5785

Though Rabbi Wein ztz'l may no longer be with us, we continue 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.

Everyone favors equality and justice, and the goal of all democratic societies is to have, as far as humanly possible, a fair and incorruptible judicial system. But judges are only human—no matter how knowledgeable and altruistic they may be—which is why the perfect judicial system has yet to be achieved. 

To sustain a viable society, we are bidden to obey the decisions of the court. As the Talmud points out, "even if they proclaim to you that left is right and right is left, you have to listen to them”. Judicial error is a fact of life in a world where we know that left is never right and right is never left. So, how are judicial errors ever to be corrected? 

The answer usually comes with the passage of time and with the application of common sense to the realities of life. There is a famous saying that “what wisdom cannot accomplish, time will." Heaven, so to speak, takes a hand over time in adjusting erroneous judicial decisions and somehow making things come out right in the end. 

The Torah emphasizes that, even though judicial error is possible if not even probable, we must follow the decisions of our judges if anarchy is not to reign and society to dissolve. Judicial decisions may be analyzed and even disagreed with, but we must respect our judges and comply with their judgments, ultimate justice being left to the province of Heavenly guidance. 

Jewish tradition ascribes judicial decisions not merely to book knowledge or even precedent, but also to a sensible appraisal of fairness and equity. The great Rabbi Israel Lipkin of Salant often pointed out that Heaven alone can take into account all of the facts, consequences and results of judgment, reward and punishment. The human judge is limited in perspective and foresight. 

We know how the law of unintended consequences can dog every law  and legal decision—and that is why the Talmud ruefully depicts God, so to speak, busily undoing many of the decisions and actions of leaders and ordinary people in order to achieve the Divine will and purpose through the actions and decisions of humans. 

All judicial systems contain a process of review and appeal from decisions made by lower courts. This is an inherent realization the judicial error is ever-present and likely in all human affairs—and this is why the phrase “trial and error” is so well known in the English language. Despite its efforts to correct itself, the judicial system is always subject to bias, preconceived notions and erroneous logic and decisions. Even so, the Torah emphasizes that judicial systems are mandatory if society is to function. It is one of the basic seven laws of Noachide tradition. So, as in every other facet of life, the Torah bids us to do the best that we can—but to remain aware of our human limitations. 

“Law, Order, Justice—and an Open Mind”, Rabbi Wein’s essay on Parashat Shofetim last year, can be accessed here.

Rabbi Wein, America and Aliyah

Here’s the text of a piece by our member Rabbi Paul Bloom, which will appear in this week’s Jewish Link. Thanks, Paul, for giving us a chance to enjoy it. Paul explains:

I had the distinct privilege of being a member of Rabbi Wein’s shul, Beit Knesset Hanassi, for over twenty years, and of deepening my connection to him and his Torah since making Aliyah with my wife four years ago. While he was not a Navi, he was perhaps the closest we had — through his masterful analysis of Nevi’im, Jewish history, and world events. I have read many of the appreciations written by his friends, students, and colleagues, and I agree with them all. Yet, what I feel was not emphasized enough was not only his love for Eretz Yisrael, Medinat Yisrael, and Bnei Yisrael — which many have already noted — but also his penetrating analysis of the state of American Jewry and the urgency of planning to make Aliyah.

I was privileged to hear a discussion that Rabbi Wein gave about five years ago, in which he spoke candidly about the trajectory of America and the pressing need to consider Aliyah. What follows is a summary of that conversation.

For those who wish to hear it in full, it can be found here (duration: 23 minutes 50 seconds).

Here a summary of Rabbi Berel Wein ztz’l said.

History does not move in circles — it moves in patterns. Anyone who wishes to know what tomorrow holds need only look at yesterday. The story of the Jewish people has been written in every exile: communities flourish, assimilate, decline, and ultimately close down. This has happened across Europe, North Africa, and the Arab lands. It is happening, slowly but surely, in America as well.

American Jewry once prided itself on size and vitality. In 1950, there were six million Jews in the United States. Today, the numbers are smaller, despite population growth. Assimilation and intermarriage have eroded Jewish continuity, and even the Orthodox community faces new external pressures that will make life in America increasingly difficult. The truth is that there are likely fewer committed Jews in America today than there were 70 years ago.

This is not just about demographics. Great civilizations collapse not from outside threats but from within. Greece, Rome, the Soviet Union — all disintegrated because of internal corruption and the acceptance of values that undermined their own foundations. America is showing similar signs. Once a country proud of religion and family, it now elevates values that run directly against Torah. As the Navi warns: "הוי הגוי חוטא, עם כבד עון, זרע מרעים, בנים משחיתים" (“Woe to the sinful nation, a people laden with iniquity, children who deal corruptly” – Yeshayahu 1:4). Societies built on such moral decline do not endure.

I am not a pessimist, but I am a realist. The curve of American Jewish life has flattened. The freedoms our parents enjoyed will not last. Governments will dictate how our schools operate, whether we can separate boys and girls, what we are allowed to teach. Orthodox Jews in America will face restrictions they never imagined possible.

What then is the response? The Torah has already provided the answer: the Land of Israel. "כי רצו עבדיך את אבניה ואת עפרה יחננו" (“For Your servants have cherished her stones and favored her dust” – Tehillim 102:15). Our love for the Land is not theoretical — it must express itself in practical attachment. It is not easy to move, nor is it simple to succeed. I know from personal experience how much sacrifice Aliyah requires — my wife and I planned for forty years, scrimping and saving to buy an apartment in Jerusalem. But the effort was worth it. In Israel, Jewish life is not a side project; it is the air you breathe. Shabbat is felt in the streets, even among the secular. Every struggle here is balanced by the simple truth that this is where Jewish life belongs.

To those who ask whether it is realistic — yes, it is. Professional skills are transferable. Opportunities abound. Israel needs families with talent, resources, and vision. The adjustment can be difficult, especially for teenagers, but history demands that we see the larger picture. If you come with modest expectations, every success is a blessing; if you expect perfection, disappointment will follow.

Some argue that leaving America weakens Jewish outreach there. My response is simple: no one is indispensable. As Chazal teach: "אין הקדוש ברוך הוא מקפח שכר כל בריה" (“The Holy One, Blessed be He, does not withhold reward from any creature” – Bava Kamma 38b). Others will rise to the task. But the Jewish future cannot be built on prolonging exile. It must be built where it has always been destined to flourish — in the Land of Israel.

A Call to My Students and Colleagues

 My dear friends, history is speaking to us with a clear and uncompromising voice. Every exile ends — some slowly, some suddenly, but all inevitably. America has given us much, but it is no longer the safe, welcoming haven it once seemed. The warning lights are flashing, and to ignore them is to gamble recklessly with the Jewish future. 

Do not delude yourselves into thinking, “שָׁלוֹם יִהְיֶה לִי, כִּי בִּשְׁרִרוּת לִבִּי אֵלֵךְ” (“Peace will be mine, though I follow the desires of my own heart” – Devarim 29:18). That is exactly what Jews said in Berlin, in Warsaw, in Baghdad — in countless communities that flourished and then vanished. We cannot afford to repeat their error. 

The time has come for action. Invest in Israel, plant roots in Israel, live your Jewish life in Israel. Lower your expectations of comfort, raise your expectations of holiness, and you will discover that the sacrifices are small compared to the privilege of shaping Jewish destiny in the Land of our fathers. 

To my students, to my colleagues, to all who hear these words: the window of opportunity is open, but it will not remain open forever. Do not wait for it to close. Jewish history has brought us to this decisive moment. “כִּי מִצִּיּוֹן תֵּצֵא תוֹרָה וּדְבַר ה' מִירוּשָׁלָ͏ִם” (“For from Zion shall go forth Torah, and the word of Hashem from Jerusalem” – Yeshayahu 2:3). The future of our people will not be written in exile. It will be written in the Land of Israel. The only question is: will we be part of it?

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.