By Rabbanit Coty Bitton

THE QUALITIES OF A JEWISH LEADER

When Moshe learns that his life is coming to an end, he begs HaShem to appoint the right successor to lead the people of Israel. And he says (Bamidbar 27:16): “Eloqe haruchot lekhol basar” (God, You who know the spirit of every living being). The Midrash explains that Moshe implored HaShem to appoint a leader with that very quality: a man “asher ruach bo,” capable of knowing the spirit of every living being. This means: a man who understands the character of each individual. The ideal leader of Israel must be patient, open-minded, and prepared to deal with different types of personalities. With those who need a firm hand, and with those who need a more sensitive approach. With those who can listen to a different opinion, and with those who are more resistant to change. Or with those who require additional explanations, or an unconventional strategy of persuasion.

THE MASTER

HaShem then appoints Yehoshua as Moshe’s successor. Yehoshua was a “master” of empathy. He understood that there are different types of intelligence and that when it comes to communication, a leader must adapt to others. The future Jewish leader, before reacting and getting angry, must take the time to understand the reasons behind the other person’s opinion. Yehoshua was able to put himself in the other person’s place and understand not only what his interlocutor was saying but also what he was trying to say. In ALL human relationships we need empathy: the ability to accept that, although we all come from the same ancestors, Adam and Chava, we are all very different. As our Sages said: “keshem shepartsufehem shonot…,” just as no two people have identical faces, no two people think or communicate in the same way (Berakhot 58a).

IS NEARSIGHTEDNESS CONTAGIOUS?

Empathy is fundamental in a leader. By empathy I mean the ability to perceive the feelings of another person and internalize them, without denying them or ignoring them. It is the ability to suspend, for a moment, our own point of view, and not judge the behavior of others according to the way “I” feel or behave. I cannot get upset with my husband if his taste in food is different from mine. I cannot tell my teenage daughter that it is ridiculous to be afraid of a roller coaster at an amusement park just because I am not afraid of heights. We have different temperaments, different ways of perceiving life, different fears, tastes, and sensitivities. Everyone has lived through different experiences that have shaped their personalities. My eyeglasses are custom-made. They help me read better and see better. But my glasses are useless to everyone else! In fact, if someone else puts on my glasses, they won’t be able to see!

PARENTING AND EMPATHY

In our role as parents, empathy is absolutely necessary. Any parent with more than one child knows that children are very different from one another, even when they were raised in the same home by the same parents. We parents must pay close attention and understand each of our children according to their personality and individuality in order to be empathetic to their needs and to know the best approach for each one in particular. Let’s start by convincing ourselves that our children are different. Each one has a different spirit!

In Hebrew we call preschool “Gan Yeladim,” literally “a garden of children.” But have you ever asked yourself why it is called a “garden”? Because, in order to give little ones the right foundation at the beginning of their education, you have to be like a gardener, who knows that each of his plants has different needs. Some plants need water once a day. Others, ironically, will wilt if we water them daily. Some plants need plenty of sun; others, shade. Like plants, all our children need attention. But that attention must be personalized. Adapted to each of our children in particular.

We have to be for our children what Yehoshua was for the people of Israel: to understand that each of them has a mental universe of their own.

First Aliya:

Last week’s Parasha concluded with the story of the women of Moab and Midyan, who approached the young Jewish men to seduce them and induce them, through sexual rituals, to practice idolatry. Pinechas executed one of the Jewish leaders involved, without trial or sentence, even though Jewish law requires it. Our Parasha begins by declaring that God granted Pinechas a covenant of peace and gave him and his descendants the priesthood, which will not be affected by this intervention. Then God commands the people to go to war against the Midianites, since their provocation was considered an act of war. Moshe and Elazar, the Kohen, take a count of all the men of military age, that is, those over 20 years old.

Second Aliya:

The total number of soldiers from the twelve tribes is 601,730. This count does not include the tribe of Levi.

Third Aliya:

Besides serving as enrollment for the army that will fight the Midianites, this census has another purpose: to organize the division of the lands to be inherited once the land of Israel is conquered. The land is to be divided among all those who were counted, and the geographical portion assigned to each tribe, the “provinces,” will be determined by lottery. The men of the tribe of Levi are also counted; they did not take part in the war and would not receive a province of their own. The Leviim numbered 23,000, counting males from one month of age. This Aliya concludes with the story of the daughters of Tselofchad, who approached Moshe and informed him that their father had died, leaving only daughters. They requested to receive their father’s portion in the land of Israel. Moshe brings this concern directly to God.

Fourth Aliya:

In response to the request of the daughters of Tselofchad, Moshe establishes, by divine command, the laws of inheritance, which include the right of daughters to inherit when there are no male descendants. After this episode, God tells Moshe to climb to the top of Mount Abarim, from where he will be able to see the Promised Land before he dies, although he will not enter it. Moshe asks God to appoint a worthy person to succeed him in leadership. The one chosen is Yehoshua bin Nun, for his reputation and his qualities as a leader. Moshe publicly announces that Yehoshua will be his successor.

Fifth Aliya:

The narrative of the succession is interrupted, and the Torah turns to detail the sacrifices to be offered in the Tabernacle and in the future Great Temple. First it describes the daily sacrifice, the Tamid, which was offered twice a day, every day of the year, including Shabbat, the festivals, and even Yom Kippur. It also specifies the additional sacrifices of Shabbat and of Rosh Chodesh, the beginning of the Jewish month.

Sixth Aliya:

The sacrifices for the festivals of Pesach, Shabuot, Rosh Hashana, and Yom Kippur are described.

Seventh Aliya:

The sacrifices offered during the festivals of Sukkot and Shemini Atseret are described.

THE AIR OF ISRAEL

I’m in Yerushalayim, in Emek Refaim. Outside there’s movement everywhere: cranes and construction all over, streets closed off, traffic squeezed down to a single lane, fences and worksites the length of the whole block. Yerushalayim never stops rebuilding itself. But the noise doesn’t reach inside. I’m at Café Kafit, a beautiful place, full of people, with air conditioning and good wifi. I’m alone, with my computer, trying to finish writing my book —Dinosaurs in the Torah— where I analyze in depth how Chazal, the Rishonim, and the Sephardic Acharonim understood pesukim 20, 21, and 22 of the first chapter of Bereshit. I don’t quite know why, but the coming and going of people doesn’t distract me: it keeps me company. I concentrate better here than in a library. I’m moving forward with my book the way I never could in New York. Could this be what our Sages taught, that avira de’Eretz Israel machkim—that the air of the land of Israel makes you wiser? It helps you think better. The mind feels lighter.

CONNECTION VIA NEGATIVA

I ordered shakshuka and a carrot juice.

The phone rings. It’s a member of my community in Great Neck. I answer. With a worried voice, he asks how I am, how I’m feeling, and what it’s like to be in Israel with the terrible situation with Iran, the confusing messages from Trump and Vance, and the threats from Turkey. He knows Israel matters deeply to me and that I live these news stories with intensity. And he takes for granted that I must be suffering, glued to the latest updates on Telegram.

And I don’t know how to explain to him that here everything is calm. That people are content, that the restaurants are full, and that the biggest problem of the morning is finding a free table to sit down for a coffee.

The truth is there are two countries called “Israel.” There’s the Israel of the international headlines—the one that shows up every day in every newspaper in the world, always on the edge of something, surrounded, threatened, and demonized—and there’s the other Israel, the one where you go to sleep with the windows open, enjoying the breeze of Yerushalayim, and wake up happy to be in the best country in the world.

NEWS DETOX

I told him I had no idea what was going on. And I said, almost without thinking: I’m not following the news! I surprised myself hearing it. And I realized something. In New York my head is more here than there; I can’t help it. A psychologist would tell me it’s a mix of guilt for not being in the land of my fathers and a need to stay connected to Israel all the time. Without meaning to, I had turned worry into a form of connection with Medinat Israel. But here I don’t need that: I’m inside, and the connection no longer runs through the news.

Here I’m in the company of my people, wherever I go. At Kafit I don’t know anyone, yet I know them all. I know exactly where they come from, they and their ancestors, and what future they want for their children.

And the connection with Boreh Olam is felt in the soul. In my Amida it takes far less mental effort to address God in the second person. The relationship with Boreh Olam happens far more naturally. I think that’s what gives a person so much peace. That Presence, immanent in the air of Israel, makes you more aware that there is Someone in charge of this place and this people. Yesh Ribon laBira —there is a Master to this palace. And it isn’t Trump, or Vance, or even Netanyahu.

SHADOWS

Our Chachamim teach that in the desert the people were wrapped in the Anane Kavod, the clouds of glory that surrounded them on every side. They were the sign that HaShem was with them, protecting them “from above.” And so they could go to sleep at ease, without standing guard, in the middle of the desert, even knowing they were surrounded by dangers. They also knew under whose shadow they stood. It’s the same shadow you feel here. It’s the one we’ll mention this Friday night in the Arbit prayer: ufros alenu sukkat shelomecha —spread over us the “shadow,” the sukka of Your peace. And we add a special mention: that this shadow of peace extend over all the people of Israel, and very particularly over Yerushalayim, His city. Our greatest wish as a nation is to dwell beneath the Divine Shadow. And that is what makes Israel special. It’s not that there’s no danger outside. It’s that here you give yourself over to Divine protection, and everything else stays outside: the news, the threats, the headlines. The world keeps turning, but the noise stays on the other side of the Shadow.

Until now, most of the problems the people of Israel faced on their journey through the desert were internal: a discontented people, complaints about the food (the manna), the spies who demoralized the nation, Korach’s rebellion against Moshe’s leadership, and so on. That generation that left Egypt had, quite literally, to pass away.

Our Parasha, however, takes place 40 years after the Exodus. The problems have changed. They’re no longer internal; now they are conflicts with Israel’s external enemies.

The people of Israel are now on the eastern side of the Jordan River —today’s Jordan— ready to enter the Promised Land. Balak, king of the nation of Moab, watches the Jewish people from atop his mountain, and he is afraid. He sees that these Jews are different from the first generation: they know how to defend themselves and fight, as their stunning victories over Sichon and Og made clear. Balak fears his own kingdom will end the same way. To prevent it, he comes up with an unconventional idea —something “outside the box.”

THE SECRET OF JEWISH SURVIVAL

There has to be “something” supernatural to explain why Israel never lost a war, despite being neither aggressive nor warlike nor ruthless. And Balak concludes —correctly— that Israel’s secret does not lie in military skill. There is something —he will later discover it is “Someone”— out of the ordinary that helps them win their wars. He assumes the secret of the Jewish victories lies in the relationship between Moshe and the God of Israel. Moshe’s God, Balak reasons, is the superior one; He defeated all the gods of Egypt.

So Balak has to find a god more powerful than the God of Israel. And if he can’t, he might use someone who knows how to manipulate Israel’s “God” and turn Him against Moshe and his people. In the idolatrous world, this is not strange logic. But he needed to find someone with access to that God, someone who could persuade Him to turn against Moshe. Balak is told that such a person exists —someone truly remarkable, a prophet like Moshe, who believes in and serves the very same God of Moshe! His name is Bilam, and he belongs to the people of Midian, Moab’s allies.

MERCENARY GODS

For the pagans, gods were bribable, mercenary, willing to sell their loyalty to the highest bidder. Balak summons Bilam and hires him, believing that with his knowledge of this God he could “curse” Israel and make God turn against them. Bilam was the right man —or the last resort— to carry out the plan. Bilam doesn’t tell Balak the truth. He hides from him that the God of Israel is not some invented pagan idol but the true God, and that the people of Israel are His chosen people. The explanation Bilam offers, to cover himself, is that he doesn’t speak of his own will: “God will put the words in his mouth.”

The Midianite comes before Balak, enters a trance, and tries to call on God to curse Israel. The commentators say he tried to bring up Israel’s sins, the times they abandoned God, and so on. But God intervenes in Bilam’s words —inspires him, possesses him— and forces the most beautiful blessings out of his mouth instead of curses. Bilam doesn’t give up. He tries again and again, seven times in all, from different vantage points, with different sacrifices. But every single time, the curses he meant to hurl at Israel came out as blessings. Balak, furious, sends him away.

BILAM THE MONOTHEIST

Beyond this fascinating story, two questions remain open.

First: how did Bilam know about the God of Israel? Because when Bilam speaks of God, he isn’t referring to some generic “god.” When he calls on Him, he doesn’t use only the word ELOKIM, which generically means “God,” but the proper name of the God of Abraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov.

I don’t think the commentators take up this point. Perhaps because the answer is too simple: Bilam knows about God because he belongs to the nation of Yitro, Moshe’s father-in-law! In the book of Shemot we read that Yitro came to the camp of Israel praising and acknowledging the God of Israel. But later, before Israel set out for the Promised Land, Yitro returned to Midian and, according to some commentators, spread the monotheistic worship of the God of Israel there. Our episode takes place 40 years after that return. Bilam is a disciple of Yitro, and I imagine he practiced “a monotheism with some variant of Judaism.” Something not unlike Islam.

Second question: why does Bilam agree to help the enemies of Israel? It’s strange, because Bilam is, by all appearances, a religious man who acknowledges the same God as the Jews. If he believes in the same God as Moshe, if his religion and Moshe’s were so alike —like Islam and Judaism— why does Bilam hate Israel and want to curse it? Bilam and Moshe share, ideologically, far more than what divides them. Bilam ought to be Israel’s protector, or at least its most loyal ally. How do we explain his hostility?

TIME TUNNEL

Once again, I believe that to understand the biblical past we have to look at the political present. Consider: who are Israel’s fiercest enemies today? Without question, the Islamists —the most “religious” Muslims— like Hamas, the Muslim Brotherhood, and Islamic Jihad. Remember that Islam itself was built out of biblical texts and ideas: the patriarch Abraham, the Bible, monotheism, prayer, fasting. So why this hatred toward the State of Israel, when Muslims —our cousins— ought to be our protectors, or at least our “natural allies”? How do we explain it?

REPLACEMENT THEORY

Professor Mordechai Kedar and other Israeli scholars of Islam explain that beneath all the political hatred and the idea of Jihad lies a foundation that is 100% religious. Who is the true representative of the God of the Bible —Israel, or the Islamic nation? Which is superior, the Quran or the Hebrew Bible? Who was the greater prophet, Moshe or Muhammad? Who are God’s true representatives on earth—the Jews or the Muslims? Let me be clear: this religious struggle for supremacy comes from one side only, the Islamist side. We Jews, thank God, have no need to declare a religious war to validate our standing as the chosen people, because we suffer from no inferiority complex. But on the other side there is an almost “suicidal” desperation to prove religious supremacy.

NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN

This is exactly what happened with Bilam. Despite everything he had in common with Moshe, Bilam had no interest in drawing close to him, no wish to join his people or become his ally. Once he came to know Moshe’s religion, he appropriated it in his own mind, casting himself as the chosen prophet. From that moment on, Moshe stood in his way, eclipsing him. Bilam’s hatred of Israel was born of his own ambition: to replace Moshe and Israel. Far from being an ally, Bilam became Israel’s greatest enemy and sought its destruction.

WHAT NO ONE WANTS TO SEE

Let me illustrate with numbers. The war in Gaza, set off by Hamas’s terrorist massacre on October 7th, has now lasted roughly two years. The reported death toll exceeds 70,000, and that figure fills front pages around the world, day after day, alongside marches, emergency sessions, and accusations of “genocide.”

Now, how many people know what is happening, at the very same time, in the war between Russia and Ukraine? Last month alone, Russia suffered more than 35,000 dead and wounded. More than thirty-five thousand—in a single month. In other words, what took two years to unfold in Gaza recurs on the Russian front every few weeks. And yet that war—incomparably bloodier—barely surfaces in the headlines. No marches. No accusations of genocide. No special sessions at the United Nations.

Why? Because, just as in the days of Bilam, their problem was never the number of victims.

Their problem is Israel.

Professor Dror Eydar, former Israeli ambassador to Italy, put it plainly:

More than three thousand years have passed since then, and many peoples have followed in Bilam’s footsteps, trying to halt the historical process of the Jewish people’s return to their home in Tzion. The world is full of bloody conflicts whose victims vastly outnumber those of the conflict between Israel and its neighbors, and yet the world’s attention fixes mainly on the Arabs of Gaza. That very scandal —the world’s indifference to other conflicts— proves that it is not the Palestinians who concern those who claim to support them, but Israel. There is no other nation whose policies are not what the salons of culture, academia, and the media debate but whose very right to exist is.

But God did not let them defeat us then. And He will not let them today.

Kill a red cow, burn it, and use its ashes to purify ourselves from contact with a corpse? It makes no sense at all!

Our Chachamim identify two kinds of Mitzvot. On one hand, the Mishpatim: the commandments that align with human reason, whose benefit to our personal lives and to society we can grasp, like the Mitzva of helping the poor or the prohibition against murder. On the other hand, the Chukim: commandments whose reason is beyond our logic. The Mitzva of the Para Aduma, mentioned at the opening of our Parasha, Chukat, is the Chok par excellence. It’s hard to understand, too, how the cow’s ashes purify the impure person while those who carry out the purification themselves become impure.

It’s far easier to obey God and keep His commandments when we understand them, when they strike us as reasonable. But serving HaShem at the highest level, unconditionally, means accepting that sometimes we simply cannot grasp the “Divine logic,” the reason behind some of His commandments. What matters is to remember that in obeying the Chukim, we show that we accept Him as the supreme authority, and that we are willing to obey Him beyond our ability to understand what He asks of us. But how does that acceptance of HaShem as the ultimate authority take root in us?

With our children, it’s important to be reasonable. Most of the time, when we ask them to do something or to refrain from it, we explain why our advice is good for them. That naturally makes it easier for them to obey willingly and with a good heart. And it helps us keep a good relationship with them, because they learn to appreciate that we care.

But every so often they’ll have to obey us even when they can’t see the logic of what we’re asking or the good it holds for them. “I don’t understand why I can’t have ice cream for breakfast every morning.” “I don’t understand—if you love me, why do you let this nurse give me a shot that hurts?” “I don’t understand why I can’t go to my friend’s house,” or “to this party.”

Children learn early that there are rules whose “logic” we all share, but that there are also rules and limits they have to accept “because Mom or Dad said so.” The parents —not the logic— are the final authority. These are our children’s Chukim! And parents shouldn’t be afraid to exercise that authority, even when it doesn’t seem reasonable to the child.

It’s true that we parents sometimes get it wrong. We don’t possess the Absolute wisdom of our Creator. But for our children’s own good, we have to teach them to accept a higher authority. And when we win their trust in our authority —when they come to understand that our “decrees” are meant for what we believe is best for them— we are also preparing them to accept the authority of the Creator, even when they can’t understand the Divine logic behind it.

Rabbanit Coty Bitton

CHUKAT

Ashes that purify

The most severe of all ritual impurities is tum’at met, the impurity contracted through contact with a corpse. Here the Torah lays out its purification process: a reddish cow is offered, its body is burned, its ashes are mixed with spring water, and the mixture is sprinkled on the impure person or object, which is thereby purified. An impure person may not enter the Tabernacle or the Temple until this process is complete.

The death of Miriam and the complaints over water

In the fortieth year in the desert, Miriam, Moshe’s sister, dies. With her death, the waters that had flowed providentially dry up, and the people complain bitterly.

Moshe strikes the rock

God commands Moshe to “speak” to a rock so that it will give its water, as a demonstration of Divine power. But Moshe “strikes” it instead, giving the impression that the water gushed out from the blow of the staff rather than from Divine intervention. For this, Moshe and Aharon will no longer lead the people much longer.

Edom, the death of Aharon, and the first hostages

Edom denies Israel passage through its land, and the people must go around it. At Mount Hor, Aharon dies —Eleazar succeeds him as High Priest— and the nation mourns him for thirty days. The Canaanites of Arad attack and take prisoners; rather than negotiate with the terrorists, the Jews launch a rescue operation that, thank God, ends in success.

The serpents and the conquest east of the Jordan

The people complain again, this time about the manna. God sends serpents; many die, and the cure comes when the Jews look toward the bronze serpent that Moshe sets atop a pole. Finally, Sichon, king of the Emorites, and Og, king of Bashan, attack Israel; the Jews prevail and take their lands, on the eastern bank of the Jordan, across from Jericho.

BALAK

Balak’s fear

Forty years after leaving Egypt, and shortly before entering the land of Israel, the Jews have just defeated the Emori and the people of Bashan, in what is today the north of the Jordan. Balak, king of Moab, watches these victories with deep concern: he fears his nation will be next. But he knows that Israel’s true strength lies not in its army but in its Covenant with God. So he looks for an unconventional way to weaken it, and sends for Bilam, a sorcerer famous for the power of his curses, to curse the Jewish people.

Bilam and his donkey

God appears to Bilam and forbids him to go to Moab: “You shall not curse this people, for it is blessed.” Bilam declines the invitation, but Balak insists and promises him a generous reward. This time God allows him to go, on one condition: he will say only the words God places in his mouth. On the way, God sends an angel that Bilam cannot see, but his donkey perceives it and refuses to go on. Bilam strikes her, and then the miracle happens: the donkey speaks and rebukes him for the beating. With this, God shows Bilam two things: that his animal’s prophetic vision surpasses his own, and that it is God who places the words in the mouths of all His creatures.

The curses that turn into blessings

Bilam arrives in Moab, where Balak is waiting. They build seven altars and offer sacrifices, but every time Bilam opens his mouth to curse, blessings come out instead: “How can I curse those whom God has not cursed?” Balak, furious, takes him from one place to another, as if a change of view could change the result. But each attempt brings the same thing: more altars, more offerings, and more blessings for Israel. Among them are the words we say today as we enter the synagogue: “How goodly are your tents, Jacob, your dwelling places, Israel!”

The star of Jacob

Before leaving empty-handed, Bilam delivers one last prophecy about the end of days: “I see it, but not now; I behold it, but not soon. A star shall come forth from Jacob…” He foretells the defeat of Israel’s enemies and, later on, the fall of Esav, Amalek, and Asiria. Balak’s plan failed completely: he never got God to curse His people.

The sin of Baal-Peor

With the plan of curses frustrated, a far subtler one is set in motion. The women of Moab and Midian enter the camp of Israel to seduce the men and drag them, through immorality, into the idolatry of Baal-Peor. Many fall, and a plague breaks out that kills twenty-four thousand people. When Zimri, a Jewish leader, sins publicly with a Midianite princess, Pinechas—grandson of Aharon haCohen—executes them both, and the plague stops.

In this week’s parashah, the Torah shows us that some conflicts can only be resolved by tearing them out at the root. When Korach challenged Moshe’s leadership, Moshe refused to settle for an ambiguous or halfway outcome. He didn’t ask for a sign in the heavens to prove he was right; he asked for something far more extreme. “If these men die a natural death,” he said, “then God did not send me. But if God creates something never seen before, and the earth opens its mouth and swallows them alive…”. And so it happened: the earth opened and they vanished from this world, leaving no trace and no doubt. Some conflicts cannot be settled with partial results.

After long months of fighting and a string of ceasefires, the United States and Iran signed a memorandum of understanding this week —a phrase that stirs grim memories for any Argentine Jew of a not-so-distant past—. Some rushed to celebrate; others took it with more caution, or with outright pessimism, because Iran’s defeat was partial, ambiguous, unfinished.

Iran’s Celebration

The loudest celebration, without a doubt, is Iran’s. Picture a boxing match. Iran is the fighter flat on the canvas, knocked down, all but knocked out. The referee leans over him and begins the count: one… two… three… The crowd already considers the fight over. The count goes on: seven… eight… nine… One more second and it will all be finished. And then the unthinkable happens. It isn’t Iran who rises, nor his own corner that calls off the fight: it’s the rival’s corner —the United States, with victory already in hand— that suddenly throws in the towel! The referee stops the count. The bout is suspended. Iran, who was about to lose by knockout, is handed a victory or, at best, a technical draw. That is why the leaders of the ayatollahs’ regime celebrate more than anyone: they know, better than anyone, how close they came to the end. They didn’t win the fight in the ring. It was handed to them.

President Trump’s Victory

For President Trump, this deal with Iran —call it an understanding, a peace, or a ceasefire— is a positive picture too: no active fighting, no American soldiers falling, and the reopening of the Strait of Hormuz has brought oil prices down, kept prices in check, and sent the markets ever higher. And for Washington, that is cause for celebration. Because in the United States —and for President Trump— victory and defeat are measured by one very specific gauge: the economy. If prices fall and the market rises, you celebrate. And the market rose.

There is also a political calculation. Even though much of his own administration is deeply uneasy with this deal, for the president it remains a win: one less problem on an agenda that, within a few months, will be dominated by November’s congressional elections. The confrontation with Iran, which could have hurt his Republican candidates in that race, has just been defused. And that’s no small thing: if the Republican Party loses the House or the Senate, Trump would be left all but paralyzed for any decision he might want to make in the final two years of his term. In those elections, what decides the vote is neither Iran nor Israel: it is, once again, the economy.

The Challenges for Israel

In Israel, the mood is far more sober.

On one hand, no one can deny what President Trump has done for Israel. No American president —nor, I would dare say, any leader of any country— has ever done so much for the Jewish State. Whatever happens from here on, that legacy cannot be forgotten. Israel has benefited enormously from that support on several fronts: in Syria, where it has taken and now holds the northern part of the Hermon; in southern Lebanon, where the Jewish army has advanced to the Litani River and controls that entire sector, essential to peace in Israel’s north; and in Gaza, where it now controls more than 60% of the territory. In the Middle East, victory is measured by the land you hold. And it is worth celebrating that Israel has won all that ground, that the United States cooperated directly or indirectly, and that the American president has not, for now, pressed Israel to pull back from any of those three zones. For Israel, that is an incredible, extraordinary, and undeniable triumph.

On the other hand, the deal with Iran —a sixty-day ceasefire— is a serious problem. It does not remove the concrete threat of Iran, which for Israel is not economic but existential. The elimination of nuclear material is left “subject to future negotiations”: no one knows when that uranium will be inspected, when it will be destroyed, or under whose supervision. Nothing is said, either, about Iran’s long-range missiles or its support for terrorist organizations like Hezbollah and the Houthis. Meanwhile, Iran will do what it does best: play for time and play at diplomacy. It will gain months, it will gain years. And when it is ready, it will enrich its uranium and once again threaten Israel with all its force.

Shaul and President Trump

From Israel’s vantage point, the outcome of this war closely resembles what the Jewish people lived through three thousand years ago, when the first king of Israel, Shaul, had the chance to wipe out Amalek: the archetypal enemy of Israel, the first antisemite in history, the one who again and again sought our destruction with relentless obsession. The Divine instruction was clear: eliminate Amalek completely, and erase that existential threat one hundred percent.

Shaul had a powerful army. He went to war —and he won! But he didn’t finish the job. He let himself be swayed by his advisers’ opinions and left the king, Agag —Amalek’s political leadership— alive and standing, along with much of his wealth and resources. Shaul’s victory was perhaps 90 percent. But in battles like these, when the threat is not eliminated to the very end, winning 90% amounts to a defeat!

And the facts bore it out. Some five hundred years later, a descendant of that same Amalekite line Shaul had spared —Haman— rose up against the Jewish people and tried to annihilate them, and only a miracle saved us from extermination. The terrible decision to leave the mission unfinished dragged us all the way to that conflict: the “seed” of Amalek survived, and once again threatened the Jews.

Netanyahu and the New Challenge

Israel’s prime minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, knows full well that in the Middle East you cannot declare victory while the enemy is still standing. The consequences of not uprooting that Iranian political leadership today —of leaving it standing, surviving— are a terrible burden that Israel, and perhaps in the longer run the United States and the whole world, will bear in the future, once Iran has rearmed.

I trust that, with God’s help and inspiration, Netanyahu will know how to navigate this stormy sea, in which he can neither fall out with Trump nor repeat the mistake King Shaul made: leaving unfinished the task of eliminating Amalek.

I believe the prime minister knows full well the historic role he has been given to play. And he must be weighing the possibility that now, or before long, Israel may have to face Iran “alone” —without the help of the United States—. Netanyahu’s greatest achievement would be, and this is the most delicate part, for President Trump not to oppose Israel finishing what it began exactly one year ago, in the Twelve-Day War, to remove the Iranian threat. For that, we will need a great deal of help from Heaven.

May HaShem enlighten our leaders and inspire them to attain the victory that, in the Middle East, is the only formula for achieving peace.

On ben Pelet is a mysterious figure in the Torah. We know almost nothing about him. This week’s parashah mentions him in the context of Korach’s rebellion: On is a leader of the tribe of Reuben who joins Korach to challenge Moshe’s political role. After they make their case against Moshe, the anti-Moshe coalition gets ready for the next day: in the morning it will be decided —by divine providence— who the true leader of Israel is. The following day, the Divine Presence reveals itself and confirms Moshe’s appointment. Korach, his henchmen, and his followers were punished and lost their lives. The Torah names those who died in the uprising, but On ben Pelet is not listed among the dead. Why? What happened to On?

The Influence of a Wife

The Sages explain that behind Korach’s rebellion stood his wife. It was she who, out of ambition, jealousy, and envy, pushed him to rise up against Moshe. She didn’t merely encourage his rebellious thoughts: she egged him on, day after day. She filled his head with words that fed his resentment and his pride, making him feel that Moshe and Aharon had taken from him what he deserved. According to the Midrashim, this influencer kept telling him how unfair it was that his cousin held all the power, while he —every bit as important, and of distinguished lineage— held no leadership at all. She awakened in him a craving for greatness, until Korach could no longer see reality clearly. The ambition she cultivated in him was, in the end, what led to his ruin.

By contrast, the Midrash tells us that On ben Pelet was saved by his wife. After Korach and his followers confronted Moshe, On came home and told his wife that the question of leadership would be settled the next day, and that he would try to become one of the people’s leaders. But his wife was not impressed by the prospect of political prestige. She acted with intelligence and common sense: when her husband laid out his plans, she discouraged him from siding against Moshe. And she proceeded not only with common sense, but with a great deal of strategy. First, she convinced him that no matter who replaced Moshe, he would still end up in the background. His role wouldn’t change: Korach was only using him.

The Strategy of On’s Wife

Though On agreed with his wife, he told her he still had to show up, because he had already committed to Korach and his friends. Seeing that On was set on going through with his plan, she said nothing —but she decided to take the matter into her own hands.

What did On’s wife do? She most likely kept him awake as long as possible that night. And before he went to sleep, she gave him a very strong wine to drink, which left him sleeping far longer than usual. In the morning, when his friends came to fetch him and wanted to enter the house to wake him, On’s wife deliberately let her hair down —something a married Jewish woman did only in front of her husband— and, out of modesty, the men stayed waiting outside. So they asked her to wake him instead.

I imagine they must have shouted to her from outside the tent that it was late, that the revolt was about to begin. And she must have answered: “Don’t worry. You go on ahead —I’ll wake my husband and he’ll be right there with you.” And so she kept her husband asleep a couple of hours more: exactly the time needed for the tragic revolt to run its course. With great intelligence and feminine influence, she saved his life!

Korach’s wife fed her husband’s ambition to rebel against Moshe and led him to his destruction; On’s wife used all her intelligence, her charm, and her influence to save him. And she succeeded.

UBNE KORACH LO METU

It isn’t enough just to learn the meaning of this verse of the Torah (pasuq). I’d recommend you memorize it. Or print it out and keep it in your pocket, your purse, or your wallet. It’s a very short pasuq, one that belongs to the parashah we’ll read in a few weeks, Pinchas, but it refers to what happened in our parashah, Korach. The pasuq consists of just four simple words: “UBNE KORACH LO METU,” which literally means “And the sons of Korach did not die.” In other words, they survived.

What is this brief text pointing to?

Sons vs. Father

Driven by ambition, envy, and bad counsel, Korach decided to rebel against Moshe and Aharon to strip them of their political leadership. Korach wasn’t alone: more than 250 people joined him in his rebellious venture. His end was horrific: he died swallowed by the earth. And everyone who stood with him met the same fate. Yet, as this pasuq tells us, the sons of Korach were the exception —and they survived! Why? The sons of Korach, who were already grown men, had joined the rebellion led by their father and taken part in the protests and demonstrations against Moshe. But “at the last moment,” when the hour of the final confrontation arrived, they snapped out of it. They realized that what they were doing was an act of madness, and that if they didn’t turn back right then and there, the damage would be irreparable! The sons of Korach survived because they repented just in time, in the final minute.

I think of the moral challenges all of us face every day.

Rage and Anger

Sometimes we’re carried away by rage and we’re about to raise a hand to hurt someone physically, or to wound them deeply with cruel words. These impulsive acts of violence —physical violence especially— can have irreversible consequences for the victim and for the perpetrator alike. In an impulsive act that lasts only a few seconds, a person can condemn himself to live with the consequences for the rest of his life.

Fatal Impulses

Other times we’re carried away by our passions. We get involved with the wrong person, our common sense clouds over, and so, in one brief moment, we let instinct drag us along —ready to ruin “forever” our honor, to stain our good name and our children’s, and to destroy our family.

Texting and Losing Everything

It happens that a person is about to send a message written in anger, pouring out all his frustration with no filter. We do it more to vent than to actually communicate something, and we don’t stop to gauge how the person receiving it will react. There are famous cases of prominent figures who lost their jobs over a single inappropriate tweet that, once sent and captured by just one follower, they could never take back. In the age of WhatsApp and Snapchat, you can wreck another person’s life —or your own— just by sending one inappropriate photo. Incredibly, we don’t always grasp how serious and how irreversible our actions are. Why? I think it’s because, unconsciously, we assume that grave things with far-reaching consequences must be hard to carry out… and clicking “send” seems so easy!

The Last Resort

The striking thing is that, in several famous cases of impulsive acts or inappropriate messages, the people who make the mistake realize what they’ve done just a few seconds later!

In every one of those cases, our name, our family, our reputation, and our life can be saved by remembering this pasuq: “AND THE SONS OF KORACH SURVIVED.” The sons of Korach, who were on the verge of ruining their lives and losing everything, realized what they were about to do a brief moment before —they turned back, and they were saved.

I recommend memorizing these four little words. And if ever, ח”ו, someone is about to fall into the destructive trap of his own impulses, let him say this pasuq to himself and remember that the wisdom of turning back at the last minute saved the lives of the sons of Korach. And it can save yours.

וּבְנֵי־קֹרַח לֹא־מֵתוּ

And the sons of Korach survived!

Bamidbar 26:11

Korach, Moshe’s first cousin, leads a rebellion against Moshe and Aharon together with members of the tribe of Reuben—Datan, Aviram, and On ben Pelet—the two sons of Eliav, and 250 leaders of the community. They accuse Moshe of seizing the leadership for himself and raising himself above everyone else: “The entire people is holy; why do you set yourselves above the rest?”. Moshe answers that the next day God will reveal who the true leader is and adds, “Is it not enough that God has consecrated you within the community of Israel for the service of the Tabernacle that you now demand the priesthood as well?” At its core—he explains to them— they are not rebelling against him or against Aharon, but against the order God has established. Moshe sends for the two sons of Eliav, but they refuse to come, claiming it is unjust that he sets himself above them and condemns them to die wandering in the desert. Moshe then commands Korach and his followers to prepare the priestly fire and offer incense to God.

At the entrance of the Ohel Moed (the Tent of Meeting), Moshe and Aharon take their place before the rebels and the rest of the community. The Presence of God appears to the whole assembly, and God says to Moshe and Aharon: “Stand back from these rebels, for I am about to destroy them in an instant.” The two fall on their faces and plead: “God, if one man sins, will You be angry with the entire community?”. God then commands Moshe to warn the people: “Move away from these wicked men and touch nothing that belongs to them, lest you perish for their sins.” The people draw back. Moshe declares: “By what you are about to see, you will know that it is God who sent me, and that I am not acting of my own will.” No sooner does he finish speaking than the earth opens beneath Korach and the other ringleaders and swallows them with all their possessions; then it closes over them, and they vanish. A fire descends from heaven and consumes the 250 men who were offering the incense. Moshe instructs Elazar, son of Aharon, to gather the fire pans used in the offering, hammer them flat, and overlay the altar with them, as a perpetual warning to anyone who would dare challenge Aharon’s priesthood.

The next day, the community accuses Moshe and Aharon of being responsible for the death of God’s people. God tells them to stand apart from the congregation, for He intends to destroy it, and a plague begins to strike the nation. Moshe tells Aharon to take the consecrated incense at once, go into the midst of the congregation, and atone for the people’s sins. Aharon obeys, stations himself between the living and the dead, and the plague stops.

God commands Moshe to take one staff for each of the twelve tribes, with the name of each tribe’s leader inscribed on it, and one more for the tribe of Levi, bearing Aharon’s name. The staff spends the night in the holiest place of the Tabernacle. The next morning, when they are removed, only Aharon’s staff has miraculously blossomed with almond flowers: one more proof that he is the one chosen by God for the High Priesthood. God orders that the staff be placed back beside the Ark of the Covenant, where it will remain as a testimony.

The people express to Moshe their fear of mistakenly entering a restricted area of the Tabernacle and dying because of it. In response, God charges the priests and the Levites with the strict guarding of the Tabernacle, to prevent access by those who are not priests.

Finally, the Torah lists the offerings to which the priests are entitled: choice portions of the sacrifices, the five silver shekels for the redemption of the firstborn, a share of the grain, oil, and wine harvests, the first fruits, and more. But they are told that their descendants will receive no portion in the land of Israel—the most coveted thing materially: God Himself will be their inheritance and their portion. The Levites, too, receive no land; in exchange for their service in the Temple, they are entitled to a tenth of the other tribes’ harvests. And upon receiving that tithe, the Levites must in turn set aside a tenth of it and give it to the priests.