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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Daughters’ Emunah in the Spiritual Conquest of the Land

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How Can We Rectify Our Own Mei Merivah Through Emunah?

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

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

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

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

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

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Parashat Korach

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.