Pinchos Lipschutz

As we learn the parsha each week and study the words of different meforshim , there are, invariably, ideas in the Torah that feel less like commentary and more like a quiet unveiling of history itself. The Meshech Chochmah in Parshas Bechukosai offers one of those. In a few penetrating lines, he not only explains the Tochacha , but maps the spiritual psychology of golus and the conditions that make the geulah possible.

This week's parsha of Bamidbar opens a new sefer in the Torah and introduces the counting of the Bnei Yisroel and the precise arrangement of their encampments as they journeyed toward the Promised Land. Chazal instituted that Parshas Bamidbar is always lained on the Shabbos preceding Shavuos , and that connection is deeply significant. As we stand at the culmination of the days of Sefirah , during which we prepared ourselves for Kabbolas HaTorah , the lessons embedded in this parsha become especially relevant.

Mountains are central to our history. The first mountain we encounter is Har Hamoriah, where Avrohom Avinu approached to bring his son Yitzchok as a korban

Iran hung over Israel, the United States, and much of the Arab world like an albatross for nearly half a century following the Islamic Revolution of 1979. During those decades, successive American presidents promised to contain the regime, restrain its ambitions, or reform its behavior. None succeeded.

Among the many tragic episodes recorded in the Torah, few are as perplexing as the story of Korach. Korach was no ordinary man. Chazal tell us that he was exceptionally wealthy, exceptionally wise, and among the distinguished leaders of Klal Yisroel . He witnessed the greatest revelations in history. He stood at Har Sinai, accepting the Torah and hearing Hashem's voice call out. He experienced Yetzias Mitzrayim. He lived among a generation that saw open miracles daily.

For many people, this Shabbos marks the beginning of the “Country Season.” Tens of thousands of Yidden head for the hills, to their summer homes, to what we used to call bungalows, although, by now, most are anything but.

This week, we enter the Three Weeks, a period unlike any other on the Jewish calendar, a time of mourning for events that took place centuries ago. It is a time to remember what we have endured as a people, to miss what we no longer have, and to recognize that the absence we have grown accustomed to was never meant to be normal.

There are moments when life feels settled, when the world seems to be moving along familiar tracks and even its difficulties feel manageable because they fit into patterns we recognize. And then there are moments when that sense of order begins to loosen, when events seem to arrive faster than they can be processed, and the future feels less predictable than what came before it.

There are many sad sounds we hear during the Nine Days, from the mournful melody of Eicha to the scraping of a chair being turned over on Tisha B'Av . There is also the sound of silence we encounter when music would otherwise be playing, when we would have been attending a simcha or gathering at a barbecue or another happy occasion that is put on hold until the Nine Days have ended.

There is a growing unease over the direction of the Republican Party when President Trump leaves the political stage. For decades, support for Israel was one of the few issues that transcended partisan politics. While that bipartisan consensus has steadily eroded, particularly as anti-Israel sentiment has become increasingly mainstream on the left, Republicans have largely remained steadfast allies of Israel. President Donald Trump, more than perhaps any American president before him, has demonstrated an unwavering commitment to Israel's security and legitimacy.