Taking responsibility: Nitzavim 5785

 This essay by Rabbi Wein ztz'l has been kindly furnished by the Destiny Foundation.

One of the shortest parshiyot of the Torah, Nitzavim is however one of the most important in its message to the people of Israel. It features Moshe’s final oration to his people after more than 40 years of leadership, to be heard not only by his immediate audience but by each subsequent generation. 

Moshe reminds his listeners that there is an eternal covenant between God and Israel. The Lord will not allow the Jewish people to wriggle out of that commitment. Many strange things will happen to the people of Israel over its many centuries of existence. There will be events that are beyond human understanding or comprehension. 

God’s mind and actions, so to speak, remain inscrutable and beyond our judgment, let alone our reason. Moshe warns us that “the hidden things are the matter of the Lord but what is clear and revealed to us is that we are to remain faithful to this covenant [of Sinai and of Moshe]”. No matter how the Jewish people twist and turn to avoid keeping their side of the covenant, they remain bound by its consequences and results. Moshe warns them that eventually a high price would be exacted from the Jewish people for the abandonment of this covenant.  He advises them not to be too clever: times change, technology improves and there are new discoveries in God’s world—but the covenant of God with Israel remains as ever it was. Acceptance of this truth is the only way to deal with Jewish history and with all of the issues of Jewish life—past, present and future. 

The word “nitzavim” is key to conveying the above message to us with clarity and in perspective. The word suggests not only “present and accounted for” but also “upright and formidable”. Moshe fears that the Jewish people might feel unworthy and not strong enough for the rigors of the covenant. He reminds them of their true strength and capabilities. Moshe knows that a lack of self-confidence will automatically defeat the intent and goal of the covenant. If someone says “I cannot do it,” then that certainly becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy of failure.

Moshe reminds the Jewish people that they are “nitzavim”—strong, capable, resilient and able to stand up to all crises and problems. Moshe appeals to their self-image and inner strength. This attitude is both necessary and correct in the lead-up to the High Holy days. One cannot appeal to God, so to speak, on the basis of personal incompetence and weakness of will and vision. It is like requesting further cash flow from lenders into an obviously failing venture. 

When we pass before our Creator, during the Days of Judgment just ahead, we should do so with strong backs and confident hearts. We can and should say “Continue to invest in me and my family and generations. We will not desert the covenant, nor shall we fail You.”   

For "Renewing the Covenant", Rabbi Wein's essay on Nitzavim-Vayelech last year, click here.     

The Shofar: transmitting the message, keeping faith and filling the void

On Sunday 14 September the Women’s League hosted Rebbetzin Via Kimche as guest speaker for this year’s annual pre-Rosh Hashanah Women’s Shiur. Here, thanks to our member Dr Pessy Krausz, is a short summary of her message. 

Women’s League President Shirley March introduced Rebbetzin Via Kimche by describing how she was born and raised in post-Holocaust Amsterdam, Holland, and how she has taught Torah for over 40 years in a variety of settings. Via then gave an inspiring shiur that focused on some of the meanings of the Shofar. 

Right: Rebbetzin Kimche, together with her husband Rabbi Alan Kimche

Via’s presentation combined elegance with eloquence, opened with an account of Malchuyot, giving us an insight into kingship as we should recognize it: we feel we are organising everything but it is Hashem who pulls the strings: “The King of the universe is my boss!” 

Next up was Shofarot. This word is connected with the Hebrew word leshaper, to improve. This connotation promotes thoughts of our ongoing efforts at positive personal development. 

Then Via spoke of Zichronot – Remembrance. We must remember the fact that each of us carries the genes of our forefathers. Here Via drew on the analogy of Avraham Avinu. She described how, selflessly, he left behind all the creature comforts of his home environment and set off into an unknown world. He did not run from challenges, even when he found the world was in chaos. 

Our audience was particularly moved by Via’s depiction of the broken sound of Teruah in terms of shaking. We must learn to absorb the brokenness that this note signifies while still clinging to our emunah, our faith, however much it may be shaken during troubled times. 

The Shofar is a messenger, Via explained. Just as the Shofar is in reality nothing but a hollow tube that makes a sound, coming to life as it were, only when someone blows into it,  so too is each of us little other than an empty, formless void into which we must instill our own unique qualities. She gave credit for this idea to her husband, none other than Rabbi Alan Kimche.

Via closed her presentation with a heart-warming message. We are greatly supported in our endeavours when we recognize that it is our connection with Hashem that brightens our lives. Even though the world, sadly, is in turmoil, we must keep that connection and stick to our own standards. Her takeaway message is that, as women, we have the ability to create an anchor – an island in the sun – through which we can enrich our community. Our Hanassi women are certainly a shining example of this quality! 

Via’s closing message elicited an appreciative round of applause—and she certainly deserved the warm words of gratitude delivered by Avelyn Hass on behalf of the Women’s League and all who were present, thanking our guest speaker for her insights which, this Rosh Hashanah, will greatly contribute to our understanding of the significance of the Shofar.

A living link in the chain of destiny

 Here''s the full text of Rabbi Kenigsberg's speech at the Sheloshim for Rabbi Wein et'l, delivered at Beit Knesset Hanassi on 14 September 2025. The full proceedings of the Sheloshim, including Rabbi Kenigsberg's speech, can also be viewed on YouTube, here.

As we gather tonight to mark the Sheloshim for Moreinu veRabbeinu, Rav Berel Wein zt”l, finding words of hesped feels no easier now, than it did 30 days ago. If anything, with time to reflect, the sense of loss is even greater, and the void more keenly felt.

Over these weeks, I have often caught myself instinctively wondering: What would Rabbi Wein say? Faced with a dilemma, confronted by the turmoil of our times, I have longed for his sharp, clear voice - the voice that could, in a moment, place events into perspective and set our minds at ease. That voice is no longer here, and how bereft we feel.

In keeping with Rabbi Wein’s wishes, our remarks tonight will be brief. But the outpouring of tributes from across the length and breadth of the Jewish world reminds us of what we already knew: Rabbi Wein was a connector of worlds. Who else could be admired and loved by the President of the State of Israel and at the same time revered in the halls of Satmar Chassidut? To all of them, and to all of us, Rabbi Wein was the voice of Torah, the voice of the Jewish people. He showed us our place in the eternal story of Am Yisrael and charged us with the mission of writing its next chapter.

Many times he would recall the verse we recite in Shofarot of Mussaf of Rosh Hashana:

וַיְהִי קוֹל הַשֹּׁפָר הוֹלֵךְ וְחָזֵק מְאֹד מֹשֶׁה יְדַבֵּר וְהָאֱלֹקים יַעֲנֶנּוּ בְקוֹל

 In his own words, penned just three years ago in Majesty, Memory and Resonance – Insights on Musaf for Rosh Hashana, he captured the verse’s meaning thus:

“When Human beings sound shofar blasts, the sound weakens as the length of the note increases. The Ba’al Tokeah simply runs out of breath. But the sound of the shofar at Sinai emanated from Heaven and had eternity encased within it. The sound of that Shofar did not weaken in time, but rather continued and strengthened.

That mighty sound came to symbolize Torah itself: not only has it maintained itself in Jewish life over millenia, it has the uncanny ability to become stronger and evermore resonant as the generations of Israel proceed… one of the great phenomena of our time… has been the resurgence of Torah study on a mass scale in Jewish populations the world over… the sound of the shofar at Sinai never weakens or abates…

The verse states… Moshe yedaber… the Torah uses the past perfect form of the verb “to speak”. It infers that Moshe not only spoke in the past, but that he continues to speak, even in the present and future.

This is the timeless quality of Torah; it has the ability to speak to every generation, providing values and guidance under all human circumstances.”

 Moshe yedaber, veHaElokim ya’anenu bekol. Rabbi Wein heard that eternal voice of Torah echoing through the generations and the events of our day - and when he spoke, he allowed us to hear it too.

Rabbi Wein was a bridge. A bridge across communities and ideologies, and a bridge across generations. His countless students are proof of that. There is hardly a rabbi in the English-speaking world today who does not, in some way, see himself as a talmid of Rabbi Wein. Though renowned for his history tapes, lectures, and books, Rabbi Wein never simply recounted the past. He revealed history not as a chronicle of what once was, but as a living continuum – in which we each take part. To sit in his presence was to sense the company of the Gedolim of the past. How many times did a conversation with him begin “The Ponovezher Rav told me...” or the like. Now it is upon us to keep his presence alive for the generations to come.

Rabbi Wein was a living link in the great chain of Jewish destiny. In a world of confusion, he was an anchor of clarity. He had the rare gift of making the complex simple: That’s what’s written in the Torah. What more do you need?

As we enter the Yamim Noraim without his guiding voice, the loss is especially sharp. Yet his charge to us is clear: to carry forward his lessons, his love of Torah, his faith in HaKadosh Baruch Hu, and his unwavering commitment to the Jewish people. May we be worthy to do so, and ensure that his voice continues to resound – not only for us but for generations to come.

Learning from our errors: Ki Tavo 5785

Here is another piece of Rabbi Wein ztz'l's Torah legacy, which we are privileged to share.

This week’s Torah reading describes two very different situations in Jewish life that have been present throughout our long history as a people. One is when we inhabited and controlled our own land—the Land of Israel. That is clearly indicated in the opening words of the parsha—“ki tavo”—when you will come into your land. The second, much more difficult, situation is recorded in the bitter, lengthy and detailed description of the lot of the Jewish people in exile, scattered amongst hostile nations and subject to violent hatreds. 

Over the many millennia of the Jewish story, we have been in exile far longer than we were at home in the Land of Israel. The recounting of the troubles and persecutions resulting from the exile of Israel from its land occupies greater space (and perhaps even greater notice) in the parsha than does the section relating to our living in Israel. 

Our land carries with it special commandments and rituals as described in the parsha such as various types of ‘ma’aser’ (tithing) and ‘bikurim’ (the first fruits of the agricultural year). Our exile from it poses problems of extinction and continued tension, fear and a constant state of uncertainty. In the words of the parsha, the conditions of the exile were capable of driving people into insanity and fostered hopelessness. 

Yet the strange, almost unfathomable result of exile is that the Jewish people survived, and at times even thrived, under these hostile conditions, while our record as a national entity living in our own country was much spottier. Jews are a special people—but our behavior is oftentimes strange and counterproductive. We don’t seem to deal too well with success and stability. 

By the grace of God we are once again back in our land. Having read the words of the parsha, in all of its terror, literally fulfilled in our own lifetimes, we have nevertheless restored our national sovereignty, built a wonderful country and an intriguing society, and are engaged in facing great challenges as to our future development here. 

We would be wise to remember why we failed in the past in our nation-building and why, paradoxically, we succeed in achieving major successes while in exile and under very negative circumstances. Straying from the path of Torah and tradition has always brought us to harm. The pursuit of alien cultures and fads is no way to fulfill our national interest and purpose. 

Our historical experiences, both in Israel and in the exile, have taught us that it is extremely foolhardy to repeat our errors. Returning to our land carries with it the challenges of living in holiness and having a special relationship with our Creator. Our efforts should be concentrated in strengthening and broadening that relationship. It may be wise for us to discard the bath water of the exile now that we have returned home. But we must preserve at all costs the baby—the Torah and its values—that has brought us home to the land that the Lord has promised to us. 

For "Jewish History in Just Two Scenarios" Rabbi Wein's piece on parashat Ki Tavo last year, click here.

What's inside the Selichot?

Here are some further thoughts on Selichot, penned by Rabbi Wein zt’l back in 2017.

The custom of reciting selichot –- penitential prayers –-preceding Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur is an ancient one. It dates back to the period of the Geonim in Babylonia ,if not to Talmudic times.  There are different customs as to when to begin reciting these prayers. Most Sephardic and Middle Eastern Jewish congregations begin the recitation of selichot at the beginning of the month of Elul while European Jewish communities begin their recitation the week preceding Rosh Hashanah itself. 

Over the centuries the number of piyutim available for the selichot recitation has increased exponentially. There are many hundreds of such selichot piyutim in our repertoire of religious poetry. A substantial number of them were composed during the early and later Middle Ages and were the work of the great men of both the Ashkenazic and Sephardic worlds. 

It was commonly accepted and even expected that Torah scholars would produce such selichot. Some of the greatest sages of Israel, such as Rashi, Rabbenu Gershom, Rabbi Asher ben Yechiel and others, are represented in the Ashkenazic version of the selichot services. 

In later times, especially in the modern era, the number and authorship of the selichot has become fixed, though even in the Ashkenazic tradition there is quite a difference between the selichot of German, Lithuanian, and Polish custom. Needless to say, all of these Ashkenazic versions of selichot vary widely from the piyutim recited by the Middle Eastern Sephardic communities—and there too there are differences between certain localities and ethnic groups. 

The basic prayer of selichot, upon which all various communities agree, is the recitation of the thirteen so-called attributes of the Almighty. These are revealed to us in the Torah when Moshe hid his face in the presence of the Divine spirit passing over him. The recitation of this Torah description of Godly attributes is one of the central themes of Yom Kippur, when we recite this section of selichot numerous times during the prayer services of the day.  In fact, the climactic prayer of Neilah on Yom Kippur incudes the recitation of these thirteen attributes thirteen times! It is as though this prayer, ordained so to speak by God, is the only weapon left in our arsenal of prayer and tears that will deliver us to life and goodness. The theme of the High Holy Days is to call to our Creator when He is close to us and can be easily reached. The recitation of the selichot prayers, from before Rosh Hashanah until through the day of Yom Kippur, reinforces this idea of closeness and immediacy with the divine and the infinite. 

Selichot is an invaluable conduit to achieve this exalted connection with godliness and spirituality. It is no wonder that throughout the ages the Jewish people have constantly observed and even strengthened this custom in our never-ending quest for soulful spirituality. Early hours of rising and devotion testify to the level that all Jewish communities dedicate to this custom of penitential prayer. 

What I have always found interesting and noteworthy in the piyutim of selichot is that most of them are concerned with the sorry state of the Jewish people in our long and bitter exile. It is as though we not only expect to be forgiven for our sins and shortcomings but that we also implore Heaven to intercede on our behalf and improve our lot in life. 

Except for the Ashamnu prayer, the selichot piyutim reveal very little contrition or assumption of guilt for sins on our part. It is as though we are saying to Heaven that the deplorable circumstances of Jewish life in the exile are why we are unable to fulfill our spiritual obligations on a constant and productive basis. This emphasis on national calamity, rather than on personal guilt, points out to us that the High Holy Days are not merely a personal experience but a national one as well. We are all in this together and the eternal covenant of Sinai joins all of us into one unit. Every Jew’s personal fate is intertwined with our national fate and future. 

And in an even further leap, the prayers of Rosh Hashanah tie us all as human beings to common fates and challenges. In Judaism, the individual, the national and the universal are all bound together in judgment and in blessing. Therefore there can be no better introduction to and understanding of the holy days that are coming upon us than the prayers of the selichot services.

For ""Of Emotions, Memories and a Sense of Purpose", Rabbi Wein zt'l's previous post on Selichot, click here

Of poetry and pictures: the challenge of Selichot today

 Selichot pose a challenge for even religious Jews today. We know why we say them, and we know how important it is to say them—but when it comes to understanding them we often (and, for most of us, usually) struggle. This is a pity. Sometimes the Hebrew of the Selichot possesses a power, a resonance and a momentum of its own, something that cannot easily be translated or appreciated in real time as we grapple with the unfamiliar verses in our haste to reach the safety of the next familiar, oft-repeated passage.

What are we missing when we recite poetry at a time when most folk are comfortably asleep in bed? Here is an example, taken from the selichah “אִם עֲוֹנֵינוּ רַבּוּ לְהַגְדִּיל (Im avoneinu rabu lehagdil)”, attributed to the early Italian paytan Shlomo haBavli (Solomon ben Judah). In many compilations of Selichot this work is listed for recitation on the first day (or night, if you are that way inclined). If you read the Hebrew slowly, its sonorous, stately rhyme possesses great dignity:

מֵרֹב פְּקֻדּוֹת וּבֶהָלָה מְחַלְחֶלֶת
נָקְטָה נַפְשִׁי לֶעָפָר בּוֹחֶלֶת
סָמְכָה בֶּטֶן לָאָרֶץ נִשְׁחֶלֶת
עוּרָה, לָמָּה תִּישַׁן תּוֹחֶלֶת

פְּקַח כֹּחַ; קְרָא אֲסִירֶיךָ חָפֹץ
צוּק הָעִתִּים—חֶשְׁבּוֹנָם קְפֹּץ
קַבֵּץ פְּזוּרֶיךָ, עֵדֶר הַנָּפוֹץ
רְאוֹת עַוְלָתָה—פִּיהָ תִקְפֹּץ

But what does it mean? The following is a heavily edited composite of two English translations—one by Rabbi Abraham Rosenfeld, the other by ChatGPT—that both opt for accuracy over elegance and produce a result that is wordy, clumsy and obtuse.

From a multitude of visitations and terrors that have infested it,
my soul has shrivelled, sickened, in the dust;
it crawls and grovels on the ground.
Awake, our hope! Why should you sleep?

Unleash Your might; call Your prisoners—Your desired ones.
Cut short Your reckoning of their troubled times.
Gather up Your scattered ones, the flock dispersed.
Let oppression see this—but clamp her mouth tight shut.

The paytan had nothing but his pen with which to create his evocative imagery. But nowadays we capture terror and despair, suffering and the abandonment of hope, on a wide variety of media including video clips, photo stills and sound recordings.

Hostage Square in Tel-Aviv is a place of frightening, haunting images, a place to evoke the sort of emotions that a paytan might have aimed for in earlier times. Our member Heshy Engelsberg has sought to capture this in a short video clip on Hostage Square that is uncomfortable to view and hard to forget. You can check it out here.

The Moral of Bikkurim: Continuity Beyond Self

The mitzvah of ביכורים—bringing the first fruits to the Beit HaMikdash—is one of the most beautiful expressions of gratitude in the Torah. As our member Rabbi Paul Bloom explains, the mitzvah itself is divided into two distinct parts: 

1.         The physical act of bringing the fruits – placing them in a basket and presenting them to the Kohen. The Mishnah in Bikkurim teaches: העשירים מביאים ביכוריהם בסלי כסף ובסלי זהב, והעניים מביאים בסלי נצרים של קליפה (משנה ביכורים ג:ח). Yet regardless of the vessel, the fruits themselves were lifted jointly by the Kohen and the farmer, sanctifying the effort. 

2.         The recitation of the special passage from the Torah – beginning with the words:

 וְעָנִיתָ וְאָמַרְתָּ לִפְנֵי ה׳ אֱלֹקיךָ, אֲרַמִּי אֹבֵד אָבִי; וַיֵּרֶד מִצְרַיְמָה, וַיָּגָר שָׁם בִּמְתֵי מְעָט; וַיְהִי שָׁם לְגוֹי גָּדוֹל עָצוּם וָרָב (דברים כ״ו:ה).

 The Gemara (סוטה ל״ב ע״א) points out that not everyone could recite this declaration—converts, for example, could not say אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּע ה׳ לַאֲבֹתֵינו since their biological ancestors were not part of that oath. Still, they were obligated in the act of bringing Bikkurim. Thus the Torah separates the mitzvah of deed from the mitzvah of speech. 

This passage became so central that Chazal made it the backbone of the Pesach Haggadah. Instead of telling the Exodus story in our own words, we expound on each verse of ארמי אובד אבי. 

The Meaning of “Arami Oved Avi”

 The very first phrase is the subject of classic debate.

●          Rashi (דברים כ״ו:ה) explains that ארמי אובד אבי refers to Lavan, who “sought to uproot everything” (ביקש לעקור את הכל). While Pharaoh only decreed against the males, Lavan attempted to destroy the entire family of Yaakov by trickery and deception. Thus Jewish history begins not only with physical slavery in Egypt, but with existential threats even before we arrived thereץ

 ●          Ramban (שם) takes a different view, understanding אובד not as “seeking to destroy,” but as “lost, wandering.” According to him, the verse describes Yaakov himself, who was a destitute wanderer in Aram before descending to Egypt. The declaration highlights the fragility of our beginnings and the miracle of our survival.

 Both interpretations carry a profound message. Whether our survival was threatened by external enemies (Lavan) or by the precariousness of our own condition (Yaakov’s wandering), our very existence is a testament to God’s intervention in history.

 Farming and the Temptation of Self-Credit

 Farming is among the most difficult occupations. Even today, with modern technology, the farmer is still at the mercy of rain, sun, wind, insects, and fire. In ancient times, the struggle was almost unimaginable. A farmer who finally sees his crops ripen after months of labor could easily declare: Look what I have accomplished with my own hands! The Torah, however, demands that he take those very fruits—the tangible result of his toil—and publicly declare that they are not his alone. His success is not merely a product of sweat and labor but part of a story that began long before him.  As he recitesת

 וַיָּרֵעוּ אֹתָנוּ הַמִּצְרִים, וַיְעַנּוּנוּ; וַיִּתְּנוּ עָלֵינוּ עֲבֹדָה קָשָׁה. וַנִּצְעַק אֶל ה׳ אֱלֹקי אֲבוֹתֵינוּ, וַיִּשְׁמַע ה׳ אֶת קֹלֵנוּ, וַיַּרְא אֶת עָנְיֵנוּ וְאֶת עֲמָלֵנוּ וְאֶת לַחֲצֵנוּ. וַיּוֹצִאֵנוּ ה׳ מִמִּצְרַיִם בְּיָד חֲזָקָה, וּבִזְרוֹעַ נְטוּיָה, וּבְמוֹרָא גָדֹל, וּבְאֹתוֹת וּבְמֹפְתִים (דברים כ״ו:ו–ח).

 Only because of this chain of history can the farmer now stand with his basket in Jerusalem.

 Continuity Over Individualism

 Here lies the great moral lesson: Jewish life is not built on the illusion that the world begins and ends with me. It is built on continuity. The farmer must see himself as one link in a chain stretching back to Avraham and forward to generations yet unborn. This idea is echoed in the dramatic story of Shlomo HaMelech at the dedication of the Beit HaMikdash. The Midrash (שמות רבה ח:א; תנחומא, ויחי ז׳) relates that when Shlomo sought to open the gates of the newly built Temple, they refused to open. Only when he prayed: אַל תָּשֵׁב פְּנֵי מְשִׁיחֶךָ, זָכְרָה לַחֲסָדֵי דָּוִד עַבְדֶּך (תהלים קל״ב:י) did the gates swing wide.

 Even the wisest and holiest man of his generation could not enter on his own merits. The doors opened only when he invoked the merit of his father David.

 The Antidote to Modern Narcissism

 The world we live in often glorifies the “new,” the “innovative,” the “I.” Yet Jewish tradition teaches that true greatness is not found in self-creation, but in linking oneself to the eternal chain of Torah and history. That is why the Bikkurim passage was chosen as the centerpiece of the Seder. As the Haggadah teaches, every Jew must see himself as part of this story. We are not merely recalling ancient history; we are affirming our place within it.

 The farmer’s declaration, therefore, becomes our declaration as a people: We are not the beginning, and we are not the end. We are part of the story that God began with Avraham, a story that continues with us today.

 Halachic Note

 The Rambam codifies these laws in Hilchot Bikkurim (פרק ג–ד). He describes in detail how a person designates the first fruits in his field, places them in a basket, and ascends to Jerusalem in a joyous procession. Upon arrival, he presents them to the Kohen, recites the passage from ארמי אובד אבי, and then bows before the altar.

 The Rambam emphasizes: מצות עשה להביא בכורים למקדש… ומקריבן ונותנן לכהן, שנאמר ולקח הכהן הטנא מידך (הלכות ביכורים ג:א). He further rules that even after the declaration, the fruits remain a sacred gift for the Kohanim. Thus, the halacha itself reflects the central message of the drasha: our labor reaches its highest meaning not in personal pride, but in connecting it to Torah, history, and community.