The Book of Deuteronomy opens with Moses going over the history of the Jews in the Wilderness. This was to teach us to learn from our mistakes. Great leaders learn from their mistakes.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

This week’s parashah, Devarim, begins the Book of Deuteronomy. It is always read on the Shabbat before Tisha B’Av because Moses is looking back over Israel’s history. He reminds the people not only of God’s blessings, but also of their failures. Yet the purpose is not to dwell on the past. It is to learn from it.

That is one of the Torah’s greatest lessons. The question is not whether we make mistakes—we all do. The real question is whether we learn from them.

If you look through the Bible, virtually every great leader is flawed. Abraham has moments where he falls short. Moses makes mistakes. King David commits serious sins. The Torah never hides these flaws. Instead, it teaches us that greatness is measured not by perfection but by the willingness to grow.

A good example outside the Torah is George Washington. A new movie, Young Washington, makes the point that Washington was not born the leader we remember today. As a young officer in the French and Indian War, he made serious military mistakes. But he learned from them. Those painful lessons helped shape the commander who would later lead the Continental Army and become America’s first president.

The Torah presents the same contrast through Israel’s first two kings.

King Saul was commanded to destroy Amalek completely. Instead, he spared King Agag and allowed the people to keep the spoils. When the prophet Samuel confronted him, Saul refused to take responsibility. He blamed the people. But the king is responsible for the nation’s decisions. Leadership means that the buck stops with you. Samuel then executed Agag himself. Our tradition teaches that because Agag had been spared even briefly, he fathered descendants, one of whom was Haman, the villain of the Book of Esther.

King David also committed a terrible sin in the episode of Bathsheba. The Midrash relates that David once said that if he had been given Abraham’s tests, he would have passed them. God answered, “I will give you your own test.” David knew temptation was coming, yet he failed.

Afterward, David wished the episode could simply disappear. Instead, God made sure it would remain in the Bible for every generation to read. Why? Not to humiliate David, but to teach us something essential. David admitted his sin. He repented. He accepted responsibility and changed.

That is why David became the model of Jewish kingship. Not because he was perfect, but because when he failed, he did not hide, deny, or blame others. He accepted responsibility and grew from the experience.

As we approach Tisha B’Av, that is the message of Parshat Devarim. Nations, communities, and individuals all make mistakes. The real tragedy is not failing; it is refusing to learn. The path to redemption begins the moment we honestly acknowledge our shortcomings, accept responsibility, and commit ourselves to becoming better.

Something to think about.

When the tribes of Reuvan, God & half of Dan request land on the other side Jordan, Moses allows it provided that they remember that they help with the liberation of all the land of Israel.

Good morning.

This week’s parashah brings us to the conclusion of the story of the Jewish people in the wilderness. Next week, we begin the Book of Deuteronomy, where Moses recounts and reflects on the events of those forty years. That transition makes this week’s portion especially significant.

One of the major events in this parashah is the division of the Land of Israel among the tribes. Each tribe has its own unique role and character, and each receives its own inheritance. Together, however, they remain one nation. There are twelve tribes receiving portions of the land, while the Levites receive no territorial inheritance because their role is to serve the spiritual needs of the people.

Another important event involves the tribes of Reuben, Gad, and half the tribe of Manasseh. They are shepherds, and they see that the land on the eastern side of the Jordan is especially well suited for their livestock. They ask Moses if they may settle there instead of crossing into the Land of Israel.

Moses agrees—but only with an important condition. They may not settle down and begin enjoying their inheritance until they have first helped the rest of the nation conquer and secure the land west of the Jordan. They must fight alongside their fellow Israelites until every tribe has received its inheritance.

The lesson is profound: you cannot think only of yourself. Even though each tribe has its own identity and its own needs, every tribe remains part of something larger—the Jewish people.

We see this same principle earlier in the parashah with the daughters of Zelophehad. They are granted the right to inherit their father’s land, but they are instructed to marry within their own tribe so that the tribal inheritance remains intact. Once again, the Torah balances the needs of individuals with the needs of the community.

This balance is essential. We get into trouble when we think only about ourselves or only about our own families and forget that we are part of a greater whole. At the same time, the community must never lose sight of the dignity and legitimate needs of each individual.

In many ways, this is a principle found in other systems as well. Consider the ongoing debates about the Electoral College in the United States. Whatever one’s opinion, its original design reflects the idea that more populous states should not simply overwhelm the voices and interests of smaller states. A healthy society seeks to balance the will of the majority with protections for the minority. The minority should not be able to impose its will on the majority, but neither should the majority ignore or dismiss the legitimate concerns of the minority.

That is exactly the balance we see in this week’s parashah. The request of the two and a half tribes is respected, but their personal interests cannot come before the welfare of the nation. Likewise, the needs of the nation do not erase their unique circumstances.

Finding that balance—between individual responsibility and communal obligation—is never easy. Yet it is one of the Torah’s enduring lessons and one that remains deeply relevant today.

Something to think about.

In this week’s portion we get to the division of the Land of Israel among the tribes. That within each tribe they divided the land among the families. The Torah is emphasizing the concept of private property. That your land is yours and that it cannot be taken away by the government.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

As we continue through this week’s parashah, we come to the division of the Land of Israel. At first glance, it may seem like a long list of boundaries and inheritances, but it teaches one of the Torah’s most important principles.

Last week, we read about the daughters of Zelophehad. Their concern was that because their father had no sons, their family’s portion of the land would be lost. They emphasized that their father had been a loyal member of the Jewish people. He had not joined Korach’s rebellion or participated in the other great sins of the wilderness. They simply wanted to preserve the inheritance that rightfully belonged to their family.

Now we see why that issue was so important. The land is divided among the tribes, and then each tribe divides its inheritance among its families. Every family has its own permanent inheritance.

The Torah is teaching something remarkable: it recognizes the importance of private property. Your farm is your farm. Your inheritance is your inheritance. Even the king cannot simply seize it because he wants it. While land could be transferred under certain circumstances, in the Jubilee year it returned to the original family. The land ultimately belongs to God, but He entrusted it to individual families as a permanent inheritance.

This was revolutionary in the ancient world. In many kingdoms, everything ultimately belonged to the king. He could confiscate property or change the rules whenever he wished. The Torah rejects that idea. Even the king is subject to God’s law.

This reminds me of a famous statement by the eighteenth-century British statesman Edmund Burke. He described the poorest man living in a humble cottage. The wind may blow through the cracks. The rain may come in. The snow may enter. But the king may not enter without permission. In other words, even the poorest person’s home is protected from arbitrary government power.

That idea has deep biblical roots. The Torah teaches that ownership carries dignity, responsibility, and independence. It is one reason the daughters of Zelophehad fought so passionately for their father’s inheritance. They understood that this was not merely about land. It was about preserving the family’s place, identity, and future within the nation of Israel.

Today we sometimes hear the claim that “property is theft.” The Torah teaches something very different. If property is honestly and legally acquired, it is to be respected and protected. Even rulers are limited by law. No one—not even a king—is above God’s justice.

That is one of the enduring lessons of this week’s parashah: freedom is sustained not only by faith, but also by respect for law, responsibility, and the rights of every individual.

Something to think about.

As we end the Book of Numbers we are preparing to enter the Land of Israel. Up until now God took care of our every need. Now it is time for us to show God that we are able to stand up and take care of ourselves.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

This week’s parashah, Matot-Masei, brings the Book of Numbers to a close. Next week we begin the Book of Deuteronomy, which is essentially Moses’ farewell address before the Jewish people enter the Land of Israel.

The Book of Numbers has been the story of the Jewish people in the wilderness. But why does the Torah devote so much attention to those forty years?

Because the wilderness was a unique stage in our nation’s development. Every day, the Jewish people experienced open miracles. God provided food through the manna. He gave them water. Their clothing did not wear out. Every basic need was taken care of. They lived under God’s direct care.

Now everything is about to change.

As they enter the Land of Israel, they will have to farm the land, build businesses, establish courts, defend themselves, and create a functioning society. The miracles will not disappear, but they will become less obvious. God will still be there, but now the people must assume responsibility for their own lives.

In many ways, this is like raising children. A young child depends on a parent for everything. But every good parent hopes for the day when that child can stand on his own. The greatest compliment a child can give a parent is, “I can take care of myself now.”

That is what God is saying to Israel. Until now, you have been like children. Now you must become a mature nation. Live by the Torah not only in the synagogue, but also in the marketplace, in the courtroom, on the farm, and in government.

One of the lessons we saw in last week’s account of the war against Midian is that all of the captured property was brought before Moses and carefully accounted for. Nothing was hidden. Leadership demanded complete transparency.

Even Moses could not simply say, “Trust me.” The Torah teaches that honest leaders should also be accountable leaders.

I was reminded of this by a friend who served as treasurer of my Masonic lodge. He insisted on having his books audited every year. I told him, “We all trust you. Why do you want an audit?” He answered, “Because if I made an honest mistake, I want it to be found and corrected.”

That is a powerful lesson. Transparency protects both the public and the leader.

It is also one of the principles behind the American Constitution. Our system of checks and balances assumes that power must always be accountable. Everyone watches everyone else—not because we assume people are dishonest, but because human beings are imperfect, and accountability helps preserve integrity.

As the Jewish people prepare to enter the Land of Israel, the Torah teaches that a free society must also be a responsible society. It must be built on honesty, accountability, and leaders who are willing to let their actions be examined openly.

Something to think about.

The commandment to destroy Median was not one of revenge. It was to mete out justice for the evil that Median had meant to commit against the Torah and the Jewish people. That is why it was so harsh.

Now for a Quick Devar Torah.

One of the most difficult and controversial sections of this week’s parashah is the war against Midian. At first glance, it is deeply troubling. The Torah commands a harsh campaign against the Midianites, and after the battle Moses even rebukes the officers because the Midianite women had been spared. Modern readers naturally ask: How can this be the Torah? What is going on here?

To understand this passage, we first have to recognize that the Torah does not present this as a war of revenge. It is a war of justice.

A question immediately arises: if the sin at Baal Peor involved both Moab and Midian, why was Midian singled out?

The Sages point out an important distinction. Israel was about to pass through Moabite territory. The Moabites therefore had reason to fear the approaching Israelites, even if their response was wrong. Midian, however, had no such justification. The Israelites were not planning to enter Midianite territory. Midian chose to participate willingly in a campaign to corrupt and destroy Israel spiritually.

This also explains Moses’ anger after the battle. The Midianite women were not innocent bystanders. They had been active participants in the plot that led Israel into idolatry and immorality. Kozbi herself was a Midianite princess who willingly took part in that effort. The issue was not simply military victory—it was bringing justice to those who had deliberately sought Israel’s spiritual destruction.

History offers parallels. When the Magyar raiders swept into Europe during the ninth and tenth centuries, they lived by pillaging, looting, and terrorizing their neighbors. Their way of life came to an abrupt end after their crushing defeat at the Battle of Lechfeld in 955. Their military power was broken, and they abandoned a life of conquest to establish the settled Kingdom of Hungary. Sometimes history teaches that there are actions which simply cannot be tolerated indefinitely.

The Torah is teaching a similar lesson. Some forms of evil are so destructive that society must draw a firm line and say, “No further.”

But the parashah is also teaching the Jewish people something about themselves.

The greatest danger is not only the enemy on the outside. It is moral weakness on the inside. If a nation loses confidence in its purpose, if it begins to question whether its mission is worth defending, it becomes vulnerable to those who seek its destruction.

History repeatedly illustrates this principle. Before Germany invaded France in 1940, France possessed one of the largest and best-equipped armies in Europe. Yet military strength alone was not enough. A nation that loses confidence in itself becomes far easier to defeat than one that remains united around its purpose.

The same is true spiritually.

The Jewish people have a mission from God. We may disagree about politics, policies, or countless details of Jewish life, but we cannot lose sight of the fact that there is a mission. That shared purpose is what binds us together.

That was the real danger posed by Midian. Their goal was not merely to defeat Israel physically, but to undermine Israel’s moral and spiritual identity from within. Once a people loses its sense of purpose, everything else becomes vulnerable.

That is why the Torah presents the judgment against Midian with such severity. It is not celebrating violence. It is emphasizing the seriousness of a deliberate attempt to destroy a nation’s soul.

Something to think about.

The Torah places a lot of importance on keeping your word. The reason is that society is based on our word. We have to trust one another in business, in law, in all forms of dealings with each other. Without this society would break down.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

This week’s parashah begins with what seems like a very mundane legal topic: vows. How do you make a vow, and if necessary, how can it be released? At first glance, it doesn’t seem very inspiring. After all, a vow is only words. It’s not something you can touch or hold.

But the Torah doesn’t see it that way.

The Torah teaches that words matter. Your word has to mean something. If people cannot rely on what others say, society itself begins to break down.

The economist Friedrich Hayek, although he described himself as an agnostic, made an interesting observation. He argued that a free economy works best when it is supported by a religious or moral culture. Why? Because every business transaction ultimately depends on trust. When two people make an agreement, each must believe that the other intends to keep it. Without trust, commerce—and society—cannot function.

That is exactly what the Torah is teaching. Your word should be your bond.

Yesterday we celebrated the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence. The closing paragraph contains a remarkable pledge. The signers committed to one another “our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.”

They knew exactly what they were doing. By signing that document, they were committing treason against Britain. As Benjamin Franklin famously said, “We must all hang together, or assuredly we shall all hang separately.”

Many of the signers paid a terrible price. Their homes were destroyed. Their property was confiscated. Some were hunted by the British. One signer had two sons captured and brutally mistreated. He was offered a terrible bargain: renounce your signature on the Declaration, and your sons would be released. He refused because he had given his word. His sons later said they never blamed him. They understood that a man’s honor and his word were worth preserving, even at great personal cost.

That is why Jews are often careful to add the words bli neder—”without making a vow”—when we say we intend to do something. I might say, “I’ll visit Martin later today, bli neder,” because unforeseen circumstances may prevent me from going. We don’t want an ordinary intention to become a binding vow.

But bli neder is not an excuse to be careless with our promises. Quite the opposite. The Torah teaches that when we give our word, we should do everything in our power to keep it.

There are still places today, such as New York’s Diamond District, where business deals worth hundreds of thousands of dollars are sometimes sealed with nothing more than a handshake. Why? Because people trust one another. Their word is enough.

The Torah understood thousands of years ago what every healthy society depends upon: when our word can be trusted, communities flourish. When words lose their value, society itself begins to unravel.

Something to think about.

When we look at the foundation of the USA we cannot help but see the Biblical influences. Also, we Jews are grateful that the USA was the first country that would treat Jews as equal citizens.

A Quick Devar Torah: Freedom, Responsibility, and July 4th

This week’s parashah reviews the Jewish festivals. We begin with Passover, continue through Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot, and conclude with Shemini Atzeret. If you look carefully, there is a progression.

Passover is the festival of freedom. God took us out of Egypt and ended our slavery. But the Torah makes it clear that freedom was never meant to be an end in itself. We were not freed simply so that we could do whatever we wanted.

The next stop is Shavuot, when we stood at Mount Sinai and received the Torah. Freedom without law eventually becomes chaos. The Torah teaches that true freedom means living according to a moral code and accepting responsibility.

That leads naturally to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. A free people must also be a responsible people. Every year we stop and take an accounting of our lives. How have we used the freedom God has given us? Have we lived according to His standards? We are judged not only on what we believe but on how we have acted.

Then comes Sukkot. We remember our years in the wilderness while celebrating God’s protection and the blessings He has given us. Having gained freedom and accepted the Torah, we rejoice in the privilege of living as God’s people.

This year, that message has special meaning because tomorrow is July 4th.

One of the remarkable things about the American Revolution is that independence was followed by constitutional government. The American Founders understood that liberty must be joined with law. Unlike revolutions that descended into violence and instability, the American experiment sought to build lasting institutions governed by a written Constitution.

As someone once observed, with the Declaration of Independence Americans ceased being subjects of a king and became citizens of a republic. A subject obeys because the king commands. A citizen has responsibilities as well as rights. Citizenship demands moral character and personal accountability.

Many historians have noted that the Founding generation drew not only on Greek and Roman political thought but also on the Hebrew Bible. Deuteronomy, with its teachings on limited government, justice, leadership, and the rule of law, was among the biblical books that profoundly influenced the political thinking of many early Americans.

There is another reason American Jews have always had cause for gratitude. In Touro Synagogue, George Washington assured the Jewish community that the United States would give “to bigotry no sanction, to persecution no assistance.” Jews were not merely tolerated; they were to enjoy the same rights and responsibilities as every other citizen. That was a remarkable statement in its time and helped set the tone for religious liberty in the United States.

As we celebrate both the festivals described in this week’s parashah and America’s Independence Day, we are reminded that freedom is never simply the absence of oppression. Freedom reaches its highest purpose when it is joined with responsibility, guided by moral law, and used to build a just and compassionate society.

Shabbat Shalom, and happy Independence Day.

The 17th of Tamuz is the beginning of the three weeks that we mourn the loss of the Temples in Jerusalem. The rabbis point out that both the first and second Temples were destroyed because people did not treat each other with respect.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

Today is the Seventeenth of Tammuz, the beginning of the Three Weeks, the period of mourning that culminates with Tisha B’Av and the destruction of the Temple.

One of the important things to remember is that, according to the rabbis, the Temple was not destroyed because the Jewish people failed in their religious observance. The service in the Temple was carried out properly. The priests performed their duties, the sacrifices were offered, and the rituals were observed with great care.

The problem was not inside the Temple—it was outside the Temple. It was the society that surrounded it.

The Torah teaches that being religious is much more than saying the right prayers in synagogue, wearing tefillin correctly, or observing every ritual meticulously. Those things matter, but they are only part of what God expects. We are also expected to build a just and compassionate society. We are commanded to care for the poor, help those in need, and, above all, treat one another with dignity and respect.

The rabbis tell us that the Second Temple was destroyed because of sinat chinam—baseless hatred. The classic illustration is the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza.

A wealthy man planned a great banquet. He intended to invite his friend Kamtza, but because of a servant’s mistake, the invitation went to Bar Kamtza, a man the host deeply disliked. Thinking this was an attempt at reconciliation, Bar Kamtza happily attended.

When the host saw him, he demanded that he leave immediately.

Bar Kamtza pleaded, “Please don’t embarrass me. Let me stay and I’ll pay for half the banquet.”

The answer was no.

“I’ll pay for the entire banquet.”

Still no.

He was publicly humiliated and thrown out.

What hurt him even more was that many of the leading rabbis and respected members of the community were present. They witnessed the humiliation, yet no one stood up to stop it.

Bar Kamtza left angry and eventually informed the Romans how they could provoke a rebellion that led to the destruction of Jerusalem.

The rabbis’ point is striking. The Temple was not destroyed because the priests failed in their service. It was destroyed because people stood silently while another Jew was publicly humiliated.

That doesn’t mean wrongdoing should never be confronted. Evil must be opposed, and justice must be upheld. But there is a world of difference between standing against wrongdoing and humiliating another person over trivial matters—how they dress, whether they pronounce every word correctly, or whether they need help financially.

A holy society is measured not only by how it worships God, but by how it treats God’s children.

As we begin the Three Weeks, perhaps that’s the message we should carry with us. If we want to remember why the Temple was lost, we should remember that holiness is not confined to the synagogue or the Temple. It is found in the way we treat one another every single day.

One of the major lessons of this week’s Torah Portion is that leaders come and go but it is through our ritual that we remain true to our mission.

Now for a quick Devar Torah.

This week’s parashah is something of a guidepost. To understand it, we have to remember where we are in the Book of Bamidbar. Moses is preparing the Jewish people for the greatest transition in their history. They are moving from life in the wilderness, where God provided their every need, to life in the Land of Israel, where they will have to farm, build communities, establish courts, defend themselves, and earn a living. The obvious miracles are about to end. God will still be with them, but His presence will be seen more through everyday life than through open miracles.

In a sense, they’re about to enter the “real world.”

That explains why this parashah contains such a wide variety of topics.

It begins with Pinchas receiving God’s covenant of peace. It continues with Moses being told to appoint his successor. Moses’ own sons are passed over because leadership is not inherited automatically. Joshua has earned the position through years of faithful service, study, and dedication. The Torah reminds us that true leadership is based on merit and commitment, not family connections.

Then comes the case of the daughters of Zelophehad. They present a situation no one had faced before. Moses doesn’t pretend to know the answer. Instead, he turns to God for guidance. That’s another lesson in leadership: a good leader must be willing to confront new challenges with humility and seek the right answer rather than simply giving an opinion.

But right in the middle of all this, the Torah suddenly lists the daily offerings, the Shabbat offerings, and then the offerings for Rosh Chodesh, Pesach, Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Sukkot. At first glance, it seems out of place.

It isn’t.

The Torah is teaching that while leaders come and go, the mission continues. Moses will leave. Aaron has already died, and Eleazar has become the High Priest. Joshua will replace Moses. Generations will change, but the service of God remains constant. The rhythm of Jewish life—the daily offerings, Shabbat, and the festivals—will continue long after any individual leader is gone.

Traditions are what hold a nation together. Anyone who has children knows that they may not yet understand all the theology of Rosh Hashanah or Pesach, but they remember the traditions. Those experiences become the foundation of Jewish identity.

And one final point. God doesn’t need our sacrifices. News flash: God doesn’t eat. The offerings were never for His benefit; they were for ours. They trained us in gratitude, discipline, commitment, and holiness. Everything God commands us is ultimately meant to make us into better people.

That’s the message of this section of the parashah. Leaders change. Circumstances change. We move from the wilderness into the real world. But God’s mission, God’s values, and the covenant endure. Our responsibility is to carry them forward from one generation to the next.

Something to think about.

The daughters of Zelophahad knew that there was problem, but instead of yelling and causing a ruckus, they approached Moses with respect. That way they could speak with him and achieve their goal.

Now for a quick devar Torah.

One of the most remarkable episodes in this week’s parashah is the story of the daughters of Zelophehad. Their father died leaving five daughters but no sons. According to the laws of inheritance as they then stood, land passed to sons. Normally this was not a problem, because daughters would marry and become part of another household. But here there were no sons, and the family faced losing its inheritance just as the Jewish people were preparing to enter the Land of Israel.

This comes at a pivotal moment in Jewish history. The forty years in the wilderness are ending. The greatest yeshivah in history is coming to a close. Moshe Rabbeinu is the Rosh Yeshivah, with Aharon and Miriam leading the people. But now the nation is transitioning from a life sustained by miracles to one of farms, homes, and property in the Land of Israel. Questions of ownership and inheritance suddenly become very real.

The daughters of Zelophehad understood this. They believed there was an injustice, but notice how they handled it. They did not organize a rebellion. They did not shout or accuse Moshe of unfairness. They approached him respectfully and presented their case. They were prepared to accept his decision.

Moshe himself did not know the answer. Rather than guessing, he brought the question before God. God’s response was extraordinary: “The daughters of Zelophehad speak correctly.” Their claim was just, and the Torah’s laws were expanded because of them. Later, an additional requirement was added that they marry within their tribe so that the tribal inheritance would remain intact. The Torah addressed the practical realities while preserving the integrity of the system.

There is a powerful lesson here. There are different ways to approach a problem. One way is to shout, yell, and demand. That usually produces the opposite of what you want. The other way is to respectfully present your case to those responsible for making the decision.

We see a similar lesson in the Book of Esther. Esther understood that storming into the Persian king’s presence with accusations would accomplish nothing—in fact, it could cost her life. She knew how the royal court worked, and she approached the king wisely and respectfully. Through her courage and understanding, God brought about the salvation of the Jewish people.

The daughters of Zelophehad did the same. They sought justice, but they pursued it with dignity and respect. Their example teaches us that respect is not weakness. Sometimes it is the most effective way to bring about lasting change.

The rabbis teach us to show respect to our teachers and leaders. Respect does not mean we never ask difficult questions. It means we ask them the right way. The daughters of Zelophehad proved that you can question, you can seek justice, and you can even change the law—but you do it with humility, dignity, and respect.

And one final thought: God always hears our prayers. Sometimes the answer is yes. Sometimes the answer is no. But we should always approach Him—and one another—with the same respect shown by the daughters of Zelophehad.

Something to think about.