The reason that the delegation that Moses sent to the Land of Israel misrepresented the Land was that they were afraid they would have to put the mitzvot into action.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

One of the interesting things about the delegation Moshe sends in this week’s parsha is that nowhere are they actually called spies. The Torah never uses the Hebrew word meraglim—spies. Instead, they are sent to tour the land, to see it, to observe it, and to report back. Their mission was not to become intelligence agents or political analysts. They were supposed to be observers.

But when they return, they make themselves into spies. They begin interpreting, drawing conclusions, and ultimately presenting a report colored by their own fears.

One of the most puzzling statements in their report is that Israel is “a land that consumes its inhabitants.” What does that mean?

They were saying that this was not an easy place to live. There were wars. There were challenges. You had to work hard to make a living. It was not the comfortable existence they had known in the wilderness.

Remember who these men were. We know their names and their tribes because they were the leaders of their tribes. They realized something important: once the Jewish people entered the Land of Israel, their positions were no longer guaranteed. In the wilderness, they occupied places of honor and influence.

And life in the wilderness was unique. Imagine studying Torah directly from Moshe Rabbeinu. Aaron was there as well. This had to be the greatest yeshiva in history. Every day was devoted to learning, spiritual growth, and direct exposure to Torah leadership.

But entering the land meant something different. Now people would have to farm, build homes, conduct business, serve in the army, and create a functioning society. Torah would no longer remain in the classroom. It would have to be applied to real life.

That is what frightened them.

They worried that once people had to deal with everyday realities, they might discover that some leaders were not quite as impressive as they appeared in the protected environment of the wilderness. The spies saw the challenges and concluded that a Torah life in the real world would be impossible.

But they completely missed the point.

The entire purpose of the wilderness was preparation. The Jewish people were not meant to remain in the desert forever, sitting and learning all day. They were learning so they could enter the land and apply what they had learned.

God did not take us out of Egypt merely to make us free. He took us out so that we could become a nation that would be a light unto the nations.

That is why He placed us in the Land of Israel, at the crossroads of the ancient world. Israel sits at the meeting point of Asia, Africa, and Europe. Important trade routes passed through it. Armies marched through it. Ideas traveled through it. Yes, there would be struggles and wars because it was valuable real estate. But that was precisely the point.

God wanted the Jewish people to demonstrate what a Torah society could look like in the real world.

If the goal had been isolation, God could have left us in the wilderness. Or He could have placed us somewhere far from the centers of civilization. But that was never the mission.

A number of years ago, a yeshiva student wrote to the Lubavitcher Rebbe explaining that he needed to remain in yeshiva because otherwise he would have to serve in what he called “the Zionist army.”

The Rebbe’s response was direct. He began by saying, “The last time I checked, it was called the Israel Defense Forces, not the Zionist Army.”

Then he made a deeper point. He asked the student: Who do you think your job is to influence? If you remain inside the yeshiva all the time, your influence is limited. But if you serve alongside other Jews, they will see how you behave, how you pray, how you treat people, and how you live according to Torah values. Your example can inspire others.

The spies failed to understand this principle.

If you want to influence the world, you must be in the world. You have to show that it is possible to conduct business honestly, build a family according to Torah values, treat people with dignity, and live an ethical life while participating fully in society.

When others see that, they begin to realize that Torah is not an obstacle to life. It is a guide for life.

That was the mission the spies were supposed to see. Instead, they saw only the difficulties.

Something to think about.

We can only operate on the information provided to us. The problem is that sometimes we are given bad information. Then we make a bad decision based on that. We have to try to understand what good information is and ignore those who are going on the bad.

Tourists, Not Spies

Now for a quick devar Torah.

This week we begin Parshat Shlach, the portion usually known as “the story of the spies.” But if you look carefully at the text, you’ll notice something interesting: the Torah never calls them spies.

The Hebrew word for a spy is meragel. That word does not appear here. Instead, the Torah uses the expression latour et ha’aretz—to tour, explore, or survey the land. In modern Hebrew, a tayar is a tourist.

Their mission was simple: go see the land and report what you found. Observe the cities, the people, the produce, and the terrain. Bring back information.

What they were not sent to do was make policy decisions.

A spy often analyzes information and recommends action. These men crossed that line. They returned saying that the land was indeed wonderful, but then came the fatal word: “but.”

“It is a good land, but…”

From there they moved from reporting facts to offering conclusions. They decided the land could not be conquered. They interpreted what they saw through the lens of fear rather than faith.

This story follows immediately after Miriam’s punishment for lashon hara. That connection is not accidental. Lashon hara is not necessarily falsehood. Miriam’s complaint about Moshe contained an element of truth, but it was presented in a negative way. The spies did something similar with the Land of Israel. Their description contained truths, but their interpretation was destructive.

The lesson is that facts and conclusions are not the same thing.

We all receive information. The challenge is learning how to interpret it properly. The spies saw fortified cities and powerful inhabitants. Joshua and Caleb saw the same things. The difference was not in the facts but in the conclusions.

The haftorah highlights this contrast. Years later, Joshua sends actual spies to Jericho. Their mission is intelligence gathering. The Torah’s “tourists” became self-appointed experts, while Joshua’s spies remained focused on their assignment.

There is a broader lesson here as well. We live in an age overflowing with experts, commentators, and analysts. Sometimes people move beyond presenting facts and begin telling us what is impossible. The spies did exactly that.

Faith does not mean ignoring reality. It means understanding that reality includes God’s promises as well.

Joshua and Caleb refused to accept the defeatist conclusions of the majority. They looked at the same evidence and reached a different conclusion because they trusted that God would help them succeed.

The lesson of Parshat Shlach is to be careful not only about what we say, but about how we interpret what we see. Facts matter. But conclusions matter too. Sometimes the greatest mistake is not reporting the facts incorrectly; it is drawing the wrong lesson from them.

This week’s Haftorah carries an important message. We do not build a society on the power of an army alone. It has to have the moral infrastructure to support it. Without that they all else falls apart.

A Quick Devar Torah: Not by Might, but by Spirit

This week’s haftarah is tied directly to the opening of Parashat Beha’alotcha. The Torah portion begins with Aaron lighting the Menorah, and the haftarah from the prophet Zechariah centers on the vision of the golden Menorah during the period of the Second Temple.

In that vision we find the famous words:

“Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit, says the Lord of Hosts.”

We recite these words regularly, but what do they really mean?

History is filled with mighty empires. They marched across continents with powerful armies. They conquered nations, built monuments, and seemed invincible. Yet today most of those empires exist only in history books. We find a few ruins, a few artifacts, and little else remains.

The Jewish people, by contrast, were rarely the strongest military power. We were seldom the wealthiest nation. What sustained us was something different: the Torah and the moral vision it brought into the world.

Zechariah was speaking to a tiny, poor community rebuilding the Second Temple. They had little money, few resources, and were surrounded by larger powers. Yet the prophet tells them that their future will not be determined by military strength or political influence. Their strength will come from the moral and spiritual foundations upon which they build their society.

A culture that rests only on power eventually disappears. A society that rests on moral principles can endure for generations.

There is a famous story about the last surviving veteran of the Battle of Bunker Hill. When asked whether he had been inspired by philosophers such as John Locke or Montesquieu, he reportedly answered, “I never heard of them. I had only one book in my house—the Bible.”

Similarly, during the Civil War, President Abraham Lincoln was asked whether God was on the Union’s side. Lincoln replied, “I am not at all concerned whether God is on our side; my greatest concern is to be on God’s side.”

The point was not military strength alone. The struggle was understood as a moral one.

Even in modern times we see this principle at work. During the great airlift that brought Ethiopian Jews to Israel, many arrived with virtually nothing but the clothes on their backs. Appeals went out for donations. The response was so overwhelming that within a day authorities were asking people to stop bringing supplies because more had been collected than was needed.

A society built on mutual responsibility and moral obligation possesses a strength that cannot be measured in tanks, armies, or wealth.

That is Zechariah’s message. Nations survive not because they are powerful, but because they possess a moral foundation worth preserving.

“Not by might, nor by power, but by My spirit.”

Something to think about.

God tells Moses to appoint 70 elders to help him lead the people. The lesson for a leader is that he cannot do it all alone. He has to delegate. Also, he has to recognize that he has to prepare the next generation of leaders.

Delegation, Succession, and the Burden of Leadership

Now for a quick devar Torah.

In this week’s parashah, Moshe reaches a breaking point. The burden of leading the entire nation has become overwhelming. Every problem, every complaint, every dispute seems to flow through him. Moshe turns to God and says, in effect, “I can’t carry all of this by myself.”

God’s response is instructive. He tells Moshe to appoint seventy elders—capable and trustworthy people who can share the burden of leadership. Moshe will remain the leader, but he does not need to personally handle every detail.

This teaches an important lesson about leadership. A good leader does not have to know every intricate detail of every issue. Instead, a leader must surround himself with capable people, experts in their fields, and trust them to provide accurate information and sound advice. The leader’s job is not to do everything. The leader’s job is to make decisions based on good information.

There is a famous story told about the transition from President Jimmy Carter to President Ronald Reagan. Carter, who was known for mastering details, spent considerable time explaining the inner workings of the federal government to the president-elect. At one point Carter noticed that Reagan was not taking notes. He asked if Reagan wasn’t interested in all these details. Reagan reportedly pointed to one of his aides and replied, “That’s his job. My job is to make decisions.”

Whether or not every detail of the story is exact, the lesson is sound. Effective leadership requires delegation.

Later in the parashah, another leadership lesson appears. Eldad and Medad are prophesying in the camp. Some people are alarmed and bring the matter to Moshe. Shouldn’t he be worried that others are emerging as prophets? Isn’t this a challenge to his authority?

Moshe’s answer is remarkable: “Would that all the Lord’s people were prophets.”

Moshe understood something that many leaders forget. Leadership is not about preserving your position forever. No leader lasts forever. A leader’s responsibility is not only to lead the current generation but also to prepare the next one.

The appearance of new leaders should not be seen as a threat. It should be welcomed as a sign that the future is being secured. Moshe knew that one day he would leave the scene. The Jewish people would need capable leaders after him.

These two episodes teach two essential principles of leadership.

First, no one can do everything alone. A leader must delegate authority and rely on trustworthy people who are committed to serving rather than seeking glory.

Second, a leader must develop the next generation. Without successors, there is no future. Without new leaders being trained and encouraged, even the greatest achievements will not endure.

Moshe saw himself not as a ruler but as a servant of the people. He shared responsibility, empowered others, and welcomed future leaders.

Those are lessons worth remembering in every organization, every community, and every generation.

Gratitude is one of the most important lessons that we can learn. The Jews in the wilderness were given everything but were not grateful. They were afraid that now that they were free they were responsible for their actions.

A Quick Devar Torah: The Complaint About the Quail

In this week’s parashah, we encounter the episode of the quail. The Jewish people complain about the manna. Day after day they receive food from Heaven—food that is nutritious, miraculous, and, according to our tradition, could taste like whatever they desired. Yet they complain.

They begin reminiscing about Egypt: the cucumbers, the melons, the fish, and the other foods they enjoyed there. But there is a glaring problem with this nostalgia. They were slaves. Whatever pleasures they enjoyed came at a terrible price. Egyptian slavery was brutal. They had no freedom, no dignity, and no control over their own lives.

There is an Israeli comedian who jokingly imagines Moses reacting to these complaints. Any other nation, he says, would have been thrilled to receive manna from Heaven. The Jews, however, immediately begin asking questions: “Is it gluten-free? Is it diet manna? Is there a catch?” The humor works because it captures a very human tendency—we often focus on what we lack rather than on what we have.

One of the hardest lessons in life is gratitude. We have to teach it to our children from a very young age. The Torah does not oppose enjoying life. On the contrary, Judaism teaches us to appreciate the blessings of this world. But appreciation begins with recognizing what we already have.

Many people complain that we live in difficult times. Yet, in many ways, we live in one of the most blessed generations in human history. Think about it: if someone wanted to learn an obscure fact a hundred years ago, they had to travel to a library and hope the information was available. Today, we carry devices in our pockets that can access the world’s knowledge in seconds. The average person today enjoys conveniences that kings and wealthy nobles of past centuries could scarcely imagine.

Yet we are often not grateful.

The deeper issue in this parashah is not really the food. The manna becomes a symbol for something much larger. The Jewish people had left Egypt, but they were still struggling with the transition from slavery to freedom.

A slave does not have to take responsibility. If something goes wrong, the slave can always say, “I was only following orders.” A free person does not have that excuse. Freedom means ownership. Freedom means responsibility. Freedom means being accountable for your choices, your words, and your actions.

The complaint about the manna reflects an unwillingness to accept that responsibility. Egypt may have been harsh, but someone else made the decisions. Now God was asking the Jewish people to become a nation of free individuals who would govern themselves according to His Torah.

That is the challenge of freedom. We all want its benefits, but freedom comes with obligations. The Torah teaches that true freedom is not doing whatever we want. True freedom is taking responsibility for our lives and our actions.

Something to think about.

The lesson of following the cloud in the wilderness is that we have to trust in God even if we have different plans. We have to realize that God knows what is best for us even if we don’t.

Following the Cloud

Now for a quick devar Torah.

In this week’s parsha, Beha’alotcha, we read about the cloud that guided the Jewish people in the wilderness. When the cloud rested over the Mishkan, the Tabernacle, the people stayed where they were. When the cloud moved, they moved. It could stay for a day, a week, a month, or even a year. They never knew in advance.

So what is the lesson of the cloud?

The Jewish people knew their final destination: the Land of Israel. That goal was clear. But the route was not in their hands. They had to plan, but they also had to remain flexible.

That itself was part of becoming free. A slave does not make plans for the future. His master decides everything. But a free person must plan, prepare, and take responsibility. At the same time, the Torah teaches that our plans are never absolute. Life changes. Circumstances shift. As the Yiddish saying goes: man plans, and God laughs.

This is true in every area of life. Even in war, generals begin with carefully made plans, but once the battle starts, those plans often have to change. The generals who begin a war are not always the ones who win it, because victory often belongs to those who can adapt. In the Civil War, few would have predicted that Grant and Sherman would become the great Union generals. They understood the goal, but they were willing to adjust the method.

That is what the cloud teaches us. Know your destination. Make your plans. But do not worship the plan. Be ready to move when God tells you to move, and be ready to stay when God tells you to stay.

The Jewish people were learning not to trust a human master, but to trust God. Sometimes things look bad in the moment, but we do not always see the larger picture. That is why we say “Thank God” not only when things go the way we hoped, but even when they do not.

The cloud reminds us that life requires both direction and faith. We must plan for the future, but we must also remember that God may have a different route in mind.

Something to think about.

Pesach Sheni teaches us that we all deserve a second chance. The catch is that we have to be deserving of it. If we do not work to achieve it we won’t get it.

A Quick Devar Torah: The Power of a Second Chance

This week’s parashah contains the mitzvah of Pesach Sheni, the “Second Passover.” It teaches an important lesson about life and about the Torah’s view of human beings.

A group of Jews came to Moshe and complained that they could not bring the Passover offering because they had become ritually impure through circumstances beyond their control. They wanted to participate, but they were unable to do so.

Instead of simply telling them, “Too bad, you missed your chance,” God created a new opportunity: one month later, on the 14th of Iyar, they could bring the Passover offering. Thus was born Pesach Sheni.

The lesson is profound. Sometimes things happen that are beyond our control. Sometimes we miss an opportunity. Sometimes we make mistakes. Sometimes life simply gets in the way.

The Torah teaches that we are not necessarily trapped by our past. We are often given a second chance.

This idea lies at the heart of teshuvah. A person may have done something wrong. He may have made poor decisions. He may have failed in some important way. But failure is not the end of the story. God allows us the opportunity to correct our mistakes, improve ourselves, and move forward.

This stands in sharp contrast to an attitude that is increasingly common in society—the idea that a person’s worst mistake defines them forever. The Torah rejects that view. People can change. People can grow. People can improve.

Of course, the second chance does not come automatically. The people who missed the original Passover still had to bring the offering a month later. They had to make the effort. God provided the opportunity; they had to seize it.

Interestingly, this theme follows directly after last week’s discussion of the Nazir. The Nazir recognizes a weakness within himself and takes steps to improve. Pesach Sheni teaches a similar lesson: when something has gone wrong, there is a path back—but we must be willing to take it.

The message of Pesach Sheni is simple but powerful: our past does not have to determine our future. God gives us opportunities to make things right. The question is whether we are willing to grab hold of those opportunities and do the work necessary to change.

Something to think about.

Aaron is commanded to light the Menorah every day in the Tabernacle. This comes after the presentation of the gifts of the leaders of Tribes. This is to show that as important as the gifts were, the real holiness is doing the everyday tasks.

A Quick Devar Torah: The Importance of the Everyday

This week’s parsha begins with Aaron being commanded to light the Menorah each day.

The placement of this command is striking. Last week’s parsha ended with the dramatic dedication of the Mishkan. The leaders of the tribes brought their offerings, there was celebration, ceremony, and great public recognition. It was a historic moment.

Yet immediately afterward, the Torah turns our attention to something much quieter: Aaron lighting the Menorah every single day.

The Torah is teaching us an important lesson. As significant as the dedication of the Mishkan was, the real importance lay not in the grand opening but in the daily use of the Mishkan. A building is not made holy by one great ceremony. It becomes holy through the steady, continuous service that takes place within it.

We often overlook the importance of the everyday.

I remember when Rabbi Schwartz finally received a long-awaited hip replacement. He had waited months for the procedure. For him, it was a major event. But for the doctors and nurses, it was simply another day at work. They performed these procedures every day. What was life-changing for one person was part of the daily routine for others.

So much of our lives depends on people who faithfully do their jobs day after day without fanfare.

The Torah teaches that Judaism works the same way. We should celebrate the great moments. Today is the Israel Day Parade, and it is important to participate and show our support. Holidays, special events, and public celebrations all have their place.

But that is not what keeps Judaism alive.

What keeps Judaism alive is that we got up this morning and came to pray. We studied Torah today. We gave tzedakah. We performed acts of kindness. We did what we were supposed to do yesterday, we do it today, and we will do it again tomorrow.

The real mitzvah is found in consistency.

Think about an aircraft carrier. People notice the pilots, but an aircraft carrier may have 100 or 200 pilots and a crew of 5,000 sailors. Thousands of people work every day behind the scenes to make everything possible. Without their daily efforts, nothing happens.

The same lesson appears in our parsha. The tribal leaders deserved recognition for their generous offerings and dedication of the Mishkan. Their names are recorded for all time. But the Torah immediately reminds us that the real work begins the next morning when Aaron lights the Menorah.

The great events matter.

But what matters even more is what we do every day.

The future of Judaism, and indeed the future of any worthwhile endeavor, depends not on occasional moments of inspiration but on daily acts of commitment.

The Menorah was not lit once. It was lit every day.

Something to think about.

Samson is a flawed individual. His story teaches us what happens when a person has power but does not control his desires.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

This week’s haftorah is closely tied to the parashah because the parashah discusses the laws of the nazir, while the haftorah tells the story of Shimshon HaGibor, Samson the Hero.

Shimshon is a fascinating and complicated figure. Unlike the ordinary nazir, who voluntarily takes on the status of nazir for a limited period—usually to correct some personal failing or to achieve greater self-discipline—Shimshon was a nazir from birth. He never chose that path. Before he was even born, his parents were told that their son would be a nazir and would begin the task of saving Israel from the Philistines.

Shimshon possessed tremendous strengths. He was courageous, fearless, and driven by a powerful desire to protect the Jewish people. Yet he was also a man of powerful impulses. Again and again, he made decisions based on his personal desires rather than careful judgment. In the end, those weaknesses contributed to his downfall. Delilah’s persistence eventually wore him down, and he revealed the secret of his strength. Once his hair was cut, he was captured by the Philistines.

Yet even in his final moments, Shimshon fulfilled his mission. By bringing down the Philistine temple, he struck a decisive blow against Israel’s enemies.

What lesson does the haftorah teach us?

One lesson is about leadership. Throughout history, people have often searched for a strong individual who would solve all their problems. The ancient Greeks and Romans sometimes appointed dictators during times of crisis. In more recent times, totalitarian regimes have elevated leaders into objects of near worship. North Korea speaks of its “Dear Leader.” Iran has its “Supreme Leader.” The Soviet Union preserved Lenin in Red Square, while China did the same with Mao. In Nazi Germany, loyalty was pledged not to law or country, but to Hitler himself.

The Torah rejects this idea.

No human being is perfect. Every leader has flaws. The measure of great leadership is not possessing every talent or every answer. Rather, great leaders know how to bring out the talents of others. They surround themselves with capable people, listen to wise counsel, and build institutions that are stronger than any one individual.

A successful president, king, or leader cannot personally master every detail. Success comes from finding the right people, empowering them, and trusting them to do their jobs.

Shimshon was a hero. At that moment in history, he was the hero Israel needed. But he could not be the ultimate savior of the Jewish people because he remained captive to his own weaknesses.

The haftorah reminds us not to place our faith in any single individual. Leaders matter, but what matters even more are the principles, laws, and institutions that endure beyond any one person. A leader must be willing to hear the word “no,” to exercise self-discipline, and to earn authority through responsibility and service.

Something to think about.

The Torah wants us to partake in the pleasures of life but in moderation. That is why the Nazir, a person who denies himself wine, grapes, a haircut or any contact with a dead body usually for a month. After this period, he has to bring a sin offering. It is a sin not to have permitted pleasure.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

In this week’s parsha, we read about the laws of the Nazir — the person who voluntarily takes on extra restrictions. He avoids wine and grapes, does not cut his hair, and distances himself from certain normal pleasures of life.

But the Torah’s attitude toward the Nazir is fascinating. On one hand, there may be a good reason for someone to become a Nazir. A person may realize, “Something in me is out of balance. I need discipline. I need to pull myself back.” The Gemara tells the story of a young man who saw his reflection and became impressed with his own beauty. Realizing that his ego was getting out of hand, he became a Nazir to bring himself back down to earth.

But on the other hand, when the Nazir completes his period, he brings a sin offering. Why? What sin did he commit? One explanation is that he denied himself pleasures that God permitted. Judaism does not believe that holiness means rejecting life. God gave us a world to enjoy — but to enjoy properly, with limits, discipline, and responsibility.

That is the key balance. The Torah does not want us to live like people who say, “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.” That is one extreme. But it also does not want us to deny ourselves everything and act as if pleasure itself is wrong. That is the other extreme.

The Jewish ideal is the golden mean: enjoy life, but within boundaries. Take pleasure in the world, but do not become enslaved by pleasure. Practice restraint when necessary, but do not turn restraint into a permanent way of life.

And this fits the larger theme of Sefer Bamidbar. The Jewish people are being transformed from a mob of former slaves into a nation. A nation needs people who are balanced, disciplined, and levelheaded — not pulled to one extreme or the other.

The Nazir teaches us that sometimes we need to step back in order to correct ourselves. But the goal is not extremism. The goal is to return to normal, healthy, responsible living — enjoying God’s world while staying within the limits that allow society, and the soul, to function properly.

Something to think about.