We have all become experts in missiles and weaponry. We have learned new words: shrapnel, cluster munitions, interception. And in Israel, other words that feel etched into the soul like tattoos: dead, wounded, fear, disaster, sirens… The question arises, almost out of nowhere: what meaning is there in continuing with so much ritual in a world that seems to be ruled by madmen—forcing us to choose between being swept away by terrorist attacks, taking lives in order to survive,

In these days, there is no shortage of reasons to feel uneasy. The month of Nisan begins, the air shifts, the first buds appear, and with them comes that familiar sense of movement—preparing our homes, putting things in order, reconnecting with one another, getting ready for Pesach. Something awakens within us, something that nudges us forward. And yet, at the very same time, we begin reading Vayikra—and the contrast could not be more striking.   We come from Shemot, the book

We come to the end of the book of Shemot. When we finish a book of the Torah, tradition invites us to say together: Chazak, chazak, venitchazek — “Be strong, be strong, and let us strengthen one another.”   It is an ancient formula, but there are moments when these words carry particular weight. Perhaps never more than now do we feel the need to say them with real conviction: to be strong for ourselves, strong for our communities, and strong for a humanity that seems to despe

An ancient Talmudic teaching tells us that in the Ark of the Covenant, not only the second set of tablets was kept, but also the fragments of the first. The whole tablets and the broken tablets traveled together. Perhaps this is because Judaism understood something profoundly human: the history of a people is built not only with what is whole, but also with what was once shattered. This image echoes in many moments of Jewish life. Under the chuppah, when a couple begins thei

There are moments in history when a political decision stops being merely administrative and becomes a spiritual question. Not because it deals only with laws or institutions, but because it touches something deeper: how a people understands the sacred and its own identity.  The recent legislative move spearheaded by Avi Maoz, approved in the Knesset, granting the Chief Rabbinate authority over the egalitarian section of the Kotel and imposing criminal penalties for religious

In this week’s parashah, Terumá, God speaks to Moses with a surprising instruction. Before describing measurements, materials, or structures—even before discussing the sanctuary itself—there is a call directed straight to the heart of the people: "And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the children of Israel, that they take for Me a contribution; from every man whose heart moves him, you shall take My offering."   The Torah doesn’t say “give to Me,” but “take for Me”—v

There are moments in life that lift us up and transform us from within: a prayer that moves us to tears, a song that awakens deep memories, a spiritual experience that restores clarity and purpose. In those moments, the soul seems to open and the world falls into place—if only for a second. But the real question is not what we feel during those intense experiences… it is what we do when they pass. What remains after the echo fades? What changes when we return to the rhythm of

Shabbat Shirah takes its name from one of the most powerful poems in the Torah: Shirat HaYam, the Song of the Sea, which we read in Parashat Beshalach. It is the song that bursts forth after the crossing of the Yam Suf, after the miracle, after salvation. Yet the Torah, faithful to its radical honesty, does not begin with music. It begins with fear.   The people are trapped. Behind them stand Pharaoh and his army; before them, the sealed sea. There is no strategy, no visible

This week we read Parashat Bo, the third portion of the Book of Shemot (Exodus). The text places us at the final stage of Israel’s enslavement in Egypt: the last three plagues—locusts, darkness, and the death of the firstborn—and the immediate preparations for the people’s departure toward freedom, Yetziat Mitzrayim.   Yet to reduce Bo to a chronicle of punishments and miracles would be to miss its deepest message. Bo is not only the story of liberation; it is, above all, a p