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!

Parashat Pekudei: How Does Moshe’s Blessing Bring About the Rebuilding of the Beit Hamikdash?

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Parashat Pekudei
How Does Moshe’s Blessing Bring About the Rebuilding of the Beit Hamikdash?

Why Would Our Four-Year-Old Granddaughter Want to Visit the Kotel?

Last week, we took our four-year-old granddaughter, Agam, to the Kotel. Her father – our son – could hardly believe she actually wanted to go there. What could possibly draw a young child to an ancient stone wall filled with people praying and swaying, rather than to an amusement park, the zoo, or go-karts? Yet, after her first visit with us, she asked to return. Yes, she did complain that I – her grandmother – prayed too long, but still, she wanted to go back. As we descended the many steps leading to the holiest place in the world, the excitement in the air seemed to build with each step. It was dusk, and the illuminated Western Wall radiated a quiet energy that drew us in. People from all walks of life milled about the plaza. A man wrapped in a flowing tallit blew the shofar loud and strong – its sound echoing through the stones and heart of heaven. I had given Agam a crocheted pouch filled with coins for tzedakah, and she eagerly looked around for beggars. Near the women’s section, an elderly woman reached out her hand, and Agam happily reached into her pouch and dropped a coin into the woman’s metal box with a loud “cling” that delighted her. We separated from my husband, and Agam chose a small siddur from among the many spread out on a large table. I had hoped we would pray together – she knows Tehillim 121 by heart, but it didn’t quite work out. Instead, we looked at the doves together, especially one beautiful white dove nestled between the stones of the Kotel, partly hidden by the greenery growing from the cracks. We approached the wall itself, towering above us, touched its soft, timeworn ridges, and marveled at all the tiny rolled-up notes tucked into its crevices. Agam followed me as I closed my eyes and kissed the cool stone. I was reminded of the poignant words from the song HaKotel by Yossi Gamzu, made famous by Naomi Shemer: יש אנשים עם לב של אבן, יש אבנים עם לב אדם/Yesh anashim im lev shel even, yesh avanim im lev adam… “There are people with a heart of stone, and there are stones with a human heart…” Agam and I were both touched. I encouraged her to say a little prayer for a family member, and she whispered a name. As we left, Agam delighted in walking backward – as I explained is the custom – to avoid turning our back on the Shechinah (Divine Presence) that rests at the Kotel. I was happy she agreed to respect the custom passed down for generations, honoring the holiness she somehow sensed even at her tender age. And that, perhaps, is the answer to why a four-year-old would choose to visit the Kotel: because even a child can feel the heart within the stones. 

                                                                                      

Why is the Kotel the Holiest Place in the World?

The destruction of the Second Temple by the Romans in 70 C.E. left the Western Wall standing. For centuries, Jews have come to this remnant – once known as the ‘Wailing Wall’ – to mourn the Temple’s loss and to pray, just as we still do today. It is no coincidence that it was at this very Wall that I found my way home to the Torah world in 1980. Even then – with barely any knowledge of Judaism and unaware of the structure of formal prayer – my heart was opened to the holiness that permeated the place. In my own way, I prayed to Hashem. He answered that prayer in a remarkable way by sending Chava, who invited me to the women’s yeshiva where I kept my first Shabbat. The rest, as they say, is history. The sanctity of the Temple and Jerusalem stems from the presence of the Shechinah that permeated the Temple Mount when King Solomon first built the Beit Hamikdash. That holiness, once established, can never be nullified. The holiest place in the world is the site of the Holy of Holies on the Temple Mount itself. Yet, despite the Temple’s destruction, the Western Wall remains sacred due to its proximity to the Holy of Holies and its enduring connection to the Divine Presence. As Rabbi Acha teaches: The Divine Presence never leaves the Western Wall, as it is written: “Behold, He is standing behind our wall” (Song of Songs 2:9); (Midrash Shemot Rabbah 2:2). During the Roman destruction of Jerusalem, Vespasian divided the city among his four generals to be demolished. The general assigned to destroy the western section left it intact. When Vespasian asked why, the general replied that he wanted to leave it standing as a testimony to the greatness of the city he had conquered.  But beyond military strategy, the Midrash teaches that it had been decreed in Heaven that the Western Wall never be destroyed – because the Shechinah rests on the western side of the Temple, where the Holy of Holies once stood (Midrash Eichah Rabbah 1:31). This concept has halachic implications as well. Many agricultural mitzvot of the Land of Israel – such as those concerning Shemittah and tithes – are currently observed at a Rabbinic level. In contrast, these laws retain a higher level of sanctity in Jerusalem. As the Rambam writes: “The original sanctification sanctified the Temple and Jerusalem for eternity” (Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Beit HaBechira 6:16). The Kotel remains not merely a historical remnant, but a living testimony to Hashem’s eternal covenant with His people – a place where hearts awaken and prayers rise, and even the youngest of souls can sense the holiness of the Shechinah that still rests between its stones.

What was Moshe’s Blessing of Israel Upon the Completion of the Sanctuary?

The sanctity radiating from the Temple Mount and the Kotel origins in the very first Mishkan (Sanctuary) that the Israelites built in the desert on their journey to the Land of Israel. Parashat Pekudei concludes the construction of the Mishkan, offering a detailed accounting of the materials used and describing the final assembly of the sacred structure. The themes of this parasha resonate deeply with the Mishkan’s ultimate purpose – serving as a forerunner to the Beit Hamikdash in Jerusalem, the eternal dwelling place of the Shechinah in Eretz Yisrael.

ספר שמות פרק לט פסוק מג וַיַּרְא משֶׁה אֶת כָּל הַמְּלָאכָה וְהִנֵּה עָשׂוּ אֹתָהּ כַּאֲשֶׁר צִוָּה הַשֵׁם כֵּן עָשׂוּ וַיְבָרֶךְ אֹתָם משֶׁה:

“Moshe saw all the work, and behold, they had done it as Hashem had commanded, so they had done it; and Moshe blessed them” (Shemot 39:43).

This moment of completion parallels the dedication of the Beit Hamikdash, where King Shlomo blessed the nation after the construction of the Temple: “Then the king turned his face about and blessed all the congregation of Israel, and all the congregation of Israel stood” (I Melachim 8:14). The Midrash depicts a direct link from the Mishkan to the Beit Hamikdash, teaching that the sanctity first introduced through the portable sanctuary found its ultimate expression in the permanent Temple in Jerusalem (Midrash Tanchuma, Pekudei 11). The Mishkan was not meant to remain a temporary sanctuary in the desert – it was to pave the way for a legacy that would culminate in a permanent home for the Divine Presence in the Holy Land. Blessings are most potent when uttered in the presence of the Shechinah – the Source of all blessings. Many commentators sought to clarify the meaning of Moshe’s words of blessing uttered at this opportune moment. According to Rabbi Meir of Rothenburg, Moshe’s blessing was: “May Hashem, the G-d of your forefathers, bless you…” Just as you dedicated yourselves to the building of the Mishkan and the Shechinah rested upon the work of your hands, so may you merit to build before Him the Beit HaBechirah – the Temple – and may the Shechinah again rest upon the work of your hands. Building upon this, Ha’amek Davar explains that because the Mishkan was completed with evident Divine assistance and extraordinary success, Moshe blessed them that the same would be true of the Beit Hamikdash (Ha’amek Davar, Shemot 39:43). The blessing Moshe gave upon the completion of the Mishkan was therefore not only a moment of gratitude – it was a prophetic hope for the future. A hope that the holiness established in the wilderness would one day find its eternal home in the heart of Jerusalem, in the Land where the Shechinah would dwell forever.

What is the Ultimate Connection between the Mishkan, Kotel, and Beit Hamikdash?

A striking Midrash reveals a profound parallel between the Mishkan and the human body. Rabbi Shemuel bar Nacḥman, in the name of Rabbi Natan, teaches that there are eighteen commands related to the Mishkan – corresponding to the eighteen vertebrae in the human spine. These also parallel the eighteen blessings of the daily Amidah, the eighteen times G-d’s name appears in the Shema, and the eighteen mentions of G-d’s name in Tehillim 29 (Midrash Vayikra Rabbah 1:8). Just as the spine connects the upper and lower parts of the body and allows us to stand upright, the Mishkan served as the spiritual backbone of Israel – joining heaven and earth, body and soul. When the Beit Hamikdash was built, it was as though the full body of Divine service was completed, with the Mishkan as its core. Its structural and spiritual continuity bound the holiness of the desert sanctuary to the eternal holiness of Jerusalem. Another Midrash offers an even deeper insight into this enduring connection: “Then Moshe blessed them.” – He said to them: “May it be Hashem’s will that the Shechinah dwell in the work of your hands.” Alternatively – He said to them: “May it be Hashem’s will that no enemy gain control over the work of your hands, for the Mishkan was hidden away in the underground chambers of the Temple” (Pesikta Zutarta, Shemot 39:43). This remarkable teaching implies that the Mishkan was not merely a spiritual forerunner of the Beit Hamikdash – it actually became part of it. The original sanctuary, built with devotion and infused with Moshe’s blessing, was hidden deep within the Temple structure itself, continuing to infuse it with holiness even during times of destruction. Perhaps it was precisely Moshe’s blessing that ensured the enemies could never fully destroy the work of Israel’s hands. Thus, the Western Wall of the Temple would remain, preserving the presence of the Shechinah at the Kotel. His blessing continues to pulse through that last remaining wall. The Kotel may be seen not just as a relic of the past, but as the living spine of the Jewish people – still standing, still supporting, and still drawing the Shechinah into our world. Perhaps the continued existence of the Kotel – the last vestige of the Beit Hamikdash – will become the catalyst for the rebuilding of the Temple. The Kotel may be compared to the seed from which the ultimate tree of the entire Beit Hamikdash will spring forth. May we soon witness the fulfillment of that very blessing – when the Mishkan, the Kotel, and the Beit Hamikdash will be united in the rebuilt Temple, radiating holiness to all creation.

Parashat Vayakhel: Why Is Shabbat Observance the Key to Israel’s Protection?

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Parashat Vayakhel
Why Is Shabbat Observance the Key to Israel’s Protection?

What Makes Shabbat the Heart of My Torah Journey?

Everything on my journey in the Torah world has revolved around Shabbat. In my search for truth, it was lighting my first Shabbat candles that truly brought me home. I still remember my very first Shabbat at the Diaspora Yeshiva in the Old City in 1980. I was led to a room where two silver candlesticks awaited me. An older student gently guided me through the blessing, and as I lit the candles, something profound happened. The glow of the Shabbat lights transformed the world before me. The room radiated holiness and serenity, as though I had entered a higher realm of existence. In that moment, I realized that the expanded consciousness I had been seeking all along was right here, within my own tradition. I had never expected to find such clarity in what had always been mine. For the first time, I saw truth—not as something distant, but as something to which I deeply belonged. I would continue learning, exploring, and growing alongside others on the same path. I had finally come home. Shabbat also led me to my husband. He first noticed me as we crossed paths – he was leaving the dining hall with the guys just as I arrived for the girls’ lunch hour. When a yeshiva couple later asked him if there was anyone he would like to meet, he mentioned me. And so, we were introduced at their Shabbat table. After the meal, he walked me home, and from that night on, our daily walks through the Old City became our own journey. We traced every arch and winding gateway, discovering the roads that led not just through Jerusalem but to each other’s hearts. After just five months at the yeshiva, we announced our engagement. We were one of many couples married under the magnificent chuppah, hand-woven by the women of the yeshiva, its fabric adorned with the symbols of the twelve tribes. In what felt like a whirlwind, I was transformed – from a girl experiencing her first Shabbat to an observant Jewish woman who would provide so many others with their first Shabbat experience.

Why Is Observing Shabbat in the Land of Israel the Ultimate Spiritual Experience?

I am not alone in experiencing the profound connection between the holiness of Shabbat and the sanctity of the Land of Israel. Nowhere else have so many of us encountered the same elevated dimension of Shabbat as in Eretz Yisrael. While Shabbat reflects the holiness of time, the Land of Israel embodies the holiness of space. When these two dimensions of sanctity intersect, they create a spiritual gateway beyond time and space. Since the pinnacle of holiness in space is the Beit HaMikdash (Temple), it is no wonder that my early Shabbat experiences in the Old City of Jerusalem – overlooking the Temple Mount – remain unforgettable. Rav Kook expresses this idea beautifully: “The holiness of space fills the entire world, yet it remains hidden and invisible. The secret waves of holiness push endlessly forth towards their destined revelation until they find expression through the Land of Israel, the pinnacle of all the dust of the universe, and from there to the holy spot, the Holy Temple, and the Rock of Foundation – ‘Out of Zion, the epitome of beauty, God has appeared’” (Orot HaKodesh, Vol. 2, p. 303, The illumination of holiness in the world). Similarly, Rav Kook explains that Shabbat serves as the wellspring from which all sacred moments flow: “The holiness of time spreads across eternity… until it is revealed at the holy times, through the holiness of Shabbat, which is the origin of all the holy times and emanates with holiness toward the entire world and toward Israel” (Ibid.). Thus, observing Shabbat in the Land of Israel elevates our spiritual experience, as both Shabbat and the Land embody a state of holiness and rest reflecting ultimate Divine unity. This synergy deepens our connection to Hashem, amplifying the sanctity inherent in both time and space.

How does Keeping Shabbat in the Land Align Us With the Cosmic Rhythm of Holiness?

Parashat Vayakhel opens with a mitzvah to observe Shabbat:

ספר שמות פרק לה פסוק ב 

שֵׁשֶׁת יָמִים תֵּעָשֶׂה מְלָאכָה וּבַיּוֹם הַשְּׁבִיעִי יִהְיֶה לָכֶם קֹדֶשׁ שַׁבַּת שַׁבָּתוֹן לַהַשֵׁם כָּל הָעֹשֶׂה בוֹ מְלָאכָה יוּמָת:

“Six days work may be done, but on the seventh day there shall be to you a holy day, a day of complete rest to Hashem; whoever performs work thereon [on this day] shall be put to death” (Shemot 35:2).

The juxtaposition of Shabbat and the Mishkan teaches that while building a dwelling place for Hashem is sacred, it must not override the sanctity of Shabbat (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 49b). Similarly, the Land of Israel is deeply tied to Shabbat observance. The Torah refers to the land as “the land of your inheritance הַנַּחֲלָה/hanachala” (Devarim 12:9).  Likewise, we call Shabbat an inheritance at the end of Friday night Kiddush:  בְּאַהֲבָה וּבְרָצוֹן הִנְחַלְתָּֽנוּ/b’ahavah uv’ratzon hinchaltanu – “In love and favor You have given us Your holy Shabbat as an inheritance.” This profound relationship encourages a holistic approach to spirituality, where honoring Shabbat and cherishing the Land of Israel are seen as complementary paths to deepening our bond with the Divine. Engaging in Shabbat observance within the land not only fulfills mitzvot but also aligns us with the cosmic rhythm of holiness that defines Jewish people.​ Through these lenses, Shabbat and the Land of Israel are not merely mitzvot to observe or places to inhabit. They are intertwined dimensions of sanctity that deepen our connection with Hashem, drawing us into a more harmonious relationship with the Divine.

Why Does Shabbat Observance Protect the Land of Israel?
Shabbat observance and the Land of Israel are equally central in our relationship with Hashem. They are intrinsically connected, as both are called menucha (rest): “He (G-d) rested on the seventh day” (Shemot 20:11); “For you have not yet come to the resting place (menucha) and the inheritance” … referring to the land of Israel (Devarim 12:9). True rest – both physical and spiritual – can only be achieved on Shabbat in Eretz Yisrael.  The Torah promises that if the Jewish people will preserve the menucha of Shabbat, then Hashem will protect us in the Land. Rabbi Yitzchak Zilberstein emphasizes the significance of Shabbat, particularly in challenging times when our existence in the Land of Israel is threatened. He notes that Shabbat observance is directly linked to our ability to dwell peacefully in the land, citing the verse from Yeshayahu: “If you proclaim the Shabbat a delight… then you shall be granted pleasure with Hashem, and I shall mount you astride the heights of the land; and I will provide you the heritage of your forefather, Ya’acov” (Yeshayahu 58:13-14). Rabbi Zilberstein illustrates this connection with a parable from the Dubno Maggid, highlighting the consequences of neglecting Shabbat: The king had a minister he favored due to his wise wife. When the king saw she was mistreated, he decreed the minister’s execution, saying: “I only kept him alive because of his wife. Now that he mistreats her, what use do I have for him?” In the same way, Shabbat is our “queen,” and when she is neglected, Hashem’s protection over Israel weakens. The lesson is clear: strengthening our Shabbat observance secures our presence in the Land. Rabbi Zilberstein suggests learning two halachot of Shabbat daily and inviting others to experience an authentic Shabbat meal to inspire them. (Inspired by an Aish article: The Guiding Light, by Rabbi Yehonasan Gefen).  May we all merit to safeguard Shabbat and, in turn, be safeguarded in the Land of Israel!

Parashat Ki Tisa: What Can We Learn from Parashat Ki Tisa About Israel’s Current War?

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Parashat Ki Tisa
What Can We Learn from Parashat Ki Tisa About Israel’s Current War?

What Does it Mean that Jews are Called “A Stiff-Necked People”?
This week, in Kuzari class, we discussed proof for the authenticity of the Torah. I asked my students to imagine the possibility that Moshe came to his people and told them that 500 years ago everyone in the world spoke only one language – the language of Ever. In one day – when they built the Tower of Babylon – the whole of humanity became separated into different peoples, each one with his own individual language. In the same breath, Moshe spoke in detail about the relationship of each nation with its forefather, whether Shem, Cham, or Yafet. Would the people, known for being stiff-necked, critical, and skeptical, accept such revolutionary claims about human history if they had never heard of them before? I have personally experienced this difference between Jews and gentiles. For example, when a Jew from a secular home decides to embrace a Torah-observant lifestyle, they often encounter strong resistance from family members. Arguments like “Why would G-d care about all these nitty-gritty details of observance?” or “Why are you regressing to a medieval lifestyle?”  have been hurled at many a good ba’al teshuva (newcomer to Judaism) by his or her family. In contrast, I recently interviewed a potential conversion student whose parents, though atheists with no Jewish background, were willing to support her conversion in Israel with a $500 monthly stipend. Even after funding her college education, they wanted to continue supporting her, despite their disagreement with her religious choice. The following day, when I taught Rambam on Character Development, Nutrition, and Health, we discussed how the same trait can be either a gift or a detriment depending on how it is employed. This concept also applies to the notorious Jewish stiff-necked character trait explicitly addressed in Parashat Ki Tisa.

Does Being a Stiff-necked People Justify Divine Withdrawal or Divine Attachment?
Whereas stiff-neckedness is typically seen as a stubborn flaw, the Eish Kodesh offers a different perspective. Following the sin of the Golden Calf, Hashem tells Moshe that He will remove His Shechinah (Divine Presence) from accompanying the Israelites:

ספר שמות פרק לג פסוק ג אֶל אֶרֶץ זָבַת חָלָב וּדְבָשׁ כִּי לֹא אֶעֱלֶה בְּקִרְבְּךָ כִּי עַם קְשֵׁה עֹרֶף אַתָּה פֶּן אֲכֶלְךָ בַּדָּרֶךְ:

“[Go ascend] to a land flowing with milk and honey, for I will not go up in your midst, because you are a stiff-necked people, lest I destroy you on the way” (Shemot 33:3).

Due to their disobedience and stiff-necked worship of the Golden calf, Hashem intends to punish them by withdrawing His Presence from them on their journey to the Promised Land. However, Moshe later uses this same trait as a justification for Hashem’s continued presence: “Let Hashem go in our midst, for they are a stiff-necked people” (Shemot 34:9). How can the same trait justify both divine withdrawal and divine attachment? Hashem declares that because they are stiff-necked, He will not go with them, yet Moshe argues that precisely because they are stiff-necked, they deserve His presence! The answer is that קְשֵׁה עֹרֶף /ke’shei oref – ‘stiff-necked’ can be one of the greatest virtues. Someone who lacks this trait is fickle – easily swayed in different directions. At one moment, he may wish to serve Hashem, and the next moment, he might abandon that commitment. Such a person cannot withstand tests of faith. By contrast, a stiff-necked person – stubborn and strong-willed – is resolute and dependable. Once he makes a firm decision to serve Hashem, we can trust that he remains steadfast when facing trials. Therefore, Moshe Rabbeinu argued that being stiff-necked makes the Israelites worthy of Hashem Himself dwelling among them. However, stubbornness can be destructive when misused. If directed toward negativity – stubbornly clinging to bad behaviors and corrupt character traits – becomes a liability (Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, Piaseczner Rebbe, Sefer Eish Kodesh, Parashat Noach).

Why is Emigrating to Israel Called: “Making Aliyah”?

Parashat Ki Tisa is most often associated with Moshe’s fervent intercession for the Jewish people for the sin of the Golden Calf.  Yet, interwoven within the Parasha are powerful messages about the holiness of Eretz Yisrael and its role in the divine covenant, as a conduit for spiritual elevation. The unique bond between the Land of Israel and the Jewish people reveals how Eretz Yisrael is not just a physical inheritance but a reflection of divine reality. When a Jew emigrates to the land of Israel, it’s called to make ‘Aliyah.’ Literally, to ascend. The source for this expression may be found in Parasha Ki Tisa:

ספר שמות פרק לג פסוק א

עֲלֵה מִזֶּה אַתָּה וְהָעָם אֲשֶׁר הֶעֱלִיתָ מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם אֶל הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר נִשְׁבַּעְתִּי לְאַבְרָהָם לְיִצְחָק וּלְיַעֲקֹב לֵאמֹר לְזַרְעֲךָ אֶתְּנֶנָּה:

“Go, ascend from here, you and the people you have brought up from the land of Egypt, to the land that I swore to Avraham, Yitzchak, and Ya’acov, saying: ‘I will give it to your descendants’” (Shemot 33:1). 

Rashi, citing Babylonian Talmud, Zevarim 54b) notes that the land of Israel is higher than all [other] lands. That is why it says, ‘ascend.’ This concept of ascending to the Land of Israel is not limited to typography. Rather, it alludes to the spiritual heights that can be attained in the Land of Israel. The Torah is replete with references to how the Land of Israel is intrinsically connected to the Shechinah, the Divine Presence. See for example, “You shall not defile the land where you reside, in which I dwell, for I am the Hashem Who dwells among the children of Israel (Bamidbar 35:34). Eretz Yisrael’s very identity is as a dwelling place for Hashem’s Presence. Thus, the absence of the Shechinah would not simply mean a lessened experience – it would undermine the very essence of the land. “…This is why Eretz Yisrael is called אֶרֶץ הַחַיִּים – the Land of the living. One who emigrates to Israel is called an עוֹלֶה/Oleh – ‘one who ascends,’ and one who leaves the Land is called a יוֹרֵד/Yored – ‘one who descends,’ just like hell is called She’ol, the underworld, which involves descent (Maharal of Prague, Be’er HaGola 6:13).

Why Would Sending an Angel to Accompany the Israelites be Catastrophic?

At first glance, Shemot 33:1 - 4 appears to focus on the punishment for the Israelites’ sin,  depriving them of direct divine accompaniment. However, we can also read this passage as a revelation of Eretz Yisrael’s true nature: a land inherently linked with the Shechinah. The very essence of the Holy Land is G-d’s Presence within her. Hashem’s statement, “I will not go up in your midst,” (Shemot 33:3) signified a devastating withdrawal of divine intimacy. The Jewish people mourned not just because of a punishment but because they understood that entering the land without divine closeness would be an empty, incomplete experience. The Bat Ayin expands on this idea, explaining that Eretz Yisrael is the only land where divine revelation is fully manifest in the physical world. Just as Shabbat is the spiritual core (nekudah penimit) of the week, so too is Eretz Yisrael the spiritual core of the world. Within Eretz Yisrael, Jerusalem, the Beit Hamikdash, and the Kodesh HaKodashim radiate holiness throughout the land and beyond (Bat Ayin, Parashat Masei). Thus, the land reflects the Shefa Eloki (divine influx) while this revelation is concealed outside the Land. Moshe protested against Hashem’s decision because an intermediary (an angel) would imply a spiritual distance, which is uncharacteristic of the holy Land. “Eretz Yisrael is beloved, for Hashem chose it. When He created the world, He assigned each land to an angelic minister, but He reserved the Land of Israel for Himself…” (Midrash Tanchuma, Parshat Re’eh 8). There are no angelic intermediaries in the Holy Land. Whereas angels are appointed in charge of Chutz LaAretz (Outside of Israel), in the Land of Israel only Hashem is in charge of Eretz Yisrael.

Eretz Yisrael as the Conduit of Redemption

ספר שמות פרק לד פסוק י

וַיֹּאמֶר הִנֵּה אָנֹכִי כֹּרֵת בְּרִית נֶגֶד כָּל עַמְּךָ… הִנְנִי גֹרֵשׁ מִפָּנֶיךָ אֶת הָאֱמֹרִי וְהַכְּנַעֲנִי וְהַחִתִּי וְהַפְּרִזִּי וְהַחִוִּי וְהַיְבוּסִי:

“Behold, I will form a covenant in the presence of all your people… For I will drive out before you the Emorite, the Canaanite, the Hittite, the Perizzite, the Hivite, and the Jebusite” (Shemot 34:10-11).

This promise is not just about physical conquest – it reflects a metaphysical process. According to Lurianic Kabbalah, Yisrael is the epicenter of tikkun olam (cosmic rectification). The process of elevating divine sparks begins in the Holy Land (See Arizal, Sha’ar Hamitzvot, Parashat Re’eh). The tikkun (rectification) of the world begins in the Holy Land. The expulsion of the seven nations occupying the land is not merely a military event but a necessary step in preparing the land to be a vessel for divine light. Rav Tzvi Yehuda Kook emphasized that every war for the land is a phase in Israel’s redemption. Moshe’s plea for divine presence reminds us that Eretz Yisrael is far more than a physical inheritance – it is the very place where heaven and earth can meet. As we navigate our own journey toward spiritual fulfillment, we look to the Land of Israel as a guiding light, a reminder that our highest purpose is to bring divine consciousness into the world.