Borer: it's your choice

 Last Sunday Rabbi Kenigsberg's Tzurba shiur started on a new book (volume 19) but an age-old topic--the melachah of borer, choosing an item and separating it from others. The previous volume concluded with an in-depth analysis of the classical case of borer (separating foods) which should fulfil the three conditions of miyad, beyad and ochel min hapesolet (the separation should be for immediate consumption, it should be done manually and should involve taking the food you want from the food you don't want).  

Volume 19 moves on to borer where non-consumables are involved: clothes, utensils and even books. Why, you may ask? Surely the first eleven melachot are only relevant min HaTorah to the various acts involved in growing and then processing the raw materials needed for the showbread! Why does Rashi take us further? Are we all at risk of breaking Shabbat when we burrow through the weekly pile of divrei Torah that await our attention in the entrance to the shul, looking for something to take our fancy?

Want to know more? You can enjoy Rabbi Kenigsberg's shiur by clicking here.

The courage of the convert: Yitro 5785

The Torah describes in detail the visit of Yitro to the encampment of the Jewish people in the Sinai desert, as well as the advice Yitro gives Moshe as how to organize the Jewish people’s justice system.  Though rabbinic scholars disagree as to whether Yitro came before or after the revelation and the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, they generally concur that Yitro remains the template and role model for converts to Judaism.

Why is this so? Yitro is sincere in joining the Jewish people and in abandoning the pagan gods that he had worshipped earlier in his life. He is also willing to give advice for the benefit of the administration of justice in his newly adopted community. New converts are frequently hesitant to counsel Jewish society. After all, the word “ger” (“convert” in Hebrew) has the connotation of being a stranger, an outsider, a mere sojourner and not yet necessarily a fully-fledged citizen. It is most understandable that such a person may feel reticent about offering advice to those who have been Jews for generations.

 Yitro’s boldness in asserting himself immediately by seeking to improve Jewish society is a testimony to his comfort level, sincerity and commitment regarding the Jewish people and its Torah values and strictures. That is why he is given so much respect and prominence in the Torah. Converts bring with them a mindset and range of experience quite different to that of Jews raised exclusively in Jewish society, a milieu that needs constant revitalization and freshness. Our Torah is eternal and ageless but our strategy for promoting and teaching it varies from time to time and from locality to locality.

. In Yiddish there is a famous phrase, “a guest for a while sees for a mile”, and it is so often the newcomer, the former stranger who has newly entered the fold of Judaism and Jewish society, who provides the spark of energy and innovativeness that ignites Torah Judaism and propels it to the next stage. It is no coincidence that the Gaon of Vilna is buried next to the grave of the Ger Tzedek – the righteous convert to Judaism in eighteenth century Vilna. The Gaon was an innovator, a departure from the other scholars of his time and even from many of those who preceded him. Converts on the whole – those who are sincerely attracted to Judaism and not influenced by other factors or are converted by ersatz methods and insincere and non-observant courts – are an inspiration to Jewish society and prompt them to progress further and accomplish more.

This is also an important lesson that we can glean from the events described in this week’s parsha. Proper treatment of the convert is mentioned thirty-six times in the Torah – more than any other commandment or value. We should take heed of this and assess the new convert correctly, not condescendingly.

 Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein     

The Profound Structure of the Aseret Hadibrot

Among the many teachings of our faith, one of the most foundational verses in the Torah is

תּוֹרָ֥ה צִוָּה־לָ֖נוּ מֹשֶׁ֑ה מוֹרָשָׁ֖ה קְהִלַּ֥ת יַעֲקֹֽב

"Moses commanded us the Torah, an inheritance for the congregation of Jacob" (Devarim 33:4).

Moshe Rabbeinu, our greatest teacher, was the conduit through which the Torah was given to Klal Yisrael. Yet a deeper look into the words of Chazal reveals an intriguing nuance to this idea.

The Gemara in Makkot (23b) teaches that, while the Torah consists of 613 mitzvot, Moshe Rabbeinu directly taught us 611 of them. The gematria of  תורה is  611 . The other two mitzvot—the first two of the Aseret Hadibrot, "Anochi Hashem" and "Lo Yihyeh Lecha"—were heard directly from Hashem at Har Sinai. These mitzvot were so fundamental that no intermediary was necessary; Klal Yisrael experienced a moment of direct nevuah, an unparalleled revelation that became the cornerstone of our emunah.

The Singular Experience of Har Sinai

Parashat Yitro details the extraordinary moment when Bnei Yisrael stood at Har Sinai, experiencing the divine revelation firsthand. This event was unique and unrepeatable. The Aseret Hadibrot were not just laws; they were the foundation of an eternal covenant, a moment of spiritual elevation that bound the Jewish people to Hashem for all time. But why these ten? Why were these specific commandments chosen as the "headlines" of the Torah? What is their deeper structure?

The Structure of the Aseret Hadibrot

Rashi, in his commentary on Parashat Mishpatim, brings down a teaching from Chazal that all 613 mitzvot are embedded within the Aseret Hadibrot. Rav Saadia Gaon even developed a system demonstrating how every mitzvah in the Torah connects back to these foundational ten.

Various mefarshim, including Seforno, Rav Hirsch, and Ibn Ezra, highlight that mitzvot engage us on three different levels:

1. Machshavah (Thought/Belief) – Our internal convictions, such as emunah and yirat Shamayim.
2. Dibbur (Speech) – The sanctity of speech and how we express ourselves.
3. Ma’aseh (Action) – Physical deeds, from mitzvot like kashrut to donning tefillin.

The Ari HaKadosh notes that the very word "Adam" (man) is an acrostic for these three dimensions: Aleph (Emunah – Thought), Dalet (Dibbur – Speech), Mem (Ma’aseh – Action). The Aseret Hadibrot reflect this deep structure.

The Two Tablets: A Mirror of Human Existence

The Aseret Hadibrot are famously divided into two tablets:

• The first five commandments focus on bein adam laMakom—our relationship with Hashem.
• The second five address bein adam lechaveiro—our ethical conduct with others.

A fascinating pattern emerges within each group:

The First Five Commandments: Machshavah to Ma’aseh

1. "Anochi Hashem" – The foundation of emunah (Thought).
2. "Lo Yihyeh Lecha Elohim Acherim" – Rejection of idolatry, reinforcing belief (Thought).
3. "Lo Tisa Et Shem Hashem Lashav" – Proper use of Hashem’s name (Speech).
4. "Shabbat" – Observance of Shabbat through specific behaviors (Action).
5. "Kibbud Av V’Em" – Honoring parents, expressing gratitude for life (Action).

These mitzvot progress from pure belief (emunah) to speech (dibbur) and then to concrete actions(ma’aseh).

The Second Five Commandments: Ma’aseh to Machshavah

1. "Lo Tirtzach" (Do not murder) – The ultimate wrongful action (Action).
2. "Lo Tinaf" (Do not commit adultery) – Physical morality (Action).
3. "Lo Tignov" (Do not steal) – Ethical interactions (Action).
4. "Lo Ta’aneh L’Reiacha Eid Sheker" (Do not bear false witness) – Integrity in speech (Speech).
5. "Lo Tachmod" (Do not covet) – The final level, governing thought and desire (Thought).

The first set moves from thought to action, while the second set moves from action to thought, forming a perfect symmetry.

It is also interesting to note that Hashem's name is found in the first five commandments, but is not found  in the second  five.

A Map for Life

This structure is more than an intellectual insight—it is a blueprint for spiritual growth. The Torah teaches us that our avodat Hashem must be holistic, engaging our minds, speech, and deeds. In the realm of bein adam laMakom, our journey begins with belief and culminates in action. In the realm of bein adam lechaveiro, we begin with ethical behavior, progressing toward refining our very thoughts and emotions.

The Eternal Lesson

The revelation at Har Sinai was not just about receiving mitzvot; it was about internalizing emunah at its deepest level. The first two mitzvot, heard directly from Hashem, embedded within us an unshakable awareness of Hashem’s existence. The remaining mitzvot required Moshe Rabbeinu’s transmission and explanation, demonstrating the essential role of Torah sheb’al peh in our understanding of mitzvot.

Thus, we return to our original verse: "Torah tzivah Moshe, morashah kehillat Yaakov." The Torah is our inheritance, a gift from Moshe Rabbeinu. Yet, at its core, the foundation of all mitzvot—the recognition of Hashem—was given to us directly. This direct experience of divine revelation remains the bedrock of our faith, ensuring that Klal Yisrael remains forever connected to Hashem, through both our Torah and our ma’asim tovim.

Through the Aseret Hadibrot, we see the structure of mitzvot, the depth of Torah, and the profound nature of our relationship with Hashem and with each other. It is a lesson that continues to shape our lives, guiding us toward spiritual perfection and eternal connection to our Creator.

Never mind Peel, just look at the fruit!

As Tu b'Shevat approaches, we are delighted to offer you this piece by Rabbi Berel Wein.

I think that if we all stopped to contemplate the growth and success of the state of Israel in our time, we would truly realize that we are living in a miraculous age. Though the miracles are consistent and regular, oftentimes, perhaps even most times, we take them so for granted that the miraculous become mundane.

 One of the great miracles of the state of Israel is its agricultural industry. Israel has an arid, rock-filled landscape with very large patches of desert mixed in. It is not the lush landscape that exists in other parts of the world where agricultural industries bloom and prosper. Nevertheless, the prophets of Israel guaranteed that as part of the process of redemption and the Jewish return to its homeland, the desert would somehow bloom and the land would produce delicious fruits in abundance and variety.

 As late as a half century ago this seemed to be an unlikely dream that would never come to fulfilment. The original Jewish pioneers in the late 19th and early 20th centuries faced harsh and unforgiving challenges as they strove for the development of any sort of agricultural success.

 Climate, the earth itself, mosquitoes and malaria, the Arab marauders, and the lack of proper agricultural tools and training all conspired to make it almost a hopeless venture. But they persisted in tilling the soil, removing the rocks and eventually beginning to see the results of their labor and sacrifice. Their rate of mortality was high and many gave up on the project and returned to Europe. The hardy few stuck it out and eventually were rewarded with the miraculous success of their efforts.

Even so, there were grave doubts as to whether the land of Israel could ever feed the people of Israel. The main agricultural products were grapes, oranges and dates. The infamous Palestine Royal Commission (the so-called Peel Commission, under the chairmanship of Lord Peel, right) issued its learned conclusions in 1936 stating that the entire land of Israel – then Palestine under British mandate – could not support a population of greater than two and a half million souls.  As a result, it recommended the curtailment of immigration into the country at a time when Hitler was forcing the Jews of Germany to find refuge outside of the German borders. The recommendations of the Peel Commission led inevitably to the White Paper of the British foreign office that closed off Jewish emigration to the country for the next nine years, both during the Holocaust and its aftermath.

 It seemed that the conclusions reached by the Peel Commission were not far-fetched since food was scarce throughout this period in the land of Israel and of infinitely meager variety. When Israel gained its independence in 1948, for almost the next decade there were great shortages of food in the country, especially in the light of the doubling of its population in five years with the influx of the Jewish refugees from Europe and the Moslem Middle East.

 Food packages were sent from the United States to families throughout Israel to help supplement their meager diet. I remember how my father and mother scrimped and saved, often to my childish and foolish feelings of deprivation, in order to send food certificates to our Israeli relatives who could then redeem them for food packages in American warehouses located in Israel.

 But Israel struggled on in war and in peace. It developed a national water carrier that began to make the desert bloom. Its scientists and researchers developed new techniques, created drip irrigation and pioneered new methods of agriculture that began to make the country self-sufficient and plentiful in food and its varieties.

 In 1959, Moshe Dayan was the Minister of Agriculture. He introduced the planting of tomato vines into Israeli agriculture. The first year’s crop was hard, tasteless, and green in color, and understandably was not popular. The appreciative Israeli public nicknamed them ‘moishelach’ in honor of Dayan and his experiment. But soon the Israeli farmer developed the finest and tastiest tomatoes, as well as so many other types and of vegetables and fruits.

 Bananas, mangoes, kiwis and other fruits previously unknown to the Eastern European Jewish palette made their appearance and rapidly gained popularity. Israeli fruits and vegetables were produced in such abundance that a large export market developed and for a long period of time agriculture remained one of the mainstays of the Israeli export economy.

 All of this should be remembered by us as we commemorate Tu B’Shvat, a new year and holiday for the trees in the land of Israel. The prophecies long ago uttered by our holy sages have come true before our very eyes. What a blessed country the land of Israel truly is!

Something to sing about: Hava Nashira

Late last year, we posted this feature on the Dorot Choir, a popular Jerusalem-based women’s choir that is supported by many members of Beit Knesset Hanassi. Since then, we have been reminded that we have never featured a women’s choir that is even closer to home—the Hava Nashira choir.

Hava Nashira, originally named Kolot Simcha, was started in 2008 by Sandy Chesir and Reva Ehrlich—both members of Bet Knesset Hanassi. Joy Chesterman, also of BKH, was the conductor for many years. Sandy is still in the choir, along with several other long-time members of both Shul and choir.

Our current conductor, Temeema Weil, was taught piano by Joy, and remembers going from the home of her grandparents (Jenny and Max Weil) to Joy’s home in Diskin for her lessons. So the connections to BKH are close. We also participate in the annual Women’s League Tea.

Hava Nashira is run by Avelyn Hass, who adds:

We are a friendly group of women who love singing together, led by our inspirational conductor Temeema Weil. There is no formal audition, but a good ear for a melody and familiarity with musical notation are an advantage. We meet at no1 Diskin on Mondays, from 1.45pm to 3.15pm.

Our repertoire is a mix of popular Israeli, texts from Siddur and Tanach and folk songs from all over the world. If you have a favourite—just ask, we may be able to incorporate it.

Every rehearsal will send you home feeling invigorated and happy!

Are you interested in joining—or in booking Hava Nashira for an event? If so, call Avelyn on 054 447 2684.

Manna -- the miracle and the meaning: Beshalach 5785

The miracle of the manna that fell from heaven and nurtured millions of people for forty years is one of the focal points of this week’s parsha. The Jewish people obviously needed daily nourishment simply to survive. However, the rabbis of the Talmud injected another factor into the miracle of the falling manna. They stated that “the Torah could only have been granted to those that ate manna daily.” The necessity for the manna was thus directly associated with the granting of the Torah to the Jewish people on Mount Sinai. No manna, no Torah. Why is this so?

Most commentators consider that only a people freed from the daily concerns of earning a living and feeding a family could devote themselves solely to Torah study and the life values that acceptance of the Torah mandates. Torah is a demanding discipline. It requires time, effort and concentration to understand it. Neither cursory glances nor even inspiring sermons will yield much to those who are unwilling to invest time and effort in its study and analysis. This was certainly true in this first generation of Jewish life, newly freed from Egyptian bondage and lacking the heritage, tradition and life mores that would, in later generations, help Jews remain Jewish and appreciate the Torah.

The isolation of the Jewish people in the desert of Sinai, coupled with the heavenly provision of daily manna and the miraculous well of Miriam, together created a certain think-tank atmosphere. This atmosphere enabled Torah to take root in the hearts and minds of the Jewish people.  

In his final oration to the Jewish people, recorded in the book of Devarim, Moshe reviews the story of the manna falling from heaven but gives it a different emphasis. He states there that the manna came to teach that “humans do not live by bread alone but rather on the utterances of God’s mouth.”

To appreciate Torah, to truly fathom its depths and understand its value system, one has to accept its divine origin. Denying that basic premise of Judaism compromises any deeper level of understanding and analysis. The manna, the presence of God, so to speak, in the daily life of the Jew, allowed the Torah to permeate the depths of the Jewish soul and become part of the matrix of our very DNA. The Torah could only find a permanent and respected home within those who tasted God’s presence, so to speak, every day within their very beings and bodies.

The rabbis also taught us that the manna produced no waste materials within the human body. When dealing with holiness and holy endeavors, nothing goes to waste. No effort is ignored, no thought is left unrecorded in the heavenly court of judgment. Even good intentions are counted meritoriously.

Let us feel that we too have tasted the manna.

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein

Days of Darkness and Redemption: Lessons from the Exodus

 Once again we are privileged to bring you a piece by our member Rabbi Paul Bloom -- an in-depth analysis of faith through darkness, the splitting of the sea, and the significance of אֹז (oz), a tiny word that is packed with meaning.

The Plague of Darkness

In last week’s parsha, we are told about the plague of Darkness. Rashi comments on this plague, explaining, "Why did God bring darkness upon the Egyptians? Because there were wicked Jews in that generation who did not want to leave Egypt. They died during the three days of darkness so that the Egyptians would not see their downfall and say, 'They too are being afflicted, like us.'"

But why did these Jews refuse to leave? The Midrash Tanchuma (Va’era 14) fills in the answer:

"The Holy One, blessed be He, does not show favoritism and probes man's heart. There were wicked Jews who had honor and fortune in Egypt. They did not want to leave. The Holy One, blessed be He, said, 'If I smite them publicly and they die, the Egyptians will say, "Just as we are suffering, so are they." Therefore, He brought darkness upon the Egyptians.'"

Even in the midst of persecution in Egypt, some Jews felt at home in exile and rejected redemption. But what percentage of the Jewish population rejected God's salvation, opting instead to remain in Egypt? The answer is found at the beginning of parashat Beshalach:

"The Children of Israel went up from the land of Egypt chamushim (armed)" (Shemot 13:18).

Chazal interpreted "chamushim" in the sense of "chamesh," meaning five. According to Midrash Tanchuma, only one-fifth, one-fiftieth, one in five hundred, or one in five thousand Jews left Egypt. Regardless of the exact number, the message is clear: there is great danger in becoming too complacent in the lands of exile. Redemption is something we must actively embrace. We must accept the notion that our ultimate destiny is to live as a holy nation in our Holy Land. Then, when the Redeemer arrives, we will eagerly follow him to the Promised Land.

Faith and Action

R. Ya'akov Kamenetzky ztz"l expands on Rashi’s comment, emphasizing that even though the Jews were far from righteous—as evidenced by the angels’ claim at the splitting of the Red Sea that both the Egyptians and Jews were idol worshippers—not all wicked Jews perished during the plague of Darkness. Those who died were the ones who actively opposed leaving Egypt, citing the tradition that the bondage would last 400 years. They doubted Moshe and the Elders’ assurances that God had calculated the end of the bondage in the merit of the Patriarchs. Their refusal to embrace redemption ultimately led to their downfall. The rest of the Jewish people, though flawed, possessed the potential for spiritual growth. God foresaw their readiness to stand at Mount Sinai and declare, "Na’aseh v’nishma" (“We will do and we will hear”).

The Sea of Faith

When the Israelites stood before the Red Sea with nowhere to turn, Moshe prayed to God. Surprisingly, God responded: 

וַיֹּ֤אמֶר יְהֹוָה֙ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֔ה מַה־תִּצְעַ֖ק אֵלָ֑י דַּבֵּ֥ר אֶל־בְּנֵי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל וְיִסָּֽעוּ׃

"Why do you cry out to Me? Speak to the Children of Israel that they should travel" (Shemot 14:15).

Rabbi Yissachar Shlomo Teichtal explains that this teaches us an essential lesson: faith must be accompanied by action. This reinforced in Pasuk 14:22 and 14:29

The Torah twice describes the Israelites' crossing of the Red Sea:

וַיָּבֹ֧אוּ בְנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֛ל בְּת֥וֹךְ הַיָּ֖ם בַּיַּבָּשָׁ֑ה וְהַמַּ֤יִם לָהֶם֙ חוֹמָ֔ה מִֽימִינָ֖ם וּמִשְּׂמֹאלָֽם׃

“And the Israelites went into the sea on dry ground, the waters forming a wall for them on their right and on their left” (Shemot 14:22).

וּבְנֵ֧י יִשְׂרָאֵ֛ל הָלְכ֥וּ בַיַּבָּשָׁ֖ה בְּת֣וֹךְ הַיָּ֑ם וְהַמַּ֤יִם לָהֶם֙ חֹמָ֔ה מִֽימִינָ֖ם וּמִשְּׂמֹאלָֽם׃

“But the Israelites had marched through the sea on dry ground, the waters forming a wall for them on their right and on their left” (Shemot 14:29).

A subtle distinction exists between these verses. In the first instance, the word chomah (wall) is spelled with a vav, as well as saying that they went into the sea first and then there was dry land. However, in the second instance it is written without a vav, resembling chamah (anger) as well as saying that they marched through the sea on dry land.

The Midrash explains that although Hashem protected Bnei Yisrael, He was also angry with Klal Yisrael because their faith was not yet complete. This is a reference to the story of Nachshon ben Aminadav, the Nasi of Shevet Yehudah. According to Chazal, Nachshon jumped into the raging sea before it split, demonstrating absolute faith in Hashem. In contrast, the rest of B’nei Yisrael waited until the waters had already parted. Hashem desired a greater level of faith from them, and their hesitation evoked His displeasure.

In every generation, there are leaders and followers. Some act with unwavering emunah (faith) and vision, willing to take bold and seemingly irrational steps based on their belief in Hashem’s providence. Others follow in their footsteps, but only after the path is clear. Redemption, however, requires initiative: waiting passively is not enough.

אֹז יָשִׂירְ-מֹשֶׂהָ ווְּנֵי יִשְׁרָאֵל אֶת-הַשִׂירָה הַזֹּאֶת

The phrase "אֹז יָשִׂיר" ("Then Moshe and the Children of Israel sang") is one of the most profound verses in the Torah. The word "אֹז" ("oz") has intrigued commentators for generations. Traditionally, it signifies a pivotal moment when the Jewish people experienced an extraordinary miracle and attained a heightened level of emunah. Not only did they witness this divine intervention, but they also achieved a clarity of mind and soul that enabled them to perceive the Yad Hashem (the Hand of God) in an unparalleled manner.

Understanding the Word "Oz"

Rashi, Ramban and many other commentators grapple with the use of "oz" instead of the more conventional "וְיְשִּׂיר" ("and they sang"). On a simple level, "oz" denotes a specific moment in time—a transformative, almost magical instance when everything coalesced into a perfect expression of faith. Even the simplest person present at the splitting of the sea achieved a level of divine clarity beyond imagination.

A Deeper Interpretation of "Oz"

To further explore this, we must examine an interesting chronological question. Rashi outlines a sequence of events, day by day, culminating in the splitting of the sea on the seventh day of Pesach. However, a discrepancy arises in parashat Shelach, where Rashi discusses the mitzvah of Tzitzit. He explains the significance of the eight threads, linking them to the supreme moment of emunah—the splitting of the sea—which he identifies as occurring on the eighth day of Pesach. This presents an apparent contradiction: the Torah explicitly states that Pesach lasts only seven days. What, then, does Rashi mean by the "eighth day of Pesach"?

Reframing the Pesach Timeline

To resolve this, we must consider the broader context of the Pesach narrative. The Exodus began on 15 Nissan, the night of the Korban Pesach and the Seder. However, Pesach is unique among Jewish holidays in that certain elements begin earlier—on the 14th of Nissan. For example, the prohibition of chametz starts at midday on Erev Pesach, signaling that the redemption process was already in motion before nightfall.

In a profound sense, the first "day" of Pesach can be understood as Erev Pesach, when the Korban Pesach was slaughtered, and the Israelites marked their doorposts with its blood. This act symbolized their spiritual liberation: while they were still physically in Egypt, they had already severed ties with Egyptian idolatry and materialism. Thus their redemption began not only on the 15th but already on 14 Nissan. With this perspective, when Rashi refers to the seventh day of Pesach, he is counting from 15 Nissan. However, when he speaks of the "eighth day," he is counting from the 14th—the true spiritual beginning of the redemption.

The Hidden Meaning of "Oz"

The word "oz" (אֹז) is written with an Aleph (א) and a Zayin (ז), numerically representing one and seven. Together, they total eight, subtly alluding to the deeper chronology of the Exodus. This number reflects the dual nature of Pesach—both its physical redemption, culminating on the seventh day, and its spiritual initiation, beginning on Erev Pesach. Moreover, even the way the letter Aleph is written in Torah script contains hidden symbolism: it consists of a Vav (ו) flanked by two Yuds (י), which together have a gematria of 26, the numerical value of Hashem's name (Yud-Heh-Vav-Heh). This indicates that Moshe Rabbeinu understood how the spiritual and physical elements of redemption were intertwined, reaching their climax on the seventh day of Pesach.

In conclusion, the word "oz" encapsulates not just a historical moment but a profound spiritual truth. It signifies the culmination of a process that began with faith and defiance in Egypt and reached its peak at the splitting of the sea. The choice of this word reflects a deeper divine structure within the Pesach story, emphasizing the unity of physical and spiritual redemption in the Jewish journey.

The Manna and the Fruits of Eretz Yisrael

The second half of parashat Beshalach discusses the manna that sustained the Israelites in the desert:

וּבְנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֗ל אָֽכְל֤וּ אֶת־הַמָּן֙ אַרְבָּעִ֣ים שָׁנָ֔ה עַד־בֹּאָ֖ם אֶל־אֶ֣רֶץ נוֹשָׁ֑בֶת אֶת־הַמָּן֙ אָֽכְל֔וּ עַד־בֹּאָ֕ם אֶל־קְצֵ֖ה אֶ֥רֶץ כְּנָֽעַן׃

"The Children of Israel ate the manna for forty years, until they arrived in an inhabited land. They ate the manna until they arrived at the border of the Land of Canaan." (Shemot 16:35)

R. Avraham Azulai, in Chesed LeAvraham, asks why the manna ceased when the Israelites entered Eretz Yisrael. If God miraculously provided sustenance in the desert, wouldn’t He do so even more in the Holy Land? The standard answer is that the manna was a temporary provision, whereas the ideal is for the Jewish people to sustain themselves naturally in their homeland. However, R. Azulai offers a deeper explanation: Divine Providence in Eretz Yisrael operates differently. In the desert, God bypassed intermediaries and sustained Bnei Yisrael directly. In Eretz Yisrael, the land’s fruits themselves embody holiness and serve the same purpose as manna.

Thus the manna did not truly cease—it transformed. The produce of Eretz Yisrael is a direct manifestation of God’s care, allowing a more intimate relationship with Him.

The Sanctity of Eretz Yisrael

R. Avraham of Sochatchov, the Avnei Neizer, explains why many Chassidic masters refrained from living in Eretz Yisrael during the 19th and early 20th centuries. Without a means of self-sufficiency, they would have relied on foreign donations, which would undermine the purpose of dwelling in the Holy Land. Today, however, earning a livelihood in Israel is far easier, making the mitzvah of Yishuv Ha’aretz (settling the Land) more attainable.

The fruits of Eretz Yisrael carry kedushah (sanctity), especially during Shemittah (the Sabbatical year). Consuming them connects us to God in a way that mirrors the manna of the desert. Each mitzvah performed with the produce of the land further sanctifies it, creating opportunities for spiritual elevation.

Conclusion

The lessons of the Exodus resonate deeply in our time. Redemption requires both faith and action. Living in Eretz Yisrael allows us to experience God’s providence directly, strengthening our connection to Him. As we celebrate Tu B’Shevat and reflect on the blessings of the land, let us embrace the sanctity and opportunities that Eretz Yisrael offers and take active steps toward our ultimate redemption.

Paying the price: redeeming and exchanging hostages

On Tuesday and Wednesday evening in shul, Rabbi Kenigsberg filled the gap between mincha and maariv with a riveting two-part shiur on the halacha relating to the redemption of hostages. This was not a political presentation. It started with two famous quotes from Rambam (right) about the primacy of the mitzvah of redeeming captives (basically “there is no greater mitzvah”), then reviewed modern approaches to this topic from, among others, Rabbi Ovadyah Yosef, the Chazon Ish and Rabbi Yisraeli.

Among the topics Rabbi Kenigsberg discussed was the relationship between pidyon shevu’im (redemption of hostages) and pikuach nefesh (the imperative need to preserve life), the relevance of probability theory to the calculations involving the exchange of hostages for terrorist prisoners and the applicability of pre-state rulings to modern conditions.

You can follow the first half of this shiur here on the Hanassi YouTube channel; the second half is here.

Under our roof: a monthly lunch and lecture

Beit Knesset Hanassi is a hive of activity. Apart from its regular tefillot and shiurim, the shul is host to various activities that originate outside the shul but involve some of its members.  One of rhese is the men’s Rosh Chodesh Club which, unsurprisingly, meets almost every month, either on Rosh Chodesh itself or as close as possible to it. 

This Club offers two attractions: a generously-filled bagel (plus extras) supplied by Holy Bagel and a presentation by an outside speaker.  The range of speakers is wide: over the years the Club has platformed scholars, diplomats, politicians, journalists, researchers and rabbis.  Once they have finished speaking, they are tested by a barrage of often penetrating questions from the appreciative audience. The event closes with birchat hamazon and minchah.

Last Thursday's Rosh Chodesh Club meeting featured a talk by Yaakov Lappin, a military and strategic analyst and research fellow at the Begin Sadat Centre for Strategic Studies at Bar Ilan University.  Our member Chaim Sharman, who was there, summarized the talk neatly, recalling that the speaker had two fundamental messages to convey. The first was that Israel should look to the long term rather than focusing on short-term solutions; the second was that our leaders should never underestimate the capabilities of our enemies.

As an aside, the prudent policy of looking to the long term is in accordance with the advice of Rabbi Shimon ben Netanel (Avot 2:13) that one should try to look ahead and identify the consequences of one’s actions. Never underestimating others is part and parcel of another mishnah in Avot (4:3) in which Ben Azzai cautions us to do just that since “there is no man who does not have his hour”.

As Tu b'Shevat draws near ...

 As Tu b'Shevat draws near, it's time to contemplate the wonders of the natural world -- not least of which is the tree. Over a century ago, the American poet Joyce Kilmer summarized his feelings in lines which many Hanassi members will know from their schooldays:

Trees

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest

Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast;

A tree that looks at God all day,

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;

A tree that may in Summer wear

A nest of robins in her hair;

Upon whose bosom snow has lain;

Who intimately lives with rain.

Poems are made by fools like me,

But only God can make a tree.

Two of our more creative members, Heshy Engelsberg and Max Stern, have developed other ways of expressing their relationship to the natural world, as epitomised by the plant kingdom. 

Heshy has produced a splendid video, Tu b'Shevat Jerusalem 2025, with nearly six minutes of brilliantly coloured foliage plus trees in close-up and at a distance. You can enjoy it by clicking here.

Max's forte is music, and here you can listen to his unforgettably rhythmic arrangement of the folksong Atzei Shittim Omdim. for a four-part choir and wooden sticks. The lyrics? "And thou shalt make the boards for the tabernacle of acacia wood, standing up" (Exodus 26:15). Max adds:

When the shittim (acacia trees) were selected for the construction of the Tabernacle in the desert they intoned a song of praise to God. It was their expression of appreciation and thus they sang.

Midrash informs us that the shittim-wood for the Tabernacle came from paradise, whence Adam took it with him when he was driven out. Subsequently, it came into the possession of Abraham, who bequeathed it to Isaac, who bequeathed it to Jacob. When he reached Egypt, Jacob planted a grove of acacia trees and admonished his sons to do the same: 

“Plant shittim trees, then when God will bid you build Him a sanctuary, you shall have in your possession the wood required for its construction.” 

The boards that were made for the Tabernacle out of shittim wood never decayed but endure to all eternity.

Have you registered yet for this year's Tu b'Shevat Seder? Time is running out, so be sure to do so very soon!  For details, click here. To register, call Jeremy on 053 455 8367.

Was Charles Dickens antisemitic?

The Encore! Educational Theatre Company is currently presenting the popular musical Oliver! here in Jerusalem. Several members of Beit Knesset Hanassi have already been to see the production, more have already bought their tickets for this week -- and some are even involved in the production, which very much captures the joyous spirit of Lionel Bart's translation of Oliver Twist from book to stage. 

One of Charles Dickens' best-known works, Oliver Twist has raised much discussion over the years as to whether the author was antisemitic. At the heart of the debate is Dickens' portrayal of one of the antagonists in the tale, Fagin, as a Jew. Fagin, who deals in stolen property, is a plainly unsavoury character who trains young boys as thieves and pickpockets. He is amoral, selfish -- and is very pointedly referred to on countless occasions as a Jew. 

The musical is quite different. Lionel Bart, who created it, was himself Jewish and the stage version of Fagin is a much more nuanced character than the book version: he does display some feelings towards his fellow humans and even contemplates the prospect of teshuvah. Indeed, in the Encore! production, only the musical accompaniment to Fagin's songs yields any suggestion at all that Fagin is Jewish. 

So was Dickens an antisemite? On account of Fagin's notoriety, he has his own quite detailed entry in Wikipedia (here), which chronicles both Dickens' initially unfavourable attitude towards Jews with his subsequent conduct on learning that Jews found his portrayal offensive. Those who visit Beit Shmuel this week will doubtless reach their own conclusions.

Bo: The devil is in the details

This week’s parsha introduces the halachic process of observing the commandments of the Torah. Every commandment contains numerous layers of meaning and importance: there is the social and moral value that it conveys. There are also the technical minutiae—complex details that comprise its very fabric. This week we encounter the laws that govern the observance of Pesach and of the structuring of the Jewish calendar, the general values of which are apparent to all. Pesach represents for us the concept of freedom from bondage, teaching us the beginning of our people’s history, while the calendar has always been vital for social and commercial life and keeps us in tune with the changing seasons of the year.

 Though the general idea of our commandments is easy to grasp, the devil always lies in the detail. Theories are wonderful—but they rarely survive the tests of time and ever-changing circumstances. So what mechanism can enable the story of our departure from Egyptian slavery to freedom to remain fresh after thousands of years? Values only come to life if they are translated into human action and normative behavior.

 Scientific theories can be tested by experiment and validation. Values are different. Freedom is a great theory but it must be tested by the realities of everyday existence. Pesach is a symbol of freedom but only its practical implementation through matzah, chametz, the haggadah and so forth can preserve the value and validate the theory and guarantee its meaningfulness for generations to come. The uniqueness of the Jewish calendar lies also in its technical details. The permanent calendar that we now follow, established in the fifth century CE, is a lunar calendar with adjustments to make it fit into a solar year. How the last Sanhedrin squared this circle is too large a topic for Hanassi Highlights.  However, if it were not for their calculations, our calendar would long ago have disappeared—just as did the ancient calendars of Egypt, Babylonia, Greece and Rome.

Many people look at the calendar not as a commandment but as a convenience, a neat way to mark our passage through time. But, for Jews, the details are of equal if not even greater importance than the convenience that they represent. In our time, those Jews who for various reasons only concentrated on the values, who were good Jews at heart but observed no commandments or details, were rarely privileged to have Jewish descendants. We must be careful, though. Concentrating only on the details is also a distortion of the divine word. To see the general value of a commandment and to observe its necessary technical details in practice is our guarantee that the Torah will survive amongst the people of Israel for all time.   

 Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein