The Fragile Line Between a Camp of Survival and a Community of Destiny

                                                                   Photo by Shutterstock 
 

                                        "Those who have a 'why' to live, can bear with almost any 'how'." – 

Viktor Frankl “Man’s Search for Meaning

The very insightful quote by Viktor Frankl, above, captures, in my view, the golden thread that weaves through last week’s Parashah, Naso (Numbers 4:21-7:89), and this week’s one, B’ha’alotcha(Numbers 8:1-12:16).* Both Parashot discern one of the Torah’s most profound spiritual tensions and touch upon the brittle line between destiny, Frankl’s “why” and survival, the bearing of any “how.”

To fully appreciate the conceptual bridge between Frankl’s “why” and what is reflected in the messages of both Naso and B’ha’alotcha, I would like to enlist the wisdom of Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, ZT”L

In his essay “Camp and Congregation,” Sacks provides a powerful lens which illuminates how in these two Parashot, Am Yisrael is transformed into a nation with a “why,” one that is united by purpose and destiny that will eventually be able to bear the “how.” In his, as always, brilliant manner Sacks distinguishes between two models, Machaneh (camp, collective existence) and Edah (congregation, community) which appear interchangeably in both Parashot. His distinction between the two is built largely on the following Biblical usage. Sacks asserts that whereas a camp is aimed at providing protection, military order and survival,  organized externally, Edah, is organized internally and carries a deeper significance. Edah, according to him, is the inner essence of the camp, not merely a random, anonymous crowd struggling to survive. What unites its dwellers are interpersonal ethics, a covenantal connection, welded by a shared mission and a shared destiny, the “why.”

Parashat Naso focuses on transforming Am Yisrael from a wandering camp into an Edah, a holy community centred around the Mishkan, which defines its Divine purpose and sacred mission. It constructs the structure for what is necessary for an Edah. At this point, it is noteworthy to mention that though the word “Edah” itself is not, literally, prominent in this Parashah (it appears much more cogently in later Parashot, particularly in times of collective failure and collective responsibility such as Korach), it develops the substance of what is to become, later, Edah. Naso plays a key role in the process of embedding the concept of “why.”

B’ha'a’lotcha illustrates that we  need an occasional jolt, in the form of a harsh experience, to remind us of the “why.” The Parashah describes the hardships that the journey into the desert poses. We witness how quickly the vision of the “why” can unravel once despair and fears settle in. The people express frustration and a wish to go back to Egypt. "The Yisraelites… began to cry. They said, ‘who will feed us meat?’ We recall the fish that we ate in Egypt freely, the cucumbers, the watermelons, the leeks and the garlic.” (11:4-5). The desert challenges spawn the first fractures in the community. The Edah of Parashat Naso loses sight of its mission and reverts to being a camp of anxieties.

To be honest, one must admit that the Torah builds the framework for the Covenant before it reveals to Am Yisrael how difficult covenantal consciousness is to follow and sustain in real life. That is the reason, I believe, why just before the crisis described in the verses above, as if anticipating such a spiritual collapse and out of a wish to provide an “antidote” for it, the Torah tells us, in what might seem sudden, unrelated and out of context, that “whenever the Ark set out, Moshe would say, ’Arise, G-d!  May your enemies be scattered and may those who hate You flee from you.’" (10:35)

The Ark represents for Am Yisrael the Covenant, the purpose,  their future-oriented mission and provides them with a meaning. Meaning enables endurance. As long as the Ark was traveling before the camp, it could strengthen and sustain them through the hardships and challenges of the desert regardless of how difficult they may be.

 *Since Yisrael and the Diaspora differ, sometimes, after the Holy Day of Shavuot, Naso was read on the previous Shabbat (May 23, 2026), and B’ha’alotcha on this Shabbat.

The Episode of the Blasphemer

 

                              

In Parashat Emor Vayikra (Leviticus), 21:1-24:23, we are told about a son of an “Yisraelite woman” and “Egyptian man” who quarrelled with an Yisraelite man (24:10). Torah continues and shares with us that “The son of the Yisraelite woman pronounced the name of G-d, cursing Him... His mother’s name was Shelomit bat Divri of the tribe of Dan” (24:11-12).

The sinner is detained and upon G-d’s directive, he is put to death by stoning

Following the event, G-d speaks to Moshe and orders him, “You must speak to Bnei Yisrael, saying: ‘Any man who curses his G-d must bear his sin. One who pronounces the proper name of G-d while cursing it must be put to death. The entire community will stone him to death. Whether he is a convert or a native Yisraelite, if he pronounces the Divine Name as part of his curse, he must be put to death” (24:15-16).

Who is this “blasphemer” whose name is not mentioned other than his being the son of an “Yisraelite woman and the son of an Egyptian man?” What was the dispute about? Why did he curse G-d?

This story, as it seems, is one case where Jewish sages diverged on how “dramatically” they read the account.

Rash”i, for instance, brings a Midrashic explanation with a few key ideas. He draws his interpretation from Midrash Tanchuma and Vayikra Rabbah. Using these sources, Rash”i focuses on why the Torah emphasizes the man’s mixed parentage. Midrash Vayikra Rabbah (32:3), offers that the “Egyptian father” is the same Egyptian who was killed by Moshe in Shemot (Exodus) 2:12, after the latter witnessed him beating a Hebrew man. According to Midrash Tanchuma (Emor 24), that Egyptian disguised himself as Datan, the husband of Shelomit bat Divri, entered her room when Datan was absent and assaulted her. The child born from that union is the blasphemer in our Parashah.

Rash”i further explains that this man tried to “pitch his tent” among the tribe of Dan, his mother’s tribe. Unfortunately for him, tribal identity followed the father’s line. The court, therefore, ruled against him. Out of frustration, anger and humiliation, Rash”i asserts, he escalated from a personal dispute to blasphemy.

Unlike Rash”i, Ramba”n and Ibn Ezra do not lean on the Midrashic approach. Rather, they read the story in a straightforward manner. For them the key issue is legal identity and do not see any need for a backstory drama or link the event to a morally tainted origin story that happened in Egypt. Like Rash”i, they believe that the blasphemy is the result of social dislocation and legal rejection.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks reads the episode quite differently from the classical commentators mentioned above. Though like Rash”i and Ramba”n, Sacks notes that the Torah’s detailing of the man’s parentage is unusual. Unlike Rashi, he doesn’t focus on who his father was and unlike Ramba”n, he doesn’t center on the legal technicality of tribal placement. Rather, Sacks dwells on what the story says about identity, belonging and speech. For Sacks, the episode reflects human and social tension.

Rabbi Sacks takes it further, psychologically. In his view, the sinner lived with a fractured and unresolved identity, torn between two worlds. On the one hand, he was inside the camp yet not fully accepted. In a way, Sacks uses the Midrashic backstory to frame a modern psychological and social lesson about the dangers of exclusion and humiliation and how the anger and frustration they create can lead to desecration of the most sacred, in this case, the Divine Name.

Sacks believes that “One law shall be for you, for the stranger as for the native” (24:22) tells us about the kind of society the Torah is trying to build. He points to this verse, as the Torah’s own concluding lesson on the event, one that demands equal justice even for those whose origins make them social outcasts.

Sin and Sin-Offering - The Duality of "Chatat"

 

"God created the possibility of repentance before He created the human capacity to sin." – Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

 

Parashat Vayikra (Leviticus 1:1–5:26) introduces the sacrificial system known as korbanot, which means "bringing close." The Parashah lays the foundation for how humans relate to G-d through ritual, responsibility, and moral awareness.

The chatat (sin-offering) in Parashat Vayikra is one of the most conceptually rich korbanot because it deals not with deliberate rebellion, but with the quieter, more complex realm of unintentional wrongdoing.

Chatat first appears in Bresheet (Genesis 4:7). There, G-d says to Cain "lapetach chatat rovetz - sin crouches at the door; its desire is toward you, but you can rule over it."

In his most striking commentary on this verse, Rash”i explains that chatat has a dual meaning which can be understood in two interconnected ways. One is sin. The other, sin-offering.

On the simple level (peshat), chatat, in this verse means, "sin." Its portrayal, in a personified manner, suggests the image of a lurking, predatory animal, ready to pounce. It is an active, persistent force, always nearby, lying in wait, which, according to our sages reflects the human evil inclination.

Drawing on Beresheet Rabbah (22:6), Rash”i offers another, deeper, midrashic tier to the term. There, the sages interpret the words "at the door" as a sin-offering that is waiting at the threshold. In other words, G-d is telling Cain that even if he sins, he is not doomed, as an offering, an atonement is already available, accessible and is ever present. The threat of sin and the possibility of repair exist side by side.

While not directly commenting on this verse, the Talmud (tractate Yoma 86b) resonates a similar theological principle that Rash”i conjures which is, also, succinctly articulated in Rabbi Sacks’s words above, atonement is built into the structure of creation.

Rash”i’s reading of Beresheet becomes clearer when we reach the chatat offering in Parashat Vayikra. The “crouching sin,” especially the unintentional one, is defined as wrongdoing. The "chatat at the door" in Beresheet is transformed, here, into an actual sacrifice, giving humanity a structured and practical system of repair, thus enabling it to live with imperfection and still thrive.

In Beresheet, G-d says to Cain, "you can rule over it." Unfortunately for Cain, even though, as both Rash”i and Sacks assert, atonement is already in place, there is no structured path leading to it. In Cain’s world, human vulnerability and moral struggle exist, but the mechanisms of atonement are still undeveloped.  

Vayikra, as we can see, forges, for the first time, the "ruling over sin" into a concrete form. It transforms the chatat of Beresheet into a pathway for accountability, and a renewed closeness to G-d, via three stages. The first is recognition of the wrongdoing, the second is bringing chatat (sin-offering) and the final one is engaging in confession and atonement. Whereas in Beresheet, chatat is "lurking" and threatening, in Vayikra, it is institutionalized as a ritual of repair.

There remains, however, one key tension, was Cain’s sin eligible for what Vayikra defines as chatat?

In Vayikra, a chatat is brought for unintentional sin. Since Cain’s act of murder was intentional and premeditated, as Beresheet (4:8) suggests, then even within the later system, his sin would not qualify for a standard chatat. Rash”i, naturally, grapples with this dilemma. According to his framework, the answer is in a twofold message to Cain. The first which suggests that one can master his sin and hints that the path of repair is already available, is delivered to him before the act (4:7). The second focuses on what happens after the act where there is absence of repent when the Torah clearly shows that Cain is speaking to G-d (4:9) but fails to fully repent when no clear confession or transformation is evident.

Whatever interpretation one wishes to accept, one message is clear, the concept of chatat draws a poetic arc across the Torah, one that connects what is hinted in Beresheet and what becomes institutionalized in last week’s Parashah fusing the two into a beautiful symmetry. The Torah transforms sin from something that ambushes a person into something that can be confronted, processed, and corrected.

When Impatience and Spiritual Insecurity Take Over

 

                                   Exodus 32:1-35, illustration from a Bible card published in 1901 by the Providence Lithograph Company 

    "Faith is not certainty; it is the courage to live with uncertainty." – Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks

Last week’s Parashah, Ki Tisa covers chapters 30:11 through 34:35, in the Book of Shemot (Exodus). It narrates one of the most dramatic and troubling, yet constitutive, moments in Am Yisrael’s history. I am referring to the episode of The Golden Calf which occurs shortly after the revelation at Mount Sinai.

 Fearing that Moshe may not comeback after his ascent to Mount Sinai, Am Yisrael demands that Aaron, his brother, erect a tangible image that would "go before them.“  The affair provokes a severe crisis between Am Yisrael and G-d, threatening the Covenant they entered with Him, merely a short time earlier. Enraged by this idolatry, Moshe breaks the two stone tablets engraved with the ten commandments, destroys the idol, and punishes the people.

Our sages have grappled with the meaning of this sin, what prompted it and the lessons one may draw from it. Many see it not merely as an act of idolatry but as a psychological and spiritual crisis when Am Yisrael felt abandoned, as expressed in verse 32:1 where the Torah emphasizes the anxiety of Am Yisrael when they believe that Moshe is not going to return,  “When the People saw that Moshe delayed his coming down from the mountain.... For this man Moshe....who brought us up from the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.”

Rash"i, more so than other commentators, tends to present the sin of the Golden Calf with a dose of sympathy and frequently stresses the circumstances and confusion that led to it. Though Rash"i does not excuse the gravity of the sin, he reads this verse as describing a crisis of patience. He explains that the Yisraelites expected Moshe to return after forty days but miscounted the days. In his commentary on this verse, Rash"i states that the people included the day Moshe ascended Mount Sinai, while the correct count began the following day causing fear and panic. 

Rash"i cites a related passage inTalmud Shabbat 89a which describes how Satan created the illusion that Moshe died, thus intensifying the People’s fear and impatience. It is important to note, at this point, that in Judaism, Satan refers to the Prosecutor in the Heavenly Court who functions as a prosecuting attorney, testing that faithfulness is genuine, as is the case in the Book of Job. Midrash Tanchuma (Ki Tisa 19) takes this test even farther when it describes how Satan creates a physical, magical illusion of the calf to lead them astray. This symbolic midrash proposes that Am Yisrael’s doubt and confusion were emotionally manipulated causing them to lose patience.

Rash"i further suggests that the People were utterly dependent on Moshe and interprets their request of “make us gods that will go before us,” as seeking a replacement for Moshe as a leader, not a replacement for G-d. Their reference to Moshe as “This man....” signals a moment of psychological distancing and their inability to sustain faith without a mediator between them and G-d.

Like Rash"i, Ramba"n also dwells on the emotional context.  He asserts that since the Yisraelites have only recently left Egypt, after hundreds of years of slavery, their faith is still fragile and is still influenced by Egyptian culture with its visible religious symbols. When Moshe did not return as they expected, their insecurity pushed them to seek something tangible.

However, while Rash"i focuses mostly on the circumstances that led to the sin, Ramba"n analyzes its theological implications. According to him, the Yisraelites did not wish to replace G-d. They intended to replace Moshe with a substitute leader who would mediate between them and G-d, as did Moshe. Through his broader theory of the origin of idolatry, Ramba"n asserts that people who believe in G-d often introduce intermediaries to make divine worship more tangible (Ramba"n Commentary on Torah, Exodus 32:1). This interpretation shows Am Yisrael’s spiritual insecurity and inability to maintain faith without a physical mediator. Mostly, it points out that the nascent Nation, has not yet internalized faith and that when the mediator disappears, faith collapses into insecurity.

The Golden Calf narrative is often understood not only as a prohibition against idolatry but also as a profound exploration of faith, leadership, and the challenges of maintaining trust in an invisible G-d. The story therefore serves as a timeless cautionary lesson about the dangers of substituting immediate comfort for enduring faith. In every generation, the challenge remains the same: whether to succumb to the allure of the “golden calf” in its various forms, or to remain steadfast in the covenantal values and spiritual trust that define the Jewish tradition.

With your permission, dear readers, I would like to conclude with the thoughtful words of my learned friend, Sara Marciano. She draws a compelling analogy between the biblical episode of the Golden Calf and the challenges facing modern-day Yisrael. Marciano suggests that certain sectors of the Israeli elite have amassed considerable power while, in her view, continuing to worship the "golden calf” and embrace values that distance us from our Jewish roots and from our eternal covenant with G-d. “It is worth reflecting carefully,” she writes, “on whether one should continue to bow before the "golden calf," thus aligning with the darker side of history and ultimately being shattered by it, or instead, rise with valour and oppose it.”

I choose the latter. What about you?

Shavua tov and blessings to all.

Yitro's Blueprint for Justice

 

One of the themes of this week’s Parasha, Yitro, discusses the importance of establishing a properly structured judicial system. The subject is introduced by Yitro, the Priest of Midian and Moshe’s father-in-law. As the experienced and well-established leader of Midian, he is aware that the founding of a fair, accessible and just judicial system is one of the most important pillars of any society.

When Yitro observes Moshe judging the people alone, from morning to night (18:13), he identifies two problems. The first is his concern for Moshe’s well-being, He is worried that, eventually, Moshe “will surely wear” himself “out” (18:18). The second danger that Yitro sees is communal stagnation. It may cause restrictions or a delay of justice and weaken the people, "so the people that are here with you” (18:18). In other words, justice that depends on a single figure, no matter how heroic that figure is,is unsustainable. 

“Moshe,” explains Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, “must learn to delegate and share the burden of leadership.” (Covenant and Conversation, Justice or Peace)

Towards that end, Yitro proposes a model for a judicial structure. The court system which he introduces is decentralized, tiered and hierarchical. It includes the appointment of "chiefs of hundreds, chiefs of fifties and chiefs of tens” who will judge the people on a regular basis (18:22). It resembles the structure of a pyramid. Whereas routine and simple cases are handled locally, difficult cases are escalated upward by the chiefs at the bottom of the structure; difficult or precedent-setting cases reach Moshe.

As far as judges are concerned, Yitro does not ask for charisma or brilliance but moral reliability. According to him, they should possess four traits: competency, fear of G-d, commitment to truth, and display aversion to corruption.

This is the Torah’s first explicit institutional design - a blueprint for governance.

Though Yitro’s suggested system is not democratic in a modern sense, it is anti- tyrannical and is remarkably advanced for its time. In order to fully understand its novelty and unique nature, one must delve into the practices of the Ancient Near East, the backdrop against which Yitro formulated his scheme.

In most ancient Near Eastern societies, such as Egypt and Mesopotamia, the king was seen as the god-appointed source of law, and justice flowed downward from him. Yitro’s system takes a very different approach. Instead of placing all authority in one ruler, it spreads judicial power among local judges chosen for their moral integrity.

This change is not just about efficiency; it reflects a new understanding of law itself. Law is no longer tied to a single leader but stands above all leaders, grounded in ethical responsibility and covenantal duty. In this way, Yitro reshapes familiar ancient structures to create a system of justice that is limited, accountable, and attainable, quietly but decisively challenging the royal model of justice that dominated the ancient world.

In a way, Yitro’s proposed structure anticipates key principles of the modern judicial system, especially in terms of accessibility, appeals and distributed authority. It marks the Torah’s rejection of solitary, sacralized power and the birth of what Sacks refers to as a “covenantal society” in which authority is shared, law is institutionalized, and leadership is morally accountable rather than charismatic.

Shabbat Shalom

Parashat "Bo" - the Clash of Theologies

 

Parashat Bo (Shemot 10:1-13:16) narrates the final plagues, the breaking of Pharaoh’s resistance, and  the departure of Bnei Yisrael.

The Parashah is not merely about freedom from political bondage or emancipation. Rather, the Parashah records a theological confrontation between two rival conceptions or visions of reality and the displacement of one theology by another. It describes a clash between Egyptian theology, rooted in power, nature, and timeless order, and the Yisraelite theology, grounded in covenantal responsibility, moral history, and sanctified time.

The ancient Egyptians viewed the world as a closed, stable system which is governed by cosmic equilibrium where Pharaoh was a divine figure and the guarrantor of order. Nature was sacred, power eternal and heirarchy immutable. In such a system, slavery was not an injustice but a feature of reality.

Against such a worldview stands the Torah in which G-d is above nature and history and intervenes in both. Unlike the Egyptian mindset, in the Yisralite one, human beings are not fixed within eternal ranks but are capable of transformation and slaves can become a covenantal people.

Midrash Shemot Rabbah explicitly affirms the clash between the two theologies where it  when it states, "Just as He exacted punishment from the Egyptians, so, too, did He exact punishment from their gods (15:22). This reinforces the notion  that the plagues function as a theological judgements, not merely punishments.

Rash"i, likewise, frames the plagues as theological signs, not natural disasters. Rash"i explains that G-d's declaration  "and you will know that I am Lord" (Shemot 10:2) proposes that the plagues are intended to teach knowledge of G-d, not only to Egypt but to Yisrael itself. Most strikingly, in his commentary on Shemot 12:12, Rash"i suggests that when G-d declares, "I am the Lord," He actually means "I Myself and not an angel;I Myself and not an seraph;I myself and not a messanger..."

Here, Rash"i touches upon one fundamental difference between ancient Egyptian civilization and Torah. The Torah excludes intermediaries while the Egyptian religion depended upon them—magic, priesthood, cosmic forces. Redemption requires a direct encounter with the one G-d who stands above nature and hierarchy.

Ramba"n (Nachmanadis) also teaches that the plagues were not random acts of force but a systematic dismantling of false beliefs. According to him, the purpose of the great signs and wonders is to teach belief in G-d, to make known that He created the world, that He knows and supervises individuals, and that He has absolute power over all (Ramba"n on Exodus 13:16).

This view is evidenced in the final three plagues which directly attack Egypt's core beliefs. The eight plague, locusts, aims at showing that nature is not predictable and is under G-d's command. Darkness, the nineth plague is a frontal assault on Ra, the sun-god. The failure and negation of Egypt's central deity causes the collapse of its civilizaion. The darkness which cloakes Egypt where "They could not see each other" is not only physical. It also serves as a metaphore for a society that loses its coherence following such a collapse. Finally, the plague leading the death of the first born is aimed at refuting the Egyptians core belief that Pharaoh is divine and prove that divine lineage is an illusion. These plagues indicate that this is not merely punishment. It is a theological refutation. It is intended at teaching us that the plagues are not random acts of force but a systematic dismantling of false belief. In the final plagues, that theological confrontation reaches its climax.

In his commentary to Bo, Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks writes that Egypt sought immortality through monuments, mummification, and dynasties, whereas Judaism seeks eternity through memory, law, and moral responsibility. Pharaoh believes that power is permanent; G-d teaches that only covenant endures. Most importantly, Sacks insists that freedom, in Bo, is not freedom from obligation but freedom for responsibility (Covenant and Conversation Parashat Bo).

Parashat Bo is a sustained, dramatic confrontation between two rival theologies: Egyptian and Yisraelite (biblical/Jewish). The narrative is not merely about liberation from oppression but also about which vision of reality is true. The Exodus is not just an event. It is a theological revolution.

Shabbat Shalom nand every blessing

The Four Stages of Redemption

 

                                                   

Parashat Va’era, spanning chapters 6:2 through 9:35, in Shemot (Exodus), marks the turning point in the Exodus story. After Moshe’s first failed encounter with Pharaoh, G-d reassures him that redemption will now unfold through divine power. G-d reveals Himself to Moshe by His holy name, emphasizing faithfulness to His promises, and announces the beginning of the plagues that will break Egypt’s hold over Israel.

At the heart of the h stands G-d’s great promise of redemption, expressed in four stages (Shemot 6:6–7):

“I will bring you out” – God will ease the people’s suffering and remove them from the crushing burden of slavery.

“I will rescue you” – God will free Israel from Egyptian domination and bondage.

“I will redeem you”  – God will act as Israel’s Redeemer through miracles and judgment, restoring their dignity as a nation.

“I will take you to be My people” – Redemption reaches its highest point when Israel enters a covenant with God at Sinai.

Classic commentators understand these four expressions of redemption, and at the same time, each adds a different layer to what “redemption” really means.

Rash”i, for instance,  reads the verses very concretely and sequentially. Each act of G-d is a distinct stage: relief from the burden of labor, freedom from servitude,                                                              redemption through miracles and judgments and becoming G-d’s people at Sinai. For Rash"i, redemption moves from physical relief to political freedom to divine intervention to spiritual destiny.

Ramba”n differs in his commentary on the term “redemption.” For him, the Exodus from Egypt is not redemption. True redemption, he believes, happens when Yisrael becomes G-d’s People and G-d becomes their G-d. Whereas the first three stages are historical, he asserts,  the fourth is theological. Freedom without Covenant. is incomplete freedom. (Mikra’ot Gedolot, Shemot 6:6–7).

Sforno, another classical Jewish scholar, sees the four stages as a movement from existence to mission.  The first three stages ensure survival and freedom from oppression and the restoration of dignity. The final stage, “and I will take,” he believes, gives purpose. Am Yisrael is not just saved from something. It was saved for something, to become a moral nation dedicated to G-d’s service. (Sforno on Exodus 6:6-7). 

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch. Rav Hirsch reads these four stages as a pedagogical process. Slaves must learn firstly that suffering is not destiny. Then they have to learn that power does not define truth. Then they must learn that G-d redeems history. Finally, they must learn that Freedom is service to G-d, not independence from all authority. Each step trains them to understand what freedom really means (R. Samson Raphael Hirsch, Commentary on the Torah, Exod. 6:6–7).

Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik interprets the four expressions as the transformation from a people of fate (victims of history) to a People of destiny(G-d’s partners in shaping history. The first three stages remove oppression. The fourth gives Am Yisrael identity and responsibility. Redemption is not merely being freed from Pharaoh; it also means being called to G-d (Reflections of the Rav, Vol. 2, pp. 88–114).

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks explains that the four expressions of freedom show that Redemption is not just liberation from tyranny, but transformation into a People of covenant and responsibility. Sacks emphasizes that the Torah defines redemption not as liberation alone, but as liberation plus law. Many nations escaped tyranny in history.  Yisrael escaped tyranny and entered a covenant and vowed to fulfill its moral code and its values. Freedom without values leads to chaos. The covenant turns freedom into responsibility. For Sacks, the four expressions trace the journey from slaves→ to citizens→ to a holy nation. (Sacks, Jonathan. Covenant & Conversation: Exodus – The Book of Redemption. Commentary to Exodus 6:6–7 Parashat Va’era).

These four stages of redemption are the basis for the four cups of wine at the Pesach Seder-each cup celebrating one stage of redemption.

However, immediately following the four phases in the parashah comes a fifth one, “I will bring you to the land” (Shemot 6:8). Why is it not counted among the four? 

Rash"i suggests that the promise of the land, as mentioned in the above verse, was not fulfilled for that generation. He bases his assertion on the Torah itself, where it shows that the Exodus generation was redeemed from slavery but not yet ready for life in the land, so the final stage of redemption had to wait for their children — turning the fifth expression into a promise of future completion, not immediate fulfillment. Some scholars explain that this is why we pour the fifth cup, Elijah's cup, at the Seder, - a symbol of the redemption still to come.

                                                              Elijah's Cup (inscribed on it, Shemot 6:8)

 
Ramba”n disagrees with Rash”i. For him, all five expressions form one unified process of redemption. Even if the Exodus generation did not physically enter the land, the promise of “and I shall bring you” was still genuinely part of their redemption. A promise made to Yisrael, according to Ramba”n, can be fulfilled across generations and still be considered the fulfillment of that original redemption.

Parashat Va’era opens at the darkest moment of Israel’s story. The people are crushed by slavery, Moshe is disheartened, and even Pharaoh seems more powerful than before. It is precisely here, in the depth of despair, that G-d introduces one of the Torah’s most enduring promises — the four expressions of redemption. These phrases do more than predict the Exodus; they define what redemption truly means in Jewish thought. Redemption is not a single dramatic escape, but a process — moving from relief from suffering, to freedom from oppression, to national restoration, and finally to covenantal purpose. Parashat Va’era teaches that true freedom is not merely leaving Egypt, but becoming a people who live with meaning, responsibility, and divine mission.

Three Dreams, One Destiny

 

“Joseph was the great dreamer of the Torah, and his dreams for the most part came true. But not in a way he or anyone else could have anticipated.” - Rabbi Lord  Jonathan Sacks

Dreams are one of the main themes in recent Parashot. Parashat Vayetze narrates Yaakov's dream at Bet-El. This week’s Parashat Vayeshev, recounts two dreams experienced by Yoseph, Yaakov’s favourite son. Before delving further into the significance of these dreams and the connection between them, it is important to understand them in the context of the time and place in which they occurred.

Dreams, in general, have held a consistent and powerful place in human civilization—from politics and prophecy to psychology and art. Across cultures and eras, they were rarely seen as random inner noise; rather, they were treated as messages, omens, or revelations that could redirect nations and reshape lives.

In the Ancient Near East, the cradle of Jewish civilization, dreams were commonly understood as royal legitimation. Mesopotamian rulers recorded nocturnal visions as proof of divine endorsement, elevating the king to semi-divine status and rendering political authority sacred. Egyptian dream manuals, discovered in the Chester Beatty Papyrus, treated dreams as coded celestial messages decipherable by specialists of the court. Their purpose was not moral formation but statecraft, empire stability, and royal self-preservation. 

Against this backdrop, the dreams of Yaakov and Yoseph invert the entire cultural logic. Unlike Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia where dreams enthroned power, in the Torah, dreams serve a purpose. While the ancient world used dreams to elevate man to the gods, the Torah uses dreams to anchor man to G-d. (John Walton, Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament, 2006).

Yaakov does not become king by dreaming, nor does Yoseph become divine by interpretation. Instead, their dreams deepen covenantal obligation. We encounter their dreams which, in the words of Sacks, “came true,” yet “not in a way, the dreamers themselves, or anyone else could have anticipated.” (Covenant and Conversation Studies in Spirituality, Mikketz).

The dream that greets Yaakov at Bet-El and the two dreams that shape Yoseph’s destiny, according to some Jewish scholars, are not isolated mystical events but stages of a single unfolding covenant.

Though scholars such as, Rash"i and Sforno do not explicitly connect the dream narratives of father and son (Yaakov’s ladder in Bresheet 28:12-15) and Yoseph’s dreams of the sheaves bowing, in Bresheet 37:7 and the celestial bodies submitting, in 37:9), in any explicit comment, they create a conceptual bridge, indirectly, through one key motif, movement from revelation of choseness to its realization. Yaakov’s vision of the ladder reveals a cosmos in which heaven descends to earth, affirming divine presence, protection, and promise. The sheaves and the celestial bodies, in Yoseph’s dreams, mark not only his personal ascent but the historical movement of Yisrael into exile and eventual redemption. Yaakov dreams of Divine protection “I am with you, I will protect you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land… (Bresheet 28:15).” Yoseph’s dreams set in motion the events that fulfill that protection, physical, economical and spiritual. Yaakov dreams the Covenant, Yoseph dreams its implementation in human history. 

The one place, however, where Rash”i comes close to implicitly linking Yoseph’s dreams to his father’s own ladder experience is found in chapter 37. There (37:11) Yoseph tells his dream to his father. Rash”i notes that Yaakov “guards the matter.” Rash”i  bases his assertion on Midrash Bresheet Rabbah 84:12 which interprets this verse as, “Yaakov waits expectancy to see its fulfillment. In other words, Yaakov who once dreamed of his destiny recognizes a true dream when one is narrated.

Some modern scholars such as Robert Alter (The Art of Biblical Narrative,1981) explicitly connect Yaakov’s dream to Yoseph’s two dreams in our Parashah. He refers to Yaakov’s dream as a vision of space and speaks of a  (spiritual → earthly). Yoseph’s dreams, on the other hand, are a “horizontal axis of human power and family structure” strewn with socio-political symbolism (Yisrael → Nations).

Alter’s terminology is reinforced albeit implicitly, in interpretive trajectory, by Rabbi Sacks. Sacks describes Yaakov’s encounter “vayifga ba’Makom”*(Bresheet 28:11) as a moment of transcendent revelation and covenant renewal, i.e. a “vertical” moment of Divine-human communication.

In his essay, “Three Approaches to Dreams (Miketz” Covenant & Conversation), Sacks notes that in addition to the gift of dreams, the gift of their interpretation, Yoseph was also endowed with the ability to implement them, as we is evident in the next Parashah. There, Sacks sees his dreams as the start of a trajectory of political, economic and social leadership, dreams that lead to action, administration and implementation on earth (Yisrael → nations, horizontal).

The ladder at Bet-El affirms not dominion but a moral and spiritual duty. G-d descends not to enthrone Yaakov but to bind him to mission. Yoseph’s twin dreams of sheaves and stars do not coronate him in the mythic fashion of the Ancient Near East. They conscript him into service—feeding nations, sustaining his family, and ushering Israel into its first experience of exile. 

The three dreams are forged into a single symphony where destiny is spoken, first to the father, and then enacted through the son.

Shabbat Shalom and Channukah Sameach, Am Yisrael and Fellow Jews.

*“He came upon a place,” in Hebrew vayifga ba-makom, also means an unexpected encounter. Later, in rabbinic Hebrew, the word ha-Makom, “the Place,” came to mean “G-d.” Hence in a poetic way the phrase vayifga ba-makom could be read as, “Jacob happened on (had an unexpected encounter with) G-d.”  “How the Light Gets In” (in Covenant & Conversation, Parashat Vayetze)

Angel, Man, or G-d, Who Was Yaakov’s Adversary at Yabbok?

 

"And Yaakov was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until the break of dawn" Bresheet 32: 25

The identity of the being Yaakov wrestles with, in Bresheet, 32:25-33 Parashat Vayishlach, is one of the most discussed passages in Torah literature. The account is haunted by ambiguity and has engaged the attention of many scholars.

According to Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks,"Yakkov, himself, had no doubt. It was G-d." Sacks bases his assertin on verse 32 where Yaakov says, "'I saw G-d face to face.'" Yaakov truly believes that he has seen G-d and names the place of the encounter Peniel (face of G-d).

A reader unacquainted with Jewish theology might erroneously conclude, from the verse above, that Yaakov has indeed wrestled with G-d. Yet, Judaism affirms that G-d possesses neither body nor form and rejects any notion of a physical struggle with G-d’s essence. Furthermore, Jewish belief poignatly states that no one can see G-d and live. The foundation of this belief can be found in Shemot (Exodus) 33:20 where G-d says to Moshe, "You cannot see My face, for no human can see Me and live." That also explains why Yaakov is grateful that, following what he believes he has just experienced, his "soul was preserved." (verse 32).  

How, then, have Jewish thinkers resolved the vagueness surrounding this episode?

Most classical commentators say Yaakov wrestled with an angelic being (Malach) which in the Jewish theology simply means “a messenger.” The “man,” many assert, is a Malach whose presence is an epiphany of G-d.

Rash”i (Mikraot Gedolot), Midrash Bresheet Rabbah (77:3) and Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer 37 say explicitly that it was the guardian angel of Esav (sar shel Esav). The struggle, as they see it, symbolizes Yaakov’s lifelong conflict with Esav and what the latter represents. They treat the fight as a manifestation of the metaphysical conflict between the descendants of Yaakov and Esav. 

Ramba”n (Ramba”n Al HaTorah- Mossad HaRav Kook Edition Volume 1 p. 409-412), like many other commentators, believes that the “man” was a Malach since angles can and do appear in physical, tangible forms. According to him, it was a real event, not a dream or vision. 

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, unlike other interpreters, focuses on the exhanges between Yaakov and his adversary, outlined in verse 30, where Yaakov asked, "Now tell me your name," and he [the man] said, "Why is it that you ask for my name?" For Hirsch, the unnamed opponent symbolizes every struggle a human faces, their every fear, every uncertainty and every moral confrontation. If the adversary had a name, Hirsch believes, the story would be about that opponent. By withholding a name, the story becomes universal: every Jew is Yaakov and every challenge is a nameless wrestler (Samson Raphael Hirsch, The Pentateuch: Translation and Commentary Bereishit, pp. ~563–567).

Modern commentators such as Nechama Leibowitz and Martin Buber, see the “man” as Yaakov’s inner self struggling with his guilt about Esav, his strife to shift from the position of Yaakov, the supplanter, who ousts his rival, to Yisrael, the one who ”wrestles with G-d and prevails” and his fear of the upcoming encounter with Esav. (Nehama Leibowitz, Studies in Bereshit (Jerusalem: World Zionist Organization / E. Feldheim), Parashat Vayishlaḥ, pp. 345–347, Martin Buber, On the Bible: Eighteen Studies, “Jacob and Esau,” pp. 58–70). These interpretations may support the contention that the Torah deliberately witholds the name of the wrestler. If Yaakov were told the name, the struggle would become external rather than internal and existential.

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks offers an interesting angle to the identity of Yaakov’s adversary. He notes that the ambiguity is by design. Yaakov’s opponent, he believes, may be a “man,” “angel,” “G-d” or a symbolic figure. What matters more than the identity is the meaning of the struggle, asserts Sacks, is what Yaakov becomes through it. Yaakov transforms into Yisrael and emerges as stronger, more confident, triumphant and, above all, one who holds the promise of eternity.

Am Yisrael Chai and the Eternity of Yisrael Shall Never Lie.

Shabbat Shalom