Parashat Beha’alotcha: Carrying the Light - How is Torah as the Prerequisite for Dwelling in the Land?

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Parashat Beha’alotcha
Carrying the Light - How is Torah the Prerequisite for Dwelling in the Land?

Is Israel a Secular or Torah-based State?

Lately, I’ve had meaningful discussions with students and friends who have questioned the legitimacy of Medinat Yisrael – the State of Israel. While many of the early Zionists who fought for Israel’s establishment were secular and the State was initially founded with a largely secular framework, we must not overlook the deeper spiritual underpinnings at its foundation.

The first draft of Israel’s Declaration of Independence, prepared by Mordechai Beham, opened with a bold acknowledgment of our sacred inheritance: “Whereas this Holy Land has been promised by the Lord God to our fathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and their seed after them…” This reference was later removed by secular Zionists, sparking a passionate debate between the religious and secular leaders of the time. Eventually, a compromise was reached. The final document concluded with the phrase: “Placing our trust in the Rock of Israel, we affix our signatures to this proclamation.”

The expression Tzur Yisrael (“Rock of Israel”) appears several times in the Torah as a reference to G-d. Yet the secular Zionists could interpret it more ambiguously, as a symbol of the Jewish people’s enduring strength. Still, the fact that even this phrase remained reflects the deep tension – and connection – between the spiritual and political dimensions of the State.

What is the Extent of Torah Learning and Observance in the State of Israel?

No matter how one chooses to interpret the origins of the modern State of Israel, I see the Torah at its core. To give a sense of scale, at the beginning of 2024, there were around 169,366 Hereidi yeshiva and kollel students in Israel. More than 20,000 students were learning in dati leumi institutions, and around 7,439 women were enrolled in seminaries in the 2021–2022 academic year. Remarkably, all of these students receive stipends from the so-called “secular” state – to study Torah.

And beyond the official statistics, there are tens of thousands of additional Israelis – like my husband and me – who are actively engaged in Torah learning and teaching, even without being formally registered in a yeshiva or midrasha.

For me, coming to Israel and coming to Torah were inextricably connected. Unlike the environment in which I was raised, Israel is a land where Torah is alive. It boasts many neighborhoods where Shabbat is observed. The Shabbat atmosphere is tangibly felt in the streets, where only emergency vehicles pass, and families stroll peacefully in sanctified time. Most importantly, there is a vast array of institutions dedicated to deep Torah learning, for men and women alike. Torah is not a niche pursuit here – it is embedded in the rhythm of life.

What Does It Mean to Rekindle the Light of Holiness Each Day?

Parashat Beha’alotecha begins the final preparations for the Israelites’ journey from the Sinai desert to the Promised Land. It opens with the instructions for Aharon, the Kohen Gadol, to tend to the light of the Menorah:

ספר במדבר פרק ח פסוק ב דַּבֵּר אֶל אַהֲרֹן וְאָמַרְתָּ אֵלָיו בְּהַעֲלֹתְךָ אֶת הַנֵּרֹת אֶל מוּל פְּנֵי הַמְּנוֹרָה יָאִירוּ שִׁבְעַת הַנֵּרוֹת:

“Speak to Aharon and say to him: When you light the lamps, the seven lamps shall cast their light toward the face of the menorah” (Bamidbar 8:2).

The Ohr Hachayim draws our attention to something surprising: the Torah does not treat the lights as fixed parts of the Menorah. If the cups were permanently attached, why would the verse separately list “its lights, its tongs, and its fire pans” when describing how to wrap up the Menorah for transport (Bamidbar 4:9)? Clearly, the cups were movable. The Ohr Hachayim even notes how this is supported by the verse: “the menorot (candelabras) and their lamps” (II Divrei HaYamim 4:20), implying they are not one and the same. He explains that Aharon would remove, clean, reset, and rekindle the cups each day – a process of daily renewal, not mere routine. So why is this detail so meaningful? Because Aharon, feeling a sense of loss for not participating in the tribal offerings at the dedication of the Mishkan, was comforted with a task that transcends time: “Yours is greater than theirs – for you will kindle and prepare the candles” (Tanchuma Beha’alothecha 3 cited by Rashi, Bamidbar 8:2).

Unlike the tribal offerings that occurred once, Aharon’s avodah (service) was continuous, bringing new light into the world each day. Each rekindling was considered a new Chanukat HaMenorah – a daily rededication of light (Ohr Hachayim, Bamidbar 8:2).

The Deeper Message for Life in Eretz Yisrael

In our own lives, especially in Eretz Yisrael, this teaching offers a profound message. Life in the Land requires constant renewal. There is no autopilot for holiness. Whether we’re facing bureaucratic frustration, ideological tension, or the mundane routines of daily life, the soul of Eretz Yisrael calls us to be like Aharon – to awaken and raise up the light anew.

Just as the Menorah’s candles were not fixed – they had to be removed, cleaned, and reset – so too we are invited to continually reawaken our spiritual focus. The Land of Israel is not passive; it interacts with us, mirrors us, and calls for our intentionality. Each mitzvah here, even repeated daily, is a fresh opportunity to draw down Divine light. Even when the act is externally the same, the inner intention – kavanah – transforms it into something new.

Renewed Service Beyond Routine

Rashi teaches us that the Torah and the mitzvot should not appear to you as an antiquated edict which no one cares about, but as a new one, which everyone hastens to read, as it states, “these words, which I command you today shall be upon your heart” (Devarim 6:6). We learn from this never to say, “I’ve already done this mitzvah.” Instead, we must perform each act as if it were the first time. This is the spiritual training embedded in the daily lighting of the Menorah – and in our lives in the Holy Land.

Living in Eretz Yisrael demands perseverance. But it also offers a powerful gift: the opportunity to engage in constant renewal. Whether you’re planting a tree, teaching Torah, raising children, or simply sweeping your doorstep with love for the Land, you’re part of the daily rekindling of the Divine light. Like Aharon, you are reassembling the sacred, cup by cup, flame by flame.

Let us then walk into each day with the awareness that holiness is never static. The Menorah’s flame calls to us: Reignite your light. Clean your vessel. Lift it up anew.

Letting our Flame Rise on Its Own in the Land of Light

Rashi furthermore notes the unusual word בְּהַעֲלֹתְךָ/beha’alotcha used in our Torah verse for igniting which literally means “when you cause to ascend.” He explains, based on Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 21a, that since the flame rises, Scripture describes kindling in terms of ascending. He is required to kindle the lamp until the flame rises by itself. This concept is often cited for educational purposes. As teachers, we must not just do the tasks for our students or even show them how. Rather, we must exercise patience, allowing the student to practice what she has learned until she can perform it independently, no longer reliant on her teacher.

During the Israelites’ wilderness journeys, Hashem literally spoon-fed His people with daily manna and fresh water from the well. He also protected them from enemies, snakes, and scorpions within His Cloud of Glory. Yet, to conquer the land of Canaan, the Children of Israel had to grow up and take the swords into their own hands. They had to take up a hatchet and a pickaxe to break the hardened ground and transform it into fertile fields, producing enough to sustain their families. They needed to become like the flame that rises by itself, no longer dependent on their Father in Heaven to provide for them unconditionally. How fitting, then, was Aharon’s mitzvah of causing the flames to ascend as a preparation for entering the Land of Israel, where we are called to rise to the challenge of applying our own efforts, until our flame rises on its own.

The Ark Guides Our Path and Leads the Way to the Land of Israel

Yet Hashem is not leaving us completely to our own devices. His Holy Ark will accompany us into the Land of Israel and bring about His protection from our enemies. Moshe’s request that Hashem rise reflects our rising – like the flame that ascends on its own. When we rise to eradicate evil and spread light, we elicit Hashem’s response to complete our endeavor through the light of the Torah.

Igniting the lights of the Menorah parallels the Ark, which carries the Luchot – the Tablets of the Covenant – as it states, “For a candle is a mitzvah and Torah is light” (Mishlei 6:23). Just as the lights must ascend on their own, the Ark went ahead of the people. It did not follow them – it led them. The journey into the Land of Israel begins with the Ark, the container of Torah. Just as light precedes movement, Torah precedes and guides the people’s path. Without the Ark, there is no direction; without Torah, the journey is devoid of purpose.

ספר במדבר פרק י פסוק לה וַיְהִי בִּנְסֹעַ הָאָרֹן וַיֹּאמֶר משֶׁה קוּמָה הַשֵׁם וְיָפֻצוּ אֹיְבֶיךָ וְיָנֻסוּ מְשַׂנְאֶיךָ מִפָּנֶיךָ:

“So it was, whenever the ark set out, Moshe would say, Arise, O Hashem let Your enemies be scattered and may those who hate You flee from You” (Bamidbar 10:35).d

The Zohar teaches that the Shechinah traveled with the Ark (Zohar Part 3, 155a). Wherever the Ark went, the Divine Presence went. Thus, Torah is not only the prerequisite for entering the Land – it is the channel for bringing the Shechinah into it. The sanctity of Eretz Yisrael is not automatic; it is called into being and sustained through the light of Torah.

Rather, certainly He (Hashem) did not turn His face away from them. So what happened at the moment the Ark began to rest? Moshe said, “Return, Hashem…” and then the Ark would settle, and the Shechinah would stand on another side, with Her face toward Israel and toward the Ark.

When we live in Eretz Yisrael today, we are not simply inheriting land – we are fulfilling an eternal covenant. But just like our ancestors in the wilderness, we must first carry the Ark. We must let Torah go before us, illuminate our way, and guide our choices. Only then does our dwelling in the Land become a true yerushah – not just a physical inheritance, but a spiritual one.

Parashat Naso: What is the Connection Between External Order and Fulfilling our Inner Mission?

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Parashat Naso
What is the Connection Between External Order and Fulfilling our Inner Mission?  

What is Preferable: External Order and Stability or Inner Warmth and Care?

I grew up in a highly functioning, law-abiding country where all the external frameworks operated like clockwork. The streets and sidewalks were clean, green, and beautifully maintained; the public systems – from libraries to healthcare – were well-funded and reliable. In fact, I recently noticed that according to U.S. News & World Report, Denmark ranks #1 in the world for quality of life, based on education, healthcare, political transparency, economic security, and general societal well-being. Growing up in such an efficient and stable environment should have brought a deep sense of contentment. Yet, I never felt truly fulfilled in what might be called ‘The Dreamland of Denmark.’

Despite its polished exterior and near-perfect punctuality – where trains always arrive precisely as announced – something essential was missing. I find myself far more at home in a land of constant challenge and unpredictable rhythms. Even during times of conflict and uncertainty, I choose to live in Israel – a place bursting with soul. While Israel may lack the external order of Denmark, it overflows with purpose, connection, and vibrancy. Yes, I may have to stoop to pick up stray candy wrappers on the sidewalk – a sight unimaginable in suburban Denmark – but I do so with joy, knowing I walk streets rich with meaning, history, and heart. A society may be perfectly orderly on the outside yet lacking in inner meaning and mission. In Israel, it’s not about appearances – it’s about essence. The laughter of children, the warmth of strangers, and the shared sense of mission here speak to something far deeper than surface-level perfection ever could.

Why Does Parashat Naso Mention the Suspected Adulteress, the Nazarite, and the Thief?

Parashat Naso seems to continue the national themes introduced in Parashat Bamidbar: the census of the tribes, the inauguration of the Mishkan, and the offerings of the tribal leaders. While reading HaRav Aharon Lichtenstein’s article, The Embedded Message, on Parashat Naso, I was struck by his observation that even within the structured and clearly defined national order of the wilderness journey – with its census, banners, and division of Levitical roles – the Torah does not lose sight of the moral and spiritual development of the individual. Interwoven in this narrative are seemingly personal and unrelated topics – the thief who confesses and repays (Bamidbar 5:5-10), the suspected adulteress (5:11-31), and the Nazir who abstains from wine and seeks higher holiness (6:1-21). Why are these inserted here, interrupting the flow of collective preparation for the sanctification of the Mishkan and entry into Eretz Yisrael?

Precisely because the Torah is teaching us that a nation’s spiritual destiny is only as strong as its individuals. In the midst of grand national missions – the revelation of the Shechinah in the Mishkan, and the historical march into the Land – the Torah zooms in on personal struggles: betrayal, longing, inner restraint, and restitution. The message is clear. The sanctity of the Mishkan depends not only on the proper placement of tribes or ritual service, but on the moral integrity of each individual. Without a foundation of personal fidelity, integrity, and spiritual yearning, the collective cannot sustain its calling.

The Torah thus ensures that no soul is forgotten. The lonely convert, the wayward woman, the aspiring ascetic – each has a place in the unfolding destiny of Am Yisrael. A society striving for holiness must care not only for its national structure but also for its moral fiber, woven one soul at a time.

What is the Ideal Relationship between Outer Details and Inner Refinement?

The ultimate goal is a radiant soul in a healthy body on both an individual and a national dimension. We don’t have to sell ourselves short, we can aspire toward the highest spiritual content encased in the most organized external parameters. For any community to thrive, we need law and order. Role divisions need to be clearly defined, and all community members must carry out their responsibilities and know who to turn to for questions and directions. Parashat Naso highlights the meticulous arrangements needed for the Israelites’ journey on their way to settling in the land.  It provides details about preparations for entering the Land of Israel, particularly focusing on the organization of the camp and the Levites’ responsibilities in carrying the holy vessels. When it comes to the G-d given mitzvot, even physical structures and external order become spiritual and infused with inner meaning and mission. The many details and even repetitions of the sacrifices of the princes of each tribe become infused with meaning, as they are intended not only to provide the external particulars but to teach us an inner lesson about character development.

Parashat Naso is the longest parasha in the entire Chumash because it repeats word for word the offering of each of the tribes instead of just paraphrasing that all the tribes offered the exact same such and such. This demonstrates that although the princes brought the same precise offering, none of them copied their friend. Each had his own personal relationship with his offering. Because of each tribe’s original intention, excitement, and awareness, the Torah described each of their offerings in its own section. Another reason for the repetition of the tribal sacrifices word by word is due to Hashem’s great pleasure with their identical offering of unity that rectified the sibling jealousy of Kain and Hevel. When external details are infused with inner refinement, then even otherwise tedious repetition becomes meaningful.

How Do We Carry the Sanctuary Within Our Unique Spiritual Mission?

The census in Parashat Naso, which continues the census begun in Parashat Bamidbar, moreover alludes to the inner spiritual intention within the exterior positions and roles. The designated roles of the families within the tribe of Levi in carrying and assembling the Mishkan hint at how each family had a unique portion of the holy structure to bear upon their shoulders, not just physically, but also spiritually.

במדבר פרק ד פסוק מז

מִבֶּן שְׁלֹשִׁים שָׁנָה וָמַעְלָה וְעַד בֶּן חֲמִשִּׁים שָׁנָה כֹּל הַבָּא לַעֲבֹד עֲבֹדַת עֲבֹדָה וַעֲבֹדַת מַשָּׂא בְּאֹהֶל מוֹעֵד:

“From thirty years old and up to fifty years old, all who come to serve the service of service and the service of carrying in the Tent of Meeting” (Bamidbar 4:47).

While Ha’amek Davar emphasizes the transition from supernatural guidance in the wilderness to a more hidden Divine providence in the Land, Parashat Naso moreover suggests that the service of carrying the Mishkan was not merely a physical duty – it was a spiritual apprenticeship. This desert service trained each individual to become a vessel for the Shechinah – a sacred preparation for dwelling with Divine presence in Eretz Yisrael. Each person had their role, their burden, and their sacred responsibility, just as each soul in Eretz Yisrael today has a unique spiritual mission to carry.
The Sefat Emet explains that just as each angel has a unique root and mission, so too each member of Am Yisrael longed to know their soul’s root and place of rectification. Though we cannot see this with our physical eyes, through the Torah, each person can find their spiritual origin. Some rare individuals may ascend entirely through their deeds, but even those who are not on that level can leap beyond their natural rung through longing and will alone. “Each man by his camp and under his banner” represents this dual path of fixed service and spiritual aspiration. In this way, every individual’s unique role in the camp mirrors their deeper mission in the Divine structure of the nation, especially as it manifests in the holiness of Eretz Yisrael (Sefat Emet, Bamidbar, year 5639).

Carrying Our Sacred Responsibility in the Land
The Levites carried the Mishkan in the desert. Today, we carry the sanctity of the Land in our own way. Living in Eretz Yisrael is not always easy – there are physical challenges, bureaucratic obstacles, and moments of loneliness. But just as each Levi had to bear his assigned portion – whether it was the heavy planks, the shimmering curtains, or the sacred vessels – each of us carries our piece of the collective inheritance.
Living in Bat Ayin, we can perceive how every soul brings a different panel, a different curtain, a different vessel to the collective sanctuary of our people. Each student who comes to learn Torah, plant a garden, raise children, or simply breathe in the holiness of the Land is carrying their part of the Mishkan – their avodat hakodesh. Each of us, with our unique contribution and role in the community, reflects our deeper spiritual mission, aligned with our soul’s root and place of rectification within the Divine structure of the nation.

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

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

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

Why is the Torah Given in the Desert?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How Does the Counting of Israel Connect to the Land?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is Exile the Consequence of Neglecting Shemitta Observance?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why Does Resting Bring About Restoration?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here We Keep Shemitta

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why Would a Person Refraining from Abhorrence be Considered Holy?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Parashat Tazria-Metzora: How Does Spiritual Disease Allude to the amplified Divine Intimacy in the Land of Israel?

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Parashat Tazria-Metzora

How Does Spiritual Disease Allude to the amplified Divine Intimacy in the Land of Israel? 

What are the Spiritual Messages of the Predicaments that Hashem Sends Us?

Living in the Holy Land means living with Hashem – and being sensitively attuned to His Divine messages. How often has it happened that the phone disconnected in the middle of a meaningful conversation? In that quiet pause before we reconnected, I would reflect: perhaps Hashem was whispering, urging me to consider that what I was about to say might be better left unsaid. I try to attentively listen to these subtle Divine messages and use them as opportunities for self-introspection that lead me to mend my ways. Yet, one message seems to repeat itself year after year – as if we somehow keep missing its lesson.

For decades, our rental apartment, located just below our home, has leaked during the rainy season. There’s nothing we haven’t tried to locate and fix the leaks. Last summer, we went as far as dismantling the entire patio, which also serves as the apartment’s roof, and resealing it with high-grade roofing tar. We even hired an expert to remove the patio’s glass doors to apply sealants beneath them. Despite pouring all our savings into fixing the problem, this winter’s heavy rains still managed to find their way in. Occasional raindrops still dripped into our downstairs apartment, bringing with them the inevitable mold, making our home’s predicament feel eerily similar to the biblical tzara’at described in Parashat Metzora.

Tzara’at is a spiritual affliction that can appear on skin, garments, and even house walls. So I asked myself and my husband: Why are we continuously afflicted with leaks? Why does this keep happening to us? What is the spiritual message Hashem is sending us through this recurring household plague?

Why does the Biblical Tzara’at only Affect Homes and People in the Holy Land?

The Torah specifies that the phenomenon of tzara’at affecting homes occurs only upon entering the Land of Canaan:​

ספר ויקרא פרק יד  פסוק לד כִּי תָבֹאוּ אֶל אֶרֶץ כְּנַעַן אֲשֶׁר אֲנִי נֹתֵן לָכֶם לַאֲחֻזָּה וְנָתַתִּי נֶגַע צָרַעַת בְּבֵית אֶרֶץ אֲחֻזַּתְכֶם:

“When you come to the land of Canaan, which I am giving you as a possession, and I place an eruptive plague (tzara'at) upon a house in the land of your possession” (Vayikra 14:34).

When reading about the mysterious affliction of tzara’at – the spiritual skin condition that can appear on people, clothing, and even the walls of one’s home – we may wonder: why do these laws seem so distant from us today? And why, according to Chazal, did they apply only in the Land of Israel?

The answer reveals something profound about the unique relationship between Eretz Yisrael and spiritual sensitivity. The afflictions described are not merely physical ailments – they are spiritual indicators. They serve as divine communications, urging us to reflect and realign our lives toward holiness. The Land of Israel, in its unique sanctity, acts as a mirror, reflecting the inner spiritual state of its people. When the inhabitants maintain purity and righteousness, the land flourishes; when they falter, the land responds accordingly.

The Shelah HaKadosh teaches that tzara’at is not merely a natural phenomenon, nor even a punishment in the conventional sense. Rather, it is a direct message from Hashem – a holy signal that something is misaligned in a person’s inner life. He explains that our Torah verse is intentionally specific. Tzara’at on homes does not occur in the Diaspora. Why? Because this affliction only appears in “the land of your inheritance” – the Land of Israel. Not because the law is bound to the land in a halachic sense, but because the Shechinah dwelling in Eretz Yisrael reveals spiritual impurity in visible, tangible ways. The very presence of Hashem in His chosen land makes such spiritual signals possible.

Only in the Holy Land are Our Homes, Garments, and Skin Messengers of Truth

Based on Torat Kohani on Vayikra 13:47, the Shelah adds that tzara’at on houses only appeared after the land was conquered and divided. Only then does the land itself become a mirror of our inner life. The moment we recognize our portion – and truly internalize that our home is our own, the Divine presence settles more fully among the Jewish people. Only then, when our minds become settled and prepared to know Hashem, can the Shechinah dwell among us.

This notion reshapes our understanding of what it means to live in Eretz Yisrael. The Land is not neutral. It is spiritually alive. Just as the Mishkan revealed Hashem’s presence through the Pillar of Fire and the Clouds of Glory, the Land reveals His presence through the blessings and the consequences that arise when our lives become misaligned.

Tzara’at, in this sense, is not a curse but a form of spiritual intimacy. The Land itself speaks to us. It helps us realign. It awakens us when we’ve gone astray. This is why Chazal state that tzara’at is not possible outside the Land. As the Shelah HaKadosh puts it: “Outside the Land... such events will never happen.” Because in other lands, the Divine light is hidden. The soul’s misalignment does not find expression in visible signs. But in Eretz Yisrael – the land where Hashem dwells among us – the very walls of our homes, the fabric of our garments, and even the appearance of our skin can become messengers of truth (Rabbi Yesha’yahu Horowitz, The Shelah HaKodesh on Tractate Pesachim, Matzah Ashira).

How do We Discover the Hidden Goodness Behind the Walls?

The concept that tzara’at could appear on the walls of a house in the Land of Israel may seem frightening – yet the Torah states:  וְנָתַתִּי נֶגַע צָרַעַת, “And I will give a plague of tzara’at…” (Vayikra 14:34). The use of the word וְנָתַתִּי/ve’natati – “I will give” – is unusual for something seemingly negative. Rashi explains that this is actually “good news for them,” because the Amorites had hidden treasures of gold within the walls of their homes during the forty years that Israel wandered in the wilderness. Through the appearance of the plague and the ensuing demolition of the walls, these treasures would be revealed (Rashi, Vayikra 14:34).

The Aish Kodesh draws on this Rashi to impart a profound concept: It was specifically through a plague that the house would be broken open and the hidden treasures discovered. This teaches us that even what appears at first to be a spiritual downfall – impurity, quarantine, and destruction – may, in truth, be a hidden opportunity for elevation.

Yet why was it necessary to undergo seven days of quarantine before discovering the gold? Since the plagues on houses and garments were supernatural events – clearly sent for the benefit of Israel to reveal hidden treasures – why delay by first declaring the house impure?

The Aish Kodesh explains that this process strengthens our emunah – our faith that everything Hashem does for us is ultimately for our good, even when He strikes us with suffering, Heaven forbid. It is especially challenging to maintain our emunah when we experience suffering in ways that seem, Heaven forbid, to distance us from Hashem Himself. Therefore, the Torah teaches us: first, seven days of impurity – and only afterward, the hidden treasure is revealed. Although the tzara’at of the house rendered it impure and appeared at first to be a punishment distancing us from G-d, in truth, it served Hashem’s purpose for the ultimate good (Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, The Aish Kodesh, Parashat Metzora).

Perhaps the humbling suffering of tzara’at opened the hearts of those afflicted to truly seek Hashem – just as tzara’at only occurred in the Holy Land, after it had been conquered, divided, and settled enough for the people to begin seeking Hashem.

Sometimes, the plague revealed gold hidden in the walls. And sometimes, as Aish Kodesh points out, the gold is hidden within the person’s own journey. First, there are seven days of waiting and self-introspection. Then, with faith and humility, the treasure is revealed.

The homeowner must say only: “Something like a plague appears to me in the house” (Vayikra 14:35). Even if he is a learned Torah scholar who knows with certainty that it is tzara’at, he must still phrase it cautiously – “something like a plague” – because no person can truly know whether it is entirely a negative sign or, in truth, a hidden good that Hashem is preparing. Ultimately, all is for the good of Israel – Hashem’s hidden kindness, waiting to reveal itself.

How Can We Experience Spiritual Awareness Through the Physical?

Parashat Tazria – Metzora teaches us to see the physical world not as separate from the spiritual, but as its very gateway. Through our skin, our garments, and even our homes, Hashem sends us messages – not to punish, but to awaken. When blemishes appear, they call us not to despair, but to look deeper. Often, they even conceal hidden treasures. Always, they invite us to refine, realign, and return.

As the Bat Ayin beautifully explains, the true path of da’at – of integrated consciousness – is to connect earth and heaven (Rav Avraham Dov Ber Auerbach, the Bat Ayin, Parashat Tazria). When we sanctify the physical through mitzvot, we are not escaping the world; we are elevating it. The Torah is teaching us how to live with spiritual awareness in a physical world, and nowhere is this more true than in the Land of Israel, where every field, garment, and home can become a dwelling for the Shechinah.

May we truly live with integrated consciousness uniting physicality with spirituality – and in doing so, draw the Divine presence ever closer. May we merit living with such awareness: to recognize the Land’s messages not with fear, but with reverence. And may we transform our daily lives – our eating, our speech, our clothing, and our homes – into vessels of holiness, so that our homes in Eretz Yisrael be filled with light, love, and purity, inviting the Shechinah to dwell among us!