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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why Was Moshe So Desperate to Enter the Land?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seeing the Land from Afar

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

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

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

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

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

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

How Do We Carry On the Legacy of Moshe?

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

How Does the Land of Israel Test Our Spiritual Readiness?

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

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

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

ספר דברים פרק א פסוק לה

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Parashat Matot/Masei

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

 

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

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

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

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

 possess it” (Bamidbar 33:53).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Daughters’ Emunah in the Spiritual Conquest of the Land

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Parashat Balak: What Does Bilam Teach Us About the Eternal Sanctity of the Communities of Israel?

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Parashat Balak
What Does Bilam Teach Us About the Eternal Sanctity of the Communities of Israel?

What is the Advantage of Jewish Communities in Israel over the Shtetl?

Having grown up in the Western world and been spoon-fed the importance of individual success – proving oneself better, smarter, and more accomplished than others – it took me time to internalize the Torah’s value of tzibbur, the sacred power of the Jewish community.  It was the vibrant Torah community of the Old City and Mount Tzion that drew me in. As a newly religious single woman, I began volunteering – babysitting, helping families prepare for Shabbat – and, in turn, was welcomed into their homes. Around one of those Shabbat tables, I met the love of my life – my future husband.

Among my students today, I recognize that the concept of prioritizing the needs of the community over personal preferences can feel foreign at first. That’s why we emphasize acts of chesed and participation in community events, not only in the Midrasha community, where we celebrate the holidays together, but also in the greater Bat Ayin community.

While Jewish communities existed in exile – in the shtetl and elsewhere – they were often formed out of external necessity, as the gentile society forced our ancestors into shtetls by not permitting Jews to mingle with their society.  In contrast, here in Eretz Yisrael, we have the opportunity to build intentional, enduring communities where every Jew can contribute their own unique color and voice. Bat Ayin itself, lovingly called ‘Chabakook,’ is a mosaic of Chabad, Breslov, and followers of Rav Kook – living together, rooted in the holiness of the Land.

In Which Way Did Bilam Attempt to Bring About the Downfall of Israel?

The story of Bilam, the gentile prophet hired to curse the Israelites, is one of the most mystifying and ironic episodes in the Torah. Although gifted with prophetic insight, Bilam chooses to use his power against the Jewish people and their future rectified communities in the Land of Israel. Again and again, he tried to curse, but from his mouth emerged only blessings. Standing on the mountain overlooking the Israelite camp, he was forced to proclaim:

ספר במדבר פרק כד פסוק ה מַה טֹּבוּ אֹהָלֶיךָ יַעֲקֹב מִשְׁכְּנֹתֶיךָ יִשְׂרָאֵל:

“How goodly are your tents, O Ya’acov, your dwelling places, O Israel” (Bamidbar 24:5).

This verse, which opens the daily morning prayers, is an eternal testament to the spiritual beauty and destiny of the Jewish people – particularly in their connection to the Land of Israel.

The Talmud asks: What was it that Bilam saw that so inspired him? He saw that the entrances of their tents were not aligned with each other, ensuring that each family enjoyed a measure of privacy. And he said: If this is the case, these people are worthy of having the Divine Presence rest upon them (Babylonian Talmud, Bava Batra 60a).

Bilam saw from above more than physical encampments; he beheld a people with inner order, sanctity, and purpose. But despite this vision of holiness and Hashem’s evident protection, Bilam persisted in seeking their downfall. Why, even after witnessing Divine protection and inner holiness, did he still seek their downfall? The reason is that he understood that the root of Israel’s strength lay not just in their G-d, but in their potential to become a sanctified and unified nation in their Land. Preventing this actualization was his true aim.

How Did Bilam’s Curse Target Our Connection to the Land of Israel?

Bilam’s curses were not random expressions of hatred. According to Rabbeinu Bechaya (Bamidbar 24:5), when Bilam saw the tribes of Israel encamped in orderly formation, he was struck by the vision of their future settlement in the Land. It was specifically Israel’s rootedness in Eretz Yisrael that brought forth his blessing. What Bilam saw was not just a people encamped by tribe, but a vision of Israel’s spiritual destiny unfolding within the Land itself. His words, “מַה טֹּבוּ אֹהָלֶיךָ יַעֲקֹב – How goodly are your tents, O Ya’acov,” became an unwitting prophecy – a vision of Israel dwelling peacefully and righteously in their homeland. The arrangement of tents represented not chaos but sacred order – revealing a higher unity that could only be actualized in the Land. Though Bilam came to curse, he ended up revealing the beauty and holiness of the Jewish people living in Eretz Yisrael.

The Tzafnat Paneach offers a complementary insight: Bilam’s intent was far more destructive; he sought to fracture the inherent unity of Israel at its root. Bilam’s underlying goal in cursing Israel was perpetuating disunity to prevent the formation of a true tzibbur – a unified spiritual community – which can only fully exist in the Land of Israel. Outside the Land, the Jewish people remain fragmented – individuals or separate tribal groupings. This is hinted in the opening verse of Bilam’s prophecy:

ספר במדבר פרק כד פסוק ב וַיִּשָּׂא בִלְעָם אֶת עֵינָיו וַיַּרְא אֶת יִשְׂרָאֵל שֹׁכֵן לִשְׁבָטָיו וַתְּהִי עָלָיו רוּחַ אֱלֹהִים:

“Bilam raised his eyes and saw Israel dwelling according to its tribes, and the spirit of God rested upon him” (Bamidbar 24:2)

The deeper meaning of Bilam’s words, “according to their tribes,” was the division when in exile. Yet the Land of Israel creates the condition for deeper integration and collective sanctity. Even the batei knesset (synagogues) and batei midrash (study halls) are affected by the sanctity of Israel, as the Tzafnat Paneach notes. Therefore, Bilam’s curse could not touch them since they are the places where the sanctity of the Land – and the unity it enables – endures eternally.

Moreover, when Moshe gazed upon the Land, the air itself became sanctified through his vision – and this sanctified air continues to grant spiritual clarity and wisdom to this day. That sanctity stands untouched – the very atmosphere of Eretz Yisrael preserves blessings and enables ongoing closeness with Hashem.

How Can Parashat Balak Help Us Overcome Confusion, Disunity, and Fear?

The Land of Israel is not only a place but a spiritual catalyst. It unifies what is divided, elevates what is mundane, and sustains what is eternal. Through this lens, we begin to grasp the spiritual stakes of Bilam’s mission and the enduring power of Israel’s connection to the Land – a connection built through unity, sanctity, and the invisible yet potent emunah that draws Hashem’s presence into every breath of its sacred air.

Balak, the Moabite king, had witnessed what happened to the other nations that stood in Israel’s way. He understood that this was not a military problem but a spiritual one. The Jewish people, with their covenant and prophetic mission, were preparing to enter a land infused with holiness – a land that could not tolerate moral corruption.

The nations feared not only the people of Israel, but the spiritual light that would be released through their settlement in the Land. The Sitra Achra (the Other Side) cannot bear the illumination that emerges when the Jewish people are in their rightful place. The Land of Israel serves as a Divine amplifier: everything planted here – physically or spiritually – grows with intensified force. Holiness takes root quickly, and so does desecration. This dual potential is what frightened Bilam and Balak most.

Bilam came to divide and darken – but instead revealed light and unity, precisely because he stood before the power of Eretz Yisrael. In our times – as we face confusion, disunity, and fear – this parasha reminds us that the Land itself holds the potential to transform us. It invites us to become not scattered individuals, but a true holy people, united under Hashem’s vision, rooted in the sacred soil that sustains prophecy, wisdom, and enduring blessing.

Parashat Chukat: Why Didn’t Moshe Enter the Land – and What Does That Teach Us About Ourselves?

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Parashat Chukat
Why Didn’t Moshe Enter the Land – and What Does That Teach Us About Ourselves?

Why Does Living in the Land of Israel Require More Emunah than Any Other Land?

Israel is a Land that demands a very high level of emunah (faith) – especially during the trying yet spiritually significant times we are privileged to live through. When my husband and I first settled in the Land as full-time students at Diaspora Yeshiva, I attempted to make a budget to see how we might make ends meet. I placed all our potential income on one page. I would tutor one student, and my husband would try to see a patient now and then. Afterward, I listed our expenses – house rent, electricity, and basic food – on another page. The numbers simply didn’t match up. The gap was so immense that I gave up trying to budget. Crumpling the papers into the garbage, I decided we would just live on emunah. And that worked.People would ask, “So, how do you support yourselves?” And I would answer by pointing to Heaven and saying, “Hashem!” Most people didn’t really buy that, but we truly lived that way – and experienced Hashem’s immense, individual providence beyond nature. As I later learned, the Land of Israel is “The Land that Hashem seeks out constantly; the eyes of Hashem your G-d are upon it” (Devarim 11:12). This teaches us that in the Land of Israel, the Divine supervision (hashgachah) is not like in other lands. Rather, it is special and individual Divine supervision,  beyond the bounds of nature. Netivot Shalom describes our experience so eloquently: “Through emunah, a person cleaves to the inner Divine vitality that flows in the Land of Israel – and thus draws upon himself the miraculous hashgachah (Divine supervision) that governs the Land. But when a person lacks emunah – Heaven forbid – the land ‘spits him out,’ because the holiness and providence of the Land are only drawn down through the channel of emunah” (Netivot Shalom, Bamidbar, Shelach, pp. 76-7).

I truly believe that our experience of living on emunah – without anything close to a fixed income for seven full years when we first settled in the Land – laid the foundation for our spiritual resilience. It helped us maintain our emunah through the sirens and the challenging war situation in which we recently found ourselves.

How Could Moshe, the Greatest of Prophets, Falter in Emunah?

It is hard to imagine that Moshe – the greatest of all prophets – could be lacking in emunah. He fearlessly confronted Pharaoh, led the Israelites out of Egypt with miraculous signs and wonders, and followed Hashem’s command through the Cloud of Glory and Pillar of Fire in the snake-infested wilderness. This is the same Moshe in whose merit the heavenly sustenance descended from above to the people for forty years in the desert. How could he be faith-deficient?

Yet in Parashat Chukat, at Mei Merivah – the Waters of Strife – we encounter one of the most heart-wrenching moments in the Torah. After decades of tireless leadership and unwavering devotion, Moshe is told that he will not bring the people into the Promised Land. The reason? A lack of emunah:

ספר במדבר פרק כ פסוק יב וַיֹּאמֶר הַשֵׁם אֶל משֶׁה וְאֶל אַהֲרֹן יַעַן לֹא הֶאֱמַנְתֶּם בִּי לְהַקְדִּישֵׁנִי לְעֵינֵי בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל לָכֵן לֹא תָבִיאוּ אֶת הַקָּהָל הַזֶּה אֶל הָאָרֶץ אֲשֶׁר נָתַתִּי לָהֶם:

“Because you did not believe in Me, to sanctify Me in the eyes of the Children of Israel, therefore you shall not bring this congregation into the land which I have given them.” (Bamidbar 20:12).

Rashi explains that Moshe’s sin was striking the rock instead of speaking to it. Had he followed Hashem’s command precisely, the people would have witnessed a profound demonstration of emunah: “If a rock, which neither speaks nor hears nor requires sustenance, obeys the word of G-d – how much more so should we.” Rashi emphasizes that Moshe’s error lay in missing the opportunity to sanctify Hashem through speech. Hashem wanted the rock to respond to words – to highlight the power of Torah and emunah, rather than force.

Is there a Connection Between Moshe’s Striking the Rock and His Egyptian Upbringing?

Moshe’s striking of the rock symbolized a holdover from Egypt and the wilderness – a mode of leadership through coercion. But the Land of Israel operates on a different frequency: it is entered through sacred sound – like the walls of Jericho that tumbled through the sound of the shofar. On the threshold of entering the Holy Land, the mode of service must evolve into a place of voice and presence.

According to Ramban, Moshe and Aharon’s error lay in their words: “Shall we draw water for you from this rock?” (Bamidbar 20:10). Their phrasing implied that they, rather than Hashem, were the source of the miracle (Ramban, Bamidbar 20:8).

Water is the ultimate symbol of our dependence on Hashem and the necessity of emunah. As Rashi comments on Bereishit 2:5, Hashem did not cause vegetation to grow until Adam was created to recognize the need for rain and to pray for it. Only then did the earth yield its produce. Rain cannot be manufactured – it must be drawn down through prayer and trust in Hashem.

Through prayer and emunah in Hashem, the sustaining waters will rise by themselves as they did for Avraham, our Father, and Rivkah, our Mother, without physical effort on their behalf. Could it be that this lesson, so intrinsic to our relationship with Hashem, may not have fully integrated into Moshe’s leadership approach, since he had grown up in Pharaoh’s palace, where the Nile was falsely worshipped as the source of life?

Why Did Moshe Have to Suffer Such a Painful Consequence for a Subtle Mistake?

Moshe struck the rock rather than speaking to it, as Hashem had commanded. The water flowed nonetheless, quenching the people’s thirst – but the act cost Moshe the very goal he had yearned for over forty years. For this one deviation, he would see the Land only from afar.

This punishment seems disproportionately harsh. Had Moshe not suffered enough through the people’s constant complaints, their rebellions, and their repeated lapses in faith? Why would such a seemingly minor misstep deny him the privilege of entering the Land?

Moshe’s action at Mei Merivah reflected more than a missed opportunity. It marked a shift in spiritual orientation, necessary at the verge of entering the Holy Land. In Eretz Yisrael, speech is the tool of transformation. It is the land of prophecy, of prayer, of spiritual dialogue.

Thus, Moshe’s hitting the rock expressed a deeper spiritual tension – not simply a failure, but a mismatch between the kind of leadership needed in the wilderness and that required for the Land of Israel. In the desert, Divine miracles were often drawn down through force – as in striking the rock at Chorev early in the journey (Shemot 17:6), or in raising the staff to split the sea. That generation required external signs and dramatic transformation of nature to foster faith.

But Eretz Yisrael is different. It is a land where holiness is revealed not by forcefully overriding nature but by attuning to its inherent holiness through prayer. Its spiritual energy flows through emunah and song, not power or intervention. The Land demands a leadership that is attuned to subtle sanctity – drawing blessing through prayer, presence, and harmony with Divine will.

The next phase of the journey required a new kind of avodah – and a new kind of leader. In this light, Moshe’s action was not merely a personal failing but a Divine sign that a new mode of quieter, and deeper holiness was now to be revealed through Yehoshua’s leadership – the kind necessary for the next stage of the journey.

How Can We Rectify Our Own Mei Merivah Through Emunah?

In a deeper sense, each generation – and each of us individually – stands at our own Mei Merivah. We are all striving to enter the inner sanctity of the Land, whether physically or spiritually. And we, too, are tested: do we trust enough to speak gently, to sanctify Hashem in public through faith, or do we resort to control, impatience, or despair?

Moshe’s story is not only a tragedy; it is a mirror. It calls us to examine how we approach our own spiritual inheritance. Are we sufficiently aligned with Hashem’s will to merit the depth of connection the Land offers?

Even now, as we face the challenges of war, national pain, and uncertainty, we are invited to respond not with despair or anger, but with renewed faith. The Land is still calling us – not to strike, but to speak: to pray, to bless, to affirm our emunah out loud.

Moshe didn’t enter the Land, but he brought us to its border. It is up to us to cross it by transforming our inner from force or faith, from reaction to sacred response.

Parashat Korach: What is the Connection Between Korach’s Revolt and Eretz Yisrael?

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Parashat Korach

What is the Connection Between Korach’s Revolt and Eretz Yisrael?

How Does Unified Leadership Help Us Overcome the Test of Fear?

I don’t have to tell anyone that we are living in challenging times. The Talmudic rabbis expressed their own apprehension about this era, teaching: יִתֵּֽי וְלֹא אֶחֱזֶֽנֵּיהּ “Let the Messiah come, but may I not witness it” (Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 98b).

We are being tested to see whether we are worthy of experiencing the great wonders and revelations that we – and our ancestors – have prayed for over the past 2,000 years.

Last week in Parashat Shelach, we encountered the test of the spies: would our emunah in Hashem’s salvation, and our deep attachment to the Land, overcome our fear?

This week, in Parashat Korach, we face a different challenge: the test of unity. Under the pressure of missiles and war, we find ourselves sharing tight spaces – like bomb shelters – with people whose attitudes, fears, and boundaries may differ from our own. And that is a test no less difficult than fear itself.

In my EmunaHealing course, several women shared the challenges they faced in their bomb shelters. One woman was upset that her neighbors brought their dog, which felt intrusive in such a confined space. Another was disturbed by loud music played without permission. At our Midrasha, there was tension over differing responses to alerts: some students entered the shelter only when an actual siren sounded, while others felt compelled to go in as soon as they received the phone warning to be within 1½ minutes of shelter access. The problem arose when the door was opened during the siren, making others – including one staff member – feel unsafe.

These incidents made something clear: our mental attitude shapes our fear threshold, and uncertainty around leadership only heightens anxiety. I realized that what the students needed most was clarity and unity from above. So, I consulted the Rabbi of our village, clarified the official Midrasha bomb shelter policy, and explained it to the staff. Once it was accepted and implemented across the board, the mental and emotional atmosphere shifted. Peace was restored.

How powerful it is to witness what happens when we submit to a higher authority – not out of weakness, but for the sake of unity and calm. In times of collective stress, unified leadership is not only a practical necessity – it is an emotional anchor. It helps us overcome the tests of insecurity, fear, and disunity, and strengthens our capacity to hold together as Am Yisrael.

How is a Unified Torah Leadership a Prerequisite for Engendering True Peace?

Parashat Korach highlights the grave consequences of undermining Torah leadership and the devastation that such rebellion can cause. Korach’s challenge to Moshe and Aharon stands as one of the most notorious acts of dissent in the Torah. On the surface, it appears to be a protest against Moshe and Aharon’s leadership, yet Korach’s critique undermined the entire safety of the Jewish people:

ספר במדבר פרק טז פסוק ג וַיִּקָּהֲלוּ עַל משֶׁה וְעַל אַהֲרֹן וַיֹּאמְרוּ אֲלֵהֶם רַב לָכֶם כִּי כָל הָעֵדָה כֻּלָּם קְדשִׁים וּבְתוֹכָם הַשֵׁם וּמַדּוּעַ תִּתְנַשְּׂאוּ עַל קְהַל הַשֵׁם:

“For the entire congregation – all of them – are holy, and Hashem is among them. So why do you exalt yourselves over the assembly of Hashem?” (Bamidbar 16:3)

Korach failed to grasp the foundational role that the core value of unity under Torah leadership plays in sustaining the Jewish people. Motivated by jealousy and the pursuit of personal honor, he incited a rebellion that ultimately led to his own tragic demise, along with 250 followers, when the earth swallowed them alive (see Rashi on Bamidbar 16:1). Ironically, Korach,  through his downfall, came to teach us the importance of Emunat Chachamim (trust in the Sages).

Whether it be the voices of the Talmudic sages, halachic authorities, or even our own local community rabbi, respect for Torah leadership forms the bedrock of Jewish continuity and peace. Even when we feel confident in our own perspective, true peace – especially in the Land of Israel – depends on a willingness to submit to unified Torah guidance.

The first step toward transforming the State of Israel into a Torah-guided society is to begin by honoring Torah leadership in our immediate circles – our communities, our schools, and even within our families.

What is the Connection Between Korach and the Spies’ Rejection of the Land?

Korach’s revolt was not merely a personal challenge to Moshe’s authority – it was a rejection of the entire Divine structure of kedushah (sanctity) as ordained by Hashem for His people. This structure encompasses not only the priesthood and hierarchy, but also the central mission of entering and sanctifying Eretz Yisrael. True holiness is expressed through the channels established by the Torah – including the Land itself – and any attempt to bypass or undermine those channels is ultimately a rebellion against Hashem.

The Midrash (Bamidbar Rabbah 18:5) draws a direct connection between Korach and the spies: “‘In their secret counsel may my soul not enter’ – this refers to the spies. ‘In their assembly may my honor not be united’ – this refers to Korach.” Ya’acov Avinu pleaded with Hashem that his name not be associated with either group – neither with those who rejected the Land nor with those who rebelled against Divinely appointed leadership. By equating Korach with the spies, the Midrash reveals that Korach’s uprising was also, at its core, a rejection of the Land’s sanctity.

The Zohar teaches that Korach’s rebellion disrupted the very harmony that sustains both the upper and lower worlds: “One who disputes peace disputes the Holy Name… Korach came to disrupt the peace above and below. Therefore, he was punished from above and below” (Zohar part 3, 176b)

Since Eretz Yisrael embodies the unity between Heaven and Earth, Korach’s challenge struck at the heart of that Divine order. Like the spies, Korach feared the exposure and accountability that spiritual life in the Land demands. In resisting the call to enter and sanctify the Land, he not only fractured communal unity – he undermined the spiritual framework through which Hashem’s Presence is meant to dwell among His people.

Holiness Is Not a Free-for-All – It Is Rooted in the Land

Korach’s claim that “the entire nation is holy” (Bamidbar 16:3) may sound spiritually democratic, but it ignores a fundamental truth: holiness is not a free-for-all. It is not generic or self-generated. Rather, holiness is contextually grounded – revealed through obedience to Hashem’s will and intensified in specific people, times, and places, with Eretz Yisrael being the primary place.

While every Jew indeed possesses inherent holiness, the expression and activation of that holiness are not random or self-defined. True kedushah emerges through alignment with the structure Hashem established in the Torah – including Divinely designated roles, sacred times, and sanctified spaces.

The Torah delineates distinctions in holiness – between Kohen and Yisrael, Shabbat and weekdays, the Mishkan and an ordinary tent. These are not man-made hierarchies but reflections of Hashem’s precise blueprint for sanctity. Korach’s rebellion rejected this structure, flattening the sacred order into a man-made ideology of sameness. But in doing so, he severed holiness from its Divine root.

Eretz Yisrael is the clearest example of holiness tied to place. It is not merely a spiritual concept – it is a living land imbued with the unique capacity to host the Shechinah. Holiness intensifies in the Land, and those who dwell here are called to higher standards. Korach’s disregard for this structure was, at its core, a denial of the sanctity of the Land – and a rebellion against the very framework through which Hashem’s Presence is meant to dwell among His people.

How Does the Land Reaffirm Its Sanctity by Swallowing the Rebels?

When the earth opened its mouth and swallowed Korach and his followers alive, it was not merely a punishment – it is a reassertion of Divine order through the Land itself:

ספר במדבר פרק טז פסוק לא ...וַתִּבָּקַע הָאֲדָמָה אֲשֶׁר תַּחְתֵּיהֶם: (לב) וַתִּפְתַּח הָאָרֶץ אֶת פִּיהָ וַתִּבְלַע אֹתָם וְאֶת בָּתֵּיהֶם וְאֵת כָּל הָאָדָם אֲשֶׁר לְקֹרַח וְאֵת כָּל הָרְכוּשׁ:

 “…the ground beneath them split open. The earth opened its mouth and swallowed them and their houses, and all the men who were with Korah and all the property. (Bamidbar 16:31-32)

Though the rebellion took place outside the borders of Eretz Yisrael, the sanctity of the Land extends beyond geography – especially for those who are journeying toward it. As the Or HaChaim (Bamidbar 16:30) explains, the earth itself actively participated in restoring the sanctity that Korach sought to undermine. The Land is not passive soil; it responds to rebellion, disrespect, and desecration. It is a living partner in the covenant between Hashem and His people, prepared to uphold Divine truth even before we physically enter its borders.

This reinforces the theme that Eretz Yisrael is a living entity – a partner in the covenant between Hashem and His people. The path to inheriting Eretz Yisrael is not through flattening holiness, but through deepening our awareness of Hashem’s structure – in Torah, in leadership, and in the Land itself.