Thursday, 16 October 2025

“Ki Tov” and “Tov Me’od”: Seeing the Divine in Creation

When we say something is good, we usually mean that we like it and it has our approval. But when God uses this term, He perceives something of greater value. In this penetrating analysis, Rabbi Paul Bloom looks more deeply into what we should understand when God describes His creations as "good".

When the Torah describes the unfolding of Creation, a single phrase recurs six times: וַיַּרְא אֱלֹקים כִּי־טוֹב — “And God saw that it was good.”  At first glance, this seems like a simple statement: God looked upon what He had made and declared it good. Yet, on closer reflection, the expression “ki tov” raises a profound question. The word טוֹבgood in Tanach usually refers to something of spiritual and eternal value, not merely something that functions well. The Torah itself is called טוֹב, as is the Divine Will — goodness that is not only efficient, but enduring and holy.

Why, then, does the Torah use this lofty term to describe the physical processes of nature — the growth of vegetation, the shining of the sun, the movement of the stars? And why, after all these six stages of “ki tov”, does the Torah conclude the chapter with a final, elevated declaration:

וַיַּרְא אֱלֹהִים אֶת-כָּל-אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה, וְהִנֵּה-טוֹב מְאֹד  

“And God saw all that He had made, and behold, it was very good”.

What changed between “tov” and “tov me’od”?

The Whole Greater Than Its Parts

One level of interpretation, offered by many classical commentators, is that “tov me’od” marks the moment when the entire creation came together as a unified whole. Each element — the plants, the animals, the heavenly bodies, the seas — was indeed good on its own. But when they began to function together in perfect harmony, forming a complex, interdependent system, the result was something greater than the sum of its parts.  This interconnectedness — what we would now call the ecological balance of the universe — is what made creation not merely good, but “tov me’od.”

The Kli Yakar: “Ki Tov” as Future Potential

The Kli Yakar, however, offers a strikingly different and deeper insight.  He notes that in Biblical Hebrew, the word כי(ki) often refers to a future event — something that will happen, rather than something that already is. For example: כי תבוא אל האר — “When you will come into the Land,” or כי תצא למלחמה — “When you will go out to war.”

Applying this principle to וַיַּרְא אֱלֹקים כִּי־טוֹב, the Kli Yakar suggests:  God saw that it would one day become good.  Each stage of creation contained within it the potential for eternal goodness, but that goodness had not yet been realized. The world at that point was magnificent, awe-inspiring — but it lacked meaning. It awaited something, or rather someone, who could perceive and internalize its Divine source.

Tov Me’od”: When Humanity Awakens

That realization came only with the arrival of Adam and Chavah. When human beings opened their eyes and saw the world not as a collection of phenomena, but as a revelation of the Creator’s wisdom, everything changed. At that moment, all the previous “ki tovs” became “tov me’od.”  Creation now had an observer capable of recognizing its purpose. The universe was no longer a silent masterpiece; it became a living testimony to the glory of its Maker.

The Kli Yakar even finds a beautiful hint in the phrase טוֹב מְאֹד. Rearrange the letters of מְאֹד, he says, and it spells אָדָם — man.  It was Adam’s consciousness — the human capacity to perceive and declare “מָה רַבּוּ מַעֲשֶׂיךָ’” (How great are Your works, Hashem) — that transformed creation from merely good to very good. Humanity conferred meaning on the world.

Becoming Partners with the Creator

This insight resonates deeply with the teaching of Chazal in Masechet Shabbat (119b):

“Anyone who recites Kiddush on Friday night becomes a partner with the Holy One, blessed be He, in the work of Creation.”

How can a human being be a partner in creation? We cannot form matter from nothing; we cannot shape galaxies or call forth life. Yet, in a profound sense, we complete creation — not physically, but spiritually. God created the physical universe, but it was human awareness that gave it meaning. When a person stands on Friday night and declares ויכלו השמים והארץ — “Thus were completed the heavens and the earth” — he affirms that the world has a purpose and a Creator. At that moment, he invests the cosmos with spiritual significance.

In that sense, man is indeed a shutaf laKadosh Baruch Hu — a partner with God. The universe was waiting for beings who could look upon it and see Kevod Shamayim — the glory of Heaven — reflected in every element of nature.

Vayechulu”: The World as a Vessel

The Sfas Emes adds a beautiful layer to this idea. The Torah says:

 וַיְכֻלוּ הַשָּׁמַיִם וְהָאָרֶץ

“The heavens and the earth were completed.”

 The word ויכלו shares its root with כֵּלִי — a vessel or instrument.  When Shabbat entered, and Adam and Chavah recognized their Creator, the entire world became a single great vessel — a kli through which the Divine Presence could dwell and be revealed. Thus, ויכלו means more than completion; it means transformation. The universe became a receptacle for holiness, a medium for the Divine will. Creation was not just finished — it was fulfilled.

The Eternal “Ki Tov” in Our Lives

The lesson of “ki tov” and “tov me’od” extends far beyond the opening chapter of Bereishit. Each of us, in our own lives, is called to see the Yad Hashem — the hand of God — in nature, in history, and in our own experiences. When we open our eyes to the miraculous balance of the natural world, when we perceive Divine providence in the unfolding of events, and when we sanctify time through Shabbat — we continue the work of Creation.  We turn potential goodness into realized goodness; “ki tov” into “tov me’od.”

On Shabbat, when we cease our own creative work and simply recognize God’s world, we achieve the highest human calling: to be a partner with the Creator, seeing His light in every corner of existence.

וַיַּרְא אֱלֹהִים אֶת-כָּל-אֲשֶׁר עָשָׂה, וְהִנֵּה-טוֹב מְאֹד 

When man recognizes the Divine within creation — only then is the world truly very good.

Wednesday, 15 October 2025

Is our fresh start ever really fresh?

 In this piece, written to mark our return to the beginning of the Torah for our weekly readings, Jeremy Phillips takes a look at the concept of the fresh start within the context of life at Beit Knesset Hanassi. This piece also appears on the front page of this week's Hanassi Highlights.

This Shabbat, Parashat Bereishit, we open our Sifrei Torah at the very beginning. We read again of the creation of the world and of the place of humans within it. This gives us a good feeling. We have just marked the New Year with the festival of Rosh Hashanah, wiped away our past mistakes on Yom Kippur, and completed a full year’s reading of the Torah. Now we are mentally attuned to starting afresh, drawing a line under the past and facing our pristine, untainted future.

But how we feel and what is real can be two different things. Our fresh start this year is built on the firm foundations of the past, of respect for the Torah, its laws and those traditions that, passed down to us, we in turn seek to pass down to future generations. For traditions, love within families and loyalties within communities there is no fresh start each year: instead, there is a precious continuity of shared values that transcend the mindset of “stop-start”.

A year ago, when we celebrated Parashat Bereishit, we had among us two remarkable individuals who were both deeply committed to continuity. One, Rabbi Berel Wein zt’l, emphasized the importance of connecting the past, present and future; in doing so he elevated it from a neat idea for a sermon to a fundamental philosophy and the key to Jewish survival. The other, Moshe Loshinsky zt’l, was the repository of the customs and traditions of Beit Knesset Hanassi as well as the enforcer—zealous to ensure that a generation of olim adjusted themselves to Jewish life and practice in Israel, a melting-pot for Jewish culture but a refining vessel for life as a Jew in the land God gave us. These two men are no longer with us but their message endures.

In one sense, then, we have our fresh start—but it is also a further step on the long journey that has taken us through the lands of exile and through the millennia. Our task, as members of Am Yisrael and, in local terms, as members of Beit Knesset Hanassi, is to continue this ancient journey but to imbue it with a fresh enthusiasm and optimism that we will be the ones privileged to see it through. In this task we are privileged to be led by Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg, whose vision and energy are an inspiration to us all. May this year, 5786, be the year our journey reaches its destination.

The Creation: a work in seven parts

The biblical story of the Creation is one of the most beautiful and best-loved parts of the Torah, reflecting the care and attention to detail with which God formatted our daily environment. Inspired by the Creation narrative and taking the text of Bereishit 1:1-31 and 2:1-3, our member Max Stern composed “Creation of the World (Bereishit)” which he scored for soprano, flute, strings and percussion.

This piece, like Creation itself, is structured in seven segments, each representing a day in the process of the world’s formation: 1 darkness-light, 2 seas-heaven, 3 land-vegetation, 4 sun-moon-stars, 5 fish-birds, 6 beasts-man
, 7 Shabbat.

Here we bring you a 1995 recording by the Ashdod Chamber Orchestra, conducted by Luis Gorelik. The soloists are Amalia Ishak (soprano) and Avihai Ornoy (flute). This is a live recording made on Kibbutz Yavneh, Israel, 1995.

You can enjoy Max’s work by clicking here.

Mizmor LeTodah: a song of thanks!

This week has seen an outbreak of unbridled joy and spontaneous gratitude to God that is unprecedented in recent times, when it seemed that almost everyone in our little nation was following the events leading up to the release of the last living hostages and their reunion with families and loved ones. This surge of pure emotion was encapsulated by the recitation in many places of worship -- including our own Beit Knesset Hanassi -- of Mizmor LeTodah (Psalm 100), a chapter of Tehillim that expresses this gratitude in a format that has stood the test of millennia.

Mizmor LeTodah runs like this:


In translation:

Our member Max Stern has provided his own cheerful, effervescent musical version of Mizmor LeTodah. You can enjoy it on his YouTube channel here.

Sunday, 12 October 2025

Taking Leave of the Sukkah -- and the Sukkah of the Leviathan

In this post, Rabbi Paul Bloom fastens on to our farewell to the temporary home that has accommodated us for the past week. What should we be thinking? What is the takeaway message from our poignant parting?

Today, on Hoshanah Rabbah, we reach the spiritual crescendo of the festival of Sukkot. Soon we will transition into Shemini Atzeret, the day that symbolizes Hashem’s special closeness to His people — ָשָׁה עָלַי פְּרִידַתְכֶםק”, “Your separation is difficult for Me.”

And yet, even before we take leave of the festival, there is a tender custom — recorded by the Rema — to say a Yehi Ratzon upon leaving the sukkah:

נהגו לומר כשנפטר מן הסוכה:
 
יהי רצון מלפניך ה' אלקי ואלקי אבותי
 
כשם שקיימתי וישבתי בסוכה זו,
 
כן אזכה בשנה הבאה לישב בסוכת עורו של לויתן

“May it be Your will, Hashem our God and God of our fathers,
 that just as I have fulfilled the mitzvah and dwelt in this sukkah,
 so may I merit next year to dwell in the sukkah of the Leviathan.”

This is remarkable. We do not recite a similar farewell after other mitzvot. We do not say goodbye to the shofar, nor to the lulav, nor even to matzah. Only the sukkah receives this parting prayer. Why?

Rav Yitzchak Hutner (Pachad Yitzchak, Sukkos 27) uncovers the reason. The Torah commands us on the festivals to appear before Hashem “in the place which He will choose.” Regarding Pesach and Shavuot, the Torah specifies: “in the place where Hashem rests His Name — the Beit HaMikdash in Yerushalayim. But regarding Sukkot, the Torah omits that phrase. He notes that when the Torah speaks about the pilgrimage festivals, it says:

שָׁלֹשׁ פְּעָמִים בַּשָּׁנָה יֵרָאֶה כָל זְכוּרְךָ
 
אֶת פְּנֵי ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ
 
בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחָר
 (דברים ט״ז:ט״ז)

Pesach

וְזָבַחְתָּ פֶּסַח לַה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ צֹאן וּבָקָר
 
בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר ה' לְשַׁכֵּן שְׁמוֹ שָׁם
(דברים ט״ז:ב׳)

כִּי אִם אֶל הַמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ
 
לְשַׁכֵּן שְׁמוֹ שָׁם תִּזְבַּח אֶת הַפֶּסַח
(שם ו׳)

Shavuot

וְשָׂמַחְתָּ לִפְנֵי ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ
 
בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר ה' אֱלֹקֶיךָ לְשַׁכֵּן שְׁמוֹ שָׁם

(דברים ט״ז:י״א)

By Pesach and Shavuot, the Torah adds:

בַּמָּקוֹם אֲשֶׁר יִבְחַר ה' לְשַׁכֵּן שְׁמוֹ שָׁם

 “the place where Hashem rests His Name.”

But by Sukkot, that phrase is missing. Why?  Rav Hutner explains: because on Sukkot, the Shechinah does not dwell solely in Yerushalayim. Every Jew’s sukkah becomes a Mikdash me’at — a miniature Temple — a dwelling for the Divine Presence. Hashem leaves His Palace and comes to dwell with His people in their fragile huts.

Thus, the sukkah itself becomes a Yerushalayim, a sanctuary in time and space. And just as one who visited Yerushalayim for the festivals was required to remain overnight — mitzvat lina — and take leave with reverence, so too do we bid farewell to our sukkah with a blessing and a prayer.

We do not simply step out. We say goodbye. We whisper: “Just as I sat beneath this shade, may I merit to sit beneath the shade of the Leviathan.”

The Sukkah of the Leviathan: A Glimpse of the Future

But what is this Sukkah of the Leviathan?

In the Gemara in Bava Batra 75a, Rabbah quotes Rabbi Yochanan’s description of two wondrous scenes of the World to Come:

עָתִיד הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא לַעֲשׂוֹת סְעוּדָה לַצַּדִּיקִים מִבְּשָׂרוֹ שֶׁל לִוְיָתָן

עָתִיד הַקָּדוֹשׁ בָּרוּךְ הוּא לַעֲשׂוֹת סוּכָּה לַצַּדִּיקִים מֵעוֹרוֹ שֶׁל לִוְיָתָן

In the future, the Holy One, Blessed be He, will make a feast for the righteous from the flesh of the leviathan…

In the future, the Holy One, Blessed be He, will prepare a sukkah for the righteous from the skin of the leviathan

This is no simple fable. It is a vision — aggadah — teaching us deep truths about spiritual reward and the nature of closeness to God.

The Leviathan, the great sea creature, represents the most hidden of God’s creations — "לויתן זה יצרת לשחק בו (Tehillim 104:26), “You created the Leviathan to play with.” The Midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 7:4) explains that Leviathan symbolizes the joy of divine play, the overflowing abundance of God’s creative energy.

In the world as we know it, that spiritual light is too vast for us to contain. The Leviathan must remain hidden beneath the sea — the realm of the concealed. But in the future, when the world is purified and humanity refined, the hidden will become revealed, and we will be able to “feast” upon that light — to draw nourishment from the very mysteries of creation.

The skin of the Leviathan — its outer covering — represents the vessel that contains that great spiritual energy. Hashem will fashion from it a sukkah — a canopy of light — to shelter the righteous. It will be a dwelling of pure Divine radiance, a structure not of wood and branches but of spiritual comprehension, where every soul will bask in God’s Presence.

The Zohar calls this the צִלָּא דְּמְהֵימְנוּתָא — “the shade of faith.” Our earthly sukkah, built of simple materials, is a rehearsal for that ultimate sukkah. When we sit under the s’chach, we dwell in the “shadow of faith,” acknowledging that all security comes from Hashem. But in the future, when faith becomes sight, the temporary shade will give way to eternal illumination — the sukkah of the Leviathan.

Thus, when we take leave of our sukkah, we are not merely stepping out of a hut — we are stepping toward eternity. We say, “Ribono Shel Olam — let this experience not fade. Transform the fragile shade of this sukkah into the everlasting shelter of Your Presence.”

The Farewell and the Promise

Leaving the sukkah is bittersweet.  All week, we have lived surrounded by holiness — our meals, our songs, our prayers wrapped in sanctity. And now we must return to the ordinary world. Like those who once left Yerushalayim, our hearts whisper, קָשָׁה עָלַי פְּרִידַתְכֶםthe separation is hard.”

Yet we leave with hope. For every moment inside the sukkah has eternal value. Every song we sang, every guest we welcomed, every word of Torah spoken — all of it builds the walls of that future sukkah above.

When we say Yehi Ratzon, we are not uttering a poetic line — we are expressing faith. Faith that history moves toward redemption. Faith that the fragile branches of today will one day become the shining canopy of tomorrow.

And so, as we step from the sukkah into the world, we carry its light with us. We have tasted the joy of Divine protection, the sweetness of trust. And we pray that soon —בִּמְהֵרָה בְּיָמֵינוּ — we will once again dwell, together with all of Israel, בְּסֻכַּת שְׁלוֹמֶךָ,” in the Sukkah of peace — the Sukkah of the Leviathan, radiant with the light of the Shechinah.

Thursday, 9 October 2025

The Blessings -- Poetry or Reality? VeZot Haberachah 5786

This piece by Rabbi Berel Wein ztz'l was kindly supplied by the Destiny Foundation.

Rashi points out that the blessings of Moshe to the Jewish people are based upon and mirror those of Yaakov at the end of the book of Bereshit. Some blessings are eternal and always valid, while others pertain only to the times in which they are given but have little relevance to other times. The blessings of both Yaakov and Moshe are of two distinct types; they focus on their locations in the Land of Israel and the traits and characteristics of their individual members as warriors, merchants, or scholars, and as part of the national fabric of the Jewish society. 

Over the long years of the exile of the Jews and their disappearance from the Land of Israel, these blessings have seemed to be pure poetry, detached from reality. However, the words of the Torah are eternal and therefore in our time these blessings have again acquired relevance and actuality. We are once again a society of warriors, sailors, scholars, merchants and farmers. All these traits, that we were preventing from demonstrating  during our long sojourn in exile, have once again come to the fore in our daily lives. So, the blessings of Moshe have immediate and deep meaning to our generation and to the society in which we live. Perhaps this is part of the connection to the past, to which Moshe refers in the introduction to his blessings, a connection not only to the blessings of Yaakov but also to the original Jewish inhabitants of the Land of Israel millennia ago. 

Part of the blessing that Moshe has bequeathed to us is the fact that, even though no person is completely replaceable, it is also the case that no person is indispensable. If there is any one person about whom the Jewish people would feel that they could not do without, it was Moshe. Nevertheless, his influence and teachings remain with us thousands of years after his death, and Jewish people have continued throughout human history. 

The reality of human mortality is coupled with the miracle of Jewish eternity. All of us live on through the future success and development of the Jewish people. Those who are unconditionally attached to the Jewish people, heart and soul, are attached to an eternity that is not subject to the nature of human mortality. This is because of our attachment to the God of Israel who has proclaimed that “you who adhere to the Lord your God are all still alive even today.” 

That is the point that Moshe wishes to impress upon us in this final chapter of the Torah. Moshe lives on through the Torah that he taught us and through the people of Israel whom he helped form and lead during his lifetime. This idea of comfort and eternity is truly the great blessing that he bestowed upon us. All of the other detailed blessings, important and vital as they are, are nevertheless only corollaries to this great blessing of eternity and continuity. 

"Being True to Ourselves", Rabbi Wein's article on this parashah for Hanassi Highlights last year, is available here.

Saturday, 4 October 2025

In praise of Sukkot

This piece by Rabbi Berel Wein zt'l comes from the Destiny Foundation archives. 

Sukkot comes at exactly right time of the year, psychologically and emotionally speaking. If it were not for the advent of Sukkot and all the preparations involved regarding this festival of joy and happiness, we would all be very depressed at having to climb down from the pinnacle of Yom Kippur to everyday mundane existence.

The Torah allows us to contemplate our future year with a sense of happiness and satisfaction. The sukkah signifies the protection that the Lord will provide us with for the whole coming year. Though the actual sukkah may be small and relatively flimsy as compared to our homes, it nevertheless symbolizes faith, serenity and confidence in the eternity of Israel and its Torah.

The four species of vegetation that are an integral part of Sukkot reinforce our appreciation of the beauty of God’s world. It reminds us that the world can be a Garden of Eden and we should endeavor not to destroy it or be expelled from it.

The different species represent the harmony of nature, the flash of its color and its built-in symbiotic nature. Whereas pagans worshipped nature, Judaism stressed its role as being one of the great wonders of God’s creation.

Abraham had it right when he stated that people wonder at the magnificence of a beautiful building but ignore the genius of the architect that designed it. Judaism, while always impressed by the wonder of the building itself, always looks intently to recognize and acknowledge the architect behind it.

Sukkot helps remind us of the necessity to always search for that architect in all of the facets of our lives and world.

Sukkot also reveals clearly our dependence upon Heaven for rain – for water. Without water in abundance, life cannot function and grow. The Torah tells us that the Lord sent us purposely into a land where water is a precious commodity. There are no great rivers or giant lakes that appear on the landscape of the Land of Israel. We are therefore dependent on the winter season’s rains.

We pray on Sukkot for those rains to be abundant, gentle and saturating. Rain has a cleansing effect not only on the air we breathe but on the life spirit that exists within us. Hence its deep association with the joy of Sukkot.

Rain and water also symbolize Torah and purification. Moshe, in his final oration to Israel, states that his words of Torah should be felt as gentle rain and dew descending on the Holy Land. The prophet Yeshayahu compares Torah to water as does King David in Tehillim.

The holiday of Sukkot reinforces this connection with its own link to Simchat Torah, the day that marks the conclusion of this great and noble holiday period. For as obvious as it is that the Land of Israel cannot survive and prosper without water, so too the people of Israel will be unable to prosper and survive without an attachment to Torah, its commandments and values. The message of Sukkot is the perfect conclusion to the spirituality of Yom Kippur.

Torah and the Land: A Heritage That Cannot Be Divided

The Torah and Eretz Yisrael were given in a single utterance. They are not parallel gifts, nor independent pillars of Jewish life, but two e...