By Rabbi Josh Wander
One of the most remarkable events of recent history took place during the global Corona pandemic. For the first time in modern memory, the gates of Eretz Yisrael were effectively closed. Jews throughout the world who had always assumed that a flight to Israel was just a booking away suddenly found themselves locked out. Many were shocked. Some were outraged. Others simply could not comprehend how such a thing could happen. After all, Israel had always been there, always available, always waiting.
But something fascinating happened during that period. While tourists were prevented from entering, Jews who were making Aliyah were still welcomed. If a Jew was willing to come home permanently, the doors remained open. If he wanted to come for a vacation, a tour, or even a spiritual experience before returning to his comfortable life abroad, the answer was often no.
Perhaps this was more than a public health policy. Perhaps it was a Divine message. Hashem was reminding His people that Eretz Yisrael is not another tourist attraction. It is not a Jewish version of Disney World. It is not Cancun with holy sites. It is not a place where one comes to enjoy the scenery, visit the Kotel, take some photographs, and then return home. Eretz Yisrael is home. The Land was given to the Jewish people not as a vacation destination, but as their inheritance and their destiny. As long as Jews continue to treat it like a place to visit, they are fundamentally misunderstanding its purpose.
This idea sheds new light on this week’s Parshat Shlach. We commonly refer to the twelve leaders sent by Moshe Rabbeinu as the meraglim, the spies. Yet the Torah itself uses a different expression. Again and again, the Torah describes their mission as “לתור את הארץ” — to tour the Land, to scout it out, to explore it. This choice of language is striking and may reveal the deeper nature of their failure.
The central mistake of the ten spies was not a military miscalculation. It was their entire perspective. They approached Eretz Yisrael as tourists rather than as future residents. They looked at the Land from the outside. They analyzed it. They evaluated its strengths and weaknesses. They weighed its risks and rewards. They asked whether it was worth the effort. In essence, they viewed the Land as consumers deciding whether they wished to purchase a product rather than heirs preparing to claim an inheritance.
Yehoshua and Kalev saw something entirely different. They understood that the Jewish people were not being asked whether they liked the Land. They were not being invited to evaluate it as a destination. They were being commanded to inherit it. The question was never whether the Land was convenient. The question was whether they were prepared to commit themselves to it. While the ten spies toured the Land, Yehoshua and Kalev were already envisioning how to possess it.
That distinction made all the difference. A tourist asks whether the destination serves his needs. A resident asks what is required to build a life there. A tourist focuses on comfort and convenience. A resident accepts responsibility and commitment. A tourist is always prepared to leave. A resident understands that this is home.
The tragedy of the meraglim was that after witnessing the miracles of the Exodus, standing at Har Sinai, and experiencing Divine protection in the wilderness, they still viewed Eretz Yisrael through the eyes of visitors. They had not yet internalized that the Jewish people belonged in the Land. Their failure was not simply a lack of faith in Hashem’s ability to defeat giants. It was a failure to recognize their own identity as a people destined to live in Eretz Yisrael.
Perhaps the same challenge confronts our generation. Every year hundreds of thousands of Jews visit Israel. They come for vacations. They come for programs. Birthright. They come for yeshiva and seminary. They spend months or even years studying Torah in the Land. They walk its streets, pray at its holy sites, and speak passionately about their love for Israel. Then many board a plane and return to what they call home.
The language we often use reveals more than we realize. How many students spend a year in Israel only to speak about “going back home” afterward? How many families return from an inspiring visit and say, “We can’t wait to come back next year”? The very phrase suggests that Israel remains a destination rather than a permanent reality. Yet if Eretz Yisrael is truly the inheritance that Hashem promised to Avraham, Yitzchak, and Yaakov, perhaps we need to ask ourselves a difficult question. Are we viewing the Land through the eyes of Yehoshua and Kalev, or through the eyes of the ten spies?
The lesson of Parshat Shlach is not merely about a mistake that occurred thousands of years ago. It is about how we see Eretz Yisrael today. Do we see it as a place to visit, or a place to build? Do we see it as a destination, or as our destiny? Do we approach the Land as tourists looking for inspiration before returning to exile, or as Jews preparing to take our place in the unfolding redemption of our people?
The pandemic briefly revealed a reality that many Jews had never considered. Access to the Land is not something to be taken for granted. Yet during that same period, the message was equally clear. Those who were willing to come home were welcomed. The gates may have been closed to tourists, but they remained open to returning children.
Perhaps Hashem was reminding us of a simple truth. Eretz Yisrael is not waiting for visitors. It is waiting for its children. The mistake of the meraglim was treating the Land as something to be observed from the outside rather than embraced from within. The greatness of Yehoshua and Kalev was that they understood that Eretz Yisrael was not merely a place to see. It was a place to live. The time has come for us to learn the same lesson and finally stop treating our homeland as a destination and start treating it as home.