Parashat Re’eh: What do the Miracles at the Splitting of the Jordan River Teach Us About Free Choice?

 

Parashat Re’eh
What do the Miracles at the Splitting of the Jordan River Teach Us About Free Choice

How Does the Path Away from the Torah Resemble a Merry-Go-Around?

One of the Torah’s most fundamental beliefs is that of free choice. Hashem endowed all humans with the ability to choose between good and evil. Being created in “the image of G-d” grants us this Divine gift of free choice. Childhood wounds and traumas do not confine us – we have the choice to rise above the baggage of our past and choose kindness and positivity rather than wallow in bitterness and self-pity. The best choice I ever made was choosing the Torah path. After exploring and searching for meaning, it became clear to me that the secular path of my upbringing resembled my hamster’s merry-go-around. It kept moving but never got anywhere other than in circles. Similarly, if I continued walking in my parents’ footsteps, I would get a good education, find a good job, marry an educated, affluent man, ensure our children received a good education, marry well, and have children who in turn would receive a good education – and so the merry-go-around would continue ad infinitum. This lifestyle didn’t seem to lead anywhere. I asked myself, “What would be accomplished at the end of the day?” In contrast, choosing the Torah path leads to eternity. Rather than working for ephemeral success in this world, we strive to serve Hashem and fulfill His will, which leads to accomplishment both in this world and in the world to come. Yet there is never any guarantee – while we have 100% control over our choices, we have 0% control over the outcome. I wish I could speak from my heart to all the teenage daughters who choose the secular path and ask, “So where is the path away from the Torah leading you? Why exchange the truth and tranquility for confusion, depression, drug abuse, eating disorders, and cutting (self-mutilation)?” Yes, I know you have been hurt, and I want to embrace you deeply and kiss your wounds into healing. You are young, your life is still before you, and you can start afresh by choosing the blessed life of Torah.

What is the Eternal Significance of Our Choices?

Parashat Re’eh opens with encouraging us to see and distinguish between the blessing and curse that Hashem has set before us as we enter the Land of Israel:

ספר דברים פרק יא  פסוק כו רְאֵה אָנֹכִי נֹתֵן לִפְנֵיכֶם הַיּוֹם בְּרָכָה וּקְלָלָה:

“See, I set before you today blessing and curse” (Devarim 11:26).

This verse is reflected later in Parashat Nitzavim: “It will be, when all these things come upon you – the blessing and the curse that I have set before you” …I have placed life and death before you, blessing and curse – and you shall choose life, so that you and your offspring will live” (Devarim 30:1 and 30:19).

The Ohr HaChaim explains that this verse describes two sets of realities. The first – “life and death” – refers to the here-and-now: the tangible consequences of our choices in this world. If we choose well, we will live; if we choose wrongly, we risk death. The second – “blessing and curse” – refers to the eternal destiny that awaits us after we leave this world. This is why the verse separates the two – the first applies to our present life; the second unfolds only after death.

This perspective lifts us out of the dizzying circles of the merry-go-round. Life is not an endless loop of empty achievements – every choice is charged with eternal significance. Choosing Torah is not merely about securing a better lifestyle here – it is about planting seeds of blessing that will bear fruit in both worlds. Even in moments when the reward is hidden, and the “life” promised feels far away, the Torah assures us that every act of choosing good is shaping both our present reality and our eternal future.

Does the Land of Israel Activate Our Choice Affecting the Spiritual World?

The Torah does not leave “choose life” in the realm of abstraction – it situates that choice at the Jordan’s crossing and inscribes it into the twin mountains that face Gilgal. As we enter the Land, the choice that shapes Olam Haba is stamped into geography itself – blessing upon Har Gerizim and curse upon Har Eival:

ספר דברים פרק יא  פסוק כט וְהָיָה כִּי יְבִיאֲךָ יְ־הוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ אֶל הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אַתָּה בָא שָׁמָּה לְרִשְׁתָּהּ וְנָתַתָּה אֶת הַבְּרָכָה עַל הַר גְּרִזִּים וְאֶת הַקְּלָלָה עַל הַר עֵיבָל:(ל) הֲלֹא הֵמָּה בְּעֵבֶר הַיַּרְדֵּן אַחֲרֵי דֶּרֶךְ מְבוֹא הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ בְּאֶרֶץ הַכְּנַעֲנִי הַיּוֹשֵׁב בָּעֲרָבָה מוּל הַגִּלְגָּל אֵצֶל אֵלוֹנֵי מוֹרֶה:(לא) כִּי אַתֶּם עֹבְרִים אֶת הַיַּרְדֵּן לָבוֹא לָרֶשֶׁת אֶת הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר הַשֵׁם אֱלֹהֵיכֶם נֹתֵן לָכֶם וִירִשְׁתֶּם אֹתָהּ וִישַׁבְתֶּם בָּהּ:(לב) וּשְׁמַרְתֶּם לַעֲשׂוֹת אֵת כָּל הַחֻקִּים וְאֶת הַמִּשְׁפָּטִים אֲשֶׁר אָנֹכִי נוֹתֵן לִפְנֵיכֶם הַיּוֹם:

“When Hashem your G-d brings you to the Land to which you are coming to inherit it, you shall place the blessing on Mount Gerizim and the curse on Mount Eival. Are they not on the other side of the Jordan, after the road of the setting sun, in the land of the Canaanites who dwell in the plain, opposite Gilgal, near the terebinths of Moreh? For you are crossing the Jordan to come to inherit the Land that Hashem your G-d is giving you; you shall inherit it and dwell in it. And you shall guard to perform all the statutes and the ordinances that I set before you today” (Devarim 11:26-32).

It is noteworthy that the choice between “life and death,” which refers to our tangible reality in this world, is not mentioned in our parasha. Instead, it is specifically the choice between “blessing and curse” – pointing to our eternal destiny in the World to Come – that is connected with crossing the Jordan, the defining boundary that distinguishes the Land of Israel from all other lands. Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehudah Berlin, the Netziv, explains that the purpose of crossing the Jordan and entering the Promised Land was that this great act would awaken the soul – for just as every significant action leaves a lasting impression on the soul, so too here, their miraculous entry into the Land etched a deep spiritual imprint within them (Ha‘amek Davar, Devarim 11:31). It is therefore no coincidence that the moment the Israelites took the leap of faith – to cross the Jordan into the Holy Land – became the very moment when our choice affecting Olam Haba – the world of souls – was activated.

What Turns a One-Time Miracle into a Life of Blessing?

The miracles of the Jordan’s splitting strengthened our emunah, as Rashi explains: “For you are crossing the Jordan…” – the miracles of the Jordan will be a sign in your hands that you will come and inherit the Land (Rashi, Devarim 11:31). These miracles not only assured us that the Land would be ours – they also awakened our soul. The Imrei Shammai teaches that the miracle was not an end in itself but a charge to live continually with the faith it inspired, for the purpose of all miracles is to draw us closer to Hashem in our daily lives. By the merit that they crossed the Jordan with the intent to drive out the inhabitants of the Land before them (Sotah 34a) – obeying Hashem’s voice and the voice of Yehoshua just as they had obeyed Moshe at the Sea of Reeds – they were rewarded. Both crossings were acts of faith and self-sacrifice, for the waters of the Jordan stood up as one wall, twelve mil high (11.5 km or 7+ miles) straight up! The people of Israel were in danger that the waters might rush upon them and drown them. Yet they believed in Hashem and in Yehoshua, as it is written, “And they feared him as they had feared Moshe all the days of his life” (Yehoshua 4:14). In the merit of this faith, they inherited the Land. The more we live a life of emunah – which can only be fully realized in the Land of Israel – the more we dwell in the spiritual dimension and awaken the eternity of our souls. Experiencing the miracles of the current war likewise strengthens the emunah of our soldiers. This faith is manifest in Israel’s courage to confront evil on multiple fronts, and in the belief that Hashem Himself is fighting our wars. Perhaps this very emunah inspired Israel’s decision on August 8 to conquer Gaza, defeating Hamas and concluding the war. May Hashem bring our complete victory soon!

October 7th has finally made it clear to most Israelis that we can only dwell securely on our land by conquering it completely, as it states: וִירִשְׁתֶּם… וִישַׁבְתֶּ – “you shall inherit it and dwell in it” (Devarim 11:31). Yet it also works the other way around – inheritance only becomes real through dwelling, via the everyday acts that root us in the Land: locking, fencing, planting, repairing. The Sifri teaches that this mitzvah is not complete without dwelling, for the essence of inheriting the Land is to take possession of it in a lasting way, which is only achieved by living there permanently (Torah Temimah, Devarim 11:31, note 47).

The Chatam Sofer deepens this concept by focusing on the miracles of the Jordan as proof of our merit to inherit the Land. He questions Rashi’s statement that these miracles would be a sign of inheritance and answers with the Talmudic story of the River Ginai, which replied to Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair’s command to split: “I certainly do the will of my Creator, but you – perhaps you do the will of your Creator?” (Babylonian Talmud, Chullin 7a). When the Jordan split before the Israelites, it testified that they were indeed doing the will of their Creator, for otherwise the Jordan – which surely fulfills its Creator’s will – would not have split for them. The splitting of the Jordan was thus not merely a miraculous passage; it was Heaven’s public testimony that Israel is worthy to inherit the Land, for the very forces of creation only move aside for those fulfilling Hashem’s will. May we be worthy of continued miracles to conquer the entire Aza and free all the hostages!

What Makes the Inheritance of the Holy Land Endure?

Parashat Re’eh summons us to see – to cultivate inner vision that recognizes how Hashem’s blessing becomes tangible, specifically in Eretz Yisrael. The Torah anchors this vision in place: the Jordan, the Gilgal, Har Gerizim, and Har Eival. Geography becomes pedagogy. We do not inherit abstractions – we inherit a holy Land through revealed miracles and sustained emunah. The declaration at the entrance to the Land of Israel about the curses that follow transgressing the mitzvot, and the blessings we merit by keeping them, teaches that the inheritance of the Land is dependent on performing its mitzvot. When we live in the Land for the sake of its mitzvot, the Land answers. Miracles become signs, signs become memory, and memory becomes a life in which וְעַמֵּךְ כֻּלָּם צַדִּיקִים – לְעוֹלָם יִירְשׁוּ אָרֶץ – “Your people are all righteous; they shall inherit the Land forever” (Yeshayahu 60:21). The Jordan still whispers to those who listen: walk forward – the dry ground of inheritance is waiting.

Parashat Eikev: How is the Goodness of the Promised Land a Portal to Deeper Blessings?

 

Parashat Eikev
How is the Goodness of the Promised Land a Portal to Deeper Blessings? 

What Is Better – A Rainy Day or a Sunny One, and Why Don’t I Own a Summer Raincoat?

Before flying to Denmark to celebrate my mother’s 90th birthday, she gently reminded me to bring a raincoat. In Denmark, even the month of August often comes with grey skies and a damp chill. Rain isn’t exactly a blessing – it’s more of a spoiler, dampening beach plans and family outings. Unlike in Israel, where rain is received like a kiss from Heaven, in Denmark, sunshine is the prized rarity. People even say that if the sun shines on your birthday, it means you were good all year round.
The truth is, I don’t even own a summer raincoat – except for the one I left hanging in my mother’s closet. In Israel, I’ve never needed it. From June through October, most years, not a drop of rain falls. Our summers are dry and searing, and the heat of Av can be overwhelming. But in this arid rhythm, I’ve learned something precious: the absence of rain awakens an intimate relationship with Hashem, our Provider. Rain isn’t just weather here – it’s a prayer, a yearning, a spiritual barometer. We feel its absence in our gardens and in our hearts. Unlike northern countries, where water flows endlessly from the faucet, here we collect the first cold splash of shower water in buckets to nourish our plants. After Sukkot, if the earth still cracks beneath our feet and our cherry tomatoes wilt in protest, we lift our eyes to Heaven. And so, begins our season of beseeching – a nation taught by its Land to treasure every drop and to remember the Source from which it flows.

What Do the Waters of the Land Reveal and How Do They Allude to Its Goodness?
In Parashat Eikev, Moshe prepares Am Yisrael to enter the Land by describing its unique nature in loving detail. He doesn’t just say the land is “good” – he shows us why:

ספר דברים פרק ח פסוק ז כִּי הַשֵּׁם אֱלֹהֶיךָ מְבִיאֲךָ אֶל אֶרֶץ טוֹבָה אֶרֶץ נַחֲלֵי מָיִם עֲיָנֹת וּתְהֹמֹת יֹצְאִים בַּבִּקְעָה וּבָהָר:

“For Hashem your G-d is bringing you to a good land, a land with brooks of water, fountains and depths, that emerge in valleys and mountains” (Devarim 8:7).

 

But what does it mean for a land to be “good”? These verses reveal that Eretz Yisrael is not just agriculturally rich – it’s spiritually alive. This isn’t simply a geographic description. The Land provides not only physical sustenance but also inner alignment with Divine flow. Moshe paints a rich, sensory image of the Promised Land’s unparalleled blessings – a land of water sources, rivers, springs, and subterranean depths (Devarim 8:7).

The Malbim explains that the Torah’s emphasis on dynamic, flowing waters – נַחֲלֵי מָיִם/nachlei mayim – “streams,” and תְּהֹמוֹת/tehomot – “underground depths” – evokes vitality, joy, and spiritual delight. This explains the spiritual energy available in Bat Ayin, which is so named for its many wellsprings. These waters are not merely practical resources, but expressions of the Land’s essence – constantly renewing and giving, like the Torah itself. Eretz Yisrael is not just a backdrop for holiness – it is a partner in it. It is not simply a place where good things happen. It is itself good – inherently, perpetually, and in a way that is meant to awaken the soul.

Sforno emphasizes the superiority of these waters: unlike stagnant canals and artificial reservoirs of other lands, the waters of Eretz Yisrael are alive – constantly flowing and renewing, a fitting metaphor for the Torah itself. The Land’s water nourishes with purity and vitality, just as Torah nourishes our inner life.

Rabbeinu Bachaya and the Shivtei Kohen reveal even more hidden meaning: these flowing waters are not only physical but also spiritual. The “depths” recall the primordial depths of creation – a reminder that unseen, buried forces sustain us. The streams and springs rising from valleys and mountains symbolize the full spectrum of Hashem’s blessing, emerging from both exalted heights and the most concealed places.

In our personal spiritual journeys, we often draw strength from visible streams – moments of inspiration and clarity. But the Torah here is teaching that in the Land of Israel, we are nourished even by that which is not seen. Hashem embeds His blessing in every layer of the Land – in the bubbling spring and the subterranean current. Life in the Land of Israel invites us to trust in the unseen, to believe that what feels barren may yet be overflowing with blessing.

Just as the physical waters of Eretz Yisrael well up from underground, so too its spiritual nourishment often comes from hidden places. The Land teaches us that even when the surface appears dry, Hashem’s blessing is flowing below – waiting to rise and renew. Now isn’t that true goodness?

What Does It Mean to Lack Nothing?

ספר דברים פרק ח פסוק ט

אֶרֶץ אֲשֶׁר לֹא בְמִסְכֵּנֻת תֹּאכַל בָּהּ לֶחֶם לֹא תֶחְסַר כֹּל בָּהּ אֶרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אֲבָנֶיהָ בַרְזֶל וּמֵהֲרָרֶיהָ תַּחְצֹב נְחשֶׁת:

“A land in which you will eat bread without poverty – you will lack nothing in it…” )Devarim 8:9).

This verse expresses not only abundance but fullness – a wholeness that is uniquely tied to Eretz Yisrael. According to Sforno, the Torah here reveals a progression of blessings: not only do the people have food, but they have dignity while eating – no poverty or humiliation accompanies their sustenance. And not only is there food, there is currency – not only survival, but stable prosperity. The phrase “you will lack nothing” includes the assurance of economic health – a subtle promise that the economy of the Land supports well-being without anxiety. We see this blessing unfolding even today. Despite nearly two years of warfare on multiple fronts, the Israeli stock market has remarkably outperformed its regional peers. After plunging 23% following the October 2023 Hamas attack, the Tel Aviv Stock Exchange rebounded within months, more than doubling its wartime low – a living testament to the Divine blessing embedded in the Land’s economy. Thus, more important than material prosperity is spiritual and emotional sufficiency.

Rabbeinu Bachayei brings another layer: the phrase “you will lack nothing” refers to the land’s inherent completeness. He notes that the word אֶרֶץ/eretz – “land” – appears six times in this short passage (Devarim 8:7-9), alluding to the six climatic zones of the earth. Each of these receives spiritual sustenance from Eretz Yisrael, pointing to the centrality of the Land in the cosmic design. The seventh mention, however – “you shall bless Hashem, your G-d, for the good land He has given you” – highlights the sanctity of the seventh realm, the inner dimension of the Land, corresponding to Yerushalayim. This is the navel of creation, praised by David HaMelech as “the joy of all the earth” (Tehillim 48:3). Only here is the soul fully at peace, for only here is the physical landscape in alignment with the Source of blessing.

I’ve often marveled at how this small strip of land contains so many climate zones – from the snowy slopes of the Hermon to the arid heat of Eilat, from the tropical springs of Ein Gedi to the Mediterranean coastline, from the lush valleys of the Galilee to the cool Judean hills. This variety reflects the Land’s role as the spiritual root of all creation – a microcosm of the world’s goodness, concentrated in one sacred place. Indeed, the flora and fauna of Israel, situated at the crossroads of three continents, mirror its geographical and spiritual diversity.

In exile, we may gather much yet still feel empty. If it wasn’t my mother’s birthday, I would never want to vacation anywhere else than in Israel. Because here, the bread we eat is not just nourishment – it is a reminder that we belong. Here, physical blessing and spiritual identity merge. And that is what it truly means to have nothing lacking.

What Is Hidden in the Mountains?

ספר דברים פרק ח פסוק ט 

אֶרֶץ אֲשֶׁר לֹא בְמִסְכֵּנֻת תֹּאכַל בָּהּ לֶחֶם לֹא תֶחְסַר כֹּל בָּהּ אֶרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אֲבָנֶיהָ בַרְזֶל וּמֵהֲרָרֶיהָ תַּחְצֹב נְחשֶׁת:

“A land in which you will eat bread without scarcity, you will lack nothing in it, a land whose stones are iron, and from whose mountains you will mine copper” (Devarim 8:9).

The Torah now reveals another layer – the wealth hidden in the very terrain. Rabbeinu Bachaya views these stones and mountains as metaphorical as well as literal: even the hardest elements of the Land – its rocks – become sources of strength, construction, and wealth when sanctified through human effort. HaEmek Davar teaches that while physical sustenance once came through miracles in the desert, in the Land of Israel it flows through our work and our words – and even after the Temple’s destruction, our blessings and prayers become spiritual mining tools.

The Shivtei Kohen links these verses to the redemptive power of labor in the Land. Though the desert offered ready-made food and shelter, in the Land, we engage in the holy process of extracting, refining, and elevating the material. Even the metals for our pots and tools must be mined, shaped, and sanctified. But here lies the miracle: the more we dig, the more we discover that holiness lies within. In Eretz Yisrael, the mundane becomes a vessel for the sacred.

When digging the entrance road to Bat Ayin, workers uncovered an ancient mikveh and winepress from the Second Temple period – a literal unearthing of our sacred past, still embedded in the Holy Land. The physical beauty of the mountains hints at their inner purpose: to draw us upward. And as we climb them – both literally and spiritually – we chip away at the coverings of our own souls, revealing the gleaming essence Hashem planted within.

How Does This Land Nourish the Soul?

Through its natural features – its waters, grains, fruits, and precious minerals – the Land of Israel whispers its secrets to us. The list of seven species of the Holy Land (Devarim 8:8) mentioned between these verses is not just agricultural bounties – they are channels of spiritual repair. Each one represents a different sefirah, a facet of Divine light, and collectively they nourish all dimensions of the Jewish soul.

This is why Sforno teaches that only in Eretz Yisrael are all forms of goodness found together – from essential food to royal delicacies, from water that quenches to minerals that build. The Land is complete in a way no other region is. It not only sustains the body – it awakens memory, destiny, and the yearning to return to wholeness.

Hashem is bringing us into a Land unlike any other. A Land where valleys and mountains both carry blessings. Where water and wheat, pomegranates and copper, are more than resources – they are reminders. Reminders that even in physicality, holiness pulses. And when we live with that awareness, we find ourselves not only in the Land – but aligned with the Divine plan for our people and for the world.

Parashat Va'etchanan: How Does Moshe’s Longing to Enter the Land of Israel Affect Us Today?

 

Parashat Va'etchanan
How Does Moshe’s Longing to Enter the Land of Israel Affect Us Today?

How Can We Ever Appreciate the Privilege of Living in Israel – a Gift Even Moshe Didn’t Merit?

During the four years we lived in the United States, I cried and yearned for the Land of Israel every single day. Before coming to Israel, learning in yeshiva and marrying me, my husband had committed to serve in a physician shortage area in exchange for a scholarship to medical school. He managed to delay fulfilling this obligation for seven years, but eventually, the time came: either work as a prison doctor or face legal consequences. When he consulted with Dayan Eliashiv zt”l, we were surprised to learn that there was no halachic way around it – we would have to leave the Land.

After making Aliyah in 1980 and firmly establishing our home in Eretz Yisrael, the decision to leave in 1988 felt like a personal exile. We found ourselves in the heart of the Big Apple, where my husband began his medical internship. Two years later, in 1990, he was transferred to the Memphis Correctional Center. I had never even heard of Memphis, Tennessee, but to my surprise, it was home to a vibrant and welcoming Jewish community.

Still, despite the Southern warmth and hospitality, I never felt at home. My soul longed for the kedushah – the holiness – of the Land of Israel. Every place I visited outside the Land felt somehow flat, two-dimensional, like living inside a movie set rather than a real, rooted life. Despite the beauty of its lush forests and lovely beaches with their fresh, cooling waters, I never felt a sense of belonging in Denmark. Something essential was missing – and that longing was what propelled my journey toward truth.

When I finally found my way back to Israel, I felt enveloped in a deep sense of peace and security, as though I had returned to my spiritual source. No other place has ever offered me that feeling of being truly at home. Yet, in the heart of my Memphis exile, I found comfort in a teaching from Rav Kook: that every Jew who longs for Eretz Yisrael awakens a spiritual ripple that inspires others to make Aliyah. Indeed, I have been blessed to see many friends from America eventually return home to Israel.

To live permanently in the Holy Land – the place that even Moshe Rabbeinu longed for yet did not merit to enter – is an extraordinary privilege. We must never take it for granted. The depth of Moshe’s yearning, expressed through his 515 heartfelt prayers, reminds us that Eretz Yisrael is not merely a place to live – it is the deepest expression of connection to Hashem.

May we live here with that awareness – with love, gratitude, and a burning desire to sanctify every moment upon this holy soil.

What Can We Learn from Moshe’s Deepest Yearning to Enter the Land?

Moshe Rabbeinu, the greatest of prophets and the most faithful servant of Hashem, had one unfulfilled dream: to enter the Land of Israel. Parashat Va’etchanan opens with a poignant and deeply personal moment – Moshe’s heartfelt plea to Hashem:

ספר דברים פרק ג פסוק כג וָאֶתְחַנַּן אֶל הַשֵּׁם בָּעֵת הַהִוא לֵאמֹר:

“I pleaded with Hashem at that time, saying…” (Devarim 3:23)

Why does the Torah use the term וָאֶתְחַנַּן/va’etchanan – from the root חִנּוּן/chanun – to describe Moshe’s supplication, rather than וָאֶתְפַּלֵּל/va’etpallel? Chazal explain that this word denotes a plea for a matnat chinam – a completely undeserved gift. Moshe, despite all his unparalleled merits, asks not in the merit of his deeds but out of sheer humility, begging for Divine compassion.

The commentaries reveal even deeper layers. The wordוָאֶתְחַנַּן /Va’etchanan shares the numerical value of 515, alluding to the 515 prayers Moshe offered. This is also equal to the words תְּפִלָּה/tefilah – ‘prayer,’ שִׁירָה/shirah –‘song,’ teaching that his prayer was offered with melody and deep emotional expression, setting an example of the highest way of prayer (Pe’anach Raza). The Siftei Kohen notes that Moshe chose the word va’etchanan rather than va’etpallel to indicate his approach: not just a formal prayer, but a heartfelt entreaty rooted in praise and longing. He addressed Hashem first as Adnut, Master of Compassion, and then with the Divine Name of Mercy, expressing his hope to arouse Divine favor.

Why did Moshe pray so intensely? According to Siftei Kohen, he sought not only to enter the Land himself but to elevate its value in the eyes of the people. If he – the greatest of men – longed for it so deeply, offering hundreds of prayers despite knowing a decree had been issued, it must be that Eretz Yisrael is of immeasurable worth. His plea was not only personal; it was national and eternal. By showing how much he yearned for the Land, he taught all generations to long for it, cherish it, and never take it for granted. 

Why Was Moshe So Desperate to Enter the Land?

I’m always moved deeply when I read Moshe’s deepest prayer for entering the Promised Land. It inspires me in the greatest sense and inculcates within me the immeasurable value of Eretz Yisrael.

ספר דברים פרק ג פסוק כה אֶעְבְּרָה נָּא וְאֶרְאֶה אֶת הָאָרֶץ הַטּוֹבָה אֲשֶׁר בְּעֵבֶר הַיַּרְדֵּן הָהָר הַטּוֹב הַזֶּה וְהַלְּבָנֹן:

“Pray let me cross over and see the good land that is on the other side of the Jordan, this good mountain and the Levanon” (Devarim 3:25).

Moshe’s longing to enter Eretz Yisrael was not driven by personal comfort or curiosity. Rather, his yearning for Eretz Yisrael was ultimately spiritual. He longed to fulfill the many mitzvot that can only be kept in the Land – such as terumot, ma’asrot, and shemitah – as Chizkuni notes. His soul thirsted to connect to Hashem in the unique way only possible in the Holy Land, where the physical and spiritual are deeply intertwined. The Ralbag explains that Moshe hoped to increase his own spiritual completeness – both in prophecy and in wisdom – through the Divine influence present in the Land, as it states, “There is no Torah, like the Torah of the Land of Israel” (Midrash Bereishit Rabbah 16:4).

Moshe’s imploring prayer confirms the Talmudic lesson never to give up: “Even if a sharp sword is placed at a person’s neck, he should not withhold himself from seeking mercy” (Babylonian Talmud, Berachot 10a). As the Midrash (Pesikta Zutreta Devarim 3:25) explains, even after Hashem had decreed, “You shall not bring this congregation into the Land” (Bamidbar 20:12), Moshe continued to plead for mercy. Just as Hashem had forgiven Israel, perhaps He would also forgive him for the sin at Mei Merivah (the Waters of Contention), for striking the rock instead of speaking to it, as commanded.

According to the Kli Yakar, Moshe’s request encompassed both the physical land and its spiritual epicenter – “this good mountain and the Levanon,” referring to Yerushalayim and the Beit HaMikdash, which the Pesikta Zutreta identifies as the source of spiritual cleansing (“Levanon” from melabein, to whiten sins). Thus, Moshe’s 515 heartfelt prayers (equal in number to the gematria of וָאֶתְחַנַּן/va’etchan) were not for personal gain but a passionate desire to serve Hashem more fully in the holiest place on earth. Hashem’s response, רַב לָך/rav lach – “It is too much for you” (Devarim 3:26), was not a harsh rebuke, but a tender redirection: Moshe’s mission was not to enter the Land himself, but to prepare the next generation to inherit and reveal its holiness. 

Seeing the Land from Afar

Though Moshe was denied physical entry, Hashem granted him a unique consolation: to ascend Har Nevo and gaze upon the entire Land from a distance:

ספר דברים פרק לד פסוק א-ב וַיַּרְאֵהוּ הַשֵּׁם אֶת כָּל הָאָרֶץ… עַד הַיָּם הָאַחֲרוֹן:

“Hashem showed him the entire Land… until the Western Sea” (Devarim 34:1–2)

This panoramic vision was far more than a geographical glimpse. According to the Sifrei and other Midrashim, Hashem showed Moshe not only the Land itself, but also its future – every generation that would dwell there, every exile and Redemption (Sifrei Devarim 357, on Devarim 34:1). In a deep spiritual sense, Moshe did enter the Land – not physically, but spiritually, and prophetically – planting his soul within its soil for eternity.

Rabbi Yosef Bechor Shor explains that Moshe’s request was not driven by personal desire for landownership – he was a Levite and received no inheritance. Rather, he yearned solely to behold the Land with his eyes, so that his longing might be fulfilled (Rabbi Yosef Bechor Shor, Devarim 3:25). Rabbi Ovadia ben Ya’acov adds that Moshe hoped to bless the Land through his vision – that his seeing it’s goodness would establish its enduring blessing for Israel (Sforno, ibid.).

Rabbi Shemuel Bornsztain offers a profound insight: through seeing, one becomes connected to the object seen. Moshe’s gaze upon the Land bound it to his soul and infused it with blessing. Although he was not permitted to cross into Eretz Yisrael, his vision was answered – and through it, Heaven and Earth were realigned. His seeing sanctified the Land, enabling its holiness to flow into future generations (Shem Mishemuel, Parashat Vayigash, 5675).

How Do We Carry On the Legacy of Moshe?

Moshe’s deep desire to enter Eretz Yisrael teaches us the extraordinary spiritual stature of the Land. Even the greatest prophet was not ‘complete’ without it. If Moshe was willing to plead 515 times just for the opportunity to perform mitzvot in the Land, how much more should we cherish the privilege of living here, walking its hills, and fulfilling the Torah in its natural setting.

Parashat Va’etchanan reminds us that the Land of Israel is a gift – not an entitlement. Just as Moshe asked for it as a matnat chinam – “a free gift,” we too must approach it with humility and gratitude. The Land is not merely a national inheritance but a Divine trust, to be guarded, cultivated, and uplifted.

Today, we carry Moshe’s longing in our own hearts. Every Jew who dreams of Tzion, every prayer facing Jerusalem, and every mitzvah performed in the Land continues his legacy. Moshe’s unfulfilled yearning awakened a spiritual ripple that continues to inspire us to make Aliyah. Although his 515 prayers did not overturn the decree that barred him from entering the Land, each of his prayers bore fruit for the sacred mission of his descendants: to live in the Land with holiness, to elevate its earth with Torah, and to prepare it for the final Redemption.

As we read Parashat Va’etchanan during the Shivah D’Nechemta – the seven weeks of consolation after Tisha B’Av – we are comforted by knowing that although Moshe could not enter the Land in his lifetime, his spirit remains woven into its mountains and valleys. And we, his spiritual heirs, are privileged to carry on what he began.

Parashat Devarim: How Does Parashat Devarim Reveal the Soul-Work Required to Inherit the Land?

 

                                                               Parashat Devarim                                                                  How Does Parashat Devarim Reveal the Soul-Work Required to Inherit the Land?

The Holy Land’s Harvest – What Does it Take to Deserve its Goodness?

During the peak of Israel’s scorching summer heat, it’s easy to fall into complaint. For me personally, the summer season presents a unique challenge: coping with the overwhelming fruit abundance of our homestead. Before explaining what makes it so overwhelming, I want to note that I consciously replaced the word ‘hardship’ with ‘challenge’ – to avoid speaking negatively about the holy Land of Israel.” My cup of blessing truly overflows through the merit of living here and being appointed by Hashem as stewards of a plot of land in Bat Ayin.

Yes, the earth is hard and unyielding. And while its fruits are delicious, we are not trained farmers and haven’t yet figured out how to grow organic, bug-free apples, pears, apricots, and nectarines. That leaves me standing at the kitchen sink for hours each day, cutting away black spots, worms, and their tunnels or abandoned burrows from the fruits before turning them into juice, applesauce, pies, and compotes. Believe me – we’ve tried everything (or nearly everything) to heal our fruit trees: neem oil, essential oils, nematodes, netting... Yet every summer from July through September, I find myself back at the kitchen sink.

Still, seeing my grandchildren gobble up the goodness of the land – enjoying fresh organic apple juice, biting into a crispy apple slice, or savoring a juicy piece of nectarine – fills me with profound joy and fulfillment. No true good comes without effort. As the Mishnah teaches, “L’fum tza’ara agra” – “The reward is in proportion to the exertion” (Pirkei Avot 5:23). Indeed, “The Land of Israel is acquired through hardship” (Babylonian Talmud, Berachot 5a). So, I console myself with the thought that there must be a spiritual purpose behind these challenges. Perhaps our struggles in growing worm-free organic fruits are what help us deserve and become truly worthy of the goodness this sacred land offers.

How Does the Land of Israel Test Our Spiritual Readiness?

Possibly our physical struggles with the fruits of the Land hint at a deeper truth: the bounty of Eretz Yisrael is always accompanied by spiritual demand and responsibility. Rabbi Shammai Ginzburg, drawing on Midrash Tanchuma and Bamidbar Rabbah, reveals a striking insight: those who rejected the Land were punished not only by being denied entry, but by being unable to enjoy even its fruits. The Midrash explains that when the people said, “Our soul loathes this miserable bread,” they were not referring to the manna, as commonly assumed, but to the fruits of the Land shown to them by passing merchants. Their rejection was so profound that some died merely upon seeing baskets of fruit from Eretz Yisrael, so deep was their estrangement from its holiness (Imrei Shammai, Devarim 1:35).

Rabbi Akiva teaches that this reaction was a direct consequence of accepting the spies’ slander. Just as the spies portrayed the fruit as strange and exaggerated, so too did they describe the inhabitants. Their punishment, measure for measure, was that they would never taste the goodness of the Land.

The Land of Israel demands more than physical arrival; it requires moral and spiritual alignment. Even the greatest of prophets could not enter if he fell short of the Land’s exacting standards. We learn that the Land of Israel does not tolerate spiritual complacency from Hashem’s declaration:

ספר דברים פרק א פסוק לה

אִם יִרְאֶה אִישׁ בָּאֲנָשִׁים הָאֵלֶּה הַדּוֹר הָרָע הַזֶּה אֵת הָאָרֶץ הַטּוֹבָה אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּעְתִּי לָתֵת לַאֲבֹתֵיכֶם:

“Not one of these men, this evil generation, shall see the good land that I swore to give to your fathers” (Devarim 1:35).

The Land of Israel is described here as “the good land” – not merely agriculturally good, but spiritually good, reserved for those who live up to its standards. Entry into the Land is not only a birthright, but a merit that must be earned.

The Abarbanel expands this point with profound clarity. It is fitting and proper that “like attracts like” – that similar things should be brought close together. If the people had been good, like the Land is good, then it would have been proper for them to enter it. Yet it is not fitting for a corrupt generation to enter an inherently good Land. Had the generation been worthy, their entry would have aligned with the goodness of the Land. Still, the Divine oath to the forefathers would not be annulled. It would be fulfilled through their children – those who would embody the values necessary to truly inherit the Land.

How Does the Land Select Those Worthy to Enter it in the Wake of Redemption?

Especially during these trying times – the birth pangs of redemption – the difference between those aligned with the goodness of the Land and those who are not is becoming more evident. Never in B’erot’s 30-year history do I recall a time when so many accepted students still did not merit joining us in the Holy Land. Their reasons for deferring are often illogical and sound more like excuses: “I’m concerned I won’t be able to renew my visa.” “What if I later want to make Aliyah and end up losing my current citizenship?”

From the moment Israel received the Torah at Sinai, we were meant to enter the Land – were it not for the sin of the spies, which delayed our entry for forty years. Those who hesitate today are, in some way, echoing the sin of the spies – choosing fear and doubt over trust and destiny.

Rabbeinu Bachaya teaches that the ultimate settlement in the Land will not come through the First or Second Temples, but at the final Redemption, which will never be followed by exile. This is why the book of Devarim concludes the Torah: its ending hints at the renewal of the world, the very purpose of creation. The Torah thus begins with Bereishit (Creation) and ends with Devarim (Redemption), in line with the principle “its end is embedded in its beginning.” The five books of the Torah are woven together: renewal leads to unity, unity is expressed through sacrifices, and sacrifices reach their fullness only in the Land of Israel. Only through the final redemption – inseparable from Eretz Yisrael – will Israel attain its complete fulfillment (Rabbeinu Bachaya, Devarim 1:1). So, if you are Jewish – or seeking to enter the Jewish people – it is high time to join us on the Land before it becomes too late.

Rebuke at the Border – Why Does Moshe Begin His Final Speech with Geography?

As the book of Devarim opens, Moshe stands on the threshold of the Promised Land, preparing to deliver his final words to the nation he has led for forty years. Rather than launching directly into exhortation or instruction, the Torah begins with a curious list of locations:

ספר דברים פרק א פסוק א אֵלֶּה הַדְּבָרִים אֲשֶׁר דִּבֶּר מֹשֶׁה אֶל כָּל־יִשְׂרָאֵל בְּעֵבֶר הַיַּרְדֵּן בַּמִּדְבָּר בָּעֲרָבָה מוֹל־סוּף בֵּין־פָּארָן וּבֵין־תֹּפֶל וְלָבָן וַחֲצֵרֹת וְדִי זָהָב:

“These are the words that Moshe spoke to all Israel across the Jordan – in the wilderness, in the Aravah, opposite Suf, between Paran and Tofel and Lavan and Chatzerot and Di Zahav” (Devarim 1:1).

Why does Moshe begin his final speech to the nation with a string of obscure geographical references? Rashi famously explains that these are not merely directions on a map – they are allusions to the sins and stumbles of the Israelites throughout their journey. Moshe subtly reminds them of the past to guide their future. But the emphasis on place is not incidental. It reflects a profound truth: the Torah is not only a book of ideas or values – it is a map for living in the Holy Land. Every location Moshe names is infused with memory, meaning, and moral consequence. The sins of the past are recorded not only in the text of Torah, but in the very soil of the land they are about to inherit. Thus, the Land of Israel is not merely the setting for Jewish history; it is a Divine partner in the covenant.

Parashat Devarim is always read during the Nine Days leading up to Tisha B’Av. In this season of mourning and introspection, Moshe’s words serve as a rebuke at the border. Before the people can enter the Land, they must take moral stock. We, too, must ask: What does it mean to be worthy of the Land of Israel? The opening list of places reminds us that the Land remembers. It holds the echoes of our missteps – and the promise of our return. Even the sins of the past can become stepping stones when we confront them with humility and resolve. Eretz Yisrael is not just a land we inhabit; it is a land that holds us accountable. It demands more from us – more integrity, more faith, more commitment to each other and Hashem. As we begin Devarim and draw close to the mourning of Tisha B’Av and the yearning for the rebuilding and comfort of Nachamu, we are reminded that the Land of Israel is not just our destination – it is our destiny.

Parashat Matot/Masei: What Is the Torah’s Path to Lasting Peace in the Land of Israel?

Parashat Matot/Masei

What Is the Torah’s Path to Lasting Peace in the Land of Israel?

 

What Does it Take to Achieve Lasting Peace in the Land of Israel?

I don’t consider myself a political person – meaning, I’m not deeply invested in any particular party or agenda. I don’t follow the news regularly, except for what filters through to me via my husband, circulating messages, or whatever everyone is talking about – the things that are impossible to ignore. Unwittingly, I still find myself dragged into political discussions with certain family members who are vehemently opposed to Israel’s leadership, specifically Prime Minister Netanyahu. During Israel’s current war, they go so far as to blame him – rather than the terrorists – for the deaths of some hostages, claiming he is prolonging the war to avoid prosecution for alleged corruption. When I hear such baseless claims, I cannot remain silent. I feel compelled to respond, “In Judaism, anyone who has not been proven guilty remains innocent.” I am not a warmonger – I don’t believe any Jew is. I don’t wish to drag out any war unnecessarily. What I do desire is true, lasting peace – not only in my lifetime, but for my children and grandchildren as well. I am proud of Israel’s leadership for rising like a lion to confront and eradicate evil that threatens not just Israel, but the entire world. Ending the war prematurely, before “finishing the job” of eliminating the terrorists and their hidden arsenals, would only invite more bloodshed, as these enemies will not stop on their own. King Shlomo provides the ideal model: he brought peace to Israel by commanding strength and awe, such that no terrorist dared raise even a stone against Israel. Since we eternally yearn for peace, but have always been surrounded by enemies – “as thorns in our sides” (Bamidbar 33:55) – the only path to true and lasting peace is through unwavering strength, rising like a lion against those antisemites whose very existence depends on the destruction of the Jewish people.
 
Is Lasting Peace Possible Without Possessing All of Eretz Yisrael?
Immediately after listing the forty-two encampments of B’nei Yisrael (Bamidbar 33), Hashem commands Moshe to tell the people:

ספר במדבר פרק לג פסוק נג וְהוֹרַשְׁתֶּם אֶת הָאָרֶץ וִישַׁבְתֶּם בָּהּ כִּי לָכֶם נָתַתִּי אֶת הָאָרֶץ לָרֶשֶׁת אֹתָהּ אֹתָהּ:

“You shall dispossess the inhabitants of the land and dwell in it, for I have given the land to you to

 possess it” (Bamidbar 33:53).

From here, we learn that it is a mitzvah to conquer the Land of Israel. This mitzvah applies to the Jewish people in every generation, as Rav Eliezer Melamed explains so eloquently:
הוֹרַשְׁתֶּם  – “You shall possess” denotes conquest and sovereignty, while וִישַׁבְתֶּם בָּהּ  – “You shall dwell in it” implies settling the Land so that it will not remain desolate. Similarly, the Torah states, “You shall possess it, and you shall dwell therein” (Devarim 11:31).
Accordingly, the Ramban defines the mitzvah as follows: “We were commanded to take possession of the Land that G-d gave to our forefathers, Avraham, Yitzchak, and Ya’acov; and we must not leave it in the hands of any other nation or let it remain desolate” (Addendum to Rambam’s Sefer HaMitzvot, Positive Commandment 4); (Peninei Halacha, Yom HaAtzmaut, Yom Yerushalayim, Yom HaZikaron, 1 – The Mitzvah of Settling the Land of Israel).
During our more than two-millennia exile, we lacked an army or weapons to fulfill this mitzvah to conquer and settle the Land. Even throughout the State of Israel’s 77 years, there have been ‘dovish’ leaders who not only refrained from fulfilling this mitzvah of conquering the land but even gave away parts of our land – such as Gush Katif (Gaza) in 2005 – to Arab terrorists. We now clearly see where that has led us.
Rashi comments:וִישַׁבְתֶּם בָּהּ – וּכְבִישָׁהּ תֵּהֵא יְשִׁיבָה לָכֶם  – “And you shall dwell in it” – only by conquering it will your dwelling be secure…you shall clear out the Land. You shall vacate it of its inhabitants, and then you shall “settle in it.” Only then will you be able to survive there, but if you do not do this, you will be unable to survive there” (Rashi, Bamidbar 33:53).
As we are experiencing again each time the siren sends us racing to bomb shelters, if we want to live securely in our land, we have no choice but to fully “conquer it” – leaving no part of the Holy Land, whether above or below its surface, in the hands of our enemies.
 
Is it a Promise or a Mitzvah to Take Possession of the Land of Israel?

ספר במדבר פרק לג פסוק נד וְהִתְנַחַלְתֶּם אֶת הָאָרֶץ בְּגוֹרָל לְמִשְׁפְּחֹתֵיכֶם לָרַב תַּרְבּוּ אֶת נַחֲלָתוֹ וְלַמְעַט תַּמְעִיט אֶת נַחֲלָתוֹ אֶל אֲשֶׁר יֵצֵא לוֹ שָׁמָּה הַגּוֹרָל לוֹ יִהְיֶה לְמַטּוֹת אֲבֹתֵיכֶם תִּתְנֶחָלוּ: (נה) וְאִם לֹא תוֹרִישׁוּ אֶת ישְׁבֵי הָאָרֶץ מִפְּנֵיכֶם וְהָיָה אֲשֶׁר תּוֹתִירוּ מֵהֶם לְשִׂכִּים בְּעֵינֵיכֶם וְלִצְנִינִם בְּצִדֵּיכֶם וְצָרְרוּ אֶתְכֶם עַל הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר אַתֶּם ישְׁבִים בָּהּ:

“You shall give the Land as an inheritance to your families by lot; to the large, you shall give a larger inheritance and to the small, you shall give a smaller inheritance; wherever the lot falls shall be his; according to the tribes of your fathers, you shall inherit. But if you do not drive out the inhabitants of the Land from before you, then those whom you leave over will be as spikes in your eyes and thorns in your sides, and they will harass you in the land in which you settle (Bamidbar 33:54-55).
 
Rashi’s commentary captures precisely what we have experienced in the modern State of Israel, especially since October 7: “Those whom you leave over” – will bring misfortune upon you; “as spikes in your eyes” – they will blind you; “they will harass you” – they will cause you distress (Rashi, Bamidbar 33:55). So, if we are looking to assign blame for October 7, as some do toward Israel’s current leadership, we must not ignore the deeper spiritual root. The tragic expulsion from Gush Katif is undeniably a key cause. Rather than pointing fingers at political figures, we would do better to examine the Torah’s warning: that failing to fully dispossess the Land brings distress upon its people and threatens our security.
Without contradicting Rashi, the Ramban emphasizes that the command to “dispossess the Land and dwell in it” is not merely practical advice for security or survival, but a positive mitzvah obligating the Jewish people to actively conquer and settle the Land of Israel. Choosing to settle in another land, even one that appears strategically advantageous, is a transgression of Hashem’s will. The Land of Israel is a divine inheritance that we are commanded to claim and inhabit, not to abandon or exchange (Ramban, Bamidbar 33:53). For the Ramban, this mitzvah applies perpetually. It defines the Jewish people’s spiritual mission in the physical world.
Rather than focusing on the mitzvah itself, the Malbim highlights the conditional nature of Hashem’s gift. The promise to inherit and dwell securely in the Land depends entirely on dispossessing all its former inhabitants, without leaving any remnant or forging covenants with them. Only under this condition will the Land become a true and lasting possession for our children, offering peace and security for future generations. This is the deeper meaning of the verse: “For to you I have given the Land to possess it” – it was given exclusively to the Jewish people, not to be shared with hostile nations (Malbim, Bamidbar 33:51–52).
Living in the Land of Israel during such challenging times instills in us a deep appreciation –         both for the gift of the Promised Land and for the brave soldiers who are risking their lives to fulfill the Torah’s vision of taking true possession of it.

Let the Borders of the Land Shape Your Soul!
Rabbi Yehudah Aryeh Leib Alter explains that the borders are not mere lines on a map. They reflect the limits within which holiness can manifest fully in the material world. Just as the Mishkan had precise measurements to allow the Divine Presence to dwell, so too Eretz Yisrael has divinely ordained borders to make it a vessel for kedushah (Sefat Emet, Matot 5640).
Spirituality, in Judaism, is not unbounded. It must be anchored in physical space and guided by halachic structure. Eretz Yisrael becomes the stage upon which the Jewish people are meant to live out a life of Torah in its most complete form – in time, space, and soul.
Today, many Jews are rediscovering their connection to Eretz Yisrael – not only through visits or political commitment, but through learning its spiritual role in the Torah, walking its hills, breathing its air, and living a life aligned with its sanctity. As we complete the Book of Bamidbar and prepare for entry into the Land in Sefer Devarim, we are invited to do the same.
We are called to let the borders of the Land shape the contours of our soul and let its holiness guide our journey. May the promise of Eretz Yisrael perpetually remind us that we are part of a people destined not just to wander, but to dwell in Hashem’s chosen place – with purpose, presence, and peace.

Parashat Pinchas: Why Did Tzelafchad’s Daughters Merit Revealing the Law of Inheritance?

Parashat Pinchas
Why Did Tzelafchad’s Daughters Merit Revealing the Law of Inheritance?

What Were Some Obstacles in Our Way of Gaining Acceptance in Bat Ayin?

We were originally drawn to Bat Ayin because of its diverse neo-Chassidic orientation. The community was made up of Breslovers, Chabadniks, and students of Rav Kook – affectionately nicknamed ‘Chabakook.’ We didn’t want to be confined to a box and were happy to remain eclectic, learning from a range of kosher sources and befriending people with various outlooks. Bat Ayin was founded by idealists with a vision to create an agricultural, spiritual community. When we arrived 33 years ago, families accepted into the Yishuv were allotted 2 dunams (half an acre) of land to cultivate small-scale farms. We were deeply impressed as we walked through Bat Ayin and were welcomed by young families with thriving homesteads, their gardens bursting with vegetables, herbs, and flowers.

After undergoing a very strict selection process to gain acceptance into Bat Ayin, we were told that since we weren’t farmers, we wouldn’t receive the two-dunam plot, but only the standard half dunam allotted in other yishuvim. Needless to say, we were disappointed. I decided to plead our case, explaining that while we weren’t professional farmers, we had significant gardening experience. I wrote a heartfelt letter to the Bat Ayin Yishuv Council, describing how my family had cultivated beautiful gardens for generations, and how I especially treasured the scent of my grandmother’s citrus trees in Kfar Shemayahu, where I often helped her tend to her gardens. In Denmark as well, we lived on a large plot of land bordering the forest – the famous Deer Park – with apple trees, a rose garden, and a vegetable patch where I remember planting peas and radishes as a child, praying to Hashem, and being moved to write a poem. The last lines of that childhood poem read:

“Looking towards heaven and praying to G-d,
that the seed will unfold like peas in a pod,
to show us the way to freedom and peace,
chasing away hatred and making evil cease.”

Who are the Role Models Affecting My Inherent Attachment to the Holy Land?
Thank G-d, my letter to the Yishuv council didn’t fall on deaf ears, and we were eventually granted a 2-dunam plot of land. The effort it took to gain this coveted portion made us cherish it all the more. We were eager to work hard and cultivate the land, which was dry, rocky, and full of thistles. Before long, we had planted various fruit trees – figs, olives, pomegranates, apples, pears, and cherries. I also fondly remember our vegetable patch that first year, overflowing with gigantic organic carrots and beets – surely the result of beginner’s luck.

I have always felt a deep connection to the Daughters of Tzelafchad, who likewise had to plead their case to receive an inheritance in the Land of Israel. Looking back, I see how my early gardening experience sparked a spiritual awakening that led me to write about G-d and prayer – concepts I had never even heard of, having grown up in a completely assimilated Jewish family. My inspiration had to come from somewhere beyond myself. Perhaps my soul was subconsciously drawing from the holy legacy of these five sisters – long before I had even the faintest idea of their existence.

Only years later did I learn that the daughters of Tzelafchad are among the timeless role models of love and longing for the Land. At a time when the prevailing sentiment was marked by doubt and rejection of Eretz Yisrael, these five women stood up with passionate devotion and asked for a portion in the Holy Land. They yearned to reveal the presence of the Shechinah through redeeming the Land of Israel.

While the men despised the land crying, “Let us appoint a leader and return to Egypt” (Bamidbar 14:4), the women loved the Land of Israel declaring, “Give us a possession in the land” (Ibid. 27:4). The Kli Yakar teaches that Hashem Himself affirmed their superior faith: “In My opinion, according to what I see in the future, it would have been better to send women to spy the Land, for they love the Land and would never speak ill of it. But if you, Moshe, according to your own opinion, decide to send אֲנָשִׁים/anashim – ‘men’ – behold, that is your responsibility. Therefore, it says, שְׁלַח לְךָ/shelach lecha – ‘Send for yourself’ – according to your own opinion. In My opinion, it would have been better to send women” (Kli Yakar, Bamidbar 13:12).

The Daughters’ Emunah in the Spiritual Conquest of the Land

The Chatam Sofer offers a profound insight into the contrast between the men who wanted to return to Egypt and the daughters of Tzelafchad who yearned for their portion in the Land. He explains that the men’s desire to turn back stemmed not from disbelief in Hashem per se, but from a misunderstanding of Hashem’s plan. They believed that Moshe had deviated from the original Divine intent, which they thought was simply to receive the Torah in the wilderness and then return to Egypt, no longer enslaved, as Moshe originally requested from Pharaoh, as it states, “…Hashem, G-d of the Hebrews, has appeared to us. So now, let us go for a three-day journey into the wilderness, and we shall offer sacrifices to Hashem our G-d” (Shemot 3:18). They presumed the time for redemption had not yet arrived, since the full 400 years foretold to Avraham had still not passed. They therefore interpreted the strength of the Canaanite nations as a sign that the conquest was premature. In their eyes, the lack of supernatural weakening of the nations indicated that the true geulah was still in the future. But this was a grave mistake.

The daughters of Tzelafchad, by contrast, demonstrated a deep understanding that the land had already been spiritually conquered by Avraham. When Hashem commanded him, “Arise, walk through the land… for to you will I give it” (Bereishit 13:17), that act itself conferred kedushah and possession. The Chatam Sofer notes that if inheritance depended solely on physical conquest, it would have been reasonable to grant portions only to men who participated in battle. But the daughters of Tzelafchad knew otherwise. Their claim for a portion revealed their emunah that the Land already belonged to Am Yisrael by virtue of our forefathers, and that every Jew, even women who would not fight, had a rightful share.

This faith is especially striking when contrasted with the doubts of the spies and their followers. While the men said, “Let us appoint a leader and return to Egypt” (Bamidbar 14:4), the daughters said, “Give us a possession in the land” (ibid. 27:4). Their vision penetrated beneath surface obstacles to perceive the spiritual truth – that Hashem had already given the land to His people, and that now was the time to actualize that promise.

Why are Women More Attuned to the Land of Israel than Men?

When the spies returned from their mission and spoke negatively about the Land, they incited the entire congregation to complain (Bamidbar 14). As a result, a harsh decree was issued against them because they said, “We cannot ascend.” The men of that generation were sentenced to die in the wilderness. As it says, “They will die in the wilderness and there will not remain for them a man, except for Kalev the son of Yefuneh...” (Bamidbar 26:65). The verse specifies man – not woman – because the women did not participate in their complaint. On the contrary, they drew close and requested an inheritance in the Land. This is why the section about the daughters of Tzelafchad is juxtaposed to the description of the men’s downfall – to contrast the men’s defiance with the women’s faithfulness (Midrash Bamidbar Rabbah 21:10).

Yosef Ben Shlomo Hakohen suggests that the women of Israel possessed an intuitive, spiritual awareness that the physical world can be sanctified and become a dwelling place for the Shechinah. Just as they understood that their wombs could become a dwelling place for the sacred seed of life, they sensed that the earth, too, could become a vessel for holiness. This inner awareness inspired a profound love for the Land of Israel – the land most suited for fulfilling the mitzvot of the Torah and ushering in the Divine Presence. Unlike the men, the women recognized that Eretz Yisrael is the very soil from which the Shechinah would begin Her return to the world.

Perhaps this deeper spiritual sensitivity was heightened because the generation of the wilderness stood at a crossroads – a time of transition between exile and redemption. Men often function best within a structured, authoritative system where expectations are clearly defined. In contrast, pregnancy, childbirth, and motherhood cultivate in women a natural flexibility and attunement to ongoing change. In times of national transformation – such as the wilderness then, and the upheaval of today – it is often women who lead the way toward a new and redemptive reality. These essential differences also explain why the Torah imposes stricter ritual obligations on men, while women thrive in a more organic and intuitive form of Divine service.

Why is Yosef Mentioned Among the Ancestors of Tzelafchad’s Daughters After Menashe?

ספר במדבר פרק כז פסוק א וַתִּקְרַבְנָה בְּנוֹת צְלָפְחָד בֶּן חֵפֶר בֶּן גִּלְעָד בֶּן מָכִיר בֶּן מְנַשֶּׁה לְמִשְׁפְּחֹת מְנַשֶּׁה בֶן יוֹסֵף וְאֵלֶּה שְׁמוֹת בְּנֹתָיו מַחְלָה נֹעָה וְחָגְלָה וּמִלְכָּה וְתִרְצָה:

“The daughters of Tzelafchad, the son of Chefer, the son of Gilead, the son of Machir, the son of Menashe, of the families of Menashe, the son of Yosef, came forward. His daughters’ names were Machlah, Noa and Hogla, Milkah, and Tirtzah” (Bamidbar 27:1).

Malbim asks why the verse traces the daughters of Tzelafchad back not only to Menashe but also explicitly to Yosef. He explains that this lineage hints at a deeper distinction within the tribe. Half of Menashe settled on the eastern side of the Jordan River – outside the Land’s primary sanctity – because they did not hold Eretz Yisrael as dearly. In that region, daughters could have easily inherited land, as seen with Machir, who gave 23 cities in Gilead to his daughter.

However, the daughters of Tzelafchad belonged to the half of Menashe associated with Yosef – who deeply loved the land. Just as Yosef made his brothers swear to carry his bones up from Egypt for burial in the Land of Israel, so too did these daughters yearn for a portion within the land itself. That is why they insisted, “Give us a possession among our father’s brothers” – meaning within the territory west of the Jordan (Yehoshua 17:2).

The gematria of יוֹסֵף/Yosef (156) equals that of צִיּוֹן/Tzion, representing the inner point – the innermost inner. Wherever great holiness resides, so too does its counterforce – the outer shell, or klipah. The spies recoiled from the Land because they only perceived this external shell.

The mission of Mashiach ben Yosef is to pierce this shell: to gather the exiles, build the Land, and reveal its inner light. For those who seek only physical comfort, Israel is the wrong address.  But for those attuned to its inner holiness, there is no greater closeness to Hashem than in Eretz Yisrael.

The daughters of Tzelafchad saw beyond the exterior. Their love for the land flowed from an inner clarity rooted in Yosef’s legacy of unwavering faith in the face of concealment. Despite being betrayed, sold, and imprisoned, he never lost sight of Hashem’s guiding hand. His unwavering faith led him to make his brothers swear to bring his bones to Eretz Yisrael – a bold declaration of trust in future redemption. This profound emunah was inherited by the daughters of Tzelafchad, his direct descendants. Just as Yosef clung to the promise of the land through exile and concealment, so did his granddaughters many generations later.

Since they internalized his clarity – that the Land already belonged to Am Yisrael, spiritually and eternally – they merited the land and the perception of its purpose as long as their spiritual perfection endured (Akeidat Yitzchak, gate 84). So when they asked for their portion, it wasn’t just a legal claim. It was a continuation of Yosef’s inner vision and emunah, which granted them the merit to reveal a new halachah in the Torah – “their eyes even saw what the eyes of Moshe did not see” (Rashi, Bamidbar 27:7)