Rabbi Dovid Lifschitz once shared with me a powerful teaching from his late father-in-law, Rabbi Joseph Yosselevitch. Speaking in Suvalk at the 50th anniversary of the original Hibat Zion meeting – in a town deeply identified with the early Zionist cause – Rabbi Yosselevitch reflected on the halakhah that forbids leaving an uncovered knife on the table during Birkat Hamazon. The reason, he explained, is twofold. First, the table is likened to the altar in the Temple, which could not be built with iron because iron represents war and destruction, while the altar represents peace. Second, and even more poignant, is a tragic historical episode: a destitute Jew once sat down to a meager meal of dry bread. When he reached the third blessing of the Grace After Meals, the one that beseeches God to rebuild Jerusalem, he was so overcome by despair over the ruined state of Zion that he took the knife before him and ended his life. To prevent any future recurrence of such anguish, the Sages decreed that no knife be present – a gesture that both acknowledges and guards against the possibility of such despair born of intense love for Zion. Rabbi Yosselevitch concluded that Hibat Zion is not merely a modern movement born 50 years prior, but an ancient emotional and spiritual reality – a visceral, enduring love for Jerusalem powerful enough to break the human heart.To this, I would add a teaching I heard from Rabbi Isaac Bernstein regarding Birkat Hamazon: the first blessing, authored by Moses, is in the third person – “He feeds the entire world” – while the second, composed by Joshua, is in the second person – “We thank You… for the Land.” Why the grammatical shift? Because Moses, who never entered the Land of Israel, spoke of God from a distance, while Joshua, who lived in the Land, could speak directly to God. In this, too, we find a link to Rabbi Yosselevitch’s point. The longing for Jerusalem is not theoretical or abstract – it is personal, immediate, and at times devastati…

Let me speak to you about visions – good and bad. A rabbi must have a vision – for himself, his family, his community, and for all the House of Israel. But not all visions are the same. Some inspire and uplift; others mislead and harm. Today we witness two particularly dangerous visions: first, the belief that a rebbe is the messiah – an idea that begins with reverence but can devolve into spiritual confusion and disappointment; and second, the notion, found in some circles of religious Zionism, that we are living in messianic times and that the State of Israel is itself a messianic entity. Both beliefs have led good, sincere people into crises of faith when reality failed to match their hopes. The danger is not vision itself, but vision untested. We must seek vision, but also examine it – not every dream is holy. And yet, there are times when we long for vision and cannot find it, when we feel, in our own bones, that something is missing. As the priestly blessings remind us: chalom chalamti v’eini yode’a mah hu – I have dreamed a dream, but I do not know what it means. Even the yearning for vision needs divine guidance.