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

Printable Version

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

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

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

                                                                                      

Why is the Kotel the Holiest Place in the World?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Printable Version

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

What Makes Shabbat the Heart of My Torah Journey?

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

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

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

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

Parashat Vayakhel opens with a mitzvah to observe Shabbat:

ספר שמות פרק לה פסוק ב 

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

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

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

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

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

Printable Version

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ספר שמות פרק לג פסוק א

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

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

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

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

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

Eretz Yisrael as the Conduit of Redemption

ספר שמות פרק לד פסוק י

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

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

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

Parashat Tetzaveh: What is the Inner Connection Between the Menorah and the Land of Israel?

Printable Version

Parashat Tetzaveh
 What is the Inner Connection Between the Menorah and the Land of Israel?

How Can We Connect with Eternal Light?
From the earliest moments of my spiritual journey, I have felt a deep, intrinsic connection to the concept of light. Light is not merely an external phenomenon but an inner force that guides, uplifts, and transforms. I have always been drawn to the idea that light represents Divine wisdom, clarity, and the ability to illuminate even the darkest circumstances. The Torah is replete with light imagery – linking it to the Torah as the source of creation, the essence of wisdom, and the very presence of the Divine in the world. The very first word my youngest granddaughter said when she was barely one was אוֹר/Ohr – “light”! She was standing on a stool, pointing to the Shabbat candles I had just ignited. Since then, I have been praying for her to remain deeply connected with light. What does it mean to be connected with light? First and foremost, it is about walking the Torah path, as it states, כִּי נֵר מִצְוָה וְתוֹרָה אוֹר – “For a mitzvah is a candle, and the Torah is light” (Mishlei 6:23). Walking in Torah is the light of my life. Some people can’t understand why I labor so hard to produce yet another Torah book – I certainly don’t do it for the money. I am addicted to expressing the light of Torah, for the more Torah we share, the more Torah we receive – like nursing a baby or drawing water from a wellspring. This is why I love to teach Torah, living for those moments of epiphany when Hashem grants me a chiddush – a new Torah insight. נֵר הַשֵׁם נִשְׁמַת אָדָם – “The candle of Hashem is the soul of a person” (Mishlei 20:27). When we live with Torah, we awaken our Divine soul. We become less obsessed with fleeting pleasures – gold and diamonds, fancy clothes, extravagant travels, and gourmet food and wine. We evolve from being like a child who rushes to gather as many sweets as possible in a candy store to a spiritually mature person who learns to pursue the eternal rather than the ephemeral. And yes, light is all about eternity. Darkness will ultimately give way to eternal light, as expressed in the Temple Menorah, whose middle candle never extinguishes (Babylonian Talmud, Menachot 86b). We can tap into this divine light, especially in the Land of Israel – the Land of Light – where the Shechinah dwells and Divine wisdom shines most brightly. The more we connect with Torah in the Holy Land, the more we internalize and reflect this everlasting light, aligning ourselves with the ultimate destiny of creation – when “Hashem will be an everlasting light” (Yesha’yahu 60:19).

How Does the Land of Israel Reflect the Light of the Menorah?
Parashat Tetzaveh does not explicitly mention the land, yet concealed within its intricate descriptions lies a deep connection to the Land of Israel. Its themes of spiritual leadership, Divine service, and sanctity are inextricably tied to Eretz Yisrael – the ultimate place where these ideals find full expression. Our parasha opens with the mitzvah to bring pure olive oil for the Ner Tamid, the eternal flame of the Menorah.

ספר שמות פרק כז פסוק כ וְאַתָּה תְּצַוֶּה אֶת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְיִקְחוּ אֵלֶיךָ שֶׁמֶן זַיִת זָךְ כָּתִית לַמָּאוֹר לְהַעֲלֹת נֵר תָּמִיד:

“You shall command the children of Israel, and they shall take to you pure olive oil, crushed for lighting, to kindle the perpetual candle (Shemot 27:20).

Olive oil is one of the seven species of Eretz Yisrael, symbolizing the land’s spiritual and material richness. It embodies the purity of Israel and the light that the land provides to the Jewish people and the world. The eternal flame of the Menorah is ultimately kindled in the Holy Temple in the heart of the Land of Israel. Furthermore, the Menorah’s light represents Divine wisdom and the mission of Israel to be a light unto the nations – a mission that can only be fully realized within the Land of Israel: 

“They shall bring you pure olive oil…” (Shemot 27:20). Just as oil provides light, so too does the Beit Hamikdash illuminate the entire world as Scripture states: “The nations shall walk by your light” (Yesha’yahu 60:3). Therefore, G-d said to Moshe, “They shall bring you pure olive oil” (Midrash Shemot Rabbah 36:1).

How Does the Eternal Flame of the Menorah Shine Forth from Israel to the World?
The Menorah’s glow in the Beit Hamikdash was more than a physical light; it was a beacon of spiritual enlightenment emanating from Eretz Yisrael to the world. The Menorah’s seven branches correspond to the seven lower Sefirot, which mirror the seven species of Eretz Yisrael. The oil represents Chochmah (Divine wisdom), which flows freely only when Israel is in its rightful place (Zohar Part 2:158a). Israel is compared to olives. Just as the olive only brings forth its oil when beaten, so does Israel only return and become refined through difficulties and hardships (Babylonian Talmud, Menachot 53b). The process of refining oil, crushing it to extract its essence, parallels how the Jewish people undergo challenges and refinement in exile, during our long winding exile preparing us for the spiritual refinement necessary to access the holiness of the Eretz Yisrael. The crushing hardships we have endured return us to Eretz Yisrael as a purer, more radiant nation. The oil of the Menorah is linked to the righteousness of Israel: Just as olive oil rises above other liquids, so too will Israel rise above all nations (Midrash Devarim Rabbah 7:3), when we return to our land and fulfill our mission, as it is written: “Hashem your G-d will place you supreme above all the nations of the earth” (Devarim 28:1). The light of the Menorah is a reminder that our ultimate source of clarity and inspiration comes from our bond with Hashem in Eretz Yisrael – where His presence dwells most fully and where the Jewish mission reaches its highest potential.

The Land of Israel – Source of Our Inner Light
The Menorah was not merely a source of light within the Temple but a reflection of the spiritual illumination that flows from Eretz Yisrael. As we have learned, the Menorah’s light symbolized Hashem’s presence dwelling among Israel, spreading its glow to the entire world (Midrash Shemot Rabbah 36:1). In Chassidut, the Menorah represents the innate holiness of the Jewish soul, which, like the flames, continually strives upward, reaching toward the Divine. Just as the flames are kindled anew each day, so too is our spiritual mission in Eretz Yisrael constantly renewed, reaffirming our role as bearers of Divine light. The wordְּתְּצַוֶּה /tetzaveh connotes connection and attachment. True unity is obstructed by impurities and unclarity. Just as the process of pressing olives removes impurities and refines the oil, so too do the Jewish people achieve spiritual refinement through humility and unity. Becoming free of arrogance and divisions enables us to kindle the eternal flame, for personal spiritual achievements are temporary, while illumination that stems from the collective soul of Israel is everlasting. True, enduring light comes through integrating oneself within the general community of Israel – becoming part of the whole rather than seeking individual elevation alone (Sefat Emet, Likutim, Parashat Tetzaveh). This alludes to a profound insight into the connection between the Menorah and Eretz Yisrael. The light of the Menorah represents the unity and refinement of the collective soul of Israel, which reaches its highest fulfillment in the Land of Israel, where the Shechinah dwells. Rav Kook further expounds: “The return to a life of full Israeli expression, to a life illuminated by Torah in its highest revelation, occurs in Eretz Yisrael, the land of our life. The Spirit of G-d in the inner Israeli soul unites with the Spirit of G-d in the land, and the outcast lover returns to her original love, renewing the holy marriage of yore. This happens when the nation, the Torah, and all of the mitzvot are reunited with the life-giving Spirit of G-d in the land” (Orot, Eretz Yisrael Chapter 8).

The Emblem of the Land of Israel – The Light of our Mission

The Menorah is a powerful symbol of the Jewish people’s role in the world – illuminating the darkness with Divine wisdom and righteousness. Just as the light of the Beit Hamikdash shone forth, so too does the spiritual radiance of Eretz Yisrael continue to guide us. The Land of Israel is not merely a physical homeland; it is the center of our spiritual identity, where our connection to Hashem reaches its fullest expression. Just as the Menorah’s light was fueled by pure olive oil, so too is the Jewish faith and clarity nourished by the sanctity of the land.  In this way, the Land of Israel is not only the physical home of the Jewish people but the very source of their inner light and spiritual awakening. By dwelling in Eretz Yisrael, we embrace our mission as a light unto the nations, bringing Hashem’s presence into the world. Thus, it is fitting that the modern State of Israel emblem is a Menorah flanked by olive branches, symbolizing the eternal connection between Eretz Yisrael and the divine light it radiates to the world.

Parashat Teruma: How Can We Create a Sacred Space in our Lives and Land?

Printable Version

Parashat Teruma
How Can We Create a Sacred Space in our Lives and Land?

How did My Childhood Quest for Sacred Space Lead Me to True Holiness?

Since childhood, I have always sought to create sacred spaces around me. As a young girl scout, I would adorn the entrance to our tent with magnificent rocks and other intriguing objects I found in nature. I wasn’t just decorating; I was marking the threshold with beauty and meaning as if to invite a deeper presence into that space. Even then, without fully understanding the concept, I was trying to create a sacred space – infused with intention and reverence. As I grew older, my yearning for sacred space deepened. When I became a teenager, I claimed the basement of our family villa as my own – a privilege I was granted as the eldest of three sisters. With wall hangings, psychedelic colors, crystals, and the ethereal sound of Pink Floyd, I transformed an ordinary upper-middle-class suburban basement into a mystical, kaleidoscopic refuge for spiritual seekers. It was more than a teenage hangout – it became my sanctuary. I created an atmosphere where the mundane dissolved into something transcendent, a space where I could explore my spiritual yearnings. Even as I traveled, whether for a day or longer, I would leave my mark on the spaces I temporarily inhabited. Draping scarves and hanging necklaces – was my attempt to infuse each temporary dwelling with an atmosphere of sacredness, however imperfect. It was the best I could do with my limited understanding of true holiness. Yet, I got a glimpse – perhaps more accurately, a scent – of something deeper. When I visited my grandparents in Israel, I was welcomed by the fragrance of citrus groves, a sacred scent that imprinted itself upon my soul. It was as if my heart was being prepared, softened, and opened to receive something greater. And then, when I stood before the Western Wall for the first time, I knew – without scarves or necklaces or any adornment that this was kedusha – true holiness. My childhood instinct to sanctify space had found its source.

The Eternal Repercussions of the Mitzvah to Create Sacred Space
In Parashat Teruma, Hashem commands the Children of Israel:

ספר שמות פרק כה פסוק ח וְעָשׂוּ לִי מִקְדָּשׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּי בְּתוֹכָם:

“They shall make for Me a Mikdash (Sanctuary), and I will dwell among them” (Shemot 25:8).

This verse encapsulates a profound spiritual truth – our mission to create sacred spaces where the Shechinah (Divine Presence), can reside. The command to build the Mishkan (Tabernacle) in the wilderness was not merely a physical task; it was a spiritual act – a calling to transform the physical space into a dwelling for the Divine. A fascinating passage from Pesikta Zutarta offers deep insight into our verse attributing the Shechinah dwelling among Israel with eternal significance: This refers to both the present world and the world to come. It refers to the eternal dwelling, for all time. The Holy One, Blessed be He, expresses extraordinary affection for the people of Israel by constricting His Presence within them. Happy is the nation for whom this is true. Happy is the nation that Hashem is his G-d (Pesikta Zutarta, Shemot 25:8). The sanctuary is not only a physical structure in this world but primarily imbues us with a profound and everlasting relationship – our eternal bond with the Divine that transcends into the world to come. Hashem’s special love for Israel is manifested in the choice to have His Presence contained within us, making Israel a vessel for the Divine. While the Mishkan served a critical role in the wilderness as a portable sanctuary – a place where Heaven and Earth converge, and the Israelites could experience the presence of Hashem in their midst – its true fulfillment was always intended to be in the Land of Israel. There, the Beit HaMikdash (Holy Temple) would be built, a permanent home for the Shechinah. The connection between these sacred spaces highlights a deeper truth: our mission to create a sacred space extends beyond the temporary buildings we construct or the lands we inhabit during exile.

What is the Connection Between The Mishkan and the Land of Israel?

The holiness of the Mishkan extends into the Land of Israel by serving as a place of Divine guidance – just as Hashem spoke to Moshe from the Kodesh HaKodashim (Holy of Holies), prophecy flourished only in the Land of Israel. It is the land where the voice of Hashem is most clearly heard. The Beit HaMikdash became the central point from which divine wisdom and guidance were transmitted to the people of Israel. Moreover, the Mishkan was a place of service to Hashem; similarly, the Land of Israel is a place of service, where mitzvot such as terumot, ma’aserot, and shemitah sanctify the very acts of eating, working, and living on the land. The daily lives of the Israelites are infused with sanctity, as the land itself reflects the holiness of the Mishkan. Thus, the portable Mishkan in the desert was only a temporary construction, whereas our permanent sanctuary can exist only in the Holy Land. As Ralbag explains, the ultimate mitzvah of building a Mikdash is not to be carried out in just any location, but in the specific place that Hashem will choose when the people cross the Jordan and settle in the land. The Mishkan in the desert was merely a temporary dwelling, designed to train the Israelites in divine service and prepare them for their inheritance of the land. They did not stray from this path, as they did not have a permanent sanctuary until Hashem revealed to them the location of the eternal Temple on Mount Moriah (Rabbi Levi ben Gershon, Shemot 25:8). The Promised Land is so much more than just a geographical location. Only in the Land of Israel do the spiritual and physical meet in perfect harmony. Just as the Mishkan was fashioned from earthly materials to house the Divine, the Land of Israel is the soil where Hashem’s Presence can take root among His people. The very earth of Israel holds the potential to become a dwelling place for the Divine. This connection reinforces the deep sanctity of both the Mishkan and the Land, highlighting that Israel is not only a place for the Jewish people to live but the place where Hashem’s glory is to be revealed (Based on Yoel Yakoby, Parashat Teruma: The Encounter Between Two Types of Sanctity).

To Build or Not to Build the Beit Hamikdash?

We all pray and yearn for the rebuilding of the permanent Beit HaMikdash on the Temple Mount. But why don’t we begin the construction already? One reason often cited is the belief that the Temple is meant to descend from Heaven. However, this view is not as clear-cut as it may seem. It is based on one interpretation of Rashi’s commentary on the Babylonian Talmud (Sukkah 41a). Yet that interpretation of Rashi is disputed among our Sages (see, for example, the Me’iri on that Talmudic passage). Rabbi Jacob Ettlinger succinctly reconciles these differing perspectives: “Certainly, the future Beit HaMikdash will be built literally by humans. That which is written, ‘The Mikdash, Hashem, Your hands established’ (Shemot 15:17), as expounded in the Midrash Tanchuma – that it will descend from above—refers to the spiritual Beit HaMikdash, which will enter the physical, already-built Beit HaMikdash, like a soul within a body” (Aruch LaNer on Sukkah 41a). Another widely held assumption is that the mitzvah of building the Beit HaMikdash is contingent on the majority of Am Yisrael (Jewish People) residing in Eretz Yisrael. Yet this claim is also unclear. In contrast, the Minchat Chinuch asserts: “Even today, it is possible that if the nations were to grant permission to build the Beit HaMikdash, there would be a mitzvah to do so, as is evident from the Midrash, which recounts that in the days of Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananya, permission was granted, and they began construction” (Minchat Chinuch, Mitzvah 95). Similarly, Rav Teichtal states that the Beit HaMikdash can be built whenever the opportunity presents itself: “If permission were given to Am Yisrael to build the Beit HaBechirah (Chosen House). …it is a mitzvah for all generations, as we are commanded to build the Beit HaMikdash. Therefore, Chazal said, ‘A generation in which the Beit HaMikdash is not built in its time is as if it were destroyed in its time.’ (Em Habanim Semecha). The reason is that whenever Bnei Yisrael contribute wholeheartedly, yearning to build Him a house, they will be able to attain their aspirations” (Sefat Emet, Parashat Teruma, Year 1850). Based on these authoritative Torah scholars, I venture to ask: So what are we waiting for?!

How Can We Bring the Mishkan into Our Lives Today?

Although our final Beit HaMikdash has not yet been rebuilt, the message of Parashat Teruma remains deeply relevant. Every home in the Land of Israel – and every Jewish heart –  can serve as a mini-Mikdash. By filling our lives with Torah, kindness, and devotion to Hashem, we continue the legacy of Parashat Teruma, creating a space where the Divine Presence can dwell.

The connection between creating sacred space and our role as partners with Hashem in building a dwelling place for the Shechinah is profound. The Land itself is holy, as it is the place where the Shechinah dwells most intimately. Every act of sanctifying the space around us – whether through physical action or spiritual devotion—brings us closer to fulfilling the mitzvah of Parashat Teruma: “They shall make for Me a Sanctuary, and I will dwell among them.” This call is not just for the Israelites of the past but for us today, as we continue to build sacred spaces where the Divine can reside among us. May we merit seeing the rebuilding of the Beit HaMikdash speedily in our days, when its holiness will once again shine in its full glory. The lesson of creating sacred spaces – whether in our homes, our communities, or our land – continues to guide us toward a deeper connection with Hashem, inviting His Presence to dwell among us. Just as I instinctively sought to transform my surroundings into sacred spaces, the Torah calls on all of us to recognize that every space, every moment, and every act can become an opportunity to invite holiness into our lives. The Land of Israel, in particular, is where this sacred work is most fully realized. It is not merely a home for the Jewish people but the very foundation of our relationship with Hashem.

Parashat Mishpatim: How are the Interpersonal Mitzvot Linked to the Holiness of the Land?

Printable Version

Parashat Mishpatim
How are the Interpersonal Mitzvot Linked to the Holiness of the Land?

Can Social Justice Exist Without a Spiritual Foundation?

I’ve been a truth seeker since childhood. Even before I could define it, I was searching for a model of social justice rooted in spiritual and moral principles. I suppose I was born a spiritual seeker, always feeling like an outsider in a culture so focused on materialism. Never having experienced physical lack in life, I was drawn instead to advocate for the repair I felt was needed in the emotional and spiritual dimensions. As a teenager, I had many Marxist friends, largely due to my enrollment in the Free Gymnasium – an alternative high school where students helped run the institution. My parents agreed to let me attend only after I had first tried a regular high school.  In hindsight, I understand their reluctance. The Free Gymnasium was not only a hub for leftist ideals but also a stronghold of vehement anti-Zionism, which often went hand in hand. I still remember walking into class one day in 1975 to find “Zionism is Racism” scrawled in bold letters across the blackboard – the same year the United Nations General Assembly declared Zionism a form of racial discrimination. Although I deeply believed in social equality, I couldn’t help but feel shaken by that statement, which seemed to be directed personally against me. The Kibbutz principle of working according to one’s ability and receiving compensation according to one’s needs resonated with me, yet I struggled to embrace Marxism. It would have been easier – and more comfortable – to align with my Marxist friends, but no matter how much I tried, I couldn’t accept its foundation: historical materialism, which argues that material conditions drive human history and transformation. I could never agree that the material framework determines how human beings evolve and shape the world. For me, the spiritual dimension has always been the true force behind everything that unfolds in the universe. Needless to say, when I discovered the Torah, its religious, ethical, and social laws resonated deeply with my soul.

 

Are our Divinely Ordained Ethical Laws Designed Particularly for the Holy Land?

Parashat Mishpatim, which follows the revelation at Mount Sinai, presents an extensive array of laws covering diverse aspects of life – ranging from the treatment of slaves to the justice system, from civil laws to moral conduct in daily day life. One of the most profound themes of Parashat Mishpatim is the intrinsic connection between these laws and the unique holiness of the Land of Israel. The Torah repeatedly emphasizes that the land is holy and that dwelling in it comes with divine responsibilities. The Land of Israel is not merely a geographical territory; it is the sacred place where the Jewish people are meant to fulfill their covenant with G-d. Parashat Mishpatim offers a glimpse into how the Torah’s legal system is intricately tied to the spiritual nature of the land. While many of its laws focus on interpersonal relationships, property rights, and communal obligations, they also reflect a deeper, spiritual bond with Hashem that the land itself nurtures. This connection is established from the opening verse of Mishpatim, which determines the divine foundation of these interpersonal laws:

 

ספר שמות פרק כא פסוק א וְאֵלֶּה הַמִּשְׁפָּטִים אֲשֶׁר תָּשִׂים לִפְנֵיהֶם:

“And these are the judgments that you shall set before them” (Shemot 21:1).

 

From this verse, we learn that even the ethical principles governing human relationships – that upright people may have established on their own – are divinely ordained.  As Rashi explains, the phrase “And these” (וְאֵלֶּה/ve’eleh) comes to add to what has been previously stated (Tanchuma Mishpatim 3). The phrase serves to link mishpatim (interpersonal laws) to the Ten Commandments, underscoring that just as the laws at Sinai were divinely given, so too are the mitzvot of Parashat Mishpatim. Although these mitzvot appear to be merely laws of human behavior, they are divine imperatives that shape a nation embodying G-d’s will. Their fulfillment is especially significant in the Land of Israel. This is so because the Jewish people are meant to establish a society based on divine justice and ethical responsibility, particularly in the Promised Land (Ramban, Shemot 21:1).

 

How does Shemitah (the Sabbatical Year) Foster a Special Relationship with the Land?

One of the core themes throughout the Torah is that the Land of Israel is a divine gift to the Jewish people – the place where Hashem’s presence is uniquely manifest. Anyone who has made Aliyah or even visited Israel can testify to this truth. The principles of justice and communal responsibility in Parashat Mishpatim lay down the foundation for the relationship between the Jewish people and the land. For example, the mitzvah to observe the Shemitah year:

 

ספר שמות פרק כג פסוק י וְשֵׁשׁ שָׁנִים תִּזְרַע אֶת אַרְצֶךָ וְאָסַפְתָּ אֶת תְּבוּאָתָהּ:

(יא) וְהַשְּׁבִיעִת תִּשְׁמְטֶנָּה וּנְטַשְׁתָּהּ וְאָכְלוּ אֶבְיֹנֵי עַמֶּךָ וְיִתְרָם תֹּאכַל חַיַּת הַשָּׂדֶה כֵּן תַּעֲשֶׂה לְכַרְמְךָ לְזֵיתֶךָ:

“Six years you shall sow your land and gather in its produce. But the seventh year you shall let it rest and lie fallow” (Shemot 23:10-11).

This mitzvah exemplifies the Torah’s holistic vision of justice, extending beyond human relationships to encompass the land itself. The concept of Shemitah teaches us that Eretz Yisrael is not merely a piece of real estate – it is a living, entity. By relinquishing ownership and allowing the land to rest, we affirm that it ultimately belongs to Hashem. This act of emunah acknowledges that our sustenance doesn’t mainly derive from human labor but from divine blessing. The Shemitah year serves as a societal reset and a reminder that the land is on loan to the Israelites from G-d, and we are only its stewards. This understanding instills humility and dependence on divine providence, reinforcing the idea that rather than being self-sufficient we are always relying on Hashem (Babylonian Talmud, Shemita 9a). Moreover, the Sefer HaChinuch (Mitzvah 430) emphasizes that the observance of Shemitah is not merely an agricultural decree but a spiritual discipline, teaching us to care for our eternal inheritance according to Hashem’s will. Just as the land rests, so too must the people pause – to renew their relationship with Hashem and with each other.  On a practical level, we relinquish ownership of the land during the Shemitah year, not just conceptually, but in a very tangible way. The produce that grows in “our own backyard” is open for all to take, embodying the concept that the holy land belongs equally to everyone, for it ultimately belongs to G-d alone. I have personally experienced the renewal that comes from surrendering ownership and seeing how land flourishes after its year of rest. It has also instilled in me a deeper connection to the land, as the excitement to once again “get dirt under my fingernails” speaks to a more profound relationship with the earth – a relationship based not on possession but on loving caretaking, humility, and faith.

Which Mitzvot Engender Compassionate Justice in the Land of Israel?

Another vital connection between the land and the Mishpatim is the principle of Tzedakah –  compassionate justice, which leans toward kindness. The Torah directs us to ensure that all people – especially the poor, the widow, the orphan, and the stranger – are treated with the utmost fairness and compassion:

ספר שמות פרק כב פסוק כ

וְגֵֶר לא תוֹנֶה וְלא תִלְחָצֶנְנוּ כִּי גֵרִים הְיִיתֶם בְּאֵרֶץ מִצְרִים: (כא) כָּל אַלְמָנָה וְיָתוֹם לֹא תְעַנּוּן:

“You shall not mistreat a convert, nor shall you oppress him, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” You shall not oppress any widow or orphan (Shemot 22:20-21).

Caring for the most vulnerable among us – those without a social network – is not merely an abstract ideal; it is an existential, practical reality of life in the Land of Israel. We are called to make a special effort never to exploit those lacking support, whether by underpaying them or being overly controlling and demanding. We must never shame a convert by reminding him of his past or speaking harshly to a widow or orphan. Rather, as practiced in our community in Bat Ayin, we open our homes and hearts to ensure these individuals feel welcome, supported, and cherished. The Torah further reinforces the need to provide for the poor, release debts, and create opportunities for everyone to thrive. The law requiring the return of property during the Jubilee year (Vayikra 25:10–16) reflects the profound understanding that land cannot be sold permanently – it ultimately reverts to its divinely appointed owner (Rashi on Vayikra 25:10). When my husband and I decided to settle in Gush Etzion, we were driven by the desire to live a life fully aligned with Torah values. Over the years, we have witnessed how the mitzvot of justice and kindness form the bedrock of our community. Whether helping a neighbor in need, supporting local agricultural initiatives, or welcoming newcomers, living in Eretz Yisrael provides countless opportunities to put the lessons of Parashat Mishpatim into practice.

How am I Resolving My Quest for Truth and Divine Social Justice in the Land?

The laws of Mishpatim, such as those governing loans and the return of property in the Jubilee year, affirm that the land must be maintained with social justice at its core. Living in this land is not merely a physical reality – it is a spiritual calling that demands commitment to ethical conduct, adherence to G-d’s laws, and deep reverence for the sanctity of the land itself. Without these values, the land risks desecration, and the people risk severing our connection to the divine. Neglecting the poor and the needy is not just a moral failure; it is a violation of the land’s sacred purpose, which was entrusted to the Jewish people to uphold justice and righteousness (Babylonian Talmud Baba Batra 8a). For me, the spiritual foundation of building a just and compassionate society in the Land of Israel stands in direct contrast to Marx’s historical materialism. It is not material conditions that shape human history but rather our connection with Hashem – expressed through the fulfillment of His laws in both their spiritual and practical dimensions – that drives true transformation. I am profoundly grateful that my childhood search for a model of social justice rooted in spiritual and moral principles has been fulfilled. Over the years, it has become clear to me that striving to uphold divine law within the land invites the Shechinah to dwell among us, allowing the Holy Land – and in due course, the entire world – to flourish and fulfill its ultimate divine purpose.