Behar-Bechukotai: A Blessing amid the Curse

In this week’s double Torah portion, Behar-Bechukotai, we are presented with a stark contrast: the blessings that await us if we walk with God, and the curses that will befall us should we turn away. The blessings paint a picture of a utopian life in the Land of Israel—abundant rain and harvests, peace and security, fertility and prosperity, and, most profoundly, the indwelling of God’s presence among us.

But the curses tell a very different story: “I will wreak misery upon you—consumption and fever, which cause the eyes to pine and the body to languish; you shall sow your seed to no purpose, for your enemies shall eat it. I will set My face against you: you shall be routed by your enemies, and your foes shall dominate you. You shall flee though none pursues” (Leviticus 26:16-17), and much more. The Torah’s description of these punishments is so graphic that we traditionally read them in the synagogue quickly and in a subdued tone, as though to soften their harshness.

Yet, hidden within this long and painful list of curses lies a verse that may carry a surprising note of consolation: “I will make the land desolate, so that your enemies who dwell in it shall be appalled by it” (Leviticus 26:32).

The Hebrew root שׁ-מ-ם  (sh-m-m)—which appears twice in this verse—can be understood as either “desolate” or “appalled”. According to Ibn Ezra, the meaning of the words “va-hashimoti ani et ha’aretz” at the beginning of the verse is “I will make the land desolate,” while the words “ve-shamemu aleha” at the end of the verse is that the enemies will be “appalled” by its condition. This is the basis for the above translation. In this reading, God is not only warning of exile but also revealing that the Land itself will become so devastated that even foreign occupiers will be stunned by its ruin.

Rashi, however, understands both instances of the root as “desolate.” He interprets the verse to mean that the Land will remain barren after the Israelites are exiled from it and that this desolation will persist even under foreign rule. Thus, in his view, the appropriate translation of the verse is, “I will make the land desolate, and it will remain desolate for your enemies who dwell in it”. Strikingly, Rashi calls this a “kindness for Israel”—a hidden blessing within the curse—because the Land of Israel, so deeply bound to its people, refuses to thrive in their absence.

Many centuries later, this idea was echoed in the words of Mark Twain (The Innocents Abroad), who visited the Land in 1867 and was struck by its utter desolation. His account captures the scene vividly:

“These unpeopled deserts, these rusty mounds of barrenness… that melancholy ruin of Capernaum; this stupid village of Tiberias, slumbering under its six funereal plumes of palms… It was hard to realize that this silent plain had once trembled to the tramp of armed men… A desolation is here that not even imagination can grace with the pomp of life and action… Jericho the accursed lies in a moldering ruin today… Bethlehem and Bethany, in their poverty and humiliation, have nothing about them now to remind one that they once knew high honor… Of all the lands there are for dismal scenery, I think Palestine must be the prince. The hills are barren…The valleys are unsightly deserts fringed with a feeble vegetation that has an expression about it of being sorrowful and despondent… It is a hopeless, dreary, heart-broken land… Palestine sits in sackcloth and ashes…desolate and unlovely”.

Twain’s words read like a poetic affirmation of Rashi’s interpretation. The Land, without its people, lay dormant, unyielding, and lifeless.

How striking, then, is the contrast between the Land Twain saw in the 19th century and the Land we know today. Modern Israel is a testament to national rebirth, a country that has transformed barren soil into lush farmland, vineyards, and forests. The once arid landscapes now bloom through innovation—drip irrigation, desert agriculture, and water recycling. The Negev itself, once symbolic of desolation, now yields produce for global export.

Where Twain once traveled miles without seeing another soul, Israel today is home to over 10 million people, a vibrant and diverse society. Cities like Tel Aviv and Jerusalem pulsate with energy—centers of culture, technology, and learning. Infrastructure, highways, and skylines now rise where wilderness once stretched uninterrupted.

The economy, once nonexistent, is now one of the most dynamic in the world. Dubbed the “Start-Up Nation,” Israel leads in technology, cybersecurity, pharmaceuticals, and agricultural innovation. Its exports shape industries across the globe.

In Twain’s time, the Jewish presence was sparse and largely powerless. Holy sites were neglected, and Jewish life was marginalized. Today, the Land of Israel stands as the heart of Jewish national and spiritual life. Hebrew has been revived. Sacred places have been restored. Synagogues, yeshivot, and Jewish cultural institutions flourish across the country.

And so, as we face the many challenges of our time—internal and external, spiritual and political—let us not lose sight of the extraordinary blessings we are living through. In the very land that once lay in ruins, we have witnessed a miracle of return, rebirth, and renewal. May these blessings continue to grow, and may we prove worthy of the gift we have been given.