This Shabbat we are reading a double portion of Parashot, Behar & Bechukotai. Both stand at the heart of the Torah’s vision for the covenant between God, the Jewish people and the land of Israel.
These chapters are not merely collections of laws and blessings; they are a blueprint for how a people rooted in faith can transform history. They speak about land, responsibility, covenant, exile, return, and hope. In many ways, they echo the spiritual heartbeat of Zionism itself — the return of the Jewish people to their homeland not only as a political achievement, but as a renewal of destiny.
In Parashat Behar, the Torah introduces the laws of the Sabbatical year and the Jubilee:
“The land shall not be sold forever, for the land is Mine; you are strangers and settlers with Me.”
This verse reshapes the entire human relationship to land and almighty. Ownership is never absolute. The earth is entrusted to us, not possessed by us. The people of Israel are called to live in the Land with humility, justice, and gratitude.
Modern Zionism often focused on rebuilding farms, cities, and institutions after centuries of exile. But Parashat Behar reminds us that the return to Zion is not only about sovereignty; it is about sacred responsibility. A Jewish state without moral vision would miss the Torah’s deeper purpose. The land is holy not because it grants power, but because it demands higher standards of attitude.
The pioneers who drained swamps, planted vineyards, and revived Hebrew were not merely building a country. Whether religious or secular, many were participating in an ancient covenantal story: the return of a scattered people to the soil of their ancestors. Parashat Behar teaches that redemption begins when a people reconnects not only to territory, but to purpose.
The Sabbatical year required extraordinary faith. Farmers were commanded to stop working the land every seventh year and trust that God would provide. Economically, this seemed irrational. Spiritually, it was revolutionary. Faith in Judaism is rarely passive belief. It is courageous action rooted in trust.
The Jewish return to Zion demanded exactly this kind of faith. After centuries of persecution, exile, expulsions, and genocide, the Jewish people could have surrendered to despair. Instead, they rebuilt. Against overwhelming odds, they revived a nation, a language, and a homeland.
Like the farmer entering the Sabbatical year, Zionism required the willingness to step into uncertainty while believing that history was not abandoned by God. Faith does not eliminate fear. It gives us the strength to move forward despite fear.
The second Parasha, Bechukotai, contains both soaring blessings and devastating warnings. It describes prosperity when Israel walks in God’s ways, and exile when the covenant is abandoned. Yet even in the darkest passages, hope never disappears.
One of the Torah’s most astonishing promises appears near the end:
“Even when they are in the land of their enemies, I will not reject them nor destroy them completely.” Jewish history is the living testimony of this promise.
Empires rose and fell. Nations vanished. Yet the Jewish people survived exile after exile while preserving memory, prayer, and hope. For nearly two thousand years Jews ended the Passover Seder with the words: “Next year in Jerusalem.” This was not fantasy. It was faith refusing to die.
The rebirth of Israel in modern times can be understood as one of history’s greatest affirmations of Bechukotai’s message: exile is not the end of the story. At its deepest level, Zionism is the refusal to believe that Jewish history is meaningless. It is the declaration that after destruction can come renewal, after exile can come return, and after tragedy can come life.
Every generation faces moments when the future seems uncertain. War, division, hatred, and fear can cloud vision. These parashot remind us that the Jewish story has always advanced through resilient faith.
To believe in the future of Israel is to believe that history can bend toward redemption.
To live with faith is to understand that even in difficult times, the covenant continues.
The Torah does not promise an easy journey. It promises that the journey has meaning.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Refael Cohen