Parashat Tzav: What is the Connection Between the Eternal Fire and the Land of Israel?

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Parashat Tzav
What is the Connection Between the Eternal Fire and the Land of Israel?

How Can we Keep Our Fire Going While Constantly Breathing Continued Life into Others?

“I don’t know how I can go on anymore – everything is just too much,” cried a student (let’s call her Sarah) at my kitchen table. “I just want a simple life, enjoying the closeness with Hashem experienced here in the Holy Land in peace and quiet,” she continued. “There are so many demands on me – everyone wants my attention, and to engage in deep heart-to-heart conversations with me, it’s just all too much!” Sarah’s words reflected my own feelings of being overwhelmed with demands, dealing with various emergencies, and tedious administrative tasks on top of all the Pesach cleaning. I wish I could just peacefully settle on my land, softly playing my harp, prayerfully tending to the garden, and writing my books without all the interruptions. Sarah’s words, “I need a break; I can’t go on anymore!” couldn’t have reverberated more in my own heart. How can I keep my fire going when I am constantly having to breathe continued life into my institution? How many years have I had to write new rules? Dealing with challenging students and staff, ensuring we have enough money to pay our bills and avoid going into minus, tossing and turning in bed about losing a staff member, and trying to shift staff roles to make sure all the vital chores would be covered? For nearly 30 years, I have nursed and diapered, pulsating my blood, heartbeat, and essential life force to keep everything going. I, like Sarah, longed for peace and quiet to serve Hashem without interruptions. Yet, how do we grow in the Torah way and in our relationship with Hashem? Perhaps our understanding of serving Hashem is topsy-turvy. “What does it really mean to serve Hashem without interruptions for a Jew?” I asked Sarah. “Doesn’t the name Yisrael mean, ‘You have struggled with G-d and with people and you have prevailed’ (Bereishit 32:28)? Don’t we learn from this that it is precisely through the interruptions to our ‘peace and quiet’ that we serve Hashem in the highest way?” So perhaps we need to exchange our mindset – from assuming that the challenging drama with people and with figuring out the way of G-d are interruptions to our Divine service – to realizing that it may be the ‘peace and quiet’ that interrupts our true Divine service of continuous struggle.

The Eternal Fire on the Altar: A Flame Burning in the Soul of Every Jew
Reading the opening in Parashat Tzav describing the eternal flame of the altar encouraged me to keep my own fire burning. It is only when we allow the chametz (ego) of Amalek to inject the poison of doubt into our bloodstream that we feel our strength ebbing out. Our fire will remain steadfast, as long as we keep strengthening our emunah that whatever challenge we are undergoing, it is 100% designated from our Creator to help us grow. There is no greater way of serving Hashem than keeping the fire of emunah going. Perhaps this is why the Torah repeats how the fire on the altar must never be extinguished:

ספר ויקרא פרק ו פסוק ה וְהָאֵשׁ עַל הַמִּזְבֵּחַ תּוּקַד בּוֹ לֹא תִכְבֶּה וּבִעֵר עָלֶיהָ הַכֹּהֵן עֵצִים בַּבֹּקֶר בַּבֹּקֶר וְעָרַךְ עָלֶיהָ הָעֹלָה וְהִקְטִיר עָלֶיהָ חֶלְבֵי הַשְּׁלָמִים: פסוק ו וְאֵשׁ הַמִּזְבֵּחַ תּוּקַד בּוֹ לֹא תִכְבֶּה:

“The fire on the altar shall be kept burning on it; it shall not be extinguished. The kohen shall kindle wood upon it every morning, and upon it, he shall arrange the burnt offering and cause the fats of the peace offerings to go up in smoke upon it. “A continuous fire shall burn upon the altar; it shall not go out” (Vayikra 6:5-6).

The repetition of keeping the fire of the altar burning suggests that this fire did not simply serve to cook the sacrifices offered to Hashem upon the altar. Rather, the eternal burning of the flame was crucial in and of itself, as an independent value, to arouse our internal flame – to keep going against all the odds – and burn away the doubts that weaken our spiritual determination.

A Sacred Tool for Spiritual Endurance

This eternal flame is not merely a technical detail of ritual worship. It symbolizes the ever-present relationship between Israel and Hashem. The fire and flame that must never be extinguished reflect the spark of divine connection that is meant to burn constantly within the heart and soul of every Jew.  The Maggid of Kozhnitz, author of Avodat Yisrael, quotes a teaching from the Siddur haAri, citing a tradition from the prophet Eliyahu, that a spiritual remedy for distracting thoughts, is to recite the verse: אֵשׁ תָּמִיד תּוּקַד עַל הַמִּזְבֵּחַ לֹא תִכְבֶּה/Aish tamid tukad al hamizbeach lo tichbeh – “A constant fire shall burn on the altar; it shall never go out” (Vayikra 6:6). This verse serves as a spiritual tool to remove impure thoughts and ignite inner holiness. The Maggid takes this further, identifying the Yetzer Hara – the evil inclination – as one who schemes “to kill his fellow,” meaning the Yetzer Tov (good inclination), through devious and misleading thoughts. These words seem to speak directly to Sarah and me, reminding us, as Rebbe Nachman is famously known to say: כִּי אֵין שׁוּם יִאוּשׁ בָּעוֹלָם כְּלָל – “There is no despair whatsoever in the world” (Likutei Moharan Mahadura Batra 78). When the yetzer hara gets the better of us (G-d forbid), making us feel that we can’t go on, reciting, אֵשׁ תָּמִיד תּוּקַד עַל הַמִּזְבֵּחַ לֹא תִכְבֶּה pulses renewed emunah into our spiritual arteries, strengthening our determination and stamina to keep going – as the old proverb says, “When the going gets tough, the tough gets going!” (Joseph P. Kennedy). The Maggid interprets the verse, “From My altar you shall take him to die” (Shemot 21:14), to mean that by invoking this verse about the eternal flame, we awaken the soul’s passion for holiness and dispel impurity – let me add: the impurity of despair. (Avodat Yisrael, Parashat Mishpatim, v’Chi Yazid Ish al Re’ehu l’hargo b’Ormah etc.). This teaches us that the inner fire of the Jewish soul, sparked by Torah and mitzvot, is deeply connected to the fire on the altar.  The eternal flame thus becomes a metaphor for our spiritual endurance – a fire that must be safeguarded, fed, and kept alive.

Eretz Yisrael – The Only Home for the Eternal Mikdash

The eternal flame, though kindled through divine service everywhere, reaches its full brilliance only in Eretz Yisrael. Although Parashat Tzav takes place during the Israelites’ wilderness period, the mitzvot surrounding the offerings and the constant fire are destined for ultimate fulfillment in the final Beit Hamikdash (Temple). According to Ramban all the details of the Mishkan are essentially a blueprint for the Temple in Jerusalem. Scripture alludes to this when it says, “For I have not dwelt in a house from the day that I brought up the children of Israel out of Egypt, to this day, but have walked in a tent and in a tabernacle. In all places wherein I have walked among all the children of Israel, did I speak a word with any of the tribes of Israel whom I commanded to shepherd My people Israel, saying: ‘Why do you not build for Me a house of cedar?’” (II Shemuel 7:6–7; see Ramban on Bamidbar 16:21). This reveals a deeper truth: the Mishkan was a temporary vessel for the eternal Temple, which could only find permanence in the Land of Israel. The Shechinah accompanied Bnei Yisrael in the desert, but her true home is in the land that Hashem chose. As it states, “For Hashem has chosen Tzion; He has desired it for His dwelling place” (Tehillim 132:13). This makes Eretz Yisrael not only our homeland but also the spiritual address for divine presence, and for the fire that must never go out. Just as the offerings must be brought only in the place that Hashem chooses, so too the ongoing spiritual service of the Jewish people reaches its apex only in the Land of Israel.

The Fire of the Soul – Kindled in the Land

The spiritual air of the Land makes one wise (Babylonian Talmud, Baba Batra 158b). It also deepens our connection to Hashem, heightens our awareness of His presence, and attunes us to the inner fire. Parashat Tzav reminds us that true divine service is not sporadic or seasonal – it is constant. The eternal flame is not just on the altar but within us. The fire that must never go out reflects the spark of divine connection that is meant to burn constantly within the heart of every Jew. That flame finds its fullest expression only in the place where it was divinely kindled – Eretz Yisrael. The Zohar teaches: “A constant fire on the altar – this is the Torah, about which it says: ‘Is not My word like fire?’” (Yirmiyahu 23:29; cited in Rav Tzaddok of Lublin, Pri Tzaddik, Parashat Tzav 4).  The eternal flame on the altar alludes to the inner fire of the Jewish soul – a flame kindled through Torah and mitzvot. Each act of divine service fuels that fire, like a new log placed on the altar of the heart, keeping the inner fire alive and glowing, especially in the sacred atmosphere of Eretz Yisrael. During the ongoing challenges of Israel’s current war, we witness the holiness of the Jewish flame of endurance. It is only through the eternal flame of emunah that our brave soldiers get their strength to keep fighting for everlasting peace. The Shelah HaKadosh writes that although the fire descends from heaven, it is still a mitzvah to bring fire from below. This teaches us that our earthly effort to maintain a spiritual flame invites divine response – our inner fire awakens the heavenly flame (The Shelah Hakodesh, Mesechet Pesachim, Matzah Ashira). Shelah’s message comes to life in the way the IDF and world Jewry are aroused to keep the flame of emunah burning – drawing down the Divine response of protection and miracles as never before.

Returning to the Place of the Flame

Just as the altar’s fire in the Mishkan was a continuation of the fire from Sinai – where the mountain burned with divine presence – so too did this fire descend from heaven and rest specifically on the altar of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. No other place was worthy of it. In our days, as we continue to yearn for the rebuilding of the Beit Hamikdash, we must remember that the foundation of that eternal house is built by our daily commitment to keep our inner altars alive. Living in Eretz Yisrael, learning her Torah, loving her holiness, and praying for her redemption – these are our logs and oil. The altar fire is not only a divine gift, but also a human calling. The faithfulness of the Temple fire is an invitation: keep your own flame burning. By nurturing the flame of emunah, we can overcome the temptations of despair and despondency. Just as the altar must be stoked daily, so too must we cultivate the fire of faith within us, until our inner flame becomes an everlasting light. In a world that seeks to dim the Jewish flame, the Land of Israel stands as the place where we can keep it burning – with faith, with love, and with tenacity. Just as the fire of the Tabernacle altar was never extinguished, and continued to burn upon the Temple altar, so too will it burn eternally in the final Temple we await. May we soon see the fire return to its rightful place – and may the holy flame within each of us rise up to meet it.

Parashat Vayikra: How Does Vayikra’s Small Alef Teach that the Land of Israel is Designated for Revelation?

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Parashat Vayikra
How Does Vayikra’s Small Alef Teach that the Land of Israel is Designated for Revelation?

 

Why Did the Teenager Cry so Profusely When Leaving the Land of Israel?
I’ll never forget it. Once, as I was boarding a flight for my annual international speaking tour, I passed a girl who looked like a typical gap-year student – denim skirt, casual T-shirt stamped with a bold quote. But it wasn’t her appearance that caught my attention. It was the sound of her loud, heartfelt sobs and the stream of sincere tears down her cheeks. I paused and asked gently, “Why are you crying?” offering her a tissue. “I’m leaving Israel – I’m leaving Eretz Yisrael! This is the saddest moment of my life. How can I be away from the Land of Israel?” she cried through her tears. As much as I wanted to engage in a deeper conversation with this girl, I had to move along – the line behind me was pressing forward. But even after I found my seat and recited the prayer for a safe air travel, I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl who cried so profusely because of leaving the Land of Israel. Her weeping was more than emotional; it was soulful. I’m sure if I had asked her to explain her deep attachment to Israel, she would’ve struggled to articulate it. Her connection was beyond explanation – it radiated from the depth of her Jewish soul. And perhaps her tears have etched into my memory so vividly because I feel the same way. Every time I leave Israel – even for a short visit to honor my parents – it feels like a murky cloud dulls my inner light. I sense myself drifting from my spiritual center, from the place where I feel most at home in my soul. Whereas some of my relatives fear visiting Israel, I always feel safest here, where the Divine Presence is near. Whenever I travel abroad, I remind myself of the Talmudic promise: “Those on the path to perform a mitzvah are not susceptible to harm” (Babylonian Talmud, Pesachim 8a). Still, I count the days until I return. And when I do, the moment the plane’s wheels touch the holy soil, and we break into applause, I am overcome by the quiet but unmistakable feeling of coming home. The holiness of the land touches me to tears of return.

Why is the Land of Israel the Only Place Where Prophecy Blossoms?

What does my spiritual homecoming have to do with Parashat Vayikra? I must admit that it is challenging to tie the Torah portions that don’t mention the land of Israel directly to the Land of Israel. We need to dig beyond the surface to discover the deeper underlying connections.

Parashat Vayikra opens with Hashem addressing Moshe after the Mishkan had been completed,

ספר ויקרא פרק א פסוק א וַיִּקְרָא אֶל משֶׁה וַיְדַבֵּר יְהוָֹה אֵלָיו מֵאֹהֶל מוֹעֵד לֵאמֹר:

“Then He called to Moshe, and Hashem spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying” (Vayikra 1:1). 

The first word of this verse וַיִּקְרָא/Vayikra – “He called,” contains an unusual scribal deviation – it is written with a small, diminished א/alef. The midrash and commentaries offer various explanations, many of which highlight Moshe’s humility, which we will address further on. Yet this small alef also carries a profound message about the nature of revelation – and the role of Eretz Yisrael as the spiritual epicenter of that calling.  The opening of Vayikra marks the moment when Hashem speaks to Moshe not from atop Mount Sinai, but from within the Mishkan. This shift in setting underscores the transition from a one-time, grand national revelation at Sinai to an ongoing, intimate relationship rooted in sacred space. The Shechinah did not dwell in the Mishkan while the people wandered aimlessly. It began once the Mishkan was erected, oriented toward entry into the Promised Land. Rabbi Yehuda Halevi makes a powerful claim: prophecy is bound to the Land of Israel. “But it is not possible for this unique spiritual faculty to reach its divine objective apart from this place, just as a vineyard cannot thrive outside its specific mountain soil.” He teaches that no one received prophecy except in the Land or for the sake of the Land. Avraham received prophecy in order to travel there. Even the exceptions – Yechezkel and Daniel, for example – experienced prophetic visions because of the presence of the Shechinah, which had been exiled with them, having once resided in the First Temple of Jerusalem. Thus, the unique spiritual potential of the Chosen People – the heart of humanity –to prophesy can only be fully actualized and blossom within the Holy Land. The land of Israel is referred to as “before Hashem,” about which it is said: “The eyes of Hashem your G-d are upon it always” (Devarim 11:12; The Kuzari 2:12-14).

How is the Small Alef a Sign of Moshe’s Humility?

The connection between the small alef and the significance of the Land of Israel can be understood through the importance of humility and submission to G-d’s will, as a prerequisite for upholding the sanctity essential for dwelling in Eretz Yisrael, where the Shechinah is most manifest. By humbling ourselves, we make room within to invite the Shechinah to dwell. Rashi explains that the small alef in the word Vayikra signifies Moshe’s modesty; unlike Bilam, to whom G-d “happened upon” (vayikar), implying a casual encounter, Hashem “called” (vayikra) Moshe, indicating a deliberate and affectionate communication. Moshe, in his humility, wished to downplay this distinction represented by the alef. Therefore, he reduced the size of the alef. ​ When Moshe was commanded to write the word Vayikra, he objected. He did not want to write this word in a way that showed that he had a close relationship with Hashem. Moshe, as the most modest man on earth, did not want to convey his prophecy as being higher than Bilam’s. Even when Hashem forced him to write Vayikra and not vayikar, Moshe did so only with a small alef, so as not to draw attention to his special relationship with Hashem (Ba’al Turim, Vayikra 1:1). The Kotzker Rebbe explains an enigmatic Midrasic comment. The verse states that Moshe “did not know that his face was shining” (Shemot 34:30). Moshe had to cover his face to conceal this overpowering light for the sake of teaching his people. Moshe’s face shone because of the extra ink left over from writing the Sefer Torah. The luminescence of Moshe’s face came from the ink that Moshe left over when he chose to write the word Vayikra with a small alef. That ‘leftover ink,’ therefore, represents Moshe’s humility (The Midrash Tanchuma, Parashat Ki Tisa 37).  This aspect of humility was what made Moshe so holy that his face reflected the celestial light of the Shechinah, making it impossible to behold him with human eyes.

How is the Land of Israel Designated for Ultimate Intimacy with Hashem?
From the very beginning of creation, Eretz Yisrael is the land “before Hashem” – the place where divine presence is most tangibly revealed, and where humankind’s mission to connect with the divine reaches its fullest expression. It is no coincidence that Cain and Hevel fought over it, or that Yitzchak and Yishmael, Ya’acov and Esav, all contended over who would inherit this holy ground. Rabbi Yehuda Halevi explains that this is not merely a geographic conflict but a spiritual one – a struggle over who will be attached to the divine purpose and who will fall away like a discarded husk (The Kuzari 1:95). Although the desert experience conveyed the most intimate connection with Hashem, who guided the Israelites with His Clouds of Glory and fed them manna from heaven, nevertheless, the Zohar teaches us that no matter how good it is in Chutz LaAretz – even from a spiritual standpoint – something is lacking, for true Jewish perfection can only be attained in The Land of Israel! Nowadays, until October 7, many Jews have enjoyed tranquil spiritual lives in the diaspora, with bursting Jewish communities and Torah institutions. Yet despite the spiritual intimacy of the Israelites during the desert wandering, their existence was considered imperfect, simply because it was still outside of Israel. We learn this from the Zohar that puts the entire Book of VaYikra in perspective, by explaining the small alef of Vayikra most astoundingly: Why is there a small alef?  Because this “calling” was imperfect.  Why so?  For it took place in the Mishkan (Tabernacle) and in a foreign land, because true perfection can only be found in the Land of Israel (Tosafot HaZohar 1, quoted in Itturei Torah, vol. 3, p. 7; cited by Rabbi Moshe D. Lichtman, Vayikra and the Land of Israel). The diminished alef at the beginning of Parashat Vayikra alludes to the truth that only by serving Hashem in His Chosen Land can we attain our ultimate goal.

The Soil Where Divine Communication Blossoms
This Zohar transforms how we read the first verse of Vayikra which sets the tone for the entire book of Vayikra. The small alef doesn’t only reflect Moshe’s humility – it whispers a truth about the Land of Israel. Though hidden and subtle, Eretz Yisrael is the soil in which divine communication blossoms. Even the Vayikra, the “calling,” is specific to the Holy Land. Just as prophecy cannot flourish outside the Land, the highest expression of the Mishkan – the Beit Hamikdash could not be established elsewhere. The Shechinah rests only where Hashem has chosen – in the land uniquely fit for revelation. Thus, the small alef of Vayikra is not a diminishment – it is a distillation. It represents the concentrated holiness of a place uniquely chosen to carry divine presence. The Midrash affirms this by listing the times the word “Li” (to Me) appears – in connection with the Kohanim, the Levi’im, Eretz Yisrael, Jerusalem, the Beit Hamikdash, korbanot, and even prophecy itself. Wherever the Torah says “Li,” that entity or place is bound to Hashem for eternity – in this world and the next (Midrash Vayikra Rabbah 2:2). May we merit to live in the Land of Israel not merely as an inheritance of the past, but as the present and future landscape of our divine calling – the very ground of redemption and closeness to Hashem. May we merit to experience the return of prophecy in the land of divine revelation!