Last Thursday night, on Lag BaOmer, we in Eretz Yisrael experienced yet another miracle: A missile fired by the Houthis was intercepted without causing harm. Remarkably, this happened on a night when more people than usual were out celebrating at bonfires across the country. And now, once again, the army is being sent into Gaza while the world rises in defense of the so-called “poor Palestinians.” What’s going on?
In parshas Bechukosai, the Torah lists the berachos promised for keeping the Torah, and the kelalos - terrible curses - for not following it. This parshah is often misunderstood. Some people, unfortunately, develop a distorted view of Torah and of serving Hashem. They ask: How could Hashem force such a demanding path upon us, with such severe consequences for failure?
But let’s clarify the true perspective.
The Torah refers to these berachos and kelalos as a bris—a covenant between us and Hashem. A covenant is only meaningful when both sides enter into it willingly. This bris was not forced upon Klal Yisrael. They accepted it b’ahavah—out of love—because they recognized Hashem’s care for them and wanted to maintain that special relationship.
The kelalos in Bechukosai appear at the end of Sefer Vayikra, which contains most of the mitzvos. This marks the completion of kabalas haTorah, which began at Har Sinai when we declared na’aseh v’nishma. Later, in Sefer Devarim, parshas Ki Savo refers to “the words of the bris that Hashem commanded Moshe… besides the bris at Chorev.” Rashi explains that this refers back to the kelalos in Vayikra, showing that both the blessings and curses are part of the covenant.
At kabalas haTorah, we underwent a full geirus—a conversion. And in Judaism, there’s no easy path to conversion. Potential geirim are actively discouraged. Even right before immersion in the mikvah, they are reminded of both the easy and difficult mitzvos, and warned about the hatred Jews face. We want to ensure sincerity.
Other religions make conversion easy and enticing. Join us, they say, and you’ll be rewarded; reject us, and you’ll suffer. For Klal Yisrael, it’s the opposite. At the conclusion of the mitzvah transmission, Moshe Rabbeinu offered the bris—not imposed it. The people affirmed that they wanted it.
There are two types of treaties. One is transactional: each side seeks maximum benefit with minimal sacrifice. These are common in politics and business, devoid of any deeper connection. The other is based on love and loyalty. Both parties are ready to give, even to suffer, for one another. They might even proclaim willingness to be punished if disloyal—not out of fear, but out of deep love and commitment.
The Ramban teaches that our willingness to suffer for Hashem is the greatest expression of love—and He responds with love for us in return. That is the essence of this bris.
To understand this further, look at how the parshah begins: Im bechukosai teileichu - “If you will walk in My decrees.” Rashi explains this means to be amel b’Torah—to toil in Torah learning. The word teileichu implies movement, growth, and effort. The Maharal in Gur Aryeh explains that this refers to constant progress and deepening understanding. We are not meant to study Torah the same way as adults as we did as children.
Later, the kelalos begin with Im lo tishmiu li - “If you do not listen to Me.” Rashi again points to the lack of amelus b’Torah and failure to engage with medrash chachamim—the teachings of Chazal. The Maharal clarifies this refers to Torah sheba’al peh, the oral law transmitted by our sages.
Rashi outlines a progression: If you don’t learn, you won’t observe. If you don’t observe, you’ll grow disgusted with those who do. You’ll then hate the chachamim, prevent others from practicing, deny the mitzvos, and eventually deny Hashem Himself.
This is the danger of abandoning true Torah study. Those who only “read” the Bible without Chazal’s guidance often develop twisted interpretations—fueling things like Crusades, Inquisitions, and Jihad. One giyores who had studied the Bible as a child burst into tears when she first saw a child’s drawing of the Kohein’s garments—she had never understood the verses. The simple reading was vague and confusing.
True ameilus b’Torah requires engagement with medrash chachamim. That’s the foundation of Shas and poskim. Our learning must be ongoing, deep, and filled with yearning to understand Hashem’s words. I once brought a not-yet-frum Jew into a Beis Medrash for the first time. The noise of the learning stunned him. “It sounds like a cafeteria!” he said. He was used to quiet college libraries. The passion and energy of Torah learning was a revelation.
Through real Torah study, we also begin to see the world differently—not just through political or social lenses, but through the eyes of Torah. We recognize Hashem’s hashgachah, His hand guiding events, even in times of conflict and uncertainty.
Torah learning is what has sustained Klal Yisrael and the world itself. Our bond with Hashem is not transactional—it is a bris of love. That awareness, together with a deep commitment to ameilus b’Torah, will be the key to ending this galus. May we be zocheh to greet Moshiach soon.
