Zionism is one of the most debated—and most misunderstood—ideas of our time.

To some, it is a political movement. To others, a historical necessity. And today, it has become a word of accusation.

But if we return to the Torah, and to the questions raised in this week’s reading Behar and Bechukotai, a deeper and more demanding understanding begins to emerge—one that challenges not only how Zionism is defined, but how it is lived.

Zionism is often defined as a 19th-century political movement. That definition is incomplete.

Zionism is the return of the Jewish people to their ancient land, as promised in the Torah, and the re-establishment of Jewish sovereignty in that land. It did not begin with Herzl—it began with Abraham, continued through the Exodus, and was lived in the ancient Kingdoms of Israel. Even through exile and dispersion, the connection endured, sustained by a continuous return—physical, spiritual, and historical. At its core, Zionism is embedded in a system of laws and values in the Torah, designed to be lived fully in the Land of Israel.

Zionism is the return of the Jewish people to their ancient land, as promised in the Torah, and the re-establishment of Jewish sovereignty in that land. It did not begin with Herzl—it began with Abraham, continued through the Exodus, and was lived in the ancient Kingdoms of Israel. Even through exile and dispersion, the connection endured, sustained by a continuous return—physical, spiritual, and historical. At its core, Zionism is embedded in a system of laws and values in the Torah, designed to be lived fully in the Land of Israel.

The modern movement did not create Zionism; it gave political expression to an ancient covenant.

But this leads to a deeper question—one that emerges powerfully from Parshat Behar.

Why does the Torah require a land at all?

Parsha Behar opens with a striking instruction:

“Speak to the children of Israel and say to them: when you come into the land that I am giving you, the land shall observe a Sabbath to the Lord.”

The Torah does not begin its vision of life in the land with ownership, conquest, or even settlement—but with restraint. Before the people are told how to cultivate the land, they are told that the land itself must rest.

This is a profound shift in perspective. The land is not merely a possession; it is a trust. It........

© The Times of Israel (Blogs)