When the Torah weeps

In these days of blood, fire, and pillars of smoke, as our brothers fall sanctifying God’s name, I stand with my soul torn. Not from doubt — but from pain. Pain over our Torah world that has turned so inward that it has lost its connection with the beating heart of the Jewish people.

I cry out, how can we study about “all Jews being responsible for one another” and remain indifferent? How can we delve into the laws of “do not stand idly by your brother’s blood” and continue our routine as if our brothers’ blood wasn’t being spilled like water?

But I don’t just cry out. I also know there is another way.

For a true Torah scholar is first and foremost a human being in the full glory of God’s image. He carries in his heart gentleness, nobility, and sensitivity to every Jewish soul.

Our Torah is a Torah of life. It’s not a sealed book in the Holy Ark — it’s a roadmap for dealing with all of life’s challenges. It’s not a protective wall behind which to hide – it’s a light illuminating the path for everyone.

I see the looks in our soldier brothers’ eyes, of the bereaved families, of the wounded in hospitals. They’re not looking for our criticism. They’re looking for our embrace. For brotherhood. For the knowledge that we are all one family.

Especially now, when the abyss opens, we must be the bridge. Especially now, when darkness covers the earth, we must be the light. Especially now, when hearts are torn, we must be the ones who heal the rifts.

For this is what true Torah does — it heals. It connects. It illuminates.

I call to my Torah-learning brothers: let us prove that our Torah is a Torah of kindness. That true scholarship leads to true sensitivity. That genuine fear of Heaven brings genuine love of Israel.

The time has come to be what we were always meant to be — not just Torah students, but those who live Torah in its full power. Not just tradition keepers, but path illuminators. Not just praying for the peace of Israel, but working for it.

For at the end of days, when we stand before the Throne of Glory, they won’t just ask us how many pages of Talmud we learned, but also — where were we when our brothers bled? What did we do when the Jewish people needed us?

And the answer must be: we were there. With all our heart. With all our soul. Because this is our Torah. Because this is our people. Because this is our mission.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​