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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How Can We Rectify Our Own Mei Merivah Through Emunah?

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

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

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

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

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

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Parashat Korach

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Parashat Shelach-Lecha: Is It Possible to Merit the Land of Israel Without Trusting Hashem?

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Parashat Shelach Lecha
Is It Possible to Merit the Land of Israel Without Trusting Hashem?

What Were Our Challenges of Returning to the Land?

This week, my husband and I are celebrating 33 years since our return to Eretz Yisrael, after having been exiled from the Land for four long years. My husband had been obligated to repay his medical school loans by serving in a physician shortage area. Though he managed to defer the obligation for over seven years, it eventually reached the Israeli courts. The leading Rabbis he consulted – including Dayan Eliashiv z”l – ruled unequivocally: he had to go. And so, I followed my husband with our young son, tears falling into the darkness of the exile of New York, and later, Memphis, Tennessee. From 1988 to 1992, we lived in yearning, longing to return to the Land we had made our home since 1980, when we married and made Aliyah.

Finally, the day arrived. Our term was up, and we could board the long-awaited flight back to our beloved homeland. That week, Parashat B’Ha’alotcha was read in the synagogues abroad – a title that can be understood as “when you ascend (make Aliyah).” In Israel, however, they were already reading Parashat Shelach – about the sin of the spies who feared conquering the Holy Land. The contrast between the two readings felt divinely orchestrated, facilitating our transfer from the comfort of exile to the spiritual demands of living in Eretz Yisrael. Parashat Shelach, with its succinct and piercing welcome message, couldn’t have been more fitting to help us transition out of the pampered, cushioned, material exile mentality that had gradually crept deeper and deeper into our psyches during our years on foreign soil. Our eyes, conditioned by years in the Diaspora, were quick to notice the outer imperfections: peeling paint, bare bulbs without lampshades, and children with runny noses. The modern equivalent of the temptation of the Israelites’ desiring to return to ‘Egypt’ (Bamidbar 14:4) crept in. We found ourselves struggling with a longing for wall-to-wall carpets, orderly supermarkets, and a life of ease.

Developing Inner Vision

I still vividly recall how that very first Shabbat back in Israel, my husband and I learned the Sefat Emet together about cultivating inner vision. That learning immediately began to dissolve the exile mentality that had clung to us.

ספר במדבר פרק טו פסוק לט וְהָיָה לָכֶם לְצִיצִת וּרְאִיתֶם אֹתוֹ וּזְכַרְתֶּם אֶת כָּל מִצְוֹת הַשֵׁם וַעֲשִׂיתֶם אֹתָם וְלֹא תָתוּרוּ אַחֲרֵי לְבַבְכֶם וְאַחֲרֵי עֵינֵיכֶם אֲשֶׁר אַתֶּם זֹנִים אַחֲרֵיהֶם:

“This shall be fringes for you, and when you see it, you will remember all the commandments of Hashem to perform them, and you shall not wander after your hearts and after your eyes after which you are going astray” (Bamidbar 15:39).

Rashi comments: “[the eyes and the heart are] the two scouts of the body.” This profound teaching urges us to follow the pnimiyut (the inner dimension) rather than be misled by external appearances. In the Holy Land, instead of reacting to what the physical eye sees, we are called to nullify ourselves before the Divine and perceive only what Hashem wants us to see: the Divine vitality that animates all things.

The sin of the spies, the Sefat Emet explains, stemmed from a lack of emunah. To their rational minds, it seemed impossible to enter the Land – and indeed, they never did. But had they believed and surrendered their perception to the will of Hashem, that very faith would have lifted them above natural limitations. As Hashem told Avraham, “Go out of your astrology...” (Bereishit 15:5), and it is written, “He believed in Hashem...” (ibid., verse 6).

This refers to drawing down and cleaving to the inner Divine vitality. The verse doesn’t say, “so that you shall remember them” – the tzitzit alone – but rather, “you shall remember [all the mitzvot].” The Sefat Emet explains that zechirah – remembrance – means being fully connected to the inner divine life-force. Through that connection, we are able to perform the mitzvot.

When we remember that even our very life-force comes from Hashem, we realize we are never truly disconnected. No matter how unworthy or distant we may feel, that perception is only external – a ploy of the yetzer hara of exile mentality. Hashem’s Torah and mitzvot are the life of the entire world, as it is said: “for they are our life” (Sefat Emet, Shelach, 5631).

These powerful words entered our hearts that very first Shabbat back in Israel and helped lift us above the distractions of peeling paint, bare bulbs, and runny noses – reconnecting us to the inner vitality of the Holy Land: the Shechinah dwelling within it.

What is the Source of Fear and Lack of Self-confidence to Enter the Land?

Parashat Shelach confronts us with one of the most painful failures in our national history: the rejection of Eretz Yisrael. Twelve spies were sent to scout the Land, but ten returned with fear-laden words that shook the heart of the people. Rather than drawing strength from the holiness of the Land and the promise of Hashem, they focused on the challenges, exaggerating the obstacles and diminishing their own power.

ספר במדבר פרק יג פסוק לג וְשָׁם רָאִינוּ אֶת הַנְּפִילִים בְּנֵי עֲנָק מִן הַנְּפִלִים וַנְּהִי בְעֵינֵינוּ כַּחֲגָבִים וְכֵן הָיִינוּ בְּעֵינֵיהֶם:

“There we saw the giants, the sons of Anak, descended from the giants. In our eyes, we seemed like grasshoppers, and so we were in their eyes” (Bamidbar 13:33).

This verse reveals the core of the problem: the people’s perception of themselves. Their lack of self-worth made them unable to believe Hashem’s promise. When we don’t see ourselves as worthy of the Land, we cannot embrace it. Faith in Eretz Yisrael begins with faith in our Divine mission. The root of the failure to believe in that mission is alluded to just two verses prior:

ספר במדבר פרק יג  פסוק לא וְהָאֲנָשִׁים אֲשֶׁר עָלוּ עִמּוֹ אָמְרוּ לֹא נוּכַל לַעֲלוֹת אֶל הָעָם כִּי חָזָק הוּא מִמֶּנּוּ:

“But the men who went up with him said, ‘We are unable to go up against the people, for they are stronger than we’” (ibid., verse 31).

The word מִמֶּנּוּ/mimenu – “than we” with just a slight change in vocalization, can also be read as מִמֶּנּוֹ/mimano – ‘than He.’ They said this in reference to the Most High, as if to say that the people are stronger than He (Rashi, Bamidbar 13:31 based on Sotah 35a).

The proximity of the verse regarding distrusting Hashem’s power and the Israelites’ self-doubt alludes to the connection between them. Our fearfulness and lack of self-confidence stem from a lack of trust in G-d. Recognizing that the essence of our soul emanates from our Divine spark within strengthens our self-assurance to accomplish our Divine mission.  Therefore, when we truly trust Hashem, there is no room to be fearful and lacking in confidence. Thus, the spies’ rejection of the Land was not simply a strategic or political mistake; it was a spiritual failure of trusting in G-d. The essence of the sin of the spies was their lack of emunah –  their failure to trust that Hashem’s presence would accompany them into the Land. Eretz Yisrael is not a reward for the righteous, but a catalyst for becoming righteous, as the Sefat Emet teaches, “the land of Israel is only prepared for the Jewish people, to them the good light which is hidden within it is revealed. The Jewish people become rectified through the land of Israel, and the land of Israel becomes rectified through the Jewish people” (Sefat Emet, Shelach, Year 5656).  Israel is a Land that draws us upward – if we allow ourselves to be drawn.

Discovering the Land’s Hidden Goodness by Trusting Wholeheartedly in Hashem

The Land of Israel is uniquely prepared for the Jewish people. Only we are capable of revealing the hidden light embedded within it. As the verse states,וְעַמֵּךְ כֻּלָּם צַדִּיקִים לְעוֹלָם יִירְשׁוּ אָרֶץ  –

“Your people are all righteous; they shall inherit the Land forever” (Yeshayahu 60:21). The word לְעוֹלָם /l’olam – “forever” also hints at times when the holiness of the Land is נֶעְלָם/ne’elam – ‘concealed.’ Even then, Am Yisrael remains the vessel through which the hidden goodness of the Land can be revealed.

This is why the Torah begins with the description:וְהָאָרֶץ הָיְתָה תֹהוּ וָבֹהוּ... וַיֹּאמֶר אֱלֹקים יְהִי אוֹר  – “The earth was desolate and void... and G-d said: ‘Let there be light’” (Bereishit 1:2-3). So too, before Israel entered the Land, its inner goodness remained concealed. The spies failed to see this. They declared, “The land through which we have passed... is a land that consumes its inhabitants” (Bamidbar 13:32). From this very statement, they should have realized that the Land was not rejecting them but rather rejecting those unfit for it. The Land ‘spat out’ the nations who previously lived there because it was intended for Israel alone.

Only Yehoshua and Kalev understood that once Hashem desired to bring His people into the Land, its hidden light would be revealed. As the Sefat Emet teaches, the praise and blessing of the Land of Israel are not recognizable on the surface. But the root of all blessings is embedded in the Land. The purpose of sending the spies was not to assess the quality of the land but to confront the truth: that the people were not yet spiritually ready for its holiness. And yet, due to the oath Hashem swore to our forefathers, they would still enter. The entry into Eretz Yisrael is nothing less than a tikkun (rectification) for creation (Sefat Emet, Shelach, Year 5656).

Living in the Land of Israel is not without hardship. Life here can be rough. The beds may be hard, the people pushy, the bureaucracy slow and tangled. And now, in the midst of war, overcoming fear by trusting in Hashem becomes even more challenging. But the light of the Land, though hidden, is real. And when it bursts through, it can be so intense it nearly blinds us. Still, emunah enables us to move past the discomforts and fears and connect with the inner sanctity of this Land – a holiness unlike anywhere else in the world.

When we trust in Hashem through the hardships of living in Eretz Yisrael – despite the anxieties brought on by current events – we open ourselves to the hidden goodness and abundant blessings that only this Land can offer. The more we allow our emunah and bitachon (trust) to lead us, the more the concealed light of the Land shines through.

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)

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