Live niggunim, a Carduner melody, and a short, fiery teaching: Rav Shlomo Katz opens Eretz Ḥefeẓ and Orot to frame the avodah of Yom Ha’atzmaut. Drawing on Rav Kook’s language, he argues it’s not merely harder, but essentially impossible, to be fully faithful to our holiest visions in ḥutz la’aretz; the avira d’Eretz Yisrael empowers those sparks to become deeds.
What’s the avodah of Yom Ha’atzmaut? Beyond the flags and barbecues, Rav Shlomo Katz opens Tehillim 107—“Hodu laHashem ki tov, ki le’olam chasdo”—to uncover the inner work of the day: cultivating awareness of the miracles we’re living through right now.
Drawing parallels between Yetziat Mitzrayim and the modern return to Eretz Yisrael, Rav Shlomo explains that just as we retell the Exodus every year, we must also learn, teach, and feel the miracle of 1948 and everything that’s unfolded since. This isn’t only about gratitude. It’s about recognition.
With heartfelt stories, laughter, and prayer, he invites us to step into Tehillim’s words—“ומארצות קבצם ממזרח וממערב מצפון ומים”—and realize: David HaMelech was writing about us.
n this riveting shiur, Rav Shlomo Katz opens one of Rav Kook’s earliest and most passionate writings — his 1907 Kol Koreh (“Call to Come Home” from Jaffa) — and asks: Would anything need to be changed if we sent this same invitation today?
Rav Shlomo reads through Rav Kook’s thunderous proclamation, line by line, together with his students: “Come to Eretz Yisrael, pleasant brothers and sisters… save your souls and the souls of your generations.” What begins as a century-old letter unfolds into a mirror for our own times — where love for Jews outside Israel, fear of sounding “pushy,” and the deep longing for home all meet.
Through laughter, honesty, and tears, Rav Shlomo explores how Rav Kook’s words cut through excuses, politics, and guilt, offering not condemnation but chesed: a love that believes in Klal Yisrael’s destiny to return home and remove the zuhama — the spiritual fog — left by the meraglim.
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Rav Shlomo Katz opens Tehillim’s promise—“Atah takum, terachem Tzion… ki va mo’ed”—and asks: when does the time of geulah actually arrive? Drawing on the Kuzari and the Or HaChaim, he answers with a heart-level call: redemption awakens when we yearn—takh’lit hakisuf—and when we cherish every stone and speck of dust of Eretz Yisrael. This shiur reframes Yom HaAtzmaut’s miracle not as a date on a calendar, but as a lived return to our Father’s Shabbos table—home, belonging, and song. Rav Shlomo urges us to replace judgment with love, guilt with longing, and to daven to actually feel the land’s holiness.
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In this passionate and deeply relevant shiur, Rav Shlomo Katz confronts one of the most overlooked mitzvot of our generation — becoming loving, articulate spokespeople for the holiness of the Land of Israel.
Amid the emotional weight of Yom HaShoah, Yom HaZikaron, and Yom HaAtzmaut, Rav Shlomo turns to Rav Kook’s writings to reveal that much of the world’s spiritual “exile” stems from our failure to speak about the beauty, wisdom, and kedusha of Eretz Yisrael. The tikkun for the sin of the meraglim, he explains, is not more politics or defense. It’s teshuvat hamishkal: learning to speak about the Land with awe, gratitude, and love.
Through heartfelt discussion, Rav Shlomo challenges listeners to see the holiness of daily life here — not by putting down chutz la’aretz, but by raising our awareness of the sacred ground beneath us. True connection, he says, requires prayer: to feel the Land’s holiness, not just live on it.
Rav Shlomo speaks honestly about the paradox of Yom HaAtzmaut: longing for Mashiach now while learning to recognize Hashem’s “little-by-little” geulah. Drawing on Rav Moshe Soloveitchik and Rav Chaim Druckman (citing the Ran’s expansion of “Tzipita l’yeshuah b’yamecha?”), he asks: do we expect redemption with our days through our lived choices and perspective?
With Rav Kook’s 1921 call for ezrahut Eretz Yisrael as backdrop, he contrasts our modern impulse to critique with the gratitude due after 2,000 years of hester panim. 1948, he argues, lifted a veil—Hashem saying “I still want you.” From there, Rav Shlomo frames Yom HaAtzmaut as a deeply religious day of Hallel, partnership, and responsibility: to peel away the remaining layers through song, love of Am Yisrael, and active sanctification of the moment.
In the most emotionally charged week of the Jewish year—from Yom HaZikaron into Yom HaAtzmaut—Rav Shlomo Katz explores Rav Kook’s vision of loving Eretz Yisrael without judgment and with purpose. Centering a 1921 letter, he unpacks Rav Kook’s call to ezrahut Eretz Yisrael (taking legal citizenship) as an act of hodaa—openly “owning” our bond with the Land like Yosef HaTzadik did—rather than keeping Israel as a distant concept.
Along the way, Rav Shlomo speaks frankly about the old debates (Hallel? with/without beracha?), the modern pride/problem of “nationalism,” and why numbers and presence still matter.
Rav Shlomo opens with a live, musical Hallel and a heart-level question: “What am I doing here?”
Drawing from the Baal HaTanya, Ulla, the Ramban, Sefer Charedim, and Rebbe Nachman, he frames Eretz Yisrael as the soul’s return to a mother’s embrace—cheik em—and invites a deeper cheshbon nefesh about love of the Land, aliyah, and the mesirut nefesh it takes to truly “acquire” Israel.
Dedicated to the memory of Ari Yehoshua ben Rav Shlomo Menachem HaLevi (Ari Weiss), this episode blends niggun, Torah, and real-world courage into a call to live with more fire, love, and gratitude in the Land of Eternal Comfort.