Israel and Aliyah

  • |

    Destruction, Exile and My Magical Hat

    This week, we commemorate the destruction of both Temples and the long exile of our people. According to the Torah, life in exile—if it can be called life at all—is characterized by deep fear and uncertainty:
    “The Lord will scatter you among all the peoples from one end of the earth to the other… among those nations you will find no quiet… The life you face shall be precarious, and you will be afraid night and day, with no assurance of survival…” (Deuteronomy 28:64–66).
    For much of Jewish history, this grim portrayal tragically rang true. But for those of us who came of age in the Western world during the late 20th and early 21st centuries, such fears felt like remnants of a distant past.

  • |

    Matot–Masei: Is Living in Israel One of the 613 Mitzvot? Who Cares!

    In a recent conversation with a rabbinic friend and colleague—a discussion that echoed many others I have had over the years—I remarked that I believe every Jew who is genuinely committed to Torah and Judaism should live in Israel. “But what would you say,” he asked, “to someone who insists that making Aliyah is simply too difficult? It means leaving family and friends, giving up a career, learning a new language, and adapting to an entirely different culture.” “That’s certainly true,” I replied. “But someone who has never observed Shabbat faces an equally daunting adjustment: no work, no shopping, no travel, no television, no phone. Judaism has never promised that keeping the mitzvot would be easy.” “But that’s not a fair comparison,” he responded. “Whether living in Israel is actually a mitzvah is itself disputed. The Ramban counts it among the 613 mitzvot, while the Rambam does not. No such dispute exists regarding the obligation to observe Shabbat.” My colleague was referring to a well-known halakhic debate that emerges from a verse in this week’s parasha, Matot-Masei.

  • |

    Matan Torah (The Giving of the Torah): What Is the Torah About?

    In conversations with friends or family, it is not uncommon to ask whether they have read any good books lately. And if they have, we naturally ask what the book was about. Most people can summarize its central theme in a sentence or two without much difficulty.

    Each year, I begin my course on Jewish thought for students attending a Zionist gap-year seminary in Israel with a similar exercise. After asking them to summarize a book they have recently read—a task they complete with ease—I then pose a second question concerning another book they have studied throughout their lives: What is the Torah about?

    This question proves far more difficult for them to answer.