Defending Our People, Upholding Our Values

Defending Our People, Upholding Our Values: Behar-Bechukosai’s Message to Our Generation

Parshas Behar-Bechukosai outlines a Torah-based framework for an ethical society rooted in responsibility, compassion, and enduring values. These parshiyos are not merely legal or agricultural instructions. They represent a profound theological and moral vision, one that centers around restraint, covenant, and the sanctity of communal life. The Torah’s model of leadership, especially as revealed here, presents a radical contrast to many contemporary models that are transactional, performative, and driven by self-interest.

The parsha transitions from a broader societal vision to its grounding at the very core of Torah transmission. It begins, strikingly, with the words: “וַיְדַבֵּר ה׳ אֶל־מֹשֶׁה בְּהַר סִינַי“ (“And Hashem spoke to Moshe on Mount Sinai” – Vayikra 25:1). In one of his more famous comments, Rashi HaKadosh asks, מָה עִנְיַן שְׁמִטָּה אֵצֶל הַר סִינַי? (Why is the topic of Shemitah mentioned as being from Har Sinai?) Why is Shemitah singled out as being spoken at Sinai? Were not all the mitzvos given at Har Sinai? Rashi explains that just as Shemitah was conveyed with its כְּלָלוֹתֶיהָ, פְּרָטֵיהֶם, and דִּקְדּוּקֵיהֶם (its general principles, specifics, and fine details), so too were all the mitzvos. The Torah chose to emphasize Shemitah to teach that the entirety of Torah, with all its moral, ritual, and societal obligations, was given in full at Sinai. The message is clear: economic justice, restraint, and compassion are not post-Sinaitic developments or appendices-they are Torah from Sinai.

The Ramban expands this idea and deepens its meaning. He affirms the inclusion of Shemitah in the Torah min haShamayim, but he critiques the framing that relies solely on repetition. He sees the phrase “בְּהַר סִינַי” (“at Mount Sinai”) as part of a larger pattern. Following the sin of the Eigel HaZahav and the shattering of the first luchos, Bnei Yisroel received a renewed covenant through Moshe, one that reemphasized the societal and ethical dimensions of Torah. In this view, Shemitah and Yovel are not isolated laws; they are the ethical heart of the second covenant, a reaffirmation that the Torah’s moral vision applies not just in the mikdash, but in the marketplace, the fields, and the structure of society itself.

Here, the Torah disrupts the concentration of power and property. Rav Yosef Dov HaLevi Soloveitchik, ztl, in his 1975 drasha on Parshas Behar (26th of Iyar 5735 / May 6, 1975), emphasized that the laws of Shemitah and Yovel are not merely about agricultural cycles or property redistribution but are rooted in a deep theological conception of covenantal time. According to The Rav, the seven-year and fifty-year cycles shape Jewish consciousness by creating a rhythm that forces society to reckon regularly with questions of ownership, power, and dependence on the Ribbono Shel Olam. These cycles are not just pauses in economic activity; they are acts of spiritual recalibration. They remind leaders and communities alike that their authority, their wealth, and even the land itself are not theirs unconditionally. The return of ancestral lands during Yovel is, in The Rav’s words, a ritualized restoration of justice. It declares that power, like property, is never absolute, and that every Jew, no matter how far they have fallen economically or socially, retains an inalienable dignity bestowed by Hashem. In this light, Shemitah and Yovel are as much about shaping a moral imagination as they are about constructing a just economy.

Rav Lord Jonathan Sacks similarly teaches that Shemitah and Yovel embed a moral economy into the structure of Torah law. They are not merely legislative safeguards against poverty or inequality, but expressions of the Torah’s deepest commitment to human dignity, collective responsibility, and the moral purpose of wealth. In a society governed by these values, leadership is not about control but about stewardship. It demands sensitivity to those on the margins and a refusal to allow systems of power and wealth to ossify into injustice. Greatness, in this framework, is measured not by dominance but by one’s ability to restore, to release, and to redeem. As Rav Sacks notes, the Torah’s requirement that ancestral lands be returned every fifty years is a powerful statement against economic absolutism. No one owns perpetuity. All are stewards. The land belongs to Hashem, and we are merely its guardians, commanded to use our position not for self-enrichment, but to advance a society built on justice, compassion, and holiness.

The Torah then commands us: “וְכִי יָמוּךְ אָחִיךָ… וְהֶחֱזַקְתָּ בּוֹ” (“If your brother becomes impoverished… you shall strengthen him” – Vayikra 25:35). This follows naturally from the laws of Shemitah and Yovel, grounding their expansive societal vision in immediate, tangible human relationships. Just as land must be returned and debts released, so too must each individual be seen as worthy of renewal and support. Leadership, the Torah here insists, is not measured by strength, wealth, or charisma, and it is measured by how a society supports those who falter.

Rav Shlomo Elimelech Drillman, ztl, drawing on the teachings of his rebbe, Rav Elchonon Wasserman, ztl hyd, explains that leadership in Torah is built first on restraint. The leader must be capable of saying no to himself before he can responsibly guide others. His moral authority derives not from dominance but from self-mastery. This self-discipline is not a matter of personal piety alone; it is the foundation of communal trust. When a leader models restraint, he reinforces the moral architecture of the society he serves.

Rav Elchonon taught that Torah leadership must resist the temptations of ego, power, and the performative need to always appear strong. True strength lies in the ability to bend toward Hashem’s will and to elevate others rather than oneself. Moreover, Rav Drillman, quoting Rav Elchonon and the Chofetz Chaim, emphasized that the Torah’s halachos of redemption, particularly those related to Yovel and Pidyon Shevuyim, are not merely legal mechanisms, but theological declarations of hope. The Chofetz Chaim taught that no matter how far a generation may appear from its spiritual potential, the accumulated suffering of exile and the ongoing merits of Klal Yisroel still make geulah possible. As it says, “אוֹ־דֹדוֹ אוֹ בֶן־דֹּדוֹ יִגְאָלֶנּוּ…” (“His uncle or his cousin shall redeem him…” – Vayikra 25:49), redemption is a shared responsibility. Even when the individual is powerless, the Torah mandates that the family, the community, or Hashem Himself must act to redeem. This reinforces a Torah model of leadership not only grounded in responsibility but animated by a deep and enduring faith in redemption. A leader must foster this hope and communicate that no individual and no generation is beyond merit. This vision is part of what Torah leadership must communicate, not only responsibility, but redemption. True strength lies in the ability to bend toward Hashem’s will and to elevate others rather than oneself. To uphold the dignity of the downtrodden is not merely an act of compassion; it is a reflection of one’s fear of Heaven and fidelity to justice. It is the very foundation of legitimacy in Torah leadership. A society’s moral character and the credibility of its leaders are measured by how they respond to those who falter. This is not optional charity, it is a structural ethic of dignity and inclusion that reflects the divine image in every individual and the covenantal responsibility that binds us together as a people.

Finally, in the blessings and curses of Bechukosai, the Torah states: “אִם־בְּחֻקֹּתַי תֵּלֵכוּ…” (“If you walk in My statutes…” – Vayikra 26:3). National flourishing is not a reward for political genius; it is the fruit of moral clarity and spiritual fidelity. Peace, prosperity, and security are conditioned on righteousness, not rhetoric.

From these foundations, the Torah builds a model of leadership rooted in six core traits: consistency with Hashem’s path, divine accountability, moral courage, intellectual integrity, historical consciousness, and a commitment to peace. These are not abstract ideals; they are operational standards that must animate the daily conduct of anyone entrusted with communal responsibility. The Torah does not leave the criteria for leadership to charisma or popularity; it sets forth a vision that demands spiritual integrity, moral clarity, and unwavering dedication to the collective good. A Torah leader must possess the humility to be self-critical, the ethical grounding to resist expedient decisions, the historical consciousness to see themselves as part of an intergenerational covenant, and the resilience to lead with conviction even in the face of challenge. These traits are not aspirational; they are required. Without them, leadership becomes not a sacred trust but a vehicle for power, and society suffers as a result.

This theological and moral vision culminates in the Torah’s unambiguous affirmation that these laws are not supplementary, but central to the covenantal structure revealed at Sinai. The final verse of the sefer, “אֵלֶּה הַמִּצְו‍ֹת אֲשֶׁר צִוָּה ה׳ אֶת מֹשֶׁה אֶל בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל בְּהַר סִינַי” (“These are the commandments that Hashem commanded Moshe for Bnei Yisrael at Mount Sinai” – Vayikra 27:34), further reinforces this. It teaches that not only ritual law, but the entire edifice of Jewish life, economic justice, agricultural policy, social welfare, and national dignity, was articulated at Sinai. By weaving together Rashi’s textual observation with the Ramban’s covenantal framing, we see that Torah leadership demands not only fear of Heaven but a deep fidelity to justice, memory, humility, and compassion. These laws are not marginal; they are foundational. They remind us that the Torah’s ethical imperatives, how we treat land, wealth, debt, and the dignity of the vulnerable, are inseparable from its spiritual vision.

Through these commandments, the Torah teaches that social policy is a matter of kedushah, that leadership is sacred work, and that to govern with righteousness is to serve Hashem. The covenant forged at Sinai is not confined to the walls of the Mishkan. It reaches outward to the fields, the vineyards, the loan documents, and the power structures of society. It demands that the hand of law extend equally to the wealthy and the impoverished, that the rhythms of the land reflect the holiness of time, and that those entrusted with power wield it with humility and integrity.

This is the enduring charge of Parshas Behar-Bechukosai. It is a charge rooted in covenant and responsibility, and one that speaks as urgently to our generation as it did to the desert encampment standing at the foot of Har Sinai. In every era, the call remains: to build a society shaped by restraint, compassion, justice, and the redemptive hope that Torah leadership must inspire.

Too often in our times, we are confronted with leaders, some claiming to champion religious values, others claiming to safeguard national pride, who rise to power not through humility and service but by exploiting fear, amplifying division, and distorting national memory. They speak the language of tradition but erode the values that tradition holds sacred. They appeal to religious texts while promoting policies that trample the vulnerable. They proclaim love of country and people but wield that rhetoric to silence critics and cast moral clarity as weakness. They speak of strength, but operate through cruelty; of honor, but govern through coercion. The Torah demands a leadership rooted in rachamim, in yiras Shamayim, and in the quiet resolve to lift others. These leaders offer the opposite: cynicism cloaked in religious language, aggression masquerading as conviction, and populism dressed up as moral fervor.

Such leadership models are not only inconsistent with the vision of Behar-Bechukosai, they represent its antithesis. The parshiyos of Behar and Bechukosai lay down a moral vision where strength is expressed through self-restraint, justice through humility, and power through service. A society that forgets this is one that inevitably slides toward spiritual and political decay.

And yet, we are not without examples of leaders who embody the Torah’s demands. There are those, past and present, who lead with quiet strength, who resist polarization in favor of principled unity, and who see their office as a form of avodas hakodesh. They protect the dignity of the stranger, speak with integrity, and pursue justice not for political gain but as a sacred charge. It is this kind of leadership that the Torah envisions and that our moment demands.

May we merit leaders who walk with Hashem, who understand that leadership is a sacred mission, who inspire with courage, truth, and humility, and who guide not by instilling fear, but by elevating the people they serve with wisdom and integrity. And may we, as a community, uphold this Torah vision of leadership in our expectations, in our choices, and in our daily conduct.