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Parshat Massei: Every Step Has a Purpose — Even Ones We Think Are Detours

A Torah scroll. Photo: RabbiSacks.org.

One of the most fascinating figures in medieval history is Marco Polo. Born into a Venetian merchant family, in 1271 he set out with his father and uncle along the famous Silk Road to China — on what would become one of the most monumental journeys ever undertaken by a European.

The Polos were received at the royal court of Kublai Khan, the founder and first emperor of the Mongol-led Yuan dynasty. The emperor was deeply impressed by Marco’s sharp intellect and respectful demeanor. He appointed him as his personal envoy, assigning him to diplomatic missions across the vast Mongol Empire and beyond, to places we now know as Myanmar, India, Indonesia, Sri Lanka, and Vietnam.

In this extraordinary role, Marco traveled extensively throughout China, spending 17 years in the emperor’s service, and encountering lands, cultures, and marvels no European had seen or even imagined.

When he returned home after 24 years, no one recognized him, not even his own family. But what’s even more remarkable is that people dismissed his stories as fantasy. And though he recorded many of his experiences, he admitted: “I did not write half of what I saw, for I knew I would not be believed.”

Still, he didn’t seem to mind. Because for Marco Polo, the true reward wasn’t the fame or acclaim. It was the journey itself.

Medieval Jews had their own Marco Polo, a century before him. Benjamin of Tudela, a 12th-century Jewish merchant from Spain, embarked on a cross-continental journey that took him through France and Italy, down into Egypt and the Land of Israel, across the Levant to Mesopotamia, and back again via the Mediterranean.

Though only a layman, he was deeply literate — fluent in Hebrew, Arabic, and Spanish, and most probably French. He wore his religious piety lightly, but his love for the Jewish people and the Land of Israel, as well as his deep empathetic curiosity, radiate through every page of his remarkable diary.

What makes his written record so compelling isn’t only where he went, but also who he noticed. In Fustat, today Cairo, he found the Jewish community struggling to maintain its former prominence. Still, he noted a relatively new arrival by the name of Rabbi Moses ben Maimon — Maimonides — who was elevating the community, and whose fame had spread well beyond Egypt.

In Baghdad, he described the grandeur of the Jewish Exilarch, who rode in royal procession with armed escorts and a ceremonial canopy held over his head — an honored figure recognized by both Jews and Muslims alike. While in Babylonia, he visited the great yeshivot of Sura and Pumbedita, centers of Talmudic learning that have left their impression on Judaism to this day.

Benjamin also had a wry sense of humor and a sharp eye for sectarian nuance. As he traveled in Northern Israel, he observed dryly that “the closer I get to Jerusalem, the more Jews are heretics” — a reference to the many Karaites, Samaritans, and Khazars he encountered on his approach to the Holy City.

And though he loved the Land of Israel, he found himself breathing easier in the Muslim-ruled cities of the Levant, writing that “the air was heavy for me in Christian-controlled Jerusalem,” but “I feel more comfortable now that I am again in this lush and Muslim land.” Strange words to modern ears, perhaps, but a reminder of just how different the world once was.

Fast forward six centuries, and we have Rabbi Chaim Yosef David Azulai, better known acronymically as the “Chida,” an 18th-century rabbinic scholar, emissary, and bibliophile from Jerusalem. He spent decades traveling through Europe and North Africa as a shadar — a traveling fundraiser for the impoverished Jewish community in the Land of Israel.

But rather than just focusing on collecting money, the Chida also collected moments, books, and stories, which he recorded and later published.

In Livorno, a vibrant hub of Sephardic Jewry, he once found himself caught up in a spontaneous halachic debate — right in the middle of the street. A local rabbi posed a sharp question, and the Chida responded, using his boundless Torah knowledge and brilliant intellect. Within minutes, a crowd had gathered. According to his travel diaries, there was even a fishmonger who chimed in with a source, which the Chida acknowledged as “an unexpected but not incorrect point.”

On another occasion, in Amsterdam, the Chida was invited to visit a private library filled with rare manuscripts. He spent hours poring over ancient texts, taking meticulous notes. But the experience was somewhat tarnished by the custodian’s persistent attempts to serve him a local fish delicacy, which the Chida politely declined — not once, not twice, but four times.

What unites Marco Polo, Benjamin of Tudela, and the Chida is not just their many distant travels. It’s that they understood something we often forget in our destination-obsessed world: the journey is usually the point. None of them rushed to the finish line. They lingered. They noticed. And they were transformed.

Which brings us to Parshat Massei — the parsha with the longest travel itinerary in the Torah. Parshat Massei opens with what looks — at first glance — like a giant waste of ink (Num. 33:1-2):  “These are the journeys of the Children of Israel… and Moshe wrote down the starting points of their journeys.”

This introduction is followed by 42 place names, one after the other. Some you can recognize — Marah, Refidim, Mount Hor. Other places are only ever mentioned in this list, such as Keheilata, Har Shefer, and Yotvatah.

But if you take a step back, something remarkable emerges. The Torah is obviously not just concerned with the Israelites’ departure from Egypt and arrival in the Promised Land. It also cares where the Israelites camped along the way. Because each stage in the journey mattered, every pause was purposeful, and every detour was a divine appointment.

The same is true for us. We may live in a culture obsessed with results — final grades, promotions, goals achieved — but Judaism reminds us: growth isn’t about the end goal, it’s about how you got there.

The 42 stops, and the journeys that brought them to each place, weren’t always glorious — but the Torah lists them all anyway, because real life isn’t a highlight reel. It’s a series of imperfect steps, tough lessons, and unexpected blessings. The meandering journey through the Sinai wilderness didn’t just take the Israelites to the Land of Israel; it made them ready for it.

Marco Polo crossed half the world and returned a stranger even to his own family. Benjamin of Tudela journeyed across continents and chronicled rising rabbinic stars in Egypt and royal Jewish leadership in Baghdad. The Chida debated halacha in the streets of Livorno and politely dodged fish pastries in Amsterdam.

What is clear is that none of them were racing toward a finish line. They were gathering stories, meaning, and identity, one stop at a time.

Parshat Massei, in its quiet, repetitive way, teaches us the same thing. You are not the sum of your big-ticket achievements. You are the story of your many stops and pauses — the moments you failed, the times you tried again, the challenges that taught you patience, the delays that built your resilience, and the people you met along the way who added some element to your experience.

So take your time. Notice the view. Write it down. One day you’ll look back and realize — just like the Israelites in the desert — every step had a purpose. Even the ones you thought were detours.

The author is a rabbi in Beverly Hills, California. 

The post Parshat Massei: Every Step Has a Purpose — Even Ones We Think Are Detours first appeared on Algemeiner.com.

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A Lesson From the Torah: How to Make Meaningful Change in Your Life

A Torah scroll. Photo: RabbiSacks.org.

James Clear, author of the global bestseller Atomic Habits, had an unusual pathway to his expertise in turning tiny daily actions into who you are. It began with a shocking accident while playing baseball in high school. A friend’s bat slipped out of his hands and landed in Clear’s face, breaking his nose, shattering his eye sockets, and crushing the bones in his face. The blow was so severe that it drove his brain against the inside of his skull, landing him in a medically induced coma.

When he eventually woke up, nothing was automatic anymore — not walking, not talking, not even the basic movements most of us take for granted. His recovery was a nightmare: months of painstaking repetition. The smallest actions had to be done over and over until he could manage them again. 

Clear learned the hard way that life changes in tiny increments: take one step, then another, until you can do it without thinking. Over time, those small, repeated actions restored his motor skills — and rewired his brain. Modern science calls it neuroplasticity. It became the foundation of Clear’s philosophy: extraordinary results are built, brick by tiny brick, on ordinary habits.

The science is fascinating. Somewhere deep in your brain, there’s a grumpy little troll whose job it is to resist change. Neuroscientists have given him a fancier name — the basal ganglia — but “grumpy little troll” feels more accurate. That grumpy troll likes routine. He likes patterns. And once you’ve been doing something long enough, he cements it in so tightly that changing it feels like trying to un-bake a cake. 

The good news is that if you repeat a good habit often enough, the troll eventually goes along with it and says, “Fine, I guess this is who we are now.” That’s why habit stacking works, and why things you do sporadically never take hold.

The thing about habits is that they’re not glamorous. They don’t announce themselves with fireworks or a brass band. They sneak in quietly, one small action at a time, until they’ve completely rewired your identity. 

Neuroscientists have the MRI scans to prove it: every time you repeat a behavior, you’re strengthening the neural pathway for it, turning what was once a shaky dirt track into a smooth, well-paved highway your brain can travel without effort. 

That’s why going for a run every morning eventually feels natural — and why eating ice cream straight from the tub at 11 p.m. can, unfortunately, also feel natural if you do it every night. The neural process doesn’t judge — it just reinforces whatever you practice most.

History is full of proof that collective habits can either build nations up or quietly steer them toward disaster. Take the British love affair with tea. What began in the 1600s as a pricey, exotic import became so entrenched in the national character that it shaped global trade routes, fueled colonial ambitions, and even had a role in the American Revolution. And all because the English love to drink a “cuppa” tea.

Consider Japan’s obsession with detail and perfection. Post–World War II, out of the ashes of defeat, Japan turned this national characteristic to its advantage, using it as the basis for meticulous quality control in manufacturing. Within a few decades, “Made in Japan” was all you needed to know about a product to trust that it was made with a gold standard of excellence.

Or think about America’s ingrained focus on individualism — a trait that wasn’t the natural state of being for the immigrants who built the nation, and certainly not the defining feature of the countries they came from. And yet, over time, that relentless belief in personal responsibility and self-reliance became a cornerstone of the American story, fueling its transformation into one of history’s greatest success stories.

Which brings me back to James Clear. Whether it’s tea in Britain, precision in Japan, or self-reliance in America, national habits are just the collective version of what happens to individuals. We all become what we repeatedly do. 

Clear’s own journey — from a no-hoper invalid to relearning how to walk to becoming a leading voice on self-improvement — proves that our identity is shaped one small, deliberate action at a time. Change the habit, and over time you change the person. The trick is starting small, repeating often, and letting those tiny wins quietly but determinedly redefine who you are.

And this is precisely the point Moses makes at the beginning of Parshat Eikev (Deut. 7:12): וְהָיָה עֵקֶב תִּשְׁמְעוּן אֵת הַמִּשְׁפָּטִים הָאֵלֶּה וּשְׁמַרְתֶּם וַעֲשִׂיתֶם אֹתָם – “And it shall be, if you surely listen to these laws, and keep them and do them, God will keep for you the covenant and the kindness that He swore to your forefathers.”

The word eikev is unusual — it literally means “heel.” Rashi explains that Moses used it deliberately, as a reference to the kind of mitzvot people might metaphorically “tread underfoot” — the ones they consider unimportant. 

Moses was saying: don’t ever make that mistake, because it’s exactly those seemingly small, everyday acts — the ones you’re tempted to skip because they don’t feel monumental — that are the most powerful in shaping who you are. Over time, they become the habits that define you, your values, and ultimately, your destiny.

Moses was giving the Jewish nation what might be history’s first recorded behavioral-science pep talk. He wasn’t just telling them to keep the commandments — he was telling them to keep keeping them. Over and over. Every day. Without fail. 

And not just the obvious, headline-grabbing commandments — the ones you want people to notice when you do them — but also the “minor” ones, the mitzvot nobody thinks are important. Moses understood something that modern psychologists and neurologists now confirm: greatness — whether personal, national, or spiritual — only comes from the accumulation of consistent, repeated actions.

Spiritual life — and a life of real faith — isn’t built on occasional bursts of inspiration. It’s built on habits. Daily prayer, honest business dealings, acts of kindness and charity, Shabbat observance — none of these are one-off acts of virtue. They’re patterns, repeated again and again, until they become part of who you are. 

And once they’re habits, they transform you from someone who sometimes does good things into someone who naturally, instinctively, always does the right thing. Because the road to greatness is never a sprint — it’s a long, steady, repetitive walk that will get you there in the end.

The author is a rabbi based in Beverly Hills, California. 

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Media Says ‘IDF Targets Kids,’ But Ignores Realities of Fighting Hamas

Palestinian terrorists and members of the Red Cross gather near vehicles on the day Hamas hands over deceased hostages Oded Lifschitz, Shiri Bibas, and her two children Kfir and Ariel Bibas, seized during the deadly Oct. 7, 2023, attack, to the Red Cross, as part of a ceasefire and hostages-prisoners swap deal between Hamas and Israel, in Khan Younis in the southern Gaza Strip, Feb. 20, 2025. Photo: REUTERS/Hatem Khaled

Since the start of the Israel-Hamas war in October 2023, “the IDF is targeting children” has been a media narrative — or rather, a Hamas narrative.

The New York Times’ exposé “65 Doctors, Nurses and Paramedics: What We Saw in Gaza” and the BBC’s investigative report “Two girls shot in Gaza…” are just a couple of the grotesque displays of bias. Evidence of Hamas’ responsibility is often doubted or dismissed, while in a narrative such as the BBC’s case, the blame is placed solely on Israel and its “lack of accountability.”

Basics of Guerrilla-Style Urban Warfare in Gaza

Urban guerrilla warfare differs significantly from conventional urban warfare. Bill Roggio, Senior Fellow and Editor of Foundation for Defense of Democracy’s (FDD) Long War Journal, told HonestReporting that Israel’s real challenge with Hamas “is [that they’re] fighting out of uniform, and they’re fighting from places like mosques, schools, and hospitals.” He says that while civilian casualties are always unavoidable in war, enemies like Hamas hiding and operating among them make it “far more complicated.”

In guerrilla warfare, the rules of engagement, or how soldiers are meant to act on suspicious activity, can become murky. With challenges that militaries like the IDF encounter on the battlefield while maneuvering or stationing in Gaza, reports of civilians and even children being injured or killed have flooded the media and heavily influenced the global understanding of the conflict. The problem? Average consumers don’t understand realities on the ground.

Roggio discusses the breakdown of rules of engagement in the chaos of a guerrilla-style environment:

You can’t shoot someone just because they’re on a rooftop with a radio…. But then [you] started finding out that kid was a spotter or a lookout, or they’re being used to run ammunition during firefights, or women were being used in the same way, or even as suicide bombers in cases. So restrictive rules of engagement, once the enemy is aware, they take advantage of this.

Not to mention, military-aged males aged 16 through 20 are still considered children, he reminds us. The media report on children being shot, but Hamas doesn’t distinguish between terrorists and civilians in its death toll. This only serves to bolster terrorist propaganda further.

The press, international community, and NGOs often misunderstand the realities of warfare, says Roggio. His war reporting and military experience give him the insight to assess it. He uses the 2004 U.S. drone strikes on Al-Qaeda in Pakistan, where the terrorist to civilian ratio was calculated to 1:1 or 2:1, as another example.

The US receives so much criticism for this, but it’s a misunderstanding of war…sometimes I think it’s an intentional misunderstanding, or I guess that wouldn’t be a misunderstanding. It’s an intentional ignorance.

Then, they treat figures and statements from terror groups, or in Hamas’ case, “ministries”, with credibility. Herein lies one of the biggest issues: buying propaganda and leaving out important context that misleads the audience.

The BBC’s population correspondent, Stephanie Hegarty, took it upon herself to step out of her regular scheduled programming to “investigate” two killings of little Gazan girls in November 2023 – the early days of the war.

Hegarty concluded that, based on geolocation estimates by the BBC, the IDF could have been responsible for the tragic deaths of Layan al-Majdalawi and Mira Tanboura. The logic is that where there is IDF presence, Gazans are killed. Therefore, the IDF must have killed them.

But the IDF is hunting down Hamas terrorists, not young girls. Hegarty doesn’t acknowledge the possibility that Hamas were there too, and in a guerrilla urban war zone. There’s no mention of the possibility that they were caught in crossfire, killed by Hamas, or suspected to be a threat by the IDF.

Though identifying Hamas isn’t always obvious, this doesn’t serve Hegarty’s narrative, so she ignores it.

And naturally, a concerted effort to expose the IDF as a vile, genocidal military is initiated. All context goes out the window. Just the IDF’s supposed “lack of accountability” remains.

“K,” an anonymous IDF reservist, gives Hegarty the soundbite she wants, so she doesn’t bother exploring the context behind K’s “F***k it. Destroy everything” statement on IDF commanders’ orders for rules of engagement.

Although the war in Gaza is complicated, it’s easy to provide viewers with a fuller picture.

Same Narrative, Different Scenario

The same goes for Palestinians killed seeking humanitarian aid. The Washington Post’s article, “Doctors detail the daily deluge of Gazans shot while seeking food,” presents doctors’ accounts of mass casualty events in Gaza hospitals. The writers work to imply that shootings are systematic and only mention IDF troops’ presence, and their admission to firing warning shots.

No mention of Hamas, even though there is plenty of video evidence of Hamas stealing from aid convoys, and accounts of Hamas and other gangs beating or shooting Palestinians trying to get aid. But there was also no context to the IDF firing at or around those who pass their “military positions.”

Witnesses say Israeli troops have frequently shot at people who pass near military positions while approaching aid sites or who throng relief convoys.

There are clear instructions on pathways and times for aid seekers. It’s fair to assume that anyone stepping out of that zone, especially in Gaza’s environment, could be considered suspicious by the IDF and its soldiers who are having to constantly be aware of the possibility of an attack on their positions at any moment. An unfortunate reality created by the terrorists who continue to operate among the civilian population.

The Washington Post includes the issue of child casualties:

The trek to GHF distribution points is frequently long and arduous, so Palestinian families often send their most able — usually teenage boys and young men. But with tens of thousands of Palestinians having been killed and maimed during Israel’s military operations in Gaza, not every family has that choice. The Red Cross says its doctors have treated women and toddlers for gunshot wounds, too.

Again, urban war zones are chaotic. It’s not always clear what is happening. But medical workers can only explain the injuries and describe the patients they have treated.

Nonetheless, that’s precisely the reason why the media need to lay all the information out on the table, instead of presenting a pre-framed story that leads media consumers to adopt whatever agenda the journalist promotes.

The author is a contributor to HonestReporting, a Jerusalem-based media watchdog with a focus on antisemitism and anti-Israel bias — where a version of this article first appeared.

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The Shawshank Distortion: New York Times Recasts Infamous Palestinian Terrorist as Jailbreak Hero

The New York Times building in New York City. Photo: Wikimedia Commons

There is a double standard in how much of the media treats terrorism — one set of rules for most perpetrators, another for those who are Palestinian and whose victims are Israeli Jews.

Time and again, some of the most brutal attacks on civilians are presented with a kind of reverence, as though sadistic violence were simply part of a noble struggle. When Israeli Jews are murdered in their homes or on their way to work, the narrative bends toward portraying the killer as a “resister of occupation.”

The New York Times’ recent “global profile” of convicted murderer Zakaria Zubeidi is a textbook example. Zubeidi, a veteran commander of the Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigades with decades of terrorist activity to his name, was freed in a hostage-for-prisoners swap with Hamas, having been jailed for his role in two West Bank shooting attacks in 2018 and 2019, and later making international headlines for his 2021 escape from Israel’s Gilboa Prison.

His role in the shootings just years ago barely registers in the Times’ telling, eclipsed by what it calls his “most memorable” of several “exploits”: the 2021 Gilboa Prison escape. The account reads like a Hollywood screenplay, with Zubeidi crawling through a “32-yard tunnel” from the bathroom of his cell before emerging into “freedom flooding [his] veins.” It’s a passage that could have been lifted straight from The Shawshank Redemption.

The admiration doesn’t stop there. Readers are told that “in time, Mr. Zubeidi took a more nuanced approach to battling Israel”– a grotesque euphemism for moving from gun and grenade attacks to the more palatable image of “cultural resistance” through his later involvement in a Jenin theater. This came after Israel granted him amnesty in 2007, alongside other militants who agreed to give up arms — an agreement Zubeidi never honored. What the Times does not explore is how this artistic credential sat alongside the record of a man who continued to orchestrate deadly terrorist operations.

The omissions are telling. In place of these facts, the article substitutes distortion. The Second Intifada — a sustained campaign of suicide bombings and shootings against civilians—is described as having had its “immediate spur” in a “provocative visit” by Ariel Sharon to the Temple Mount, without noting that Yasser Arafat had planned it months earlier. It is characterized as “protests morphing into an armed uprising,” erasing the calculated mass-casualty intent from the outset.

And the timeline matters. During the early 2000s, when Zubeidi was described as the Jenin commander of the Al-Aqsa Martyrs Brigades, Israeli leaders tabled multiple proposals that would have created a Palestinian state: the 2000 Camp David offer, the 2001 Taba talks, and the 2008 Olmert proposal. Each included the vast majority of the West Bank, Gaza, and a capital in eastern Jerusalem. Each was rejected by the Palestinian leadership.

These were not the actions of a man with “no other option.” They were the actions of a man choosing violence over peace, even when peace was on the table.

The profile closes with Zubeidi reflecting that his life as a militant, theater work, and prisoner had “proved futile” because none of it helped to establish a Palestinian state. The effect is to leave readers with the image of a tragic, romantic figure – not an unrepentant mass murderer.

The New York Times did not merely report on Zubeidi. It rehabilitated him. The omissions are deliberate. The distortions are deliberate. And the victims, erased from the record, are once again denied the dignity of truth.

The author is a contributor to HonestReporting, a Jerusalem-based media watchdog with a focus on antisemitism and anti-Israel bias — where a version of this article first appeared.

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