Where Does the Word Etrog Come From?

Every year on Sukkot, Jews around the world hold the etrog close to their hearts as part of the mitzvah of the Four Species. But where does this unusual word etrog (or esrog, in Ashkenazi pronunciation) come from? And how did it come to carry such deep layers of symbolic meaning? Rabbi Paul Bloom traces the journey of this emotive word from its linguistic roots to its new life as a source of spiritual acronyms.

The Linguistic Journey of the Etrog

In Biblical Hebrew, the Torah never names the fruit directly. Instead, it commands us (Leviticus 23:40):

וּלְקַחְתֶּם לָכֶם בַּיּוֹם הָרִאשׁוֹן, פְּרִי עֵץ הָדָר 

 “And you shall take for yourselves on the first day the fruit of a beautiful tree”.

It was Chazal, through careful interpretation, who identified this mysterious “fruit of a beautiful tree” as the citron. The Targum Onkelos makes this explicit, translating the phrase as:

 פֵּירֵי אִילָנָא אֶתְרוֹגִין

“The fruit of the etrog tree.”

From there, the word etrog appears throughout the Mishnah and Talmud (e.g., Sukkah 3:4, 34b; Bava Metzia 90b), solidifying its status as the rabbinic Hebrew name for the citron. But the word itself is not originally Hebrew. Most scholars trace its roots to Persian and Greek:

●      Old Persian had the word turunga or trunga for citron.

●      From there it passed into Greek as exōrigos (meaning “foreign/exotic”) or heteroglykos (“different in taste”).

●      Greek passed it into Aramaic/Hebrew as ethrog (אֶתְרוֹג).

●      Finally, in Ashkenazi Hebrew/Yiddish, the pronunciation shifted to esrog.

So the linguistic chain looks like this:

 Old Persian (turunga) → Greek (exōrigos / kitrion) → Aramaic/Hebrew (etrog) → Yiddish (esrog).

Thus, the word we use in shul during Hallel each Sukkot actually carries echoes of ancient Persia, Greece, Babylonia, and finally the Beit Midrash.

Etrog in the Sources

The gemara (Sukkah 34b) already assumes the etrog as the standard:

 אֵין מַעֲטִין בְּאֶתְרוֹג כְּדֵי שֶׁלֹּא יִפָּסֵל 

The Gemara (Sukkah 35a) derives its identification through several methods:

●      A fruit whose wood and fruit share the same taste → the etrog.

●      A fruit that “dwells” (hadar) on its tree from year to year → the etrog.

●      A fruit requiring constant water (hydor in Greek) → the etrog.

The Midrash (Vayikra Rabbah 30:15) layers on symbolism: the etrog has both taste and fragrance, representing Jews who combine Torah learning (taste) with good deeds (fragrance).

The Homiletical Acronym: אתרוג

Beyond its linguistic roots, Jewish tradition often invests Hebrew words with spiritual layers through acronyms (roshei teivot). One beloved interpretation reads the letters of אתרוג as standing for:

●      א – Emunah Shelemah (Complete Faith)

●      ת – Teshuvah Shelemah (Complete Repentance)

●      ר – Refuah Shelemah (Complete Healing)

●      ג – Geulah Shelemah (Complete Redemption)

In this reading, holding the etrog on Sukkot is not just about fulfilling a commandment—it becomes a prayer in our hands: for stronger faith, for sincere return to Hashem, for healing of body and soul, and for the ultimate redemption of Am Yisrael.

Other acrostics exist in rabbinic and later literature—for example, אל תבואני רגל גאוה (“Do not let the foot of pride come upon me”)—but the above fourfold acronym has gained wide currency in sermons and teachings. It resonates especially during the High Holiday season, when we seek faith, teshuvah, health, and redemption.

Conclusion

The word etrog carries within it both a linguistic journey across civilizations and a spiritual journey across the Jewish heart. From Persian orchards to Greek language, from Targum Onkelos to the Mishnah, and from the synagogue to the Sukkah, it has been embraced and sanctified.

And when we hold the etrog, we are not only fulfilling the mitzvah of the Four Species, but also reminding
ourselves of what the etrog’s letters whisper:

 אמונה — תשובה — רפואה — גאולה

 A complete faith. A complete return. A complete healing. A complete redemption.

The Song of Moshe: Ha'azinu 5786

This piece by Rabbi Berel Wein ztz'l has been kindly provided by the Destiny Foundation.

This song of Moshe is the song of the Jewish story. It accurately portrays the arc of Jewish history in moments both glorious and dolorous. The Ramban’s comment on the holiness and accuracy of Moshe’s prophetic words – “If someone stood up and accurately foretold what would happen many centuries later, would not one in hindsight be forced to admit to the truth of that prophet and his words upon seeing the minute fulfillment of that prophecy” –carries even more weight in our age, being a further eight centuries removed from Ramban’s time. 

Moshe calls forth the heaven and earth to bear witness to his words of prophecy, for he is aware that human logic and memory can never really be trusted. Unfortunately, memory can be dimmed and lost, and logic distorted or ignored. It is these factors – lost memory and flawed logic – that Moshe identifies as the cause of the sins of the Jewish people, and of much of the predicted travail that will accompany them throughout their history. 

It is not so much that there is a rebellion against God and Torah in our current society. Rather, it is that God and Torah have simply been forgotten, erased from the Jewish consciousness. For many Jews they simply do not exist. And in this climate of almost willful forgetfulness, any attempt to convince others of the errors of their ways by the use of logic is doomed to frustrating failure. 

Moshe concludes his visionary verses on an optimistic note. The covenantal relationship between God and Israel will remain binding and unbroken even unto the end of days. There will always be a core group of Jews who will not allow themselves—or others—to forget. Events will constantly jog the Jewish memory and new generations will arise and ask: “Who are we and why are we here?” And the response to those questions can only be found in the eternal memory bank of the Jewish people and their history. 

It is a very difficult task to restore memory but the fact that Moshe promises us that God and Torah will never be completely forgotten by the Jewish people reassures us that the restoration of Jewish memory is possible, and even guaranteed. And our logic will not fail us either. When we survey our world and our situation, we will reach the logical and holy conclusion as to what our policy and path in life should be. A nation of wisdom and insight, creativity and scholarship, will not always remain illogical and foolish. 

Moshe also encourages us by promising that eventually our enemies will be vanquished and shamed. Their nefarious ambitions will be thwarted and the Lord will balance all accounts with those who attempted to destroy the Jewish people. Good sense, accurate memory, strength of purpose and clarity of ideals will prevail and rule the Jewish world. Moshe’s song will continue to be heard throughout eternity. 

 "Our Two Great Poems", Rabbi Wein's piece for Hanassi Highlights last year, can be accessed here.

"Give Ear, O Heavens, and I Will Speak!"

This coming Shabbat our Torah reading—Ha'azinu—is a song. And who better to put it to music than our own Max Stern?

The Song of Moses (Devarim 32) comes in two versions. The original is set for contrabass and orchestra. Max explains:

The contrabass takes on the role of the Lawgiver, justifying the ways of God to man. Heaven and Earth are portrayed by the orchestra. "Give ear O heavens and I will speak; and hear O earth, the words of my mouth”. 

You can listen to it here. In this, the first recording of Max’s piece, Gary Karr plays contrabass, and the Jerusalem Symphony Orchestra provides the backing under the baton of Arthur Fagen.

The second version has Max playing it himself back in 1996, accompanied by a harp and organ. According to Max, his work draws upon Jewish traditional and ethnic musical sources in order to illuminate epic biblical poetry to trace the dramatic trajectory of the text of Ha'azinu.  In this instrumental characterization of Moses’ farewell song to the children of Israel, the narrative foretells the history and prophetic mission of the Jewish people. You can listen to it here. This version comes with the text on-screen.

Who Influences Whom? Rashi reflects on parashat Ha’azinu

Parashat Ha’azinu is, at first glance, a relatively short section of the Torah in terms of verses. Yet it is one of the densest in commentary, particularly in Rashi, who unusually writes at length here. What makes this parashah stand out is that Rashi presents two entirely different interpretive approaches—each painting a different picture of who is being addressed and what the consequences will be. Rabbi Paul Bloom explains.

Rashi’s First Approach: A Warning to Israel

The first interpretation is straightforward and expected. Moshe, continuing from the dire warnings in Ki Tavo, speaks once more to the Jewish people (Devarim 32:1):

הַאֲזִינוּ הַשָּׁמַיִם וַאֲדַבֵּרָה וְתִשְׁמַע הָאָרֶץ אִמְרֵי־פִי 

“Give ear, O heavens, and I will speak; and let the earth hear the words of my mouth”.

The heavens and earth are called as eternal witnesses to Israel’s covenant. The song of Ha’azinu then sets out the history of Israel in advance: the covenant, the failings, the punishments, and the promise of ultimate redemption. Later verses spell out the cycle (Devarim 32:15):

וַיִּטֹּשׁ אֱלוֹהַּ עָשָׂהוּ וַיְנַבֵּל צוּר יְשׁוּעָתו

 “He forsook the God Who made him, and spurned the Rock of his salvation”.

This is followed by the bitter consequence (at 32:20):

 וַיֹּאמֶר אַסְתִּירָה פָנַי מֵהֶם אֶרְאֶה מָה אַחֲרִיתָם

“And He said: I will hide My face from them; I will see what their end will be”.

But the song does not end with despair. It closes with the vision of Israel’s vindication and return (at 32:36):

כִּי־יָדִין ה' עַמּוֹ וְעַל־עֲבָדָיו יִתְנֶחָם 

“For the Lord will judge His people, and relent toward His servants”.

Rashi reads this entire arc as a prophecy of Israel’s national destiny—an unflinching look at exile, suffering, and eventual restoration.

Rashi’s Second Approach: A Message to the Nations

Then, Rashi does something remarkable. He begins anew, re-quoting verses and suggesting an entirely different peshat. The song does not speak only to Israel—it speaks to the nations of the world. Take for example Devarim 32:28:

כִּי־גוֹי אֹבַד עֵצוֹת הֵמָּה וְאֵין בָּהֶם תְּבוּנָה

“For they are a nation void of counsel, and there is no understanding in them”.

Rashi reads this not as a description of Israel but of the nations. History, with its cycles of conflict and collapse, is laid out in the song.

Why do the nations suffer? Rashi offers two explanations:

1. Retribution – because they oppressed the Jewish people and scorned God’s word.
   
   
2. The Nature of the World – simply the way human history unfolds, full of conflict and tragedy.

Either way, the nations’ fate becomes part of Israel’s education: by watching the futility of the world’s power struggles, Israel learns to return to God. And yet, both interpretations converge in the end *(at 32:43):

הַרְנִינוּ גוֹיִם עַמּוֹ כִּי דַם־עֲבָדָיו יִקּוֹם וְנָקָם יָשִׁיב לְצָרָיו וְכִפֶּר אַדְמָתוֹ עַמּוֹ

 “Sing aloud, O nations, with His people; for He will avenge the blood of His servants, and will render vengeance to His adversaries, and will atone for His land and His people”.

Here the nations are explicitly included in Israel’s redemption. The restoration of the Jewish people becomes the restoration of the world itself.

A Treasure for the World

The Torah, at Shemot 19:5, calls Israel a segulah mikol ha’amim:

וִהְיִיתֶם לִי סְגֻלָּה מִכָּל הָעַמִּים

 “And you shall be to Me a treasured people from among all nations”

Usually, we understand this to mean that Israel is God’s treasure, distinct from the other nations. Yet some commentaries suggest a powerful alternative: Israel is a treasure for the nations—all peoples benefit from its presence and mission. Indeed, history shows that wherever Jews have been allowed to flourish, they have contributed immeasurably to society—in medicine, science, culture, and ethics. But when hatred blinds nations, they cut themselves off from that blessing.

One striking example came after the Six-Day War, when Israel discovered a Jordanian warehouse containing 50,000 doses of the Salk polio vaccine. America had sent them to save Jordanian children during an outbreak. But because the vaccine was developed by Jonas Salk, a Jew, the Jordanians refused to use it. Better their children risk paralysis than benefit from “Zionist science.” Hatred triumphed over reason, and tragedy followed.

Who Influences Whom?

This leads to the age-old question: who influences whom? The Jewish people are tasked to uplift the world, but often find themselves absorbing the world’s worst traits instead. The Torah repeatedly warns (at Vayikra 18:3, 27):

וּבְחֻקֹּתֵיהֶם לֹא תֵלֵכוּ… כִּי אֶת כָּל הַתּוֹעֵבֹת הָאֵל עָשׂוּ אַנְשֵׁי הָאָרֶץ

“You shall not walk in their statutes… for all these abominations the people of the land have done”.

When Israel imitates instead of inspires, both suffer. This dilemma echoes in modern education. When deeply religious children are integrated into secular classrooms, they often absorb the profanity and moral laxity around them, while their peers gain little of the refinement of Jewish learning. The weaker influence drags down the stronger.

Moshe’s song, then, is not only history foretold but also a challenge posed: Will Israel shape the world, or will the world shape Israel?

Conclusion

Rashi’s two readings of Ha’azinu remind us of the dual stage of Jewish destiny: inwardly, the covenant with Israel; outwardly, the Jewish mission to humanity. Whether the song speaks to us or to the nations, its end is the same: Israel’s return to God and the blessing of the entire world.

Moshe’s timeless words ask us to reflect: are we the influencers, or the influenced? The answer to that question shapes not only our destiny but that of all humankind.

The Mystery and Power of Kol Nidrei

On the eve of Yom Kippur, as darkness settles and the congregation gathers, the haunting melody of Kol Nidrei fills the synagogue. Few prayers in our tradition carry such emotional weight. And yet, when we look at its actual content, it seems puzzling: a legal formula for the annulment of vows. Why should this be the emotional centerpiece of Yom Kippur, the holiest night of the year? Rabbi Paul Bloom offers an impactful explanation.

If the formula we sing on Kol Nidrei seems strange, even stranger is the ritual that accompanies it. We open the Aron HaKodesh, remove the Torah scrolls, walk around with them—and then return them without reading a single word. Nowhere else in the year do we take out the Torah without fulfilling the mitzvah of Keriyat HaTorah. Clearly, something deeper is happening here.

Re-enacting the Forgiveness of Sinai

Rav Zalman Sorotzkin, in his sefer אוזניים לתורה, offers a profound perspective. He reminds us that Yom Kippur is the anniversary of the day Moshe Rabbeinu descended from Mount Sinai with the second set of Luchot, carrying with them Hashem’s forgiveness for the sin of the Golden Calf.

The Torah describes this as follows (שמות ל״ד:כ״ט):

וַיְהִי בְּרֶדֶת מֹשֶׁה מֵהַר סִינַי וּשְׁנֵי לֻחֹת הָעֵדֻת בְּיַד מֹשֶׁה בְּרִדְתּוֹ מִן־הָהָר וּמֹשֶׁה לֹא־יָדַע כִּי קָרַן עוֹר פָּנָיו בְּדַבְּרוֹ אִתּו  

Moshe’s face shone with a radiant light so intense that the people could not look at him directly:  וַיִּירְאוּ מִגֶּשֶׁת אֵלָיו  (שמות ל״ד:ל). This is the meaning of the verse in Tehillim  (תהילים צ״ז:י״א): אוֹר זָרוּעַ לַצַּדִּיק וּלְיִשְׁרֵי־לֵב שִׂמְחָה.

When we open the Aron HaKodesh on Kol Nidrei night, we symbolically open the Sha’arei Shamayim, the gates of Heaven. When we remove the Torah and walk with it, we reenact Moshe descending from Sinai with the Luchot, shining with Divine light. The procession with the Torah is not a formality—it is a renewal of our covenant, a reenactment of the moment when Hashem forgave our nation and gave us His Torah anew.

Kol Nidrei and the Power of Annulment

But why, at this moment, do we annul vows? Here Rav Sorotzkin points to a remarkable Midrash on parashat Ki Tisa. When Hashem threatened to destroy Israel for the sin of the Golden Calf, Moshe pleaded (שמות ל״ב:י״א): לָמָה יְהוָה יֶחֱרֶה אַפְּךָ בְּעַמֶּך. 

The Midrash (שמות רבה מ״ג) explains that Hashem responded: “But I already swore that idolaters will be destroyed”—a reference to the verse (שמות כ״ב:י״ט):  זֹבֵחַ לָאֱלֹהִים יָחֳרָם בִּלְתִּי לַיהוָה לְבַדּוֹ.  Moshe replied that Hashem Himself had given the Torah’s laws of הַתָּרַת נְדָרִים. If a vow can be annulled by a sage, then surely Hashem’s oath can be released as well. 

The Midrash uses the verse from the laws of vows (במדבר ל׳:ג): לֹא יַחֵל דְּבָרוֹ כְּכָל־הַיֹּצֵא מִפִּיו יַעֲשֶׂה. The word יַחֵל is understood by Chazal not only as “he shall not profane his word,” but also as “he shall release” (יַתִּיר) his word. Thus, Moshe declared: “I will serve as the חכם who annuls Your vow.” And in that moment, Hashem forgave Israel.

The Heart of Yom Kippur

Kol Nidrei, then, is not about the dry legalities of vows. It is about memory, covenant, and forgiveness. It is about reopening the gates of Sinai, carrying the Torah anew into our lives, and recognizing that even when we fall, Hashem has given us a path back.

Each Yom Kippur, as we hear the trembling notes of Kol Nidrei, we relive Moshe’s role as מליץ יושר—the great defender of Israel. We feel anew the light of Torah descending into the world. And we remind ourselves that the gates of forgiveness, like the Aron HaKodesh itself, are never truly closed.

May this Kol Nidrei open for us a year of אוֹר, of blessing, of גאולה, and of שפע טוב.

Shabbat Shuva: Not Just Empty Words

We are reaching the end of Sefer Devarim. This week we read parashat Vayelech and next week Ha’azinu, the last of the weekly Shabbat readings of this book. Looking through Sefer Devarim as a whole, our member Rabbi Steven Ettinger takes a fresh view of the word that gives this Sefer its name.

There is real symmetry to Mishneh Torah, this collection of Moshe’s last words to our people between the beginning and end of this Sefer. The first verse begins with words and the root דבר:

אֵ֣לֶּה הַדְּבָרִ֗ים אֲשֶׁ֨ר דִּבֶּ֤ר מֹשֶׁה֙ אֶל־כׇּל־יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל בְּעֵ֖בֶר הַיַּרְדֵּ֑ן בַּמִּדְבָּ֡ר בָּֽעֲרָבָה֩ מ֨וֹל ס֜וּף בֵּֽין־פָּארָ֧ן וּבֵֽין־תֹּ֛פֶל וְלָבָ֥ן וַחֲצֵרֹ֖ת וְדִ֥י זָהָֽב׃

These are the words that Moses addressed to all Israel on the other side of the Jordan, through the wilderness, in the Aravah near Suph, between Paran and Tophel, Laban, Hatzerot, and Di Zahav.

The Torah marks the conclusion of Ha’aziunu with three unusual and redundant pesukim (Deut. 32:45-47):

וַיְכַ֣ל מֹשֶׁ֗ה לְדַבֵּ֛ר אֶת־כׇּל־הַדְּבָרִ֥ים הָאֵ֖לֶּה אֶל־כׇּל־יִשְׂרָאֵֽל׃

And when Moses finished reciting all these words to all Israel,

 

וַיֹּ֤אמֶר אֲלֵהֶם֙ שִׂ֣ימוּ לְבַבְכֶ֔ם לְכׇ֨ל־הַדְּבָרִ֔ים אֲשֶׁ֧ר אָנֹכִ֛י מֵעִ֥יד בָּכֶ֖ם הַיּ֑וֹם אֲשֶׁ֤ר תְּצַוֻּם֙ אֶת־בְּנֵיכֶ֔ם לִשְׁמֹ֣ר לַעֲשׂ֔וֹת אֶת־כׇּל־דִּבְרֵ֖י הַתּוֹרָ֥ה הַזֹּֽאת׃

He said to them: Take to heart all the words with which I have warned you this day. Enjoin them upon your children, that they may observe faithfully all the terms of this Teaching.

כִּ֠י לֹא־דָבָ֨ר רֵ֥ק הוּא֙ מִכֶּ֔ם כִּי־ה֖וּא חַיֵּיכֶ֑ם וּבַדָּבָ֣ר הַזֶּ֗ה תַּאֲרִ֤יכוּ יָמִים֙ עַל־הָ֣אֲדָמָ֔ה אֲשֶׁ֨ר אַתֶּ֜ם עֹבְרִ֧ים אֶת־הַיַּרְדֵּ֛ן שָׁ֖מָּה לְרִשְׁתָּֽהּ׃ 

 

For this is not a trifling thing for you: it is your very life; through it you shall long endure on the land that you are to possess upon crossing the Jordan.

 In these three verses Moshe uses the root דבר six times. It is unclear from context if each one refers to the same thing, different things, perhaps to the entire Torah, solely Sefer Devarim, maybe to certain specific admonitions he related that particular day – or to all, or none, of the above. Moreover, there seems to be no major commentary on these verses that provides clarity.

 This week is Shabbat Shuva. Perhaps it should more appropriately have been called Shabbat Teshuva – as it is the Shabbat of the Ten Days of Repentance.  However, it receives its name from the special Haftarah that we read – “Shuva Yisrael” from Hosea 14.

 Most people are familiar with the opening verse:

שׁ֚וּבָה יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל עַ֖ד ה אֱלֹק-ֶ֑יךָ כִּ֥י כָשַׁ֖לְתָּ בַּעֲוֺנֶֽךָ׃

Return, O Israel, to the ETERNAL your God, For you have fallen because of your sin.

However, it is the second verse that perhaps provides a key to understanding the enigmatic words in the verses we quoted and, in turn will reflect back and provide us with a deeper understanding of the teshuva process. The verse reads: 

קְח֤וּ עִמָּכֶם֙ דְּבָרִ֔ים וְשׁ֖וּבוּ אֶל־ה 

Take words with you, and return to God.

What are those words? There is that word “devarim” again.  Is this somehow all connected? Is there an interpretation or unifying theme that can help us understand this within the context of Moshe’s phraseology which may then help us reach a higher teshuva?

Moshe said that the words, the “devarim”, are not a “davar rek,” not empty. Rashi interprets this as follows:
 

There is not one empty (ריק i.e., superfluous) word in the Torah that, if you properly expound it, has not a grant of reward attached to it for doing so. You can know this, for so did our Rabbis say: It states (Genesis 36:22) “And Lotan’s sister was Timna”; (Genesis 36:32)

In other words, there are Jews who contain, have heard, have studied, have learned all, or close to all of the Torah. They are Jews who are “Kol haDevarim” Jews. They bring their bountiful “Devarim” and return to Hashem. It is easy for them; they approach confidently - have little to be concerned about.

 But unfortunately, there are many or our co-religionists who have not only not paid attention to the entire Torah – they have heard, perhaps, only a fraction of it. Maybe only a phrase or two, the equivalent of the words: “And Lotan’s sister was Timna”.  For one, it was reciting one “Shema Yisrael”.  For another, it was answering a single Amen to a mourner’s kaddish when they attended a funeral. For yet another, maybe it was sitting at one’s grandparents’ seder and eating matzah.

If any Jew combines that one word, that one experience, with a step or a thought toward teshuva, then, as we read in the very next pasuk: 

אֶרְפָּא֙ מְשׁ֣וּבָתָ֔ם אֹהֲבֵ֖ם  נְדָבָ֑ה                                                                                                             

I will heal their affliction. I will take them back with love.

Devarim is unique, a Jewish king must write this book and keep it with him at all times. All of the Jews – men women and even infant children – gathered as a nation every seven years to hear it read aloud.   Even today some have the minhag to read the complete sefer on the eve of Hoshana Rabbah. Perhaps it is not solely because of its contents. Instead, maybe it is because its very name reminds us that every single Jew is a davar and not a davar rek. If every Jew can hold on to his or her davar and  bring it to Hashem – it would change the world!

Repentance and return -- the long way back: Vayelech 5786

We thank the Destiny Foundation for providing us with this essay by Rabbi Wein ztz'l

Vayelech is the parashah that contains the smallest number of verses—just 30—of any parsha in the Torah. It also usually coincides with Shabat Shuva, the holy Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Its words are part of the last testament of Moshe, uttered on the day of his passing from this earth. 

As is his wont, Moshe minces no words regarding the fate of the Jewish people. In this most powerful of parshiyot, Moshe warns his people Israel that the Lord will hold them accountable to the terms of the covenant of Sinai—a covenant that is irreversible and unalterable. It will take the Jewish people a long time and much twisting and turning before they accept the reality of covenantal responsibility. But Moshe assures them that eventually the message will set in, and that this will be the basis for the Jewish return to God and His Torah.  This is the essence of Vayelech’s content; the brevity of the parashah only serves to enhance the power of its message. 

Some truths are self-evident and need no extra words or explanations. This parashah gains in power and relevance as Jewish history unfolds over thousands of years. Every deviation from the covenant of Sinai has eventually brought with it angst and pain, if not disaster, in the Jewish world. Just dip into Jewish history and you will see how Moshe’s words are clearly vindicated by subsequent events. 

Repentance and return is far easier for individuals to achieve than for nations. The Jewish people, or at least a significant part of it ,has strayed far away from the covenant of Sinai. The situation here in Israel is far better than it is in the Diaspora where intermarriage, ignorance, alienation and false gods have eroded Jewish faith, family, self-identity and values.

So how is it possible to hope for a national return to the covenant of Sinai under such circumstances? Vayelech seems to indicate that it will be a process and not a sudden epiphany. The prophet in the haftarah warns that no such process will be complete without recognition that the false gods and temporarily popular ideals all have led nowhere. He echoes Moshe’s words in our parashah that return and repentance in a national sense can only occur if there is a realization how badly we have gone astray. 

The great challenge, of the modern culture around us, is how pervasive it is in every facet of our lives. The confusion that this engenders in the Jewish people prevents clear thinking, accurate judgment and honest assessment of true Jewish values versus current faddish correctness. 

Vayalech is short—but our way back is long and arduous. In the good and blessed year that we have just begun let us start—and then continue—that journey that leads back to Sinai, but forward to complete national redemption. 

The Life and Death of Gedaliyah ben Achikam

Today we fast to mark the death of a leader whose name is better known than his deeds. Why do we fast, when we have lost many other leaders in tragic circumstances. What singles him out for special treatment? Here's a brief biographical note of a life that should never have been taken.

Gedaliyah ben Achikam stands as a pivotal though often overlooked figure in the turbulent period following the destruction of the First Temple in 586 BCE. A member of a prominent Judaean family loyal to the prophet Yirmeyah, Gedaliyah was the son of Achikam ben Shaphan, who had famously protected Yirmeyah from execution decades earlier. His lineage, rooted in piety and moderation, shaped his political approach during the kingdom ofJudaea’s final, fragile years.

After Babylonian forces under Nebuchadnezzar razed Jerusalem, exiled much of its population, and destroyed the Temple, Judaea was left leaderless and demoralized. Rather than annihilating the remaining Judean presence, the Babylonians appointed Gedaliyah as governor over the small remnant of people who had not been deported. He established his administrative centre at Mitzpah, just north of Jerusalem, where he sought to stabilize the shattered community.

Gedaliyah pursued a policy of cooperation with Babylon, recognizing that survival required accommodation rather than rebellion. He encouraged displaced Judaeans, including farmers and soldiers, to return to the land, cultivate fields, and rebuild a modest social fabric. His call was met with a measure of success: groups of refugees, hearing of his governance, returned and began to restore economic life. Gedaliyah’s leadership thus represented a glimmer of continuity and hope in an otherwise catastrophic era.

Yet his conciliatory stance also made him vulnerable. Elements within the Judaean elite, still committed to resistance against Babylon, perceived him as a collaborator. Chief among them was Yishmael ben Netanyah, a descendant of the Davidic line. In the seventh month of Gedaliyah’s governorship Yishmael, likely encouraged by external powers such as Ammon, orchestrated an assassination. Gedaliyah and many of his supporters were murdered at Mitzpah.

The assassination proved disastrous. Fearful of Babylonian reprisals, the surviving Judaeans fled en masse to Egypt, despite Yirmeyah’s warnings. This flight effectively extinguished organized Jewish life in Judaea for decades, deepening the exile’s trauma. In later Jewish memory, Gedaliyah’s death became a national tragedy. The fast of Tzom Gedaliyah, observed annually on the third day of Tishrei, commemorates not only his murder but also the collapse of Jewish autonomy and the further dispersal of its people.

Gedaliyah ben Achikam remains emblematic of a statesman who sought peace and pragmatic survival in the face of imperial dominance. His life and untimely death highlight the tensions between accommodation and resistance, and the fragile fate of leadership amid the ruins of a fallen nation.