The sound of the shofar is meant to pierce the heavens. Sometimes the shofar’s story pierces the heart.
I remember coming home one day to find my son in tears. His beloved shofar — a gift from his grandfather — had been chewed by his dear dog. The horn was mangled beyond salvation. I carried it to the rabbi in desperation, asking if it could be saved. Perhaps the mouthpiece could be trimmed…. Alas, it could not, and I never saw it again.
My father had given it to him not long before, teaching his grandson how to coax sound from its ancient curves in preparation for his bar mitzvah. That shofar, which transitioned from a smooth polished mouthpiece to a rough and natural opening, was more than bone and horn — it was a link between generations.
My father bought my son a new shofar and continued to teach him how to blow. He was there on the bimah as my son blew it proudly in Jerusalem on the first day of Elul for his bar mitzvah. I took in the special moment, and also considered my son’s previous shofar that was not there. Even more, the profound emotion of a young boy torn at losing his grandparent’s bar mitzvah gift – to a dog whom he also loved, who was just being a dog. The gathered family and milestone in Jerusalem were the key celebrations of the day, but recalling my son’s well of tears months earlier over this moment which may not have happened, enriched it.
My father’s own shofar has a different story. He blew it for decades in his shul, year after year, his steady blasts calling our community to repentance. Eventually the horn began to crack, to dry, to lose its voice. He gifted the treasure to me some years ago, and I have placed it on my living room mantle, its curves still beautiful though its sound has fallen silent.
This year, my father — approaching 90 — will not blow the shofar. While he’s strong enough to walk to synagogue, some health issues will keep him from the bimah as he has done for as long as I can remember. The body ages. The shofar ages.
There are shofars that pass through the generations, blown by grandparents and great-grandparents a hundred years ago and still blown today. They carry not just sound but touch — the hands that held them, the lips that pressed them, the prayers that filled them. In many ways, these shofars still live.
We think of the shofar as the instrument through which we hear God’s call on Rosh Hashanah. It is the vehicle – and the subject. The shofar itself has its own biography. Some are placed on mantles, mute witnesses to decades of service. Some are destroyed, leaving only the memory of their sound. Some are retired to museums as quiet curiosities.
As we enter a new year, I think of two particular shofars in my life — one that I can no longer see, one that I can no longer hear — and of the special people who breathed life through them whom I am blessed to still hold and cherish. These horns, like us, are finite. But their stories resound forever, calling us to remember, to connect, and to pray for many more years of holding them and each other as a family and community.
When the Torah commands the farmer to bring his first fruits, it does not let him talk about his soil or his labor. Instead, the ritual begins: “My father was a wandering Aramean…” (Deuteronomy 26:5) The commentators note that gratitude is not complete without memory. To thank God for the harvest, one must first recall that the Jewish story began in exile and slavery. Only against that backdrop does the basket of figs become miraculous.
Later in the same parsha (Deuteronomy 28:4), the Torah turns to blessings and curses. If Israel listens to God, “Blessed shall be the fruit of your womb, the fruit of your soil, and the fruit of your livestock.” If not, those very fruits will wither. Here too, fruit is not agricultural output — it is covenantal currency.
Put together, the two passages form a cycle. The first fruits ceremony roots gratitude in memory: remember that you were once landless and fruitless. The blessings and curses tie the future of fertility to obedience: remember that your continued abundance is not guaranteed.
And notice where this all happens: Jerusalem. The farmer did not simply thank God in his vineyard or whisper gratitude in his kitchen. He carried his produce up to the city, presented it at the Temple, and declared his history publicly. Jerusalem was not just a capital; it was the beating heart of Jewish memory and faith. The fruits gained meaning when they were placed before God in the city chosen for His name.
The Old City of Jerusalem including the Jewish Temple Mount
This is why the prophets, the rabbis, and Jewish history itself encircle Jerusalem. The city is not peripheral to Judaism — it is central. It is where private labor becomes national testimony, where agriculture becomes covenant, where the wandering Jew becomes rooted in a people’s eternal home.
To this very day, Jews sing at their wedding the verses of Psalms 137:5-6: “If I forget you, O Jerusalem, let my right hand wither; let my tongue stick to my palate if I cease to think of you, if I do not keep Jerusalem in memory even at my happiest hour.” Jerusalem is bound in memory, that same memory that reminds us of our history, our promise, our obligations.
Today, too, the Jewish people encircle Jerusalem. Jews bring their “first fruits” to the city not only in the form of produce, but through aliyah, prayer, innovation, and sovereignty. Just as in ancient days, the city transforms personal blessings into collective covenant.
And yet, the world still questions that rootedness. Governments refuse to recognize Jerusalem as Israel’s capital. Diplomats condemn the building of homes in areas like E1 — the very corridor that links Jerusalem to the rest of the land, enabling Jews from north, south, east, and west to come to their eternal city.
Ki Tavo reminds us that Jerusalem cannot be negotiable. To encircle it, to build in it and around it, is not a matter of politics but of foundational principle. Without Jerusalem at the center, our fruits risk becoming mere produce, and the people risk becoming wanderers once more.
On October 28, 2011, Lord Jonathan Sacks, the Chief Rabbi of England, came to New York City and sat with Rabbi Meir Soloviechik at Yeshiva University. Their hour long talk touched on Lord Sacks’ book The Home We Build Together, and the role of religion in society, focusing on the United States and the United Kingdom, in particular.
Chief Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks Speaks at Yeshiva University with Rabbi Meir Soloveichik, October 2011
In the opening remarks (3:10), Rabbi Soloveichik shared a story about Senator Joseph Lieberman, who once observed that on Simchat Torah, Jews dance with the Torah in the streets with joy, yet often fail to carry that Torah into the world during the rest of the year. It was a reminder that religion cannot remain confined to ritual but must be brought into society.
Lord Sacks followed with a story of his own. Prime Minister Tony Blair once teased him that he had reached the “boring part” of the Hebrew Bible—the lengthy passages about the building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle). Why, Blair asked, does the Torah devote hundreds of verses to it, compared to just 34 for the creation of the universe?
Lord Sacks replied:
Prime Minister, it is not difficult for an omniscient, omnipotent, infinite God to create a home for human beings. But for finite, fallible human beings to create a home for the infinite God, that is difficult.
The Mishkan, Sacks explained, was not just architecture—it was a project that united the people. More than what God does for us, it is what we do for God that transforms and binds us together. “If you want to take this diverse, fractured culture of Britain and turn it into a united nation,” Sacks said, “you have to get them to build something together.”
Rabbi Soloveichik and Lord Sacks went on to describe that the decline of religious life and secularization of Europe was tied to fewer children being born. A self-centered focus weakens families, weakens faith, and weakens society. In contrast, raising children—caring for someone more than oneself—provides both the foundation of belief and the roots of charity: “having somebody whose life you care about more than yourself, that could actually be the foundation of faith for many of us.”
Washington (D.C.) and Rembrandt
Nearly fourteen years later, on September 8, 2025, U.S. President Donald Trump held an event at the Museum of the Bible in Washington, D.C. He invited members of the newly established (May 1, 2025) Religious Liberty Commission to hear how he was advancing the centrality of religion in American public life. He said “When faith gets weaker, our country seems to get weaker. When faith gets stronger… good things happen for our country…. To have a great nation, you have to have religion.”
One of the members of the Presidential Committee on Religious Liberty is Rabbi Meir Soloveichik. He was unable to attend the speech by the president in Washington because he was giving a day long-lecture in New York City at the home of Mem and Zalman Bernstein and the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the Tikvah Fund about art, religion and western society.
Rabbi Solveichik focused on Rembrandt’s two versions of the Sacrifice of Isaac. He contrasted Abraham’s devotion to God’s command to offer his son Isaac, to the investment of love and devotion he had made in his son. The angel broke the conflict, and with it, the end of human sacrifice which was prevalent in the world at that time. From this point onward, belief in a higher power could be accompanied by protecting and investing in our children.
Religion, Children and Western Democracy
It made for an interesting sermon triptych connecting religion, children and western values: Lord Sachs, Rabbi Soloveichik and President Trump all emphasized that religion has the power to strengthen ourselves, our families, our communities and our nation.
In Lord Sacks book, The Great Partnership, published in June 2011, right before his talk at YU, he wrote:
My argument has been that contrary to the received narrative, freedom has been better served in the modern world by a religious vision rather than a secular one. The Abrahamic vision, with its insistence on the non-negotiable dignity of the human person and the importance of protected space – the families and communities that make up civil society – where relationships are not based on power, saved England and America from the worst excesses of the revolutionary politics that cost tens of thousands of lives in France and tens of millions in Russia….
Abrahamic politics, by contrast, is politics with a human face, the politics that knows the limits of power, as well as the transformative effect of free persons freely joining together to make social institutions worthy of being a home for the divine presence. Abraham politics never forgets that there are things more important than politics, and that is what makes it the best defense of liberty.”
That is the motion before Western democracies: can humble faith as embodied in “Abraham politics” lead our different faiths to help build a cohesive society of respect and growth.
Concluding Circle
The discussion of religion and democracy is being advanced passionately today because it feels abandoned.
According to Lord Sacks, democracy under secularism preached intersectionality which yielded segregation and isolationism. Rabbi Solveichik responded that “a Mayflower of persecuted religions might leave England and Europe to come to safer shores [like America].” For his part, President Trump established the Religious Liberty Commission to deal with such matters, with the first group’s term ending on July 4, 2026, on the nation’s 250th anniversary.
So it was fitting that Rabbi Soloveichik should end his talk to the Tikvah Fund, a group whose motto is “Advancing Jewish Excellence and Western Civilization through Education & Ideas,” before Emanuel Leutze’s Washington Crossing the Delaware, while President Trump was concluding his remarks in Washington, D.C.
Rabbi Soloveichik at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, September 2025
In the 1851 painting, the future president of the United States stood aboard a boat filled with a diverse crew, readying to end the rule of England and break with the British monarchy and Church of England, to establish a new democratic state in 1776. Nearly 250 years later, the Chief Rabbi of England, the president of the United States, and the rabbi leading the oldest synagogue in the United States were championing the importance of religion in strengthening democracies everywhere. A quiet revolution to return to the foundations of faith to help build a more perfect union.
Ki Teitzei’s Call for Dignity vs. Hamas’ Celebration of Desecration
Parshat Ki Teitzei commands something extraordinary:
“If any party is guilty of a capital offense and is put to death, and you impale the body on a stake, you must not let the corpse remain on the stake overnight, but must bury it the same day. For an impaled body is an affront to G-d: you shall not defile the land that your G-d is giving you to possess.” – Deuteronomy 21:22-23
Even the guilty must not be left hanging overnight. The Torah demands swiftness in burial, even for one who deserved execution.
The biblical commentator Rashi (1040-1105) spells out the reason: “a degradation of the Divine King, for man is made in His image.” Since man is made in the image of G-d, it would be an insult to G-d to continue to embarrass the dead, even one who deserved capital punishment. The focus should be about restoring public order and nothing more.
Hamas: Desecration as Policy
Contrast that to Palestinian political-terrorist group Hamas. On October 7, terrorists not only murdered, but dragged Jewish bodies through the streets of Gaza, spat on them, and beat them before crowdscheering “Allahu Akhbar” – G-d is Great. Their deaths became props for Hamas’ theatre of hate.
Hamas took the dead and mutilated body of German-Israeli Shani Louk to Gaza, where the crowds spat on her body and beat her. Her head was later chopped off.
To this day, Hamas holds the bodies of Israeli hostages, denying their families the ability to bury them, to say Kaddish, to mourn. It is deliberate, drawn-out torture.
The Law of Nations Agrees
This is not only a biblical imperative — it is a universal one. Article 17 of the Geneva Convention states plainly “Parties to the conflict shall ensure that the dead are honorably interred… and that their graves respected and properly maintained.”
Even in war, even between enemies, the dead are to be treated with dignity.
Hamas has made clear it recognizes no such obligation. It does not simply kill — it advertises cruelty, turning murder into propaganda and humiliation into spectacle.
The Moral Divide
Ki Teitzei calls us to a higher standard. To quickly bury even the criminal, to shield the image of G-d from public shame. The radical Islamist group calls its people to something else entirely: to spit, to drag, to desecrate. To turn death into a carnival. Jews believe sanctifying G-d means sanctifying the human body, even a murderer. Fanatical jihadists believe that Gd wants the community to mock the dead, even a female dancer.
This is not just a fight over land. It is a war between those who sanctify life — even those they must punish — and those who have turned death into a brand identity.
The choice before the world could not be clearer: stand with those who respect the divine image, even in death — or with those who trample it.
Parshat Shoftim begins with a straightforward command:
“Judges and officers you shall appoint in all your gates … and they shall judge the people with righteous judgment.” (Devarim 16:18)
Rashi explains that every town needed both judges to rule fairly and officers to enforce those rulings. Justice could not be a distant idea — it had to be rooted locally, available to every community. That is the Torah’s formula for a moral society: equal justice, applied where people live.
Justice Where You Live
The genius of Shoftim is its insistence that justice must be accessible and equal. Not some imperial tribunal deciding cases in faraway capitals, but local courts where every person could seek fairness and truth.
It is inside the gates where justice takes hold. That’s what builds trust, stability, and morality in a society.
The ICJ’s Distant Spectacle
Contrast this with the International Court of Justice in The Hague. It claims universal authority, yet its judgments fall unevenly. Brutal regimes that slaughter their own citizens often escape its scrutiny. But Israel, a country with one of the most independent and activist judiciaries in the world, is hauled before it repeatedly.
This is an inversion of the Bible’s call for justice: a court far removed from the people, applying rules unevenly, more performance than principle.
Israel hauled before ICJ
Israel’s Local Justice vs. International Bias
Inside Israel, anyone can petition the Supreme Court — Arabs, NGOs, critics of the army. Judges regularly check government policy and military decisions. That is exactly what the Torah envisioned: justice dispensed locally, equally, and consistently.
The ICJ, by contrast, applies law selectively and from a distance. It does not strengthen justice; it hollows it out.
Conclusion
The United Nations had the opportunity for courts in its gates — with its agency UNRWA on the ground in Gaza, running schools, hospital and providing loans. It could have confronted Hamas’ crimes. Instead, it chose silence. It abandoned justice, allowed Hamas to fester, and turned Gaza into a terrorist enclave for Israel to face.
Now the same UN condemns Israel in The Hague. A body that ignored justice locally dares to preach it globally.
But the Torah is clear: a land cannot be moral when evil is allowed to sit at its gates. Hamas must be expelled. And the UN — which empowered terror and continues to undermine justice — has no rightful place in the Holy Land either.
“Three times a year all your males shall appear before Hashem your God in the place He will choose—on the Festival of Matzot [Pesach], on the Festival of Weeks [Shavuot], and on the Festival of Booths. [Sukkot]” (Deuteronomy 16:16).
At a time when the tribes of Israel were destined to live across a wide and varied land—from the Galilee to the Negev, from the Mediterranean to the Jordan Valley and beyond—this commandment ensured that all Jews, regardless of tribe or geography, would remain bound to a single center: the place “He will choose:” Jerusalem.
Then: One City for One People
The pilgrimage festivals were not simply religious obligations; they were national glue.
Unity in Diversity: Each tribe had its own territory, customs, and leadership. But Jerusalem reminded them that they were not twelve separate entities—they were one nation.
Physical Connection: The journey itself—families traveling for days from north, south, east, and west, THREE TIMES A YEAR—kept every Jew intimately connected to the city at the nation’s core.
Spiritual Focus: No matter how far they lived, Jews oriented their lives toward Jerusalem.
Without this ritual of convergence, the tribes might have drifted apart, their shared purpose diluted by distance and difference.
Now: Re-Centering Around Jerusalem
Fast forward over three millennia. Jerusalem is once again the capital of a sovereign Jewish state. But the modern challenge is becoming increasingly less about tribal dispersion, with Jews in the holy land making up a plurality of Jews – it is geopolitical pressure and strategic vulnerability.
Recent government plans to develop the area known as E1, just east of Jerusalem, have sparked international controversy. Critics claim the project is “obstructive to peace.” It’s an absurd claim. Supporters see it differently: as an essential step to connect Jewish communities around the capital, ensuring that Jerusalem remains safe and accessible and central to Jews from north, south, east, and west.
The parallels to Re’eh are striking:
Geographic Cohesion: Just as ancient pilgrimage routes tied the tribes together, modern infrastructure links surrounding communities to Jerusalem.
National Identity: Building around Jerusalem reinforces its role not just as a city, but as the beating heart of Jewish life.
Defying Fragmentation: Where outside forces seek to carve up and isolate Jerusalem, development ensures continuity and connection.
Jerusalem: The Eternal Center
Parshat Re’eh’s vision was never merely about geography—it was about survival through unity. When Jews journeyed to Jerusalem three times a year, they reaffirmed their covenant and their peoplehood. One God, one people.
Today, as Israel strengthens the areas around Jerusalem, it is engaged in the same mission: to keep the Jewish people close to their capital, secure in their homeland, and united across generations.
Then as now, Jerusalem is not just a place—it is the center of a people.
The Old City of Jerusalem including the Jewish Temple Mount on the holiday of Sukkot
Parshat Eikev is about consequences. Love God and cherish the land, and there will be abundance. Turn away from them, and the blessings will vanish. It’s not just poetic scripture—it’s a binding principle embedded in Jewish destiny.
In 2005, Israel withdrew from Gaza, handing the Strip to the Palestinian Authority. The move was framed as a step toward peace, but Palestinians internalized a different lesson from the Second Intifada: violence works. Within two years, Hamas was elected to a majority of the Palestinian parliament, seized power in Gaza, and rockets became Gaza’s chief export.
The same pattern played out decades earlier. In 1967, Israel reclaimed eastern Jerusalem from Jordan in a defensive war and reunified the city. Yet, instead of asserting Jewish sovereignty on the Temple Mount—the holiest site in Judaism—Israel handed day-to-day control to the Islamic Waqf which banned Jewish prayer there. The Muslim world absorbed the message: Jews do not value their holy places as deeply as Muslims do.
These choices raise the uncomfortable question: do Jews truly love the land and God in the way Eikev commands? The Bible is not just a Jewish text. Billions of non-Jews around the globe read it. They know its covenantal clauses and its warnings. They understand—at least in their own terms—the consequences that befall Jews when we turn from God’s love and from the eternal heritage of the land. Some may even see themselves as agents in delivering divine justice.
God knows. The world knows.
It is time for Jews to internalize this truth. The Shema’s first line is often recited aloud with pride. But the second section (starting at Deuteronomy 11:13), with its stark outline of blessings for faithfulness and curses for betrayal, is whispered—if said at all. Perhaps it’s time to say it aloud, not just with our lips, but with our lives: affirming an unbreakable commitment to God and to the holiness of the land.
In Israel, that would be building homes in the area known as “E1,” cementing all of Jerusalem including the Temple Mount as integral to Israel. In the diaspora, it means putting mezuzahs on doorposts and wearing tefillin (11:18-20).
The Old City of Jerusalem including the Jewish Temple Mount/ Al Aqsa Compound
Consequences are not an abstraction in the Torah—they are the lived reality of Jewish history. Eikev’s message is as urgent now as it was on the plains of Moab.
When Moses addressed the Israelites in Parashat Vaetchanan, standing on the threshold of the Promised Land, his message was clear and urgent: Keep the commandments and you will live; abandon them and you will be driven from the land.
“You must observe His rules and His commandments that I am commanding you today, so that it may go well with you and your children after you, and so that you may endure in the land that God, your God, is giving to you forever.”
Deuteronomy 4:40
It wasn’t a political warning. It wasn’t about borders, treaties, or weapons. It was spiritual. Covenantal. National.
He reminded them: God didn’t choose you because you were many or mighty. He chose you because He loved you. And what does God ask in return? Not sacrifices, not empty rituals, but love expressed through loyalty. Loyalty shown in deeds—by keeping His commandments and walking in His ways.
That covenant stands today.
Amid a global spike in antisemitism, war in Israel, and growing divides between Jews in Israel and the Diaspora as well as secular and religious Jews in Israel, it’s time to return to the constitutional core of Jewish life: the Ten Commandments.
There are 613 commandments in the Torah, but these ten were spoken directly by God to the entire nation at Sinai. They were repeated again by Moses in Deuteronomy for a reason. They are not just laws—they are foundations.
If we want to stay in the Land we must invest in them.
Here are ten national action items for Israeli and Diaspora Jews alike to bring the Aseret HaDibrot back to life:
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1. “I am the Lord your God” — Reclaim Faith
In Israel: Integrate emunah (faith) into national identity, not just religion. Teach the purpose of Jewish existence in the IDF, sherut leumi, and public schools.
In the Diaspora: Strengthen Jewish schools and programs that teach belief as something deeper than ethnicity or culture. Anchor identity in divine purpose.
The Shema prayer is in this parsha, a prayer to be read aloud with concentration. Let each session of the Knesset and Jewish day schools begin with that first sentence.
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2. No Other Gods — Confront Idolatry
In Israel: Take on modern idols—power, tech, money. Demand spiritual accountability from the startup- scaleup nation.
In the Diaspora: Counter the worship of celebrity and culture with Jewish meaning and humility. Lead with Jewish ethics, not trendiness.
Focus on Humble Faith to moderate the human tendency to exaggerate our worth and blind us to God’s gifts.
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3. Do Not Take God’s Name in Vain — Elevate Speech
In Israel: Clean up public discourse. Hold politicians, rabbis, and influencers accountable for words that desecrate God’s name.
In the Diaspora: Promote reverence and honesty in all Jewish communication—online, in media, and in leadership.
We all carry a global megaphone with us at all times of the day. Beware of proclamations and defamations made in the name of Judaism.
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4. Keep the Sabbath — Build National Unity
In Israel: The Haredi community must not sit out the war. They must serve through sherut leumi by helping others keep Shabbat—cooking meals, opening homes, dancing in the streets. Make Shabbat the shared joy of the nation.
In the Diaspora: Host Shabbat for unaffiliated Jews. Create communal spaces that let people taste sacred time—no judgment, just joy.
Jews have the special opportunity to show each other and the world the special nature of Shabbat. Make it holy for you and your family. From there, let it spread outward to the community, country and civilization.
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5. Honor Your Father and Mother — Care for the Elderly
In Israel: Train Israeli youth in elder care. It’s a disgrace that our Holocaust survivors and parents are mostly cared for by foreign workers.
In the Diaspora: Create teen-elder programs that pass down memory and dignity. Jewish continuity depends on honoring the past.
Modern psychology has taught many of us to center our being on ourselves and blame parents for our situations. Even – or especially – if that’s true, spend time showing honor to parents and in-laws. It is a pathway for a healthy society.
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6. Do Not Murder — Value All Life
In Israel: Try to end domestic violence and youth crime. Reclaim the sanctity of life as a national value, not just a slogan.
In the Diaspora: Jews must lead on mental health and abortion, the leading causes of preventable death.
Every life is a world. Whether one is in favor or opposed to abortion, treat life with the utmost respect and engage in debates that are centered on life.
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7. Do Not Commit Adultery — Strengthen Families
In Israel: Fund pre-marriage education and family counseling. Healthy families are the front line of Jewish survival.
In the Diaspora: Promote Jewish relationships and marriage through values-based education—not just dating apps.
Reorient Friday night dinners away from invited company for two Sabbaths every month to focus on personal relationships.
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8. Do Not Steal — Demand Integrity
In Israel: Tackle corruption. Ethical leadership is not optional in a holy land.
In the Diaspora: Teach financial and business ethics as part of Torah. Kiddush Hashem starts in the workplace.
At an early age, allow children to reserve certain toys for personal use as opposed to sharing with friends; it allows them to incorporate the idea of ownership and space both for themselves and others.
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9. Do Not Bear False Witness — Seek Truth
In Israel: End the plague of slander and fake news in politics and media. Truth is a national security issue.
In the Diaspora: Speak with compassion and accuracy. Lashon hara is poison. Truth builds communities.
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10. Do Not Covet — Practice Gratitude
In Israel: Reduce economic resentment by promoting gratitude and generosity. Envy destroys unity.
In the Diaspora: Celebrate others’ success. Give, volunteer, and stop keeping score.
Being truly grateful involves the public declaration of appreciation: to God in prayer, and fellow person in thanks. It centers the interplay between ourselves and the world in a healthy dynamic.
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Conclusion: Choose Life
Moses didn’t say this for nothing. The land doesn’t tolerate injustice, idolatry, or apathy. If we want to remain in Eretz Yisrael, we must remember what kept us from here: the first tablets were shattered on diaspora rocks and we wandered in the desert for failing to believe in God’s gift.
We must also remember what brought us to the land: God’s love—and a call to respond in kind.
The Ten Commandments are not old laws. They are today’s mission.
The Old City of Jerusalem including the Jewish Temple Mount/ Al Aqsa Compound
In Parshat Devarim, Moses begins his final speech to the Israelites. He does not begin with the Creation of the world or the stories of the Jewish patriarchs and matriarchs. The Book of Genesis — with its grand universal themes and personal family journeys — is set aside. Instead, Moses focuses on the collective journeyhe himself witnessed: the liberation from Egypt, the giving of the Ten Commandments, the rebellions and reckonings in the wilderness. It is as though this is where the Jewish people’s national story truly begins.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks observed that Deuteronomy is not just a repetition of laws — it is Moses’ personal testimony, his urgent effort to pass on memory, meaning, and mission. As the Israelites stand poised to enter the Land, Moses knows he will not go with them. What he offers instead is the one thing only he can give: the lived truth of experience.
This resonates today more than ever. We are witnessing the passing of another generation of eyewitnesses: the survivors of the Holocaust and the founders of the modern State of Israel. Like Moses, they saw the journey with their own eyes — from slavery and destruction to sovereignty and rebuilding. They walked from Auschwitz to Jerusalem. They built a state out of the ashes, defended it in war, and gave it the infrastructure of a living, breathing nation.
Their stories — of suffering and survival, of faith and fortitude — are not just history lessons. They are testaments. And they come with a charge: to remember, to be vigilant, to defend our people and our land, and to carry forward the values of Torah and the reality of Jewish nationhood.
Just as Moses recounted the past to prepare the people for the future, so too must we internalize the legacy of those who came before us. Their firsthand accounts are not simply about what was, but about what must be. A people grounded in memory is a people prepared for destiny.
If we listen to their voices — and not merely archive them — we gain strength to resist the deniers, the revisionists, and the haters. We reaffirm that we are not just a people with a past, but a people with a purpose — a covenantal mission that stretches from Sinai to today.
In the Book of Numbers, chapters 32 and 34, we find a powerful and enduring lesson for Jews living outside the land of Israel. The tribes of Reuben and Gad, later joined by half of the tribe of Manasseh, approached Moses with a bold request. They asked to settle on the east side of the Jordan River, outside the boundaries of the Promised Land, because the land there was suitable for their abundant livestock. Moses was skeptical: was this another rebellion, like the spies who had refused to enter the land decades earlier?
But the tribes made a solemn vow. They would not only join the conquest of the Land of Israel—they would be on the front lines. Only after the land was secured for their brethren would they return to their homes across the Jordan. They could live outside the Promised Land, but they could not abandon their people or their mission.
Wallis’s New map of The Holy Land (1815)
Fast forward thousands of years, and the question still echoes: Do Jews living in the diaspora bear a similar responsibility toward Israel today?
The modern State of Israel, reborn in 1948, has been under near-constant threat. From surrounding Arab nations launching wars to terrorist regimes like Hamas slaughtering civilians, Israel’s security is never guaranteed. The battlefield has expanded beyond the physical: anti-Israelism masquerades as social justice in Western institutions, and Jewish students face intimidation on campuses from New York to London to Sydney.
And yet, many diaspora Jews seem detached from the fight. Some claim that Israel’s policies are the cause of antisemitism. Others go further, actively criticizing the Jewish State in public forums – leading with “AsAJew” credentials – hoping that distancing themselves will spare them from scorn.
The lesson of Reuben and Gad was clear: you can live outside the land, but not outside the mission.
Reuben and Gad did not ask to be exempt from the battle. In fact, they pledged to be the vanguard. Likewise, Jews living in the diaspora, particularly those in free and prosperous nations, must recognize their role. They may not carry rifles in the IDF, but they must arm themselves with truth, courage, and commitment.
They should defend Israel in public discourse. They must call out antisemitism cloaked as “anti-Zionism,” a calling card demanding the destruction of Israel. They ought to support accurate Israel education, advocate with elected officials, and give generously to causes that strengthen Israel’s security and society. It is the price of living across the river.
Moses demanded a commitment from the tribes outside the land. Jewish history demands one now.
First One Through 