Parashat Bamidbar: How Does the Wilderness Prepare Us to Inherit the Land of Israel?

Printable Version

Parashat Bamidbar
How Does the Wilderness Prepare Us to Inherit the Land of Israel?

What made Me Embrace the Torah in The Old City of Jerusalem on Shavuot?
This Shavuot, I celebrate 45 years of Torah! I can hardly believe how the years have flowed by, like foamy waves softening and refining our hearts, as hardships etched their traces into the furrows of our faces. I look back with nostalgia to that first Shavuot – the beginning of my teshuva – when everything was new. I found myself among a circle of women, sitting on cool stones under the starry sky in the Old City of Jerusalem. It was the first time I learned about Ruth – who left behind the comfort of her regal home, her country, and all that was familiar, to follow her aged mother-in-law Naomi toward an unknown destiny.
I, too, had recently left my own country, my childhood home, and the prospect of a prestigious university degree to follow my heart and fulfill an undefined calling. Was Ruth also a truth seeker, who found the pomp of prosperity superficial while looking for a deeper meaning and mission in life? I pondered.
Since my teenage years, I had been searching for truth. I had rejected the Marxism I was taught in high school, which focused solely on dismantling economic classes without addressing the values that would define the envisioned society of financial equality. Dancing in the inner city with born-again Xtians whose theology conflicted with everything I would later come to value felt exciting at the time, but their answers rang hollow and rehearsed. Though I was a flower-power girl immersed in the hippy counterculture, I was never drawn enough to the East to join my friends traveling to India and Nepal in search of spirituality and inner vision. Yoga helped me strengthen my body, but it in no way touched my soul.
I had never considered seeking truth within my own Jewish heritage. The Jewish experiences of my youth had led me to believe Judaism was nothing more than a culinary creed wrapped in outdated rules, lacking any spiritual essence.
Yet here I was, in the holy city of Jerusalem, at the Women’s Division of the Diaspora Yeshiva – where I had surprisingly found my spiritual home. I still remember hearing Rabbi Goldstein proclaim: “Now that you’ve received the Torah, can you give it back? No, you can’t. You have to keep it!” At that moment, I knew I was hooked for life.

Why is the Torah Given in the Desert?

Parashat Bamidbar opens with the Israelites still in the wilderness, poised to begin their journey toward the Land of Israel.

ספר במדבר פרק א פסוק א וַיְדַבֵּר הַשֵׁם אֶל משֶׁה בְּמִדְבַּר סִינַי...

“Hashem spoke to Moshe in the Wilderness of Sinai…” (Bamidbar 1:1).

Chazal ask: why was the Torah given in the מִדְּבַר/midbar – ‘desert’ a place of emptiness and desolation?

To enter the covenant of Torah and inherit Eretz Yisrael, we must let go of personal pride and entitlement. The desert has no owner. It is vast, barren, and silent. In that space of inner surrender, we become worthy of receiving Hashem’s word.

Just as the desert prepared us to receive Torah, it also prepared us to receive the Land. Before entering the land flowing with milk and honey, we had to be emptied of Egypt – of its mentality, attachments, and enslaved self-image. The desert strips away ego so we can enter the land as humble vessels for Hashem’s presence. This reflects my experience of accepting the Torah, on my first Shavuot. I made myself like the wilderness, emptying myself of my past to start over on a clean new page in the story of my life.

The Midrash teaches: the Torah was given with fire, water, and in the wilderness – all elements that are free and accessible to all. So too, Torah is free for anyone who thirsts for it (Yeshaya’hu 55:1). Another teaching: Only one who makes himself like a wilderness, can truly acquire Torah. “Whoever does not make himself ownerless and accessible to all, cannot acquire the wisdom of the Torah” (Midrash Bamidbar Rabbah 1:7).

What Does it Take to Make our Torah Transformative and Enduring?
The Imrei Emet explains that the Torah was given to rectify the three core flaws of humanity – jealousy, lust, and pride – reflected in the sins of early generations: Kayin, the generation of the Flood, and the Tower of Babel. The mitzvot at Matan Torah correspond to these: the boundary around Mount Sinai addressed jealousy – giving each person their designated space; the command to abstain from marital intimacy represented restraint – countering lust; and standing humbly at the foot of the mountain symbolized submission – opposing pride. This is why the Torah was given with fire, water, and wilderness – representing passion, humility, and self-nullification. Every day, we are challenged by jealousy, lust, and pride – and only through the power of Torah can we overcome them. Moreover, to truly acquire Torah, we must make ourselves like a wilderness – open, humble, and ownerless (Imrei Emet, Bamidbar, 5667). This concept hits home when I reminisce about those early days of embracing Torah, most of the students in Diaspora Yeshiva from affluent American families, made great sacrifices to leave flourishing careers and promising prosperous futures behind, to dedicate ourselves to Torah learning in the Land of Israel. As the Imrei Emet teaches, as long as we make ourselves like a desert completely given over and devoted to Torah and Mitzvot (mesirut nefesh), through this inner work of surrendering our selves, our Torah becomes transformative and enduring. Now, 45 years later this concept has proven true through the descendants of the students of the ‘hippy yeshiva’ raising families deeply rooted in Torah and mitzvot.  

How Does the Counting of Israel Connect to the Land?

It is significant that the journey through the wilderness begins with counting:

ספר במדבר פרק א פסוק ב שְׂאוּ אֶת רֹאשׁ כָּל עֲדַת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל לְמִשְׁפְּחֹתָם לְבֵית אֲבֹתָם בְּמִסְפַּר שֵׁמוֹת כָּל זָכָר לְגֻלְגְּלֹתָם:

“Take the sum of all the congregation of the children of Israel, by families following their fathers' houses; a head count of every male according to the number of their names” (Bamidbar 1:2).

What is the purpose of counting the Israelites specifically at the outset of the nation’s journey through the wilderness? The Netziv explains that the census in Parashat Bamidbar isn’t just about numbers – it’s about identity and a spiritual confirmation of each individual’s destined inheritance in the Land of Israel (HaEmek Davar, Bamidbar 1:2). Each person was counted “by name” and “by their father’s house,” emphasizing identity, lineage, and their destined portion in the Land of Israel. The configuration of the Israelite camp mirrored this destiny. Each family and tribe camped in a Divinely designated place, forming a sacred map that anticipated their eventual settlement in Eretz Yisrael – not only geographically, but spiritually.

According to the teachings of the Arizal, this encampment was patterned after the supernal structure of the sefirot. The twelve tribes corresponded to distinct spiritual channels, grouped into four דְּגָלִים/degalim – ‘banners’ – each containing three tribes. This mystical arrangement reflected a deeper cosmic order, where each tribe’s location in the wilderness corresponded to its spiritual root above (Etz Chaim, Sha’ar 31, Chapter 3). The Midrash supports this idea, stating that the formation of the tribes mirrored the arrangement of the heavenly hosts (Midrash Bamidbar Rabbah 2:8).
Thus, the desert became a place of alignment – each soul drawn to its specific inheritance, in sync with its Divine source. This is hinted in the verse: וְאִישׁ עַל־דִּגְלוֹ בְאֹתֹת לְבֵית אֲבֹתָם יַחֲנוּ “Each man by his banner, according to the signs of their father’s house shall they camp” (Bamidbar 2:2). The אֹתֹת/otot – “signs” – may be understood as spiritual markers, revealing each tribe’s unique role within the collective mission of Am Yisrael in Eretz Yisrael.

How is the Wilderness Experience Still Relevant for Life in the Land Today?

The journey from the wilderness to Eretz Yisrael is not only historical – it is psychological and spiritual. Many of us today live in the Land yet still carry traces of ‘Egypt’ in our hearts. The midbar remains a necessary stage to enter the Land inwardly.

The holiness of Eretz Yisrael cannot be fully appreciated until we empty ourselves of the spiritual clutter of exile. Only then can the light of the Land penetrate our souls. I’m continually inspired by how many of my students go through this process – shedding layers of exile, undergoing both physical and spiritual reboot, and gradually rooting and resettling themselves in the Holy Land.

Although Bat Ayin isn’t a desert, compared to the grand cities many of our students left behind, this rural village in the Judean Hills serves as a kind of midbar – a humble, quiet space where we can learn to hear the whisper of the Divine voice. The word מִדְבַּר/midbar – ‘desert’ – is etymologically related to דִּבּוּר/dibur – ‘speech.’ Like the desert, Bat Ayin is free of distractions – a place where we can learn to listen to the still, small voice and truly dwell in the sanctity of Eretz Yisrael.
May we each walk our personal midbar with courage and faith – shedding old identities, listening to the voice of Hashem, and preparing our hearts to receive our portion in the Holy Land. And may we soon see the full inheritance of Am Yisrael revealed – each tribe, each soul, restored to its rightful place in the Land.   

Parashat Behar/Bechukotai: How does Keeping the Sabbatical and Jubilee Years Bring About Redemption?

Printable Version

Parashat Behar/Bechukotai
How does keeping the Sabbatical and Jubilee Years Bring About Redemption? 

Why is it a Great Challenge to become a Guest in “Your Own” Garden?

Keeping the Sabbatical year in Israel can be challenging, especially for farmers, and even for very small-scale gardeners like myself. Being a workaholic, I find it difficult to let go of improving my surroundings. It’s not simple to abstain from working the land and truly let go, letting G-d take over. Rather than noticing which plants are unhappy, which one needs compost, or more water or light, the Sabbatical year – Shemitta – is about completely releasing ownership and appreciating what is.

It took me several seven-year cycles to finally reach a place where I could feel like a guest in “my own” garden. Truly internalizing that I don’t own it – that I am merely an eternal renter with a contract from the true Landlord, who reclaims His ownership every seven years – was not immediate. I still remember my first Shemitta year in Bat Ayin and how uncomfortable I felt when, from my kitchen window, I saw a neighbor casually trampling into my garden and helping himself to the ripest cherry tomatoes – the very ones I had planned to harvest the next day in honor of Shabbat.

It was a great challenge to silence my inner voice: “These are my tomatoes! I worked so hard to prepare the soil, plant the seeds, raise the stakes, and ensure they had enough water. How could he have the nerve… without even asking permission?!” While I was able to intellectually accept that the laws of Shemitta grant equal access to all produce growing in the Land of Israel, that inner voice still kept whispering in the back of my mind each Shemitta year – until my fourth Shemitta cycle in Bat Ayin.

Finally, during the most recent Shemitta, I learned to let go and truly relax. After living on the land for over 30 years, I was finally able to completely silence the voice of ownership, even letting go of concern for the fallen fruits that, if left too long, would become infested. No longer did I feel compelled to pick up every single fruit, rinse, inspect, mash, and add to preserves of every kind. For the first time, instead of noticing all the things that needed improvement in my garden, I could simply delight in its beauty.

How Does the Shemitta Year Parallel a Husband-and-Wife Relationship?

Living in Eretz Yisrael grants us a relationship with the land that mirrors the depth and sanctity of marriage. Just as a husband and wife must count seven days of separation following a woman’s cycle, so too do we release physical interaction with the Land every seven years. Just as Shemitta teaches us to relinquish our sense of ownership over the land, the laws of taharat hamishpacha (family purity) train a husband to let go of any illusion of ownership over his wife.

The Shemitta year ingrains within us the truth that we never fully possess the Land – we are only its caretakers. Likewise, the marital cycle of withdrawal and reunion emphasizes that a woman is not an object of possession, and that marriage is a partnership of mutual respect. Our relationship with the Holy Land is similar: it requires reverence, space, and time off for recharging. Stepping back for a time allows for renewal and reconnection. Coming together again breaks the feeling of entitlement and opens the door for deeper love.

The same is true in marriage. Stepping away from physical contact can break stale patterns, the pause offers fresh possibilities for growing together, and opens the heart to rediscovery – new pathways into each other’s souls. Keeping the hands-off laws of the Shemitta year, approaching the Land with humility, reverence, and gratitude, empowers us to reach new levels in the Land. As the Talmud teaches: “In the year following the conclusion of the Sabbatical Year, the son of David will come” (Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 97a). It is through letting go that we prepare the ground – and ourselves – for redemption.

Why is Exile the Consequence of Neglecting Shemitta Observance?

Since keeping the Shemitta year prepares us for redemption, it makes sense that neglecting fulfilling the mitzvot of Shemitta causes exile, as it states, “Because of the sin of neglecting the Sabbatical and Jubilee years, exile comes to the world...” (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 33a). This Talmudic statement is based on the following verses in Parashat B’Chukotai:

ספר ויקרא פרק כו פסוק לד אָז תִּרְצֶה הָאָרֶץ אֶת שַׁבְּתֹתֶיהָ כֹּל יְמֵי הָשַּׁמָּה וְאַתֶּם בְּאֶרֶץ אֹיְבֵיכֶם אָז תִּשְׁבַּת הָאָרֶץ וְהִרְצָת אֶת שַׁבְּתֹתֶיהָ: (לה) כָּל יְמֵי הָשַּׁמָּה תִּשְׁבֹּת אֵת אֲשֶׁר לֹא שָׁבְתָה בְּשַׁבְּתֹתֵיכֶם בְּשִׁבְתְּכֶם עָלֶיהָ:

“Then, the land will be appeased regarding its sabbaticals. During all the days that it remains desolate while you are in the land of your enemies, the Land will rest and thus appease its sabbaticals. It will rest during all the days that it remains desolate, whatever it had not rested on your sabbaticals, when you lived upon it (Vayikra 26:34-35).

Rashi explains that the seventy-year Babylonian exile was a measure-for-measure punishment – one year of exile for each Sabbatical year (Shemitta or Yovel) that the Israelites failed to observe. Over 436 years during which the people consistently sinned and neglected Shemitta, there should have been seventy sacred years of rest for the land. Because these years were disregarded, Hashem exiled the people to allow the land to “rest” in their absence. As it states: “Until the land was appeased for its Shabbatot… until the completion of seventy years” (II Divrei Hayamim 36:21).

The Torah teaches us to keep Shemitta to absorb the Infinite Light within Eretz Yisrael. The holiness of the land is reserved for those willing to meet the conditions to access this Infinite Light. Only by following this practice do we deserve to live in the Holy Land. This explains why the consequence of neglecting to observe Shemitta results in the severe punishment of exile from the Holy Land.

The Netivot Shalom deepens this understanding: The Shemitta year imbues the Land with holiness. When the laws of Shemitta are not upheld, the נְשָׁמָה/neshama – ‘soul’ of the Land departs. And with the departure of its soul, exile from the Holy Land inevitably follows (Netivot Shalom, Vayikra, p. 106).

Why Does Resting Bring About Restoration?

Shemitta applies only in Eretz Yisrael, revealing the land’s elevated spiritual stature and the unique sanctity of its fruits. The produce of the Holy Land contains a distinctive energy and holiness, as reflected in the blessings we recite over the seven species native to it. Rebbe Nachman teaches that ascending to the highest levels of spirituality is not linear – it often involves being pushed back. Yet if we accept these setbacks with simcha (joy), we actually expand our capacity to receive greater Divine light (Likutey Moharan 24). His student, Rav Nachman of Tcherin, explains that this process is foundational: learning how to face pauses and delays with joy becomes essential for progress in all areas of life (Yekara d’Shabbat on LM 24).
This idea is mirrored in many physical disciplines, where the rest between exertions is what brings about the deepest restoration. One of our meditative movement teachers used to say, “Let the pause do its good work.” In moments of stillness, we shift shape – we let go of who we were to become something new. In the process of meditative movement, the pause is essential to transformation – the shedding of the old habit of being. Likewise, after six years of working the land and drawing the spiritual dimension from within the Holy Land and its fruit, Shemitta invites us to stop. Only by letting go – by pausing completely – can we truly internalize the light of the Land.
In today’s fast-paced world, where we are constantly rushing and overextended, the mitzvah of Shemitta offers a powerful spiritual remedy. Taking a break isn’t easy; we fear losing ground. But relentless movement without renewal can lead to burnout. Shemitta teaches us how to pause before we collapse – how to breathe and become whole again. This seventh-year rest is not only agricultural – it is a Divine prescription for spiritual and emotional healing.
(Inspired by Rabbi Meir Elkabas, The Restraint of Shemittah)

The Return to Our Source During the Jubilee Year
Parashat Behar introduces the mitzvah of the Jubilee year – a spiritual milestone that challenges us even more than the Sabbatical year. After observing seven full Shemitta cycles, the Torah calls upon us to sanctify an additional year – the fiftieth – and to refrain from working the land for a second consecutive year:

ספר ויקרא פרק כה פסוק ח וְסָפַרְתָּ לְךָ שֶׁבַע שַׁבְּתֹת שָׁנִים שֶׁבַע שָׁנִים שֶׁבַע פְּעָמִים וְהָיוּ לְךָ יְמֵי שֶׁבַע שַׁבְּתֹת הַשָּׁנִים תֵּשַׁע וְאַרְבָּעִים (ט) וְהַעֲבַרְתָּ שׁוֹפַר תְּרוּעָה בַּחֹדֶשׁ הַשְּׁבִעִי בֶּעָשׂוֹר לַחֹדֶשׁ בְּיוֹם הַכִּפֻּרִים תַּעֲבִירוּ שׁוֹפָר בְּכָל אַרְצְכֶם:(י) וְקִדַּשְׁתֶּם אֵת שְׁנַת הַחֲמִשִּׁים שָׁנָה וּקְרָאתֶם דְּרוֹר בָּאָרֶץ לְכָל ישְׁבֶיהָ יוֹבֵל הִוא תִּהְיֶה לָכֶם וְשַׁבְתֶּם אִישׁ אֶל אֲחֻזָּתוֹ וְאִישׁ אֶל מִשְׁפַּחְתּוֹ תָּשֻׁבוּ: (יא) יוֹבֵל הִוא שְׁנַת הַחֲמִשִּׁים שָׁנָה תִּהְיֶה לָכֶם לֹא תִזְרָעוּ וְלֹא תִקְצְרוּ אֶת סְפִיחֶיהָ וְלֹא תִבְצְרוּ אֶת נְזִרֶיהָ:

“Then you shall count for yourself seven sabbatical years, seven times. The days of these seven sabbatical years shall amount to forty-nine years for you. You shall proclaim with shofar blasts... on the Day of Atonement... You shall sanctify the fiftieth year and proclaim freedom throughout the land for all its inhabitants. It shall be a Jubilee for you, and you shall return, each man to his property, and each man to his family. The fiftieth year shall be a Jubilee for you; you shall not sow, nor reap its aftergrowth, nor pick its grapes [for yourself] ... (Vayikra 25:8-1).

In this sacred year, we not only observe the agricultural release of Shemitta – refraining from planting and allowing the produce of the fields to be available to all – but we also witness a full societal reset. Land holdings return to their original families. All Hebrew slaves go free. The Yovel year represents a collective return to the roots of our truest self, reconnecting with what is most essential in our lives.

This is why the Torah emphasizes that Yovel is proclaimed specifically on Yom Kippur. As the Maharal explains, Yovel and Yom Kippur are intrinsically linked. Both are about return – whether of land, people, or soul. Just as the Jubilee returns land to its ancestral owner and releases the slave to freedom, Yom Kippur returns the sinner to innocence, restoring us to our original state of purity and perfection (Maharal, Gur Aryeh, Vayikra 25:9).

This return is not only personal but cosmic. The fiftieth year alludes to the Fiftieth Gate – the level of transcendent Divine light that lies beyond the bounds of human logic and limitation.  To let the land lie fallow for two full years – Shemitta followed by Yovel – is the ultimate act of emunah. It demands that we fully surrender all ownership and rely entirely on Hashem. Yet in that very restraint lies the seed of ultimate restoration. The more fully we let go, the more space we create for something infinitely greater to return.

May we merit to reach this sacred return – to come back to our highest selves, and be restored to our rightful portion in the Holy Land, aligned with the essence of our souls.

Here We Keep Shemitta

Parashat Emor: Why is the Spiritual experience of the Holidays only complete in Eretz Yisrael?

Printable Version

Parashat Emor
Why is the Spiritual experience of the Holidays only complete in Eretz Yisrael?

Why is it so challenging to celebrate Jewish Holidays Properly Outside the Land of Israel?

When we lived in Memphis, Tennessee, back in 1990-1991, celebrating the Jewish holidays properly was not only a challenge – it often felt like something vital was missing. The holidays lacked the deep spark of connection and excitement we had experienced in the Land of Israel. There was no blossoming almond tree to greet us on Tu B’Shevat, and the awakening of nature had yet to arrive on Rosh Chodesh Nissan, when it was time to bless Hashem for the flowering trees. Celebrating the birth of the State of Israel felt hollow in the Diaspora, and we longed for the charged energy and exhilarating dancing at the Kotel on Yom Yerushalayim. I remember trying to celebrate Sukkot in our plexiglass sukkah, with its green plastic siding, set up in the communal parking lot behind our condominium. It stood in stark contrast to our memories of Sukkot in Israel, where joyous singing and music flowed from every neighboring sukkah, and you could feel how the entire people were dwelling together in one vast, unified sukkah.

And then came the rains – heavy downpours that flooded our sukkah and soaked our sleeping bags, furniture, and food. We tried spreading out our drenched blankets on nearby parked cars, only to be met by a shouting neighbor: “What are you doing, you crazy Jews? Is this how you try to relive the Israelites’ desert experience? Do you really think they dwelt in plexiglass booths with green plastic walls?” We felt quite ridiculous and very much out of place. Ironically, there was one hidden blessing in that moment: this same non-Jewish neighbor, appalled by our dripping sleeping bags, decided to throw them in her washer and dryer. And needless to say – we didn’t protest.

 

How are the Mitzvot of Sukkot Synchronized with the Land of Israel?

It is not coincidental that our holiday experience in the Diaspora especially clashed with Sukkot, whose celebration is linked with entering and dwelling in the Land of Israel. As it is written, “…when you gather the produce of the land.”

 

ספר ויקרא פרק כג פסוק לט אַךְ בַּחֲמִשָּׁה עָשָׂר יוֹם לַחֹדֶשׁ הַשְּׁבִיעִי בְּאָסְפְּכֶם אֶת תְּבוּאַת הָאָרֶץ תָּחֹגּוּ אֶת חַג יְהוָֹה שִׁבְעַת יָמִים בַּיּוֹם הָרִאשׁוֹן שַׁבָּתוֹן וּבַיּוֹם הַשְּׁמִינִי שַׁבָּתוֹן: (מ) וּלְקַחְתֶּם לָכֶם בַּיּוֹם הָרִאשׁוֹן פְּרִי עֵץ הָדָר כַּפֹּת תְּמָרִים וַעֲנַף עֵץ עָבֹת וְעַרְבֵי נָחַל וּשְׂמַחְתֶּם לִפְנֵי יְהוָֹה אֱלֹהֵיכֶם שִׁבְעַת יָמִים:

“But on the fifteenth day of the seventh month, when you gather in the produce of the land, you shall celebrate the festival of Hashem for seven days; the first day shall be a rest day, and the eighth day shall be a rest day. Then you shall take for yourselves on the first day, the fruit of the hadar tree, date palm fronds, a branch of a braided tree, and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before the Hashem your G-d for seven days.” (Vayikra 23:39-40).

The mitzvah of rejoicing before Hashem with the Lulav and its bunch is a tangible expression of joy and gratitude for the good land to which Hashem has brought us, and for the ingathering of its produce. These four species are more than symbolic – they embody the transition from a barren wilderness, “a place without figs, grapes, pomegranates, and water” (Bamidbar 20:5), to a fertile land rich in fruits, fragrance, and flowing rivers. That’s why, in memory of this transition, we take the most beautiful fruits with the most delightful fragrance, and the most attractive leaves the Land has to offer – readily available in Eretz Yisrael during the harvest season (Rambam, Guide of the Perplexed III:43). Thus, the mitzvot of Sukkot are deeply attuned to the Land’s agricultural and spiritual rhythm.

Why Does Parashat Emor Write the Mitzvot of Sukkot in Two Separate Sections?

The unique character of Sukkot as celebrated in the Land of Israel – distinguished from the festivals celebrated in the desert – is reflected in its dual mention in our parasha. While all the festivals share a common mitzvah of bringing sacrifices, commanded even in the wilderness, Sukkot includes mitzvot that are tied directly to life in the Land. The mitzvah of waving the four species contrasts with the desert experience, devoid of plant life, while the mitzvah of leaving our comfortable homes, bursting with goodness, and dwelling in the sukkah is specifically to remind us of the contrast to the past wilderness wandering, when we didn’t have homes within which to settle in our own land.  

Parashat Emor mentions Sukkot twice – first in verses 34-36, and again in verses 39-43 – with a summary of all the festivals placed in between (Vayikra 23:37-38). This split reflects the dual character of Sukkot: The first part pertains to every part of the world, whereas the second part is uniquely rooted in the experience of Eretz Yisrael.

The connection between the holiday of Sukkot and Eretz Yisrael is furthermore reinforced again in emphasized in Parashat Ekev: “You shall make the festival of Sukkot...when you gather in from your threshing floor and winepress” (Devarim 16:13), echoing “when you gather the produce of the land” (Vayikra 23:39). As the Rashbam explains, when our homes are filled with goodness – grain, wine, and oil – we are commanded to step out of that comfort and remember how Hashem had us dwell in Sukkot during our forty years in the wilderness, without homes or inheritance. By leaving our solid homes for temporary huts, on Sukkot, we give thanks to the One who gave us Eretz Yisrael and homes full of blessing (Rashbam, Vayikra 23:43).

How does Sukkot Highlight the Connection between the Jewish People and Their Land?

The festival of Sukkot highlights the bond between the Jewish people and their land more than any other holiday. The mitzvah to dwell in the sukkah is especially synchronized with the climate of Eretz Yisrael. It falls during a season when it is just cool enough to make it clear that we are not simply ‘camping’ outdoors, but fulfilling a mitzvah. At the same time, it is usually not yet too cold or rainy to make the mitzvah burdensome – unlike our experience celebrating Sukkot in Memphis, Tennessee, where storms flooded our sukkah and dampened both our gear and spirits.

Chag HaAsif – the Festival of Ingathering – celebrates the harvest season in the Land of Israel. It teaches us how the physical can be elevated through joy and gratitude. Rav Kook emphasized that in Eretz Yisrael, the body meets the soul. The holiness of the land itself imbues the physical acts performed within it with spiritual meaning. The Four Species – the materials used for shaking the lulav – further amplify this bond. Each of them grows in the Land of Israel and reflects its beauty and bounty. As Rav Kook explains, the holiday of Sukkot is so deeply tied to the sanctity of the Land and to the joy of her fruits that Chazal required us to intercalate the year to ensure that Sukkot would always fall during “the time of the ingathering of the crops of the Land.”

What is the Connection between Living in the Land of Israel and Dwelling in the Sukkah?

The Vilna Gaon teaches (as cited in Kol HaTor 1:7) that there is a profound connection between the mitzvah of living in the Land of Israel and the mitzvah of dwelling in the sukkah. In both cases, we enter the space completely, with our whole body. This concept is hinted at in the verse: וַיְהִי בְשָׁלֵם סֻכּוֹ וּמְעוֹנָתוֹ בְצִיּוֹן – “His sukkah was in Shalem, and His dwelling place in Tzion” (Tehillim 76:3)

The Vilna Gaon further explains: “The sukkah must be ta’aseh – built intentionally and not from something already made. So too with Tzion – it must be actively built through our deeds.” This echoes the Midrash on the verse: וּבָא לְצִיּוֹן גּוֹאֵל “A redeemer shall come to Tzion” (Yeshayahu 59:20) – which teaches that as long as Tzion is not built, the redeemer does not come. As our Sages say: “Once Jerusalem is rebuilt, the son of David will come.” In the Midrash: “The son of David does not come until Jerusalem is rebuilt” (Babylonian Talmud, Megillah 17b).

Rabbi Simcha Bunim of Peshischa similarly taught: “There is no mitzvah as beloved as the sukkah, for we enter it with all our limbs, his clothing – even our shoes and boots.” He added: “So too with the mitzvah of settling the Land of Israel. We enter it entirely, and it encompasses every part of us. One who dwells in the Land fulfills this mitzvah constantly – day and night, whether awake or asleep – without interruption. That is why it is considered equal to all other mitzvot.”

May we all merit returning to the Land of Israel and celebrating Sukkot in the highest way – experiencing the joy of all of Am Yisrael dwelling together in one vast, unified sukkah. In the merit of returning to the Holy Land, may we soon witness the rebuilding of the fallen Sukkah of David – the Beit HaMikdash.

Parashat Acharei Mot-Kedoshim: What are the Conditions for Remaining in the Holy Land and Enjoying Its Blessings?

Printable Version

Parashat Acharei Mot-Kedoshim
What are the Conditions for Remaining in the Holy Land and Enjoying Its Blessings?

How does Secular Life Contrast with Living Holy Lives in the Holy Land?

In secular Denmark, where I grew up, the expression “to be holy” was often used derogatorily, implying someone arrogant, aloof, or antisocial. In truth, the Hebrew word קָדוֹשׁ/kadosh – holy – does indeed mean “to be separate.” It is first used in the Torah in connection with Shabbat: “Then G-d blessed the seventh day and sanctified it, because on that day He rested from all the work of creation that He had accomplished” (Bereishit 2:3). Shabbat was singled out and set apart from the six days of work. That’s why, during the Havdalah ceremony at the close of Shabbat, we declare how Hashem “separates the sacred from the secular, light from darkness, Israel from the nations, and the seventh day from the six days of creation.” Life is created through separation. Cells divide and differentiate to create and sustain life. Likewise, the Creator in His creating the world separated light from darkness, land from sea, woman from man, and Israel from the nations.

In contrast, the primeval state before creation was one of chaos and formlessness: “In the beginning, the earth was unformed and void, and darkness covered the face of the deep” (Bereishit 1:2). This was precisely the state I experienced during my teenage years among my hippy-dippy circle of friends – men and women, Jews and non-Jews, all blended together in one blurry mishmash. There were no boundaries. Everything was “allowed.” Even the language we used, like the all-inclusive word “guys,” erased distinctions. Although trendy, that confusing culture of blurring differences reflected a pagan yearning to return to chaos – to the formless void of pre-creation.

Parashat Kedoshim instructs us: “You shall be holy for Me, for I Hashem am holy; and I have separated you from the peoples to be Mine” (Vayikra 20:26). But what does it mean to be holy? How can we integrate holiness into our lives, and how does the mitzvah to be holy take on unique meaning in the Land of Israel?

Why Would a Person Refraining from Abhorrence be Considered Holy?

Maharal explains that holiness is essentially transcendent (Tiferet Yisrael 37). This is reflected in Parashat Acharei Mot which opens with the warning to the Israelites to separate from the pervert practices of the surrounding nations: “Like the practice of the land of Egypt, in which you dwelled, you shall not do, and like the practice of the land of Canaan, to which I am bringing you, you shall not do, and you shall not follow their statutes” (Vayikra 18:3). The continuation of chapter 18, enumerating all the sexual prohibitions, teaches that holiness entails separating ourselves from the immoral sexuality in which these nations engaged: “You shall not defile yourselves by any of these things, for the nations, whom I am sending away from before you, have defiled themselves with all these things” (Vayikra 18:24).

In Parashat Acharei Mot, the sinner is portrayed as an offensive pervert, whereas in Parashat Kedoshim the person who refrains from sinning is considered holy. It describes someone who keeps seemingly simple mitzvot – honoring parents, refraining from stealing, lying, or cheating – the kinds of basic moral expectations that even secular society upholds.

Yet the Torah considers the person who fulfills these basic commandments, which seem far from transcendent, as holy. The very same behaviors that Parashat Acharei Mot condemns as abhorrent are reframed in Parashat Kedoshim: not only must we avoid them, but doing so is itself a spiritual achievement, worthy of sanctity. In contrast, in Parashat Acharei Mot, engaging in these acts is viewed as utterly impure and repugnant – the very behaviors that the Land cannot tolerate, and it vomits out anyone who commits them.

Between the Earthly Exile Perspective and the Heavenly Land-of-Israel Perspective

Rabbi Adin Even-Israel (Steinsaltz) explains that the repetition of the section on forbidden sexual relationships in our double parasha conveys two different vantage points, respectively, regarding refraining from sin. Parshot Acharei Mot presents the heavenly view, which asks how it is possible to sink so low, whereas Parashat Kedoshim present the earthly view, which says that although corporal punishment and other severe penalties still apply here, still, one who guards himself against all these abominations is considered “Keep yourselves holy, and you will be holy.” (Vayikra 20:7). Parshat Acharei Mot speaks to us when we are on a truly high level, in that state there are things so unthinkable that we would never even consider committing them. But if we fall to a low level, withstanding the temptation to sin renders us holy (Saintly or Simple? An Essay on Parshat Kedoshim).

Thinking back on my teenage years, when it was unheard of to honor parents, stand up for a venerable person, or even desist from sexual immorality, anyone who would refrain from perversity can be considered a saint. Yet after I settled in the Holy Land as a Ba’alat Teshuva (returnee to Judaism), it was a completely different story. Here in the Holy Land, so much more is expected of us to be worthy of her holiness. The Land of Israel will not tolerate those who deviate even in the slightest way from living in a monogamous husband and wife relationship, as it states:

ספר ויקרא פרק יח פסוק כה וַתִּטְמָא הָאָרֶץ וָאֶפְקֹד עֲוֹנָהּ עָלֶיהָ וַתָּקִא הָאָרֶץ אֶת ישְׁבֶיהָ:

(כו) וּשְׁמַרְתֶּם אַתֶּם אֶת חֻקֹּתַי וְאֶת מִשְׁפָּטַי וְלֹא תַעֲשׂוּ מִכֹּל הַתּוֹעֵבֹת הָאֵלֶּה הָאֶזְרָח וְהַגֵּר הַגָּר בְּתוֹכֲכֶם:
(כז) כִּי אֶת כָּל הַתּוֹעֵבֹת הָאֵל עָשׂוּ אַנְשֵׁי הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר לִפְנֵיכֶם וַתִּטְמָא הָאָרֶץ:
(כח) וְלֹא תָקִיא הָאָרֶץ אֶתְכֶם בְּטַמַּאֲכֶם אֹתָהּ כַּאֲשֶׁר קָאָה אֶת הַגּוֹי אֲשֶׁר לִפְנֵיכֶם:

“Then the land became defiled, and I visited its sin upon it, and the land vomited out its inhabitants. But as for you, you shall observe My statutes and My ordinances, and you shall not do like any of these abominations, neither the native, nor the stranger who sojourns among you. For the people of the land who preceded you, did all of these abominations, and the land became defiled. And let the land not vomit you out for having defiled it, as it vomited out the nation that preceded you” (Vayikra 18:25-28).

Is the Land a Person that can Vomit Out Unfit People?

In our double parasha, the Land of Israel is strikingly personified. Just as a person may experience stomach upset after consuming something unfit and find relief by vomiting it out, so too does the land react to being defiled by “spitting out” those who defile it. But this defilement has little to do with human interaction with the soil itself and everything to do with moral corruption. The land becomes impure when its inhabitants behave immorally, and it responds by expelling them. The Israelites’ ability to enjoy “a land flowing with milk and honey” as they inherit it from the Canaanites is conditional upon upholding the laws of the Torah. If they fall into the same depraved practices – idolatry and sexual immorality – they too will be driven out, just like those who came before them.

Why are Higher Moral Standards Required in the Land of Israel?

As the Ramban famously explains, the mitzvot were primarily given to be fulfilled in Eretz Yisrael, where Hashem’s presence dwells more fully. Here, the Shechinah is not distant or hidden but present and active, making the land especially sensitive to impurity and responsive to holiness.

Eretz Yisrael is imbued with intrinsic sanctity due to its direct Divine supervision. While all lands are ultimately under Hashem’s providence, outside of Israel, this supervision is carried out through His divine messengers – angels. In contrast, the Land of Israel is under Hashem’s direct providence. Connecting with Hashem through keeping the laws of the Torah is best fulfilled in the land that is most attuned to that relationship, as the potential for experiencing G-d’s presence is heightened in the land. Consequently, moral failures are less tolerated here in Israel than elsewhere. Although the immorality of nations throughout the rest of the world does not necessarily lead to their exile from their land, this is not so in the Land of Israel. Here, the nation that fails to live up to the Torah’s higher demands for ethical and holy living is driven out (Ramban, Vayikra 18:25).

The inherent holiness of Eretz Yisrael is precisely what demands our heightened moral sensitivity. Its sanctity is a dynamic property that responds to our ethical choices. It offers the opportunity to experience G-d in a way that is more immediate and real than anywhere else – but that opportunity is not a guaranteed privilege. It is the sacred responsibility of those who dwell in the land (Inspired by Rav Michael Hattin, Acharei-Mot - Kedoshim | The Sanctity of the Land). 

What are the Parameters for the Dedication to the Land Required in Eretz Yisrael?

The root of the word kadosh (ק-ד-ש) also implies readiness and designation. Just as a bride becomes mekudeshet – consecrated – through marriage commitment, so too do we become holy by designating our time, space, and energy for Hashem.  In this light, holiness is not only about separating from impurity, but also about dedicating ourselves to clarity, intention, and sacred purpose.  Nowhere is this designation more relevant than in the Land of Israel, where both the land and its people are set apart – not merely to be different, but to be devoted. In Eretz Yisrael, the call to holiness is not theoretical; it is carved into the stones and soil, calling us to align our lives with Hashem’s presence.
In the Holy Land, even ordinary actions take on extraordinary meaning. In the Holy Land, even the most ordinary actions take on extraordinary significance. Planting a tree, harvesting a field, or eating its produce all involve mitzvot that fuse the physical with the spiritual. Living in Eretz Yisrael is a continuous encounter with the Divine. The laws of the Torah are not confined to behavior alone – they are engraved into the landscape of the environment surrounding us. The more we sanctify our lives, the more the land responds with blessing.
To be holy, then, is to live in covenantal awareness – to recognize that every moment and detail of life is an invitation to draw closer to Hashem. In Eretz Yisrael, this awareness is not optional. It is the very condition for remaining here, as the Torah reminds us: “You shall keep all My statutes and ordinances, so that the Land does not vomit you out…” (Vayikra 20:22).