There is a popular meme circulating once again — “Israel is the only country on earth that has to defend itself for defending itself.” It’s meant to provoke outrage at the world’s hypocrisy. But the truth is far more disturbing.

 

 

 

Correction: Israel is not the only country that has to defend itself — it is the only one that thinks it must.

 

 

 

Let’s be clear: no other nation on earth would tolerate the murder, torture, and abduction of its citizens and still pause to explain its actions to those who cheer for its destruction. Yet Israel, even after the atrocities of ז׳ תשרי תשפ״ד (7 October 2023), still plays the role the nations have carved out for us — the nervous defendant, the trembling Jew in the dock of global opinion.

 

 

 

We didn’t choose this role. We were trained into it — by exile, by centuries of appeasement, by the delusion that if we’re nice enough, if we die politely enough, we’ll be accepted.

 

 

 

And it worked. But only for those who hate us.

 

 

 

We are not commanded to be loved. We are commanded to be strong, to be holy, to be distinct. The world doesn’t love strength from Jews — but it respects it. Our enemies don’t weep when we weep. They don’t attend our funerals. They dance. And yet, every time we are attacked, we rush to apologise for surviving.

 

 

 

There is something broken in the Jewish soul when we measure the morality of war not by victory, but by the body count of our own people.

 

 

 

READ >>>> 

 

 

 

The Hidden Toll of Israel’s Rocket Alerts: A Nation Held Hostage by Fear

 

 

 

But here is the deeper sickness: this victimhood complex, this endless self-justification, is not just weakness. It’s a mask. A cover for guilt. The guilt of a people who have, in large part, abandoned תורה (Torah), distanced themselves from G-D, and forgotten our role as a עם קדוש (am kadosh – holy nation).

 

 

 

We speak of injustice, but forget that nothing — not even stubbing a toe — happens without His permission. As it says in תהלים (Tehillim – Psalms) 77:11: “ואומר חלותי היא, שנות ימין עליון”“Then I said: ‘It is my affliction that the right hand of the Most High has changed.’”

 

 

 

We interpret our suffering as injustice from others, when it is often a wake-up call from Above. A reflection not of the world’s evil — but of our spiritual condition.

 

 

 

We are not victims. We are a nation in need of תיקון (tikun – correction). We cry out to the nations for sympathy, instead of crying out to the One who actually governs the world.

 

 

 

Ask yourself: what other nation, after suffering the brutal slaughter of its civilians, would be forced into a ceasefire by foreign powers? What other country would be expected to supply water and electricity to those actively trying to destroy it?

 

 

 

And what other people would agree to such madness? Only us.

 

 

 

This is not mercy. This is spiritual confusion.

 

 

 

The answer is not more diplomacy, more restraint, more empty yearning for affection from the nations. The answer is חוסן (ḥosen – strength), גבורה (gevurah – might), and above all, תשובה (teshuvah – return), אמונה (emunah – faith), and יראת שמים (yirat shamayim – fear of Heaven).

 

 

 

We are not just another state. We are ישראל (Yisrael) — chosen not to be liked, but to be a light. And a light doesn’t ask the darkness for permission to shine.

 

 

 

It is time we stop defending our defence. We are not guilty for being alive. We are not sorry for surviving. But we are responsible for the state of our souls.

 

 

 

Let the world be outraged. Let the haters seethe. Let us return fire — physically, spiritually, and morally — without apology, without hesitation, without pause.

 

 

 

Because we are still here. And that, in itself, is already our greatest act of defiance.

In the age of digital masks and ideological theatre, Jews face a new yet ancient challenge: the Nations' subtle and overt manipulation of Jewish identity, often designed to confuse, distract, and ultimately distance Jews from their true mission—to serve HaShem through Torah and mitzvot. As I previously wrote in

, we are witnessing a deliberate spiritual sabotage, where outrage is manufactured, identities are forged, and sacred boundaries are blurred.

 

Today, I wish to go deeper.

The Problem: A Distortion of Jewish Identity

We now know that countless online accounts purporting to be “Jewish voices” are, in truth, anything but. Some are created by non-Jews with antisemitic intent, as openly discussed on hate-filled message boards where users are instructed to pose as Jews in order to spread confusion, mistrust, and division. Others promote ideologies fundamentally incompatible with Torah—such as moral relativism, universalism without distinction, and support for behaviour the Torah explicitly condemns—yet do so under the guise of “progressive Judaism.”

These imposters are not just voices—they are veils, obscuring truth with a counterfeit identity.

The same distortion exists among organisations supposedly dedicated to “fighting antisemitism.” Many are led or heavily influenced by non-Jews or Jews so far removed from Torah that their actions undermine, rather than protect, the Jewish people. When an organisation claims to defend Am Yisrael yet routinely associates with enemies of Torah, embraces causes that conflict with Halikkah (Jewish Law), or silences authentic Jewish voices in favour of popular slogans, it is not a shield—it is a Trojan horse.

The Spiritual Danger: Repeating the Evil

Chazal teach us that “one who repeats a matter of lashon hara is like the original speaker” (רמב"ם, הלכות דעות, פרק ז). To share, echo, or even ‘like’ slander or distortion—knowingly or through negligence—is to become a partner in that evil.

The Torah warns us to separate from lies, to choose life, and to sanctify the Name of HaShem, not profane it through association with falsehood.

Jews must be vigilant not just about what they say, but whose voices they amplify and whose banners they march under. Being “well-meaning” is no excuse in the eyes of Heaven if the result is aiding an agenda that harms Torah or misrepresents Jewish identity.

Guidance: Staying True in a Confusing World

Here are several principles, rooted in Torah, to protect the Jewish soul and mission in this era of spiritual fraud:

1. Know Your Source: Before engaging with or endorsing any Jewish-sounding content, verify its authenticity. Ask: Does this align with Torah? Does this individual or organisation affirm the truth of HaShem, the authority of the Torah, and the sanctity of Am Yisrael?
2. Reject Moral Confusion: If a group promotes values that contradict Halikkah—even if they use Hebrew words or invoke “Jewish values”—walk away. Torah is not a buffet. It is a covenant.
3. Avoid Joining the Mob: Outrage is not a mitzvah. Social media encourages impulsive anger, but Torah demands thoughtfulness, humility, and truth. Beware the pressure to “speak out” in ways that inflame, divide, or shame.
4. Do Not Share Every Evil Report: It is forbidden to spread reports or accusations without firsthand knowledge, proper context, or a halakhically valid purpose. Most outrage campaigns are just updated forms of רכילות (gossip) and לשון הרע (evil speech).
5. Support Authentic Torah Institutions: If you want to fight antisemitism, support authentic yeshivot, kehillot (communities), and Torah-based organisations. They are the true defence of Am Yisrael—rooted not in slogans, but in kedushah (holiness).
6. Strengthen Jewish Identity, Don’t Dilute It: Jews must resist the pull to make Torah “palatable” to the Nations. We are not here to blend in—we are here to be a light, and a light must stand apart from darkness.

“Torah is not à la carte. It’s table d'hôte.” — רם בן זאב

A Final Word: Be Cautious, Be Courageous

The Holy Zohar teaches that in the end of days, the greatest danger will not be swords or spears, but confusion—confusion between truth and falsehood, kedushah and tumah (impurity). The only defence is clarity: Torah clarity, moral clarity, and identity clarity.

Do not be seduced by those who use the name “Jew” but dishonour the covenant. Be wise.

Be discerning. And above all, be loyal to HaShem and His Torah.

Because the mission of the Jew is not to blend with the Nations—it is to be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.

I believe that evil is not merely sustained, but amplified by and through the Nations—that is, the nations of the world. With every act of antisemitism, the global chorus of outrage grows louder. Governments, organisations, influencers, and even well-meaning individuals rush to condemn, protest, and "raise awareness." But beneath this façade of moral virtue lies something far more troubling: a subtle, collective redirection of the Jewish soul away from its true purpose—toward a path that, for all its noise, leads away from G-D.

This constant external focus on antisemitism—on injustice done to us—trains the Jewish people to see themselves as victims first, as political actors second, and only occasionally as servants of the Divine. It invites us into a theatre of activism where the rules are written by others and where our role is scripted by foreign ideologies. It tempts us to seek validation from the Nations, to demand justice from those who have never truly cared for our well-being, and to measure our identity by how the world treats us, rather than by how we serve G-D.

And in this subtle shift—this chasing of justice through the courts of man instead of the mitzvot of the Torah—we lose our centre. We are lured into a kind of idolatry, not of stone or wood, but of ideas. We begin to worship visibility, acceptance, safety, and equality—as if these were the ultimate goals of the Jewish people. But they are not.

Our mission is תיקון עולם (Tikkun Olam), not in the modern political sense, but in the eternal, Torah-rooted sense: to repair the world by repairing ourselves. Not to fix Rome, Babylon, or Brussels—but to refine our middot (traits), return to mitzvot, and draw light into the world by walking with G-D.

Evil thrives on attention. Our sages have long warned us of this, though few truly understand it. When we shine the spotlight on evil, we do not weaken it—we feed it. We make it the centre of the conversation, the object of analysis, the subject of documentaries, books, protests, and forums. All of this attention gives evil power. And while the Nations lead the charge in publicising evil under the banner of “fighting it,” the Jewish people are dragged along, shouting about antisemitism, demanding apologies, filing petitions—while our Torah gathers dust.

“We won’t combat Jew Hatred by focusing on the hatred. Rather, non-attention is how it should be handled. Do not allow it to occupy your time, nor to become a focal point of any kind. It is a rule that Esau hates Jacob.” — רם בן זאב

Case in point: It’s been 80 years since the Holocaust. Millions of words, thousands of institutions, and entire global initiatives have been dedicated to “Never Again,” and then, "Never, Again, Again," following the atrocities of 7 October 2023. And yet antisemitism is surging—in Europe, in America, and across the digital world. The question isn’t whether awareness has failed. The question is: What are we really trying to fix—and who told us how to fix it?

We must not let the outrage of the Nations replace our faith in G-D. Our healing does not come from the United Nations, from interfaith vigils, or from press releases. It comes from תשובה (teshuvah – return), from prayer, from Torah study, from ahavat Yisrael (love of our fellow Jews), and from the quiet, determined refusal to let the Nations define our mission or our identity.

Evil will not be defeated by shouting about it louder. It will be defeated when the Jewish people rise—not in protest, but in holiness. Not to demand protection from the Nations, but to reassert our unbreakable bond with the Creator of the Universe.

In Pirkei Avot (1:13), we find a striking statement: "כל המרפה עצמו מדברי תורה, יש בו אשמת נפש" (Kol hamerpeh atsmo midivrei Torah, yesh bo ashmat nefesh)—“Anyone who relaxes his effort in words of Torah bears guilt for his soul.” Though the language is measured, our sages understood this as a profound spiritual warning: to let go of growth in Torah and service of Hashem is to endanger the very vitality of the nefesh. The soul was created to ascend; when it ceases to rise, it begins to wither. This core teaching underpins the reflections that follow.

 

In Tanya, particularly in chapters 15 and 26–29, the Alter Rebbe explains that a person must constantly strive for השתדלות (hishtadlut, effort) in Divine service, because the very essence of בינוני (beinoni, spiritual average person) status—the spiritual goal of the average Jew—is ongoing struggle. Stagnation, in Tanya, is equated with spiritual regression. As the Alter Rebbe puts it:

 

“If his service is not with toil, it is not called serving G-D at all.”

 

The beinoni, who may not sin but still faces an inner battle daily, must exert himself constantly to transform his לבושים (levushim, garments of the soul: thought, speech, and action) into pure vehicles for holiness. If he does not actively wage this internal war, then even if he does not sin, his lack of growth becomes a failure of purpose.

 

This is why Tanya confirms the idea that the soul’s task is not to coast through life, even on a plateau of righteousness. A soul that stops climbing inevitably begins to fall, because this world is a place of concealment—עלמא דסטרא אחרא (alma d’sitra achra, world of the other side)—where the pull of materiality is constant. Remaining passive allows the קליפות (kelipot, husks of impurity) to reclaim lost territory.

 

The Holy Zohar: Light and the Necessity of Ascent

 

The Holy Zohar (הזוהר הקדוש), particularly in Vayikra (ויקרא) and Tzav (צו), teaches that the soul is like a flame. Just as a flame naturally rises upward and cannot remain still, so too the נשמה (neshama, soul) longs to cleave to its Source, the אור אין סוף (Or Ein Sof, Infinite Light). If the soul is not nurtured by תורה (Torah) and מצוות (mitzvot, commandments), it flickers, dims, and ultimately becomes engulfed by the forces of separation known as the סטרא אחרא (sitra achra, the other side).

 

The Holy Zohar explains in Tzav (27b):

 

“If a person does not ascend in holiness, the side of impurity grasps him, for there is no stasis in the spiritual worlds.”

 

This is the reason the concept of עלייה (aliyah, ascent) is central. Every mitzvah, every act of Torah learning, is a spark that lifts the soul closer to הקב"ה (HaKadosh Baruch Hu, the Holy One, Blessed is He). In contrast, spiritual passivity invites descent and disconnection. The soul, like light, either expands or contracts—there is no neutral zone in spiritual life.

 

The Holy Zohar also introduces the concepts of מוחין דגדלות (mochin d’gadlut, expanded consciousness) and מוחין דקטנות (mochin d’katnut, constricted consciousness). A person who does not pursue mochin d’gadlut by striving in Torah and mitzvot remains in spiritual immaturity. This state of constriction is not merely a lack of growth—it becomes a spiritually dangerous condition, vulnerable to detachment from the Source of Life, G-D forbid.

 

Synthesis: Death as Disconnection, Life as Ascent

 

When Pirkei Avot says that one who does not strive in Divine service is “worthy of death,” both the Tanya and the Holy Zohar clarify that this refers to a spiritual death. It is the condition of מיתת הנפש (mitat ha-nefesh, the death of the soul’s vitality), where the soul loses its lifeline to G-D through inertia and disconnection.

 

According to Tanya, this death is the soul’s passivity, which opens the gates to the יצר הרע (yetzer hara, evil inclination), leading to inevitable spiritual descent.

 

According to the Holy Zohar, this death is disconnection from אור עליון (or elyon, Divine light), the soul’s true nourishment. A person who does not rise spiritually cuts themselves off from the very source of their life.

 

This teaching aligns with the verse in Mishlei (משלי, Proverbs):“The path of life ascends for the wise, so that he may turn away from the grave below.”The term “grave” here is not merely a burial place, but a metaphor for the condition of spiritual inertia—a soul that no longer cleaves upward toward holiness.

 

A Deeper Insight: The Pearl Within

 

The story of Rabbi Aharon serves as a living parable of this truth. His ascent in Torah was not merely theoretical—it brought forth hidden treasures, both physical and spiritual. The pearl concealed in the folds of the turban represents the נסתר (nistar, concealed) reward of Torah.

 

Just as the pearl was revealed only to the one who placed Torah above worldly pursuits, so too the soul’s inner brilliance is revealed only to those who strive to ascend.

 

Conclusion

 

In both the Tanya and the Holy Zohar, this unshakable law of the soul is made clear: a Jew must move upward. The soul cannot remain static in a world of concealment and spiritual gravity. The moment one stops climbing, descent begins.

 

Therefore, the words of the Mishnah are not exaggeration—they are a spiritual warning. True life is ascent. To cease ascending is, in truth, to begin dying inwardly.

 

In מסכת שבת (Masekhet Shabbat) 89a, the sages record a striking scene between the heavenly angels and משה רבינו (Moshe Rabbeinu). When Moshe ascends to receive the תורה (Torah), the angels protest, questioning why the most sacred gift of Divine wisdom should be given to flesh and blood. The response:

 

"In reward for the fact that they called you man, you are not an angel and the Torah is applicable to you."

 

At first glance, this line appears to reinforce the chosenness of עם ישראל (Am Yisrael – the nation of Israel) and the unique bond between the Jewish people and the Torah. And indeed, the traditional מסורה (mesorah – transmission) affirms this. Yet if we pause and examine the language in light of the timeline implied by the statement, another layer of meaning emerges—one that suggests a universal potential embedded in the moment of the Torah’s giving.

 

Note that the Talmud does not say “because you are Israel” or “because you are יהודי (Yehudi – Jewish).” It simply says “because you are אדם (adam – man).” This distinction matters.

 

The מדרשים (midrashim – rabbinic exegeses) tell us that before the giving of the Torah at הר סיני (Har Sinai – Mount Sinai), G-D approached all the nations of the world. To the descendants of עשו (Esav), of ישמעאל (Yishma'el), of עמון (Ammon) and מואב (Moav), He offered the Torah. Each nation, upon hearing one particular commandment, refused. “What is written in it?” they asked. When told “You shall not murder,” or “You shall not commit adultery,” or “You shall not steal,” each replied that the command conflicted with their identity, their culture, or their history.

 

Here is how the Midrash presents it:

 

1. G-D offered the Torah to the descendants of Esav (Edom):

 

G-D approached the בני עשו (children of Esav) and offered them the Torah. They asked: "What is written in it?" G-D replied, "You shall not murder." They said, "Master of the universe, our father was a man of war who lived by the sword — this is not for us."

 

2. G-D offered it to the descendants of Ammon and Moav:

 

They asked, "What is written in it?" G-D said, "You shall not commit adultery." They responded, "We come from an origin of incest (referring to Lot and his daughters) — this is not for us."

 

3. G-D offered it to the descendants of Yishmael:

 

They asked, "What is written in it?" G-D said, "You shall not steal." They said, "Our ancestors were thieves — this is not for us."

 

4. Finally, G-D approached Israel:

 

We famously responded without asking what was written in it, saying: "נעשה ונשמע" (na'aseh v'nishma – we will do, and we will hear). This selfless, faithful acceptance without conditions is what distinguished us and merited the giving of the Torah at הר סיני (Mount Sinai).

 

It was only when G-D approached בני ישראל (Bnei Yisrael – the Children of Israel) that He received an answer unlike any other: נעשה ונשמע (Na'aseh venishma – We will do and we will hear).

 

Here lies the critical distinction. The others asked what was required. Israel accepted the Torah unconditionally. That moment sealed the eternal covenant, transforming the Torah from a universal offer into an exclusive bond.

 

Yet before that moment—before נעשה ונשמע—the Torah was offered to man. The Talmud’s statement in Shabbat 89a fits squarely within that historical-theological context. When it says “the Torah is applicable to you” because “they called you man,” it reflects the Divine offer extended not to a particular ethnicity but to all of humanity. The limitation came not from G-D, but from human rejection.

 

This idea does not, חס ושלום (chas veshalom – G-D forbid) , contradict הלכה (halachah – Jewish law). Only Bnei Yisrael are obligated in the תרי״ג מצוות (taryag mitzvot – 613 commandments). The rest of the world is bound by the שבע מצוות בני נח (sheva mitzvot Bnei Noach – Seven Noahide laws), the moral covenant of civilisation. But the principle still stands: the Torah began as a universal gift. It became an exclusive inheritance only when the rest of mankind declined to accept its terms.

 

As it says in תהלים (Tehillim – Psalms) 147:19–20: "מגיד דבריו ליעקב חקיו ומשפטיו לישראל לא עשה כן לכל גוי...""He tells His words to Yaakov, His statutes and judgments to Yisrael. He has not done so for any other nation..."

 

The nations did not receive the Torah—not because they were not offered, but because they said no.

 

The lesson? The Torah’s origin was not exclusivity—it was availability. And the only thing that made it Israel’s alone was that Israel alone was willing to say yes without conditions.

The time has come to speak plainly. The Jewish people are not adherents of a religion. We are not one of many belief systems on a shelf, nor are we participants in the global circus of faiths. We are עם קדוש (Am Kadosh – a Holy Nation). And while the world may insist on seeing Judaism as a religion, this mischaracterisation has distorted our identity and weakened our national unity.

Religion, as it is practised by the nations, is merely a ritualised form of idolatry. They bow to objects, recite incantations, and construct dogmas that serve their image of the divine. But their gods are not G-D. Their doctrines are not Torah. And their rituals are not holiness. These are inventions, layered over centuries of spiritual confusion. Their religions were born out of distance from truth. Ours was born in the fire of הר סיני (Har Sinai – Mount Sinai).

When the Torah declares, ממלכת כהנים וגוי קדוש (Mamlekhet Kohanim veGoy Kadosh – a kingdom of priests and a holy nation), it does not identify us as a religion. It appoints us as a nation under G-D, entrusted with His law. We are not bound by belief; we are bound by covenant.

The nations of the world invented religion. We received Revelation. They constructed spiritual systems to approximate the Creator. We stood at the foot of the mountain and heard His Voice. Our connection is not imagined, not allegorical, not philosophical. It is literal. Historical. Eternal.

To reduce עם ישראל (Am Yisrael – the Nation of Israel) to a religion is to betray that encounter. It is to convert Divine national destiny into a private spiritual preference. Judaism is not a religion. It is the constitution of a nation created by G-D Himself.

A Jew who forgets this walks in exile within himself.

אוי למאן דעביד צלמא ופלח ליה… ברם ישראל מתקשרין לעילא, עמא קדישא למלכא קדישא, ולא יהוון כעמין דפלחין למה דלאו הוא קודשא בריך הוא.Woe to the one who fashions an image and worships it… But Israel is bound above, a holy people to the Holy King, and they shall not be like the nations who serve that which is not the Holy One, blessed be He.— The Holy Zohar, Volume 2, Page 187a

Let the world have its religions. Let them invent and adapt as they always have. But we must remember who we are. We are not participants in world religion. We are its antithesis. We are the nation that testifies to truth.

Call to Action

If you are Jewish, then you are not religious — you are national. You belong to a people who walked through the sea, who heard the Divine Voice without a mediator, and who carry the Torah as national law, not personal faith. Stop apologising. Stop blending in. Stop pretending Judaism is like other religions. It is not. Return to your people. Return to your nation. Return to your King. עם ישראל חי (Am Yisrael Chai – the Nation of Israel lives).

There was once a time—not long ago—when people thought carefully before they spoke, let alone before they broadcast their opinions to the world. Today, with the tap of a finger, we share, repost, and comment without hesitation. And while the world marvels at the power of instant communication, Torah reminds us that every word, every action, and yes, every click, carries weight—eternal weight.

 

We are taught in בראשית (Bereshit, Genesis) that man is formed with two inclinations: the יצר טוב (yetzer tov, good inclination), and the יצר הרע (yetzer hara, evil inclination). The yetzer hara is not merely a personal struggle—it is a cosmic force that feeds off the darkness of the world, and like any fire, it requires fuel. Today, social media is its forest.

 

When someone posts something vile—whether anti-Jewish, immoral, obscene, or just bitter—it is not always the original post that does the most damage. It is the viral response. It is the resharing by the “outraged,” the commentaries by the self-righteous, the mockery by the smug. Each reaction, each retweet, each indignant reply amplifies the very thing it claims to oppose. And why? Because we have come to believe that we must respond, that silence is complicity, and that our "two cents" are somehow a moral obligation.

 

But the Torah says otherwise.

 

King Solomon (שלמה המלך – Shlomo HaMelekh), the wisest of men, wrote in משלי (Mishlei, Proverbs 10:19): "ברב דברים לא יחדל פשע, וחשך שפתיו משכיל" – “In the multitude of words, transgression is not lacking, but he who restrains his lips is wise.”

 

This is not just good advice; it is halakhic (הלכתי) instruction. The חפץ חיים (Chofetz Chaim) codified entire volumes on the laws of לשון הרע (lashon hara, evil speech), רכילות (rechilut, gossip), and אבק לשון הרע (avak lashon hara, the "dust" of evil speech)—all of which are rampantly violated online every second. And the most dangerous violation? The amplification of evil speech under the guise of “commentary.”

 

We are forbidden not only to speak lashon hara, but to listen to it, to accept it, and certainly to pass it on—even when it is “already public.” Once evil is in the air, you have a choice: let it die, or give it more oxygen. Most choose the latter.

 

Maimonides (רמב"ם – Rambam), in הלכות דעות (Hilchot De’ot) 5:1, writes: "דרך בריאים להיות שומעין דברי חכמה ואינם מדברים כל היום." – “The way of the healthy-minded is to listen to words of wisdom and not to speak all day.”

 

Speech is not neutral. Torah speech builds worlds. Negative speech destroys. And in this age of digital immediacy, where every individual has a megaphone, restraint is no longer piety—it is survival.

 

When someone posts a video filled with hate, what should be done? Ignore it. Report it, perhaps, if necessary. But do not comment. Do not link to it. Do not write long replies filled with indignation. These are all gifts to the yetzer hara. The evil one does not care if he is loved or hated—only that he is seen.

 

We must stop pretending that amplifying darkness is a form of activism. It is not. It is weakness. It is a society addicted to noise, to attention, and to self-importance.

 

If one must speak, let them speak Torah. Let them share light. Let them build.

 

Tehillim (תהלים 34:14) states: "נצר לשונך מרע ושפתיך מדבר מרמה." – “Guard your tongue from evil, and your lips from speaking deceit.”

 

Our duty is not to battle every piece of evil on its own terms. Our duty is to deny it the one thing it needs to survive: amplification.

 

In these final generations before the arrival of משיח (Mashiach), the battlefield is no longer the town square—it is your timeline. The stakes have not changed. Choose what you share, what you amplify, what you dwell upon.

 

Because if you're not adding light, you're adding darkness.

 

Call to Action

 

The next time you see something evil, vile, or grotesque online—stop. Don't share it. Don't comment. Don’t give it life. If you must respond, respond with Torah, with kindness, with light.

 

Amplify what is holy, not what is hateful. If we truly believe in the power of words, we must also believe in the power of silence. Choose to elevate. Choose to build. Choose to protect your soul and the souls of others from becoming fuel for the yetzer hara.

 

Because silence, in the face of evil, is not complicity when silence starves evil of its food.

April 30, 2025

 

Today, we mark יום העצמאות (Yom HaAtzmaut — the Day of Independence), a date etched into the heart of our modern history as the reestablishment of Jewish sovereignty in Eretz Yisrael after nearly two thousand years of exile. Yet, this national celebration is preceded by יום הזיכרון (Yom HaZikaron — the Day of Remembrance), a day of mourning for our fallen soldiers and victims of terror. The pain we feel on this day is not just individual, it is national — and in truth, cosmic. The death of our holy warriors, many of whom died simply because they were Jews, evokes the same anguish as the destruction of the בית המקדש (Beit HaMikdash — the Holy Temple).

 

But this day must be more than tears. It must be more than flags waving in the wind. It must be a יום חשבון הנפש (yom cheshbon hanefesh — a day of soul-accounting). We are not simply a people with a land — we are a nation defined by תורה (Torah — Divine instruction). As Rabbeinu Sa’adia Gaon famously taught: אין אומתנו אומה אלא בתורתה — "Our nation is not a nation except through its Torah." Without this foundation, our independence is nothing more than an illusion of sovereignty.

 

The prophet speaks in the name of G-D: שובו אלי ואשובה אליכם — “Return to Me and I shall return to you” (מלאכי ג:ז — Malakhi 3:7). The call is clear: we are to return, as individuals and as a nation, to the path of righteousness, mitzvot, and יראת שמים (yirat shamayim — fear of Heaven). This is not merely an emotional or spiritual response; it is an obligation we have inherited from the countless generations who lived — and died — for the sanctity of the Torah.

 

Many of our fallen brothers and sisters lived lives filled with מסירות נפש (mesirut nefesh — self-sacrifice), giving everything to preserve Jewish life, Jewish land, and most powerfully, Jewish values. Some were scholars. Some were simple men and women. But many gave up their lives in sanctification of the Divine Name — refusing to abandon the faith, even in their final breath. Their blood is קודש (kodesh — holy), spilled for the sake of our collective soul.

 

The ספר הזוהר הקדוש (Sefer HaZohar HaKadosh — the Holy Zohar) teaches that the soul of a Jew who dies in sanctification of the Name rises to the highest realms and brings merit to the entire world. In the section of תרומה (Terumah), the Holy Zohar explains that when a soul is taken for the sake of Heaven, it becomes a מרכבה (merkavah — chariot) for the Divine Presence. This means that our fallen are not only mourned — they are exalted, and their deaths cry out to us to live in a way worthy of their sacrifice.

 

In ליקוטי אמרים (Likutei Amarim — Collected Sayings, the first part of the Tanya), the Alter Rebbe writes that a Jew must always view the world as perfectly balanced — half merit, half guilt. A single good deed can tip the scale and bring salvation to the world. What greater honour can we give the memory of our fallen than to tip the scale through Torah observance, through acts of kindness, through returning our hearts and our children to the ways of our forefathers?

 

Yom HaAtzmaut is a time to rejoice — but not with empty celebration. The true joy of this day lies in the הכרה (hakarah — recognition) that we have been given another chance to live as a nation of Torah in the land that G-D promised to our fathers. The question we must each ask is not "How free are we?" but rather "What will we do with this freedom?"

 

The Talmud teaches, כל ישראל ערבים זה בזה — "All of Israel are responsible for one another" (שבועות לט). That means their deaths obligate our lives. We do not remember them with barbecues alone. We remember them with תשובה (teshuvah — repentance), תפילה (tefillah — prayer), and צדקה (tzedakah — charity). We remember them by making their sacrifice meaningful through Torah study, proper education of our children, and living a life in accordance with the רצון השם (ratzon Hashem — will of G-D).

 

This is the path of true independence. This is the meaning of nationhood. This is the call of Yom HaAtzmaut.

 

Shalom al Yisrael.

Our Sages teach in מסכת אבות (Masechet Avot – Ethics of the Fathers) Chapter 4, Mishnah 11:"רבי אליעזר בן יעקב אומר, העושה מצוה אחת, קונה לו פרקליט אחד; והעובר עבירה אחת, קונה לו קטיגור אחד" – "Rabbi Eliezer ben Yaakov says: One who performs one מצוה (mitzvah – commandment) acquires for himself one פרקליט (praklit – advocate), and one who performs one עבירה (aveirah – transgression) acquires for himself one קטיגור (ketigor – prosecutor)."

 

The straightforward understanding is that every מצוה (mitzvah – commandment) a person fulfils gives rise to a מלאך (malach – angel) who becomes his advocate, and every עבירה (aveirah – transgression) produces an accuser. The holy ספר הזוהר (Sefer HaZohar – Book of Radiance or Splendor) states explicitly that for every מצוה (mitzvah – commandment), there is a corresponding מלאך (malach – angel) created. Similarly, the גמרא (Gemara – Talmudic discussion) in מסכת סוטה (Masechet Sotah) 3b teaches that a מצוה (mitzvah – commandment) will greet a person in the עולן הבא (Olam HaBa – World to Come), as it says: "וצדקתך תלך לפניך" – "Your righteousness shall go before you" (ישעיהו – Yeshayahu – Isaiah 58:8), meaning that the מלאך (malach – angel) announces ahead, "Make way!"

 

Maran רבנו עובדיה יוסף (Rabbeinu Ovadia Yosef) זכר צדיק לברכה (zichron tzaddik livracha – may the memory of the righteous be a blessing) writes that anyone who goes beyond to fulfil הלכה (halacha – Jewish law) according to the ראשונים (Rishonim – early authorities) merits that in the עולן האמת (Olam HaEmet – World of Truth) after his passing, these great פוסקים (poskim – legal decisors) will come out to greet him. The גמרא (Gemara) in מסכת בבא קמא (Masechet Baba Kama) 111b recounts: "Rava said, 'When I pass away, Rav Oshaya will come to greet me, for I made the teachings of the משנה (Mishnah – oral law codified) accord with his opinion.'"

 

Furthermore, Maran זצ״ל (zt"l – abbreviation for may the memory of the righteous be a blessing) teaches that one who defends the rulings of מרן השלחן ערוך (Maran HaShulchan Aruch – the codifier of Jewish law, Rabbi Yosef Karo), even against occasional challengers, will certainly be greeted by Maran himself in the עולן הבא (Olam HaBa – World to Come). Maran will act not merely as an advocate but as an extraordinary and powerful intercessor before the Heavenly Court. This merit is not reserved solely for Torah scholars; even one who teaches others to observe properly, according to מרן רבנו יוסף קארו (Maran Rabbeinu Yosef Karo), whether through Torah lectures, books, or personal study, earns this incredible privilege.

 

A remarkable story is preserved in the ספר מגיני שלמה (Sefer Maginei Shlomo – Shields of Solomon), authored by Hagaon Harav Yehoshua, head of the בית דין (Beit Din – Rabbinical Court) of Kraków some four hundred years ago. The entire work is dedicated to defending the explanations of רש"י (Rashi – Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki) throughout the תלמוד (Talmud). His grandson recounts in the introduction that רש"י (Rashi) once appeared to him in a dream and said with immense joy: "Because you have troubled yourself to defend me from the mighty lions, the בעלי תוספות (Baalei Tosafot – authors of Tosafot), I will come to greet you in the עולן הבא (Olam HaBa – World to Come), together with all my students."

 

And so it was: on the day of his passing, moments before his holy נשמה (neshamah – soul) departed, surrounded by many leaders of ישראל (Yisrael – Israel), he declared, "Make way for our great Rabbi, the light of our eyes, Rabbeinu Shlomo Yitzchaki (Rashi), who has come with his holy entourage to greet me and lead me to the דרך עץ החיים (Derech Etz HaChaim – Path of the Tree of Life), for I have always stood by his side."

 

From these teachings, we learn that every מצוה (mitzvah – commandment) we perform builds not only our reward in the future world but forges our very defenders in the Heavenly Court. Every good act, every defence of truth, every stand for proper observance, brings a friend, an advocate, and a light into our journey toward eternity.

 

May we be strengthened to seize every opportunity to fulfil mitzvot to defend the words of truth, and to merit the greeting of the great צדיקים (tzaddikim – righteous ones) when our time comes.

In recent times, one sometimes hears a popular but deeply misguided phrase: "Challenge your rabbi, argue with Rashi, and if necessary, litigate with G-D." It sounds clever. It sounds bold. But it is a dangerous distortion of Judaism.

 

Authentic Judaism commands us to honour our parents, honour our teachers, and above all, honour and revere the Creator of Heaven and Earth. Questioning in Torah study is encouraged — not to undermine authority, but to deepen understanding, to uncover truth, and to purify the heart. We argue with each other in the halls of learning; we challenge ideas to strengthen our grasp of the eternal Torah. But we do so with profound humility, and always within the framework of emunah (faith) and bitachon (trust in G-D).

 

The very idea of "litigating" with G-D is not merely incorrect — it is spiritual poison. It imagines a relationship of equality with the Divine, as though man could summon G-D to court, as though the clay could demand answers from the potter. Yeshayahu (Isaiah) warns precisely against this folly: "Woe to him who contends with his Maker, a potsherd among potsherds of the earth!" (Yeshayahu 45:9).

 

Judaism teaches the opposite. When we experience suffering, confusion, or hardship, we are called to bless G-D. We say, "ברוך דיין האמת" ("Blessed is the True Judge") — affirming that G-D’s judgment is perfect, even when our human eyes cannot comprehend it. As it says in the Holy Zohar, all that G-D does is for good, even if it is hidden from us.

 

When Avraham pleaded for Sedom, when Moshe prayed for Israel after the sin of the Golden Calf, they approached G-D not as adversaries but as humble servants, broken-hearted, reverent, and trembling. They petitioned, not prosecuted. They knew that G-D’s Will is supreme and that His knowledge infinitely surpasses our own.

 

Judaism does not teach blind faith. It teaches trusting faith. It is holy to ask, "Why?" when we do not understand. It is righteous to pour out our hearts to G-D in prayer. But we must never cross the line into judgment, rebellion, or accusation against the One who gave us life and sustains the world at every moment.

 

Today, in an age where arrogance is often celebrated and irreverence mistaken for wisdom, it is more important than ever to return to the authentic path:

 

To study Torah with rigorous questions — but with reverence

 

To honour the sages — even when we respectfully seek deeper understanding

 

To trust in G-D’s Will — especially when it challenges our limited view of good and evil

 

Judaism is not a religion of rebellion against Heaven. It is a covenant of love, awe, and eternal loyalty between the Jewish people and our Creator.

 

May we merit to walk humbly with our G-D, to deepen our faith with every step, and to bless His Name — for the revealed good and for the concealed good — all the days of our lives.

As the sun sets on the 30th of April, we will enter יום העצמאות (Yom Ha'atzmaut – Day of Independence), commemorating the miraculous rebirth of our Nation, the State of Israel.

Seventy-seven years ago, the impossible became reality as עם ישראל (Am Yisrael – the Nation of Israel) stood up from the ashes of exile and devastation to reclaim sovereignty over our ancestral homeland.

This is a time of joy and gratitude, a time to recognise the goodness that השם (HaShem – the Name) has bestowed upon us. Every Jew, whether living in ארץ ישראל (Eretz Yisrael – the Land of Israel) or across the vast Diaspora, shares in this miracle. Our existence is proof that prophecy stands, that השם (HaShem) keeps His promises, and that no force in this world can extinguish the Jewish flame.

Yet celebration must come with responsibility. We must remember that physical independence is not the end; it is the beginning. The true strength of עם ישראל (Am Yisrael) lies not in our armies or our cities, but in our connection to התורה (HaTorah – the Torah), to mitzvot, and to each other.

In the spirit of this Yom Ha'atzmaut and as we journey through the remaining days of ספירת העומר (Sefirat HaOmer – the Counting of the Omer), I urge every Jew to accept upon themselves a small but powerful mission for the coming year:

• Study Torah daily: Even five minutes each day strengthens the soul and draws Divine blessing.
• Perform mitzvot (מצוות – mitzvot, commandments) with care and love. Prioritise acts of kindness, especially צדקה (Tzedakah – charity), done anonymously, following the highest standard of giving.
• Be kind to your fellow Jew: Our greatest weapon is unity. When we treat one another with dignity and love, we defeat our enemies without lifting a sword.
• Pray for our brothers and sisters still held captive. Particularly during ספירת העומר (Sefirat HaOmer), include heartfelt prayers that השם (HaShem) should release the hostages and heal the broken-hearted.
• Resist assimilation: Never allow the Nations to define us. Learn עברית (Ivrit – Hebrew) if you do not yet speak the Holy Language. Use our sacred words – פסח (Pesach), מגן דוד (Magen David – Shield of David), and others – not the idolatrous terms the Nations try to impose upon us.

Each small effort builds the collective strength of עם ישראל (Am Yisrael). Each Jew who studies, who prays, who acts with righteousness, helps hasten the ultimate redemption.

This Yom Ha'atzmaut, let us rejoice not only in what we have achieved but in what we can still become. May this year, 5785, close with a world where every Jew stands tall in Torah, in mitzvot, in unity, and in dignity.

May we soon greet משיח צדקנו (Mashiach Tzidkenu – our Righteous Messiah), and may השם (HaShem) bless עם ישראל (Am Yisrael) with peace, prosperity, and protection.

May we soon rejoice together with a heartfelt cry: Chag Atzmaut Sameach (חג עצמאות שמח) – Happy Independence Day!

(Originally published by Ram ben Ze'ev on 15 July 2019)

 

There is a dangerous arrogance in the world: the belief that mortal men can speak on behalf of G-D. It is an ancient sin, warned against in the תורה (Torah - teaching), in הלכה (halakhah - Jewish law), and throughout the ספר הזוהר (Sefer HaZohar - Book of Splendour), the Holy Zohar.

 

The תורה (Torah - teaching) commands us to pursue justice, but it also commands humility before the Will of HaShem. No individual, no matter his knowledge or title, is given the power to declare himself the mouthpiece of the Divine. To do so is not only a distortion of הלכה (halakhah - Jewish law), but an act perilously close to idolatry itself.

 

Sadly, even within the gates of the synagogue, there are those who elevate themselves above their brethren. They judge others not according to the pure standards of the תורה (Torah - teaching), but according to politics, personal bias, and pride. They forget that in matters of doubt regarding identity, הלכה (halakhah - Jewish law) teaches that one must lean toward acceptance, not rejection. This principle is not a suggestion; it is a command to act with kindness and restraint.

 

The ספר הזוהר (Sefer HaZohar - Book of Splendour) reveals that when a man humiliates or casts aside his fellow Jew without cause, he damages not only the victim but the spiritual harmony of the entire world. Such acts are seen as fractures in the Divine structure, wounds inflicted upon the Shechinah Herself.

 

Men who claim to "speak for G-D" often build walls where there should be bridges, sow division where there should be unity. Instead of embodying the humility of משה רבנו (Moshe Rabbeinu - Moses our Teacher), who even when wronged pleaded for the sake of Israel, these men appoint themselves judges, juries, and executioners over the souls of others.

 

The gate to תשובה (teshuvah - repentance) remains open for all. But those who use G-D’s name to wound and exile their fellow Jews must know: it is not the approval of men they will require on the Day of Judgment, but the mercy of HaShem Himself. And mercy, once denied to others, may be denied to them.

 

We must be vigilant not to fall into the ancient sin of Korach, who cloaked rebellion against Heaven in the guise of piety. As it is written, “The secrets belong to HaShem our G-D, but that which is revealed belongs to us and our children” (דברים Devarim - Deuteronomy 29:28). True faith demands restraint in judgment, humility before the unknown, and compassion for every soul of ישראל (Yisrael - Israel).

 

Let us remember: to exile a Jew unjustly is to exile oneself from the presence of the Holy One, Blessed be He.

Originally published by Ram ben Ze'ev on 9 October 2019)

 

As our community around the globe seeks forgiveness from G-D, it is a grave error to believe that any individual or group possesses the authority to speak on behalf of the Creator. It is written in the תורה (Torah - teaching) that truth and judgment belong to G-D alone, and no man, no matter his title or learning, can claim such power without risking the most severe judgment.

 

There are those who, cloaked in authority, take it upon themselves to exclude, to condemn, and to exile others from the sacred community of ישראל (Yisrael - Israel) based on their own flawed perceptions. They mistake their limited understanding for divine wisdom. In doing so, they transgress the essence of הלכה (halakhah - Jewish law), which teaches that every soul is beloved before G-D and that matters of Jewish identity must be approached with humility, patience, and truthfulness.

 

The ספר הזוהר (Sefer HaZohar - Book of Splendour), the Holy Zohar, warns of those who, under the guise of piety, commit grave sins by judging others harshly and without compassion. It teaches that one who humiliates or rejects a fellow Jew without cause is likened to one who spills blood. Such actions cut off the flow of Divine mercy not only from the victim but also from the perpetrator himself.

 

Throughout history, those who claimed to "speak for G-D" often veered into idolatry, exalting themselves rather than the Name of the Almighty. True judgment, as taught by the תורה (Torah - teaching) and illuminated by the ספר הזוהר (Sefer HaZohar - Book of Splendour), must be rooted in righteousness, love, and the fear of Heaven — not in pride, politics, or personal ambition.

 

To exile a Jew without sufficient cause, to deny their birthright without clear and overwhelming evidence, is to oppose the very הלכה (halakhah - Jewish law) one claims to defend. It is an act that echoes the sins of those who build golden calves — worshipping their own interpretations rather than cleaving to the Will of HaShem.

 

There is a heavy accounting for those who misuse their position to judge unjustly. The gates of תשובה (teshuvah - repentance) are always open, but for such crimes against Heaven and against one's fellow man, the path is steep and narrow.

 

May we all be guarded from arrogance, and may we seek always to judge with righteousness, humility, and compassion, lest we find ourselves exiled not by men, but by the Hand of HaShem Himself.

Each year, in the weeks following פסח (Pesach), a peculiar tradition surfaces within some segments of the Jewish world: the baking of "Schlissel Challah" — a challah shaped like a key, or baked with a key inside, or pressed with a key imprint on its surface. This practice, marketed today as a סגולה (segulah; spiritual remedy) for פרנסה (parnassah; livelihood) and blessing, is not only misplaced but deeply problematic.

 

Let us be clear: the origin of Schlissel Challah is not Jewish. Historical evidence shows that in medieval Europe, Christians baked symbolic breads containing keys around Easter time to "unlock" the blessings of heaven. When Jews lived among them in exile, as has tragically happened throughout our long and painful history, some of these foreign customs seeped into the margins of Jewish communities. Over time, these practices were "Jew-ified," cloaked in Torah references and mystical justifications, but their roots remained the same: foreign soil.

 

Later, leaders within the חסידות (Chassidut; Chassidic movement) attempted to attach deeper meanings to this foreign practice, retroactively weaving narratives about "spiritual gates opening" after פסח, connecting it to the ספירת העומר (Sefirat HaOmer; Counting of the Omer) leading to שבועות (Shavuot; the Festival of Weeks), or invoking the mystical "keys" of rain, prayer, and sustenance which, according to the גמרא (Gemara) in מסכת תענית (Masechet Taanit), are held only by G-D Himself.

 

But no mystical rebranding can erase the bitter truth: We are commanded to be separate. We are commanded to be Holy.

 

The Torah commands us:

 

"And you shall not walk in the statutes of the nations..." (ויקרא י"ח:ג׳; Vayikra 18:3).It is forbidden for us to imitate the customs of the nations, especially when those customs originate in idolatrous practices.

 

Some will argue that baking Schlissel Challah today is done with pure intentions, and that the practice has been elevated through Torah meanings. They said the same about the עגל הזהב (Egel HaZahav; Golden Calf) — that it was merely a "means" to serve HaShem. We know how that ended. Good intentions do not purify foreign rituals.

 

The Jewish people do not believe in "luck. "There is no "luck. "There is only HaShem.

 

The only "keys" a Jew needs are the diligent study of תורה (Torah) and the faithful performance of מצוות (mitzvot; commandments). These are the real gates to blessing.

 

Baking bread is a beautiful mitzvah, a cornerstone of the sanctity of the Jewish home. But bake bread to eat — not to open gates. Let us not turn our kitchens into altars of superstition.

 

We are a nation apart, set aside from the nations to be a light to the world, not a mirror of their customs. Assimilation begins when we blur the lines between ourselves and the nations around us. Sometimes it happens through big things; sometimes it happens through something as seemingly innocent as a loaf of challah.

 

But every crack in the wall of קדושה (kedushah; holiness) is a danger. Every imitation of idolatry is a betrayal of our covenant. Every surrender to foreign influence is a diminishment of the sacred role HaShem has given us.

 

Therefore, let us examine not only this practice, but every custom and tradition we accept. Let us ask: "Is this truly ours? Is this rooted in תורה and מצוות, or has it been borrowed from the nations?" The Jewish soul is meant to shine with its own light — not to glow dimly with reflections stolen from others. Let us return to the pure and eternal path HaShem has set before us.

Assimilation has consequences. Not only in how we dress, eat, or celebrate—but in how we speak, and even more dangerously, in how we think. The Holy One, Blessed is He, commands us in ספר ויקרא (Sefer Vayikra – Leviticus) 19:2:

 

דבר אל כל עדת בני ישראל ואמרת אלהם קדשים תהיו כי קדוש אני ה אלקיכם

 

“Speak to all the congregation of the children of Yisrael, and say to them: You shall be holy, for I, the L-RD your G-D, am holy.”

 

The word קדש (Kodesh – Holy) means separate. Different. Distinct. Not better—but elevated. Not arrogant—but aware. And yet, how many of us, even those raised with Torah values, have surrendered the distinctiveness of Lashon HaKodesh (The Holy Tongue) for the language of the Nations?

 

This article is not merely about language. It is about identity. Because when you lose the words, you lose the meaning. And when you lose the meaning, you begin to lose the people.

 

But this truth is even deeper than that.

 

Words are not simply tools of expression—they are acts of creation. In ספר בראשית (Sefer Bereshit – Genesis), we learn that the entire universe was brought into existence through speech:

 

ויאמר אלקים יהי אור ויהי אור

 

“And G-D said: Let there be light—and there was light.” (בראשית א:3)

 

Hashem created everything through speech. Not through force. Not through violence. Through words. And since we are told in תהלים (Tehillim) 8:6:

 

ותחסרהו מעט מאלהים

 

“You made him only slightly less than Divine,”

 

—we must recognise the immense power of our own speech. Our words matter. What we say, and how we say it, creates realities. It shapes how we see ourselves, how we relate to G-D, and how we are seen by others.

 

The Nations understand this power. That is why they seek to rename us, reframe our traditions, and redefine our sacred concepts. They know that if they can change our words, they can change our understanding. If they change our understanding, they can change our behaviour. And if they change our behaviour, they can erase us entirely.

 

This is not a philosophical exercise. This is a spiritual war. And the front line is the tongue.

 

So let us guard it. Let us honour it. Let us speak in the language of our people, our prophets, and our G-D.

 

Holocaust? No—Shoah

 

Let us begin with one of the most grotesque distortions: the word Holocaust. It is not a Jewish word. It is not a Hebrew word. It is a Greek word meaning “burnt offering.” An offering. A sacrifice.

 

What could be more obscenely inappropriate to describe the murder of six million Jews—including my own great-grandparents in Hungary who were forced to wear the yellow “star” before being exterminated?

 

The proper word is שואה (Shoah – Catastrophe). It appears in ספר ישעיהו (Sefer Yeshayahu – Isaiah) 10:3:

 

ומה תעשו ליום פקדה ולשואה ממרחק תבא

 

“What will you do on the day of reckoning, and of the Shoah which comes from afar?”

 

This is the word rooted in our prophets, in our soul. It is not pagan. It is not foreign. It is Jewish. Let us honour the victims of the Shoah with the dignity of a name that is our own.

 

Star of David? No—Magen David

 

The Nations call it a “star,” but דוד המלך (David HaMelekh – King David) did not ride into battle with a star. He bore a מגן דוד (Magen David – Shield of David). A symbol of protection. A sign of G-D’s might.

 

To call it a “star” is not only a linguistic error—it is a psychological assault. A reminder of the stars our people were forced to wear, degraded and marked for death. The Magen David is not a curse. It is a crown.

 

Mazal Tov does not mean "Good Luck"

 

The misuse of Mazal Tov is another distortion we must no longer tolerate. To the Nations, it means “good luck.” But luck does not exist in Judaism. There is only G-D.

 

Mazal comes from the root נזל—"to flow." It refers to the divine Shefa, the spiritual energy that flows from the upper worlds into our lives. Mazal Tov means “may your flow from Hashem be good”—a blessing of continued divine influence. As it says in ספר נחמיה (Sefer Nechemyah) 9:6:

 

ואתה מחיה את כלם

 

“You give life to them all.”

 

Everything is from Hashem. Not from randomness. Not from fate. Not from “luck.”

 

Old Testament? No—Torah and Tanakh

 

The term “Old Testament” was invented by christianity to imply that their texts replaced ours. It is not only theologically false—it is a direct violation of the eternal nature of Torah. We have תורה (Torah – Instruction) and תנך (Tanakh – Torah, Neviim, Ketuvim). That is all. No “old,” no “new.”

 

Passover? No—Pesach

 

Pesach is not just about passing over. It is about redemption, sacrifice, and national rebirth. “Passover” strips the word of its depth. Let us honour the original: פסח (Pesach). As it says in ספר שמות (Sefer Shemot – Exodus) 12:27:

 

ואמרתם זבח פסח הוא לה אשר פסח על בתי בני ישראל במצרים

 

“You shall say: It is the Pesach offering to the L-RD, who passed over the houses of the children of Yisrael in Egypt.”

 

Day of Atonement? No—Yom HaKipurim

 

Yom HaKipurim is not just about atonement. It is about purification, elevation, return. To reduce it to “atonement” is to strip it of its cosmic significance. It is the holiest day in the calendar, a day of Teshuvah, Kaparah, and Achdut (Unity).

 

Ten Commandments? No—Aseret HaDibrot

 

They are not ten “commandments.” The Torah calls them דברות (Dibrot – Utterances). Two were heard directly from G-D. The rest were transmitted through Moshe. This is not semantics. This is Torah. As it says in ספר שמות (Sefer Shemot – Exodus) 34:28:

 

ויעל על הלחת דברי הברית עשרת הדברים

 

“He wrote on the tablets the words of the covenant, the Aseret HaDibrot.”

 

We Must Reclaim Our Tongue

 

The assimilation of Jewish terms into secular distortion is not an accident. It is the result of spiritual apathy and the loss of pride in our own language. But the Torah tells us (ספר דברים – Sefer Devarim 4:2):

 

לא תספו על הדבר אשר אנכי מצוה אתכם ולא תגרעו ממנו

 

“You shall not add to the word which I command you, nor diminish from it.”

 

Our words are Holy. Our meanings are Holy. Let the Nations speak for themselves—but not for us. We are עם סגלה (Am Segulah – a Treasured Nation). We are commanded to be different. So let us speak differently. Clearly. Courageously. Proudly.

In a recent episode of The Joe Rogan Experience, British author and political commentator Douglas Murray confronted comedian Dave Smith about his public criticisms of Israel. Murray, who has emerged as a staunch public defender of Israel — particularly following the atrocities of 7 October 2023 — pointedly noted that Smith had never even visited Israel, let alone the broader region. The tone and context of this exchange, while applauded by some, warrant a closer look through the lens of Torah ethics and Halakhah.

 

While I personally disagree with Dave Smith’s public stance on Israel — and reject his positions outright — publicly embarrassing a fellow Jew, especially before a global audience, is no light matter in Judaism. Even when someone may be wrong or misinformed, there are limits to how we may respond. The Torah teaches us to correct, but not to shame.

 

The foundational verse comes from Vayikra 19:17:“Do not hate your brother in your heart; you shall surely rebuke your fellow, but do not bear sin because of him”(ויקרא י״ט:י״ז – לא תשנא את אחיך בלבבך הוכח תוכיח את עמיתך ולא תשא עליו חטא).This verse makes clear that rebuke is a mitzvah (מצוה, commandment), but it comes with a critical condition — that it not lead to sin, such as public humiliation.

 

The Talmud elaborates even more forcefully. In Bava Metzia 58b, the Sages declare:“One who whitens the face of his fellow in public, it is as if he has shed blood”(המלבין פני חבירו ברבים כאילו שופך דמים).This is not metaphor. The Talmud explains the physical reaction of embarrassment: first the blood rises to the face, then drains away — visually akin to bleeding out. The damage is not only emotional — it is spiritual.

 

The consequences are eternal. In Pirkei Avot 3:11, we are warned:“One who causes his fellow’s face to go pale in public has no share in the World to Come”(המלבין פני חבירו ברבים אין לו חלק לעולם הבא).Such a harsh judgment from our Sages shows how seriously Jewish law takes the protection of human dignity — even when the person is mistaken, even when they have said something troubling.

 

Murray, for his part, has become an outspoken and articulate defender of Israel. Many Jewish people admire his clarity, his courage, and his refusal to bow to the lies and antisemitic tropes that have resurfaced with force since 7 October. He has described himself as being “practically Jewish,” and indeed, in some ways, his actions reflect deep solidarity. But that solidarity cannot come at the expense of Torah values — values that place kavod ha-briyot (כבוד הבריות, human dignity) above even many rabbinic enactments.

 

There is, however, a deeper caution here — not about Murray himself, but about us. Jews must be careful not to become too quick to align with non-Jews simply because they say what we want to hear. Praise for Israel is not a pass. Applause for our survival must never blind us to the motives or methods of those offering it. As I’ve written elsewhere:

 

“We are not to praise even the good that we find in the idolatry or we will come to also praise the bad.”— Ram ben Ze'ev (רם בן זאב)

 

This is not ingratitude. This is discernment. It is a warning passed down through the generations: do not sell your spiritual integrity for the comfort of having allies. Use discretion. Stay awake.

 

From the outside, it appears that Murray used this exchange — and Smith’s ignorance — to highlight his own credibility, to boost his own moral capital. That may not have been his intention, but the optics matter. Using support for Israel to elevate oneself, while lowering [another] Jew in the process, is not the behaviour of an ally — let alone a brother.

 

The Rambam (Maimonides), in Hilchot Deot, Chapter 6, teaches that one must always speak with gentleness and sensitivity. Even when correcting another person, the words must be weighed carefully so as not to cause pain. One who causes public embarrassment violates this deeply rooted obligation bein adam lechavero (בין אדם לחברו, between one person and another).

 

To be clear: standing up for Israel is noble. Correcting falsehoods is essential. But doing so must never come at the cost of publicly shaming a Jew, no matter how wrong he may be. We do not spill the blood of our brothers to win applause from our audiences. If we do, we have already lost.

 

Let this incident serve as a reminder — not just to Murray, but to all of us — that defending Israel must be done in line with the Torah, not outside of it. There is a way to defend truth without violating dignity, and that way is the way of חכמה (chochmah, wisdom), רחמים (rachamim, compassion), and דרך ארץ (derech eretz, proper conduct).

 

The people of Israel do not need defenders who compromise our values to prove a point. We need those who uphold them — even, and especially, when it's difficult.

As we prepare our homes and hearts for פסח (Pesach), we revisit the powerful truth at the core of our national story: we were redeemed from slavery so that we could become free. But true freedom in יהדות (Yahadut – Judaism) is not about doing whatever we like — it is about the privilege and responsibility to choose what is right.

 

There is a phrase often repeated: "We have free will, but that doesn’t mean that G-D doesn’t know which choices we will make." This concept, while easily spoken, cuts to the very heart of our relationship with the Creator, especially at this time of year.

 

We read in שמות (Shemot – Exodus), as G-D prepares to bring the final plagues upon מצרים (Mitzrayim – Egypt), that Pharaoh's heart is hardened. Many commentators struggle with this. If G-D hardened his heart, how can Pharaoh be blamed?

 

But as the Rambam writes in Hilchot Teshuvah, Pharaoh first hardened his own heart. Only later did G-D confirm his direction, locking in the consequences of his choices. This teaches us something vital: G-D doesn’t take away our free will — He honours it.

 

Even when we choose wrongly, the ability to choose is a gift. And when we choose rightly, we elevate creation itself.

 

G-D Knows — But We Choose

 

Judaism teaches that G-D exists beyond time. He sees the beginning, middle, and end simultaneously. Just as we might view the path of a river from a mountaintop, G-D sees all our choices — past, present, and future — without influencing our decisions.

 

His knowledge is not coercion. His awareness is not a trap. It is simply truth — a higher truth that does not diminish our responsibility.

 

In the Holy Zohar, it is written that the soul descends into this world specifically to confront the Yetzer Hara (evil inclination) and to choose light over darkness. Without free will, there would be no purpose in this descent. The struggles we face, the choices we make, the tears, the triumphs — these are what give meaning to our existence.

 

Freedom Begins With Bechirah (Choice)

 

Pesach is not merely a commemoration of physical liberation from slavery — it is a celebration of the inner, eternal freedom of הבחירה החופשית (bechirah chofshit – free will). The מצה (matzah), the bread of affliction, reminds us that we once had no choices. The four cups of wine remind us that now, we do.

 

At the heart of the סדר (Seder) is a question — "מה נשתנה הלילה הזה" ("Mah nishtanah ha’lailah hazeh" – Why is this night different?). Judaism begins with questions, with curiosity, with the freedom to ask, seek, and ultimately choose.

 

The wicked son at the table is not punished for asking a hard question — he is challenged because he removes himself from the story. He denies his connection to the people, the faith, the destiny. That is the danger of abandoning our responsibility to choose. But even he is not cast out. He is still seated at the table. Because until our final breath, the power to choose remains.

 

This Yom Tov — Choose Greatness

 

This פסח, let us remember that the Exodus was not the end, but the beginning. We were not freed to follow our appetites — we were freed to follow the Torah. We were not freed to drift — we were freed to rise.

 

G-D already knows the greatness you are capable of. Not because He forces it — but because He sees what is possible when a human being, created in His image, chooses to reflect that image in the world.

 

May your Yom Tov be filled with meaning, light, and the kind of freedom that only comes when you take hold of your destiny and say: I choose to live as G-D intended.

 

Chag Kasher VeSameach (חג כשר ושמח)

A Kosher and Joyful Festival.

just a short time, on the evening of י״ד ניסן (Yud-Dalet Nissan – the 14th of Nissan), beginning April 12, 2025, at sundown, and ending at nightfall on April 20, 2025, יהודים (Yehudim – Jews) around the world will gather around the שולחן הסדר (Shulchan HaSeder – Seder table) to recount the greatest story of גאולה (Geulah – redemption) ever told: the יציאת מצרים (Yetziat Mitzrayim – Exodus from Egypt). פסח (Pesach) is more than a holiday—it is the foundation of עם ישראל (Am Yisrael – the Nation of Israel), a testimony to הקדוש ברוך הוא’s (HaKadosh Baruch Hu’s – The Holy One, Blessed be He’s) miraculous intervention in history. It is a time of reaffirming who we are as a people, distinct, separate, and holy.

Yet today, many among our people refer to this sacred time with the foreign term "Passover," a word rooted in non-Jewish sources and influenced by idolatrous interpretations. But why does this matter? Why does it matter what words we use? Because language is not just a tool of communication—it is a tool of identity. Language builds worlds, and it can destroy them.

Pesach: A Story of Divine Mercy, Not Just "Passing Over"

The word פסח (Pesach) does not simply mean "to pass over," as commonly mistranslated. The root פסח (P-S-CH) conveys pity, compassion, and sparing, as seen in ישעיהו (Yeshayahu – Isaiah) 31:5:

כצפרים עפות כן יגן ה' צבאות על ירושלם גנון והציל פסח והמלט

"Like hovering birds, so shall Hashem, L-RD of Hosts, protect Yerushalayim, protecting and rescuing, sparing (pasoach) and delivering."

This verse clearly shows that פסח (Pesach) is not about skipping over something, but about active protection and mercy. When the תורה (Torah) states that G-D 'פסח' (pasach – spared) the houses of בני ישראל (Bnei Yisrael – the Children of Israel) in מצרים (Mitzrayim – Egypt), it means He actively shielded them, not merely that He "passed over" them.

The foreign word "Passover" is a mistranslation, an oversimplification that strips away the depth of הקדוש ברוך הוא’s (HaKadosh Baruch Hu’s – The Holy One, Blessed be He’s) mercy and the significance of our redemption.

Assimilation Begins with Language

The danger of linguistic assimilation is not new. The גמרא (Gemara – the commentary on the Talmud) in מסכת פסחים (Masechet Pesachim – Tractate Pesachim) 50b warns:

אל יאמר אדם בלשון ארמי ולא יבקש צרכיו בלשון ארמי שאין מלאכי השרת מכירים בלשון ארמי

"A person should not speak in Aramaic, nor should he pray in Aramaic, because the ministering angels do not recognize that language."

READ:

 

The message is clear: לשון (Lashon – language) has spiritual weight. When we abandon לשון הקודש (Lashon HaKodesh – the Holy Tongue) in favor of foreign speech, we distance ourselves from our connection to הקדוש ברוך הוא (HaKadosh Baruch Hu).

The Holy Zohar (זהר הקדוש) also warns against assimilation through language. In פרשת וארא (Parashat Va’era) 2:25b, it states that the exile in מצרים (Mitzrayim – Egypt) was especially severe because בני ישראל (Bnei Yisrael – the Children of Israel) began to adopt Egyptian customs, including their language. The זהר הקדוש (Holy Zohar) describes how those who abandoned לשון הקודש (Lashon HaKodesh – the Holy Tongue) lost their spiritual protection.

The מדרש (Midrash) in ויקרא רבה (Vayikra Rabbah) 32:5 teaches that בני ישראל (Bnei Yisrael – the Children of Israel) merited redemption because they preserved three things:

1. Their names – They did not adopt Egyptian names.
2. Their clothing – They did not dress like the Egyptians.
3. Their language – They continued to speak לשון הקודש (Lashon HaKodesh – the Holy Tongue).

This is why it matters. When we use foreign words for sacred concepts, we are not just borrowing vocabulary—we are allowing our identity to be reshaped by those who do not share our values.

Preparing for Pesach with Clarity and Purpose

The festival of פסח (Pesach) is fast approaching, a time of renewal, redemption, and a reaffirmation of our identity as עם ישראל (Am Yisrael – the Nation of Israel). Just as הקדוש ברוך הוא (HaKadosh Baruch Hu – The Holy One, Blessed be He) freed us from מצרים (Mitzrayim – Egypt), let us free ourselves from the shackles of assimilation.

Let this be the year we correct our words, the year we strengthen our commitment to לשון הקודש (Lashon HaKodesh – the Holy Tongue), the year we proudly say פסח (Pesach) and not a foreign word that diminishes the meaning of our גאולה (Geulah – redemption).

As we prepare our homes and our hearts for this sacred זמן חרותנו (Zeman Cheiruteinu – Season of Our Freedom), may we also purify our speech, returning to the words that have preserved us for generations.

May הקדוש ברוך הוא (HaKadosh Baruch Hu) grant us the strength to hold fast to our language, our identity, and our holy mission.

As we approach פסח (Pesach), may we prepare with clarity and purpose, strengthening our connection to לשון הקודש (Lashon HaKodesh) and the heritage that defines us as עם ישראל (Am Yisrael – the Nation of Israel).

 

In ספר שמות (Sefer Shemot – the Book of Exodus), the early life of משה (Moshe) reveals a pivotal moment that speaks volumes not only about our past, but also about our present spiritual state. Before the פלאות (pelaot – wonders) of גאולה (geulah – redemption), before the מכת בכורות (makat bekhorot – plague of the firstborn), before the קריעת ים סוף (kriyat yam suf – splitting of the Sea of Reeds), there was a solitary act in the sands of מצרים (Mitsrayim – Egypt) that nearly cost everything.

 

Moshe, still a prince in the house of פרעה (Paro – Pharaoh), goes out and observes the suffering of בני ישראל (Bnei Yisrael – the Children of Yisrael). He sees a מצרי (Mitsri – Egyptian) beating an עברי (Ivri – Hebrew), and in defence of his brother, Moshe strikes down the Mitsri and buries him.

 

The next day, he sees two Hebrews fighting and attempts to intervene. One retorts with a biting question:

 

"מי שמך לאיש שר ושפט עלינו? הלהרגני אתה אומר כאשר הרגת את המצרי?"

 

"Who made you a ruler and a judge over us? Are you saying you’ll kill me like you killed the Mitsri?"

 

And then the verse reads:

 

"וירא משה ויאמר: אכן נודע הדבר"

 

"Moshe was afraid and said: Indeed, the matter is known." (שמות ב:יד – Shemot 2:14)

 

On the surface, this is a moment of personal danger — Moshe realises that his action is no longer a secret. But according to חז״ל (Chazal – our Sages), and as brought by רש״י (Rashi), the meaning runs deeper. Moshe had wondered: why are בני ישראל suffering so terribly? Why has the hand of שמים (Shamayim – Heaven) allowed this bondage to continue?

 

But now he understood.

 

The matter that became known to Moshe was not merely his own act — it was the root of the entire גזירה (gezeirah – decree). He had witnessed betrayal from within, informers among the people, the bitter fruits of לשון הרע (lashon hara – evil speech), and שנאת חנם (sinat ḥinam – baseless hatred). The lack of אחדות (aḥdut – unity) among the people was not just a social weakness — it was a spiritual flaw with national consequences.

 

As long as the בני ישראל were divided, redemption would be delayed.

 

This realisation by Moshe is critical to understanding the deeper meaning of Pesach. The גאולה ממצרים (geulah miMitsrayim – redemption from Egypt) was not simply an escape from slavery — it was a spiritual transformation. Each plague, each wonder, each moment leading to יציאת מצרים (Yetziat Mitsrayim – the Exodus from Egypt) was part of a process designed to refine the people into a nation worthy of receiving the תורה (Torah) at הר סיני (Har Sinai – Mount Sinai).

 

But even before the miracles, Moshe had to see the truth: a people that could not stand united would not merit liberation.

 

Today, in our generation, as we sit at the סדר (Seder) table and retell the story, we must ask ourselves: have we repaired the damage of שנאת חנם? Have we learned the lesson Moshe learned in that moment of disillusionment?

 

To be free is not just to be unshackled — it is to be upright, united, and devoted to a shared spiritual destiny.

 

Let us use this Pesach not only to recall the redemption that was, but to ready ourselves for the redemption that will be — במהרה בימינו (bimherah beyameinu – speedily in our days).