Israel With Arky

05/09/2026

Rosh Hashanah is coming.

And maybe there’s something you need to hear before it gets here:

Hashem wants you close.

Not the version of you that wears a different kippah.
Not the version that dresses differently.
Not the version that fits perfectly into someone else’s box.

You.

Teshuva literally means return.

It’s not about becoming somebody else.
It’s about coming home.

Last night, at the first Ashkenazi Selichot in our little shul in Tekoa, I looked around the room.

Different kippot. No kippot. Hair covered. Hair uncovered. Jews from completely different backgrounds and different places in life.

But we were all singing the same words.

All turning toward the same Hashem.

That, to me, is what this time of year is about.

You don’t have to wait until you’re “religious enough.”
You don’t have to change your clothes before you walk through the door.
You don’t have to figure everything out.

Just come closer.

Talk to Hashem.
Sing to Him.
Open a siddur.
Learn something.
Do one more mitzvah.
Take one step toward Him.

“Return to Me, and I will return to you.”

This Rosh Hashanah, don’t worry so much about which box you belong in.

Just come home. ❤️

20/08/2026

I heard something recently that stuck with me:

You only get about 15 summers with your kids.

For some families, summer means camp. For others, it means travel, staying close to home, or just finding ways to survive the chaos 😅. There’s no right way to do it.

But for me, that number hit hard.

So I made a decision: I’m going to block off days from touring every summer to go do crazy stuff with my kids.

Jump into springs. Ride bikes through the mountains. Crawl through caves. Get filthy. Get lost. Explore places most people never see. Push them a little outside their comfort zones—and probably myself too.

Because these aren’t just adventures.

They’re time together.
They’re confidence being built.
They’re a connection to family, to Hashem, and to this incredible land we get to call home.
And they’re memories I hope we’ll still be laughing about when my kids have kids of their own.

And that’s one of the things I love most about traveling Israel as a family. A trip here can give you all of it at once—family time, adventure, Jewish connection, confidence, and memories that actually mean something.

The summers are going to pass whether we like it or not.

So while they still think doing crazy stuff with Dad is cool…

We’re going to do the crazy stuff. ❤️🇮🇱

16/08/2026

The “status quo” has somehow become sacred.

We’re constantly warned that if Jews dare change the status quo at our holiest places — at the Temple Mount, at Ma’arat HaMachpelah — the Middle East will explode. Riots. War. Maybe World War III.

But here’s the problem:

We already changed it.

There was a time when a Jew moving his lips in prayer on the Temple Mount could be detained.

Today, Jews pray openly. We bow. We daven in minyanim. We say Shema. We connect to Hashem in ways that would have seemed impossible not long ago.

At Ma’arat HaMachpelah, the “status quo” once meant Jews were forbidden from entering the building at all. For centuries, Jews were humiliated and stopped at the seventh step.

That status quo changed too.

And what happened?

The world didn’t end.

Jews simply gained more freedom to worship, more dignity, and more access to the places that have been at the heart of our faith for thousands of years.

The status quo is not holy.

Our holy places are holy.

And sometimes “preserving the status quo” is just a respectable-sounding way of saying that Jews should accept restrictions today because Jews accepted them yesterday.

We don’t need to be reckless. But we also shouldn’t be terrified of change simply because someone warns us that Jewish freedom might upset people.

History has shown us something very different:

When Jews refuse to accept unjust restrictions, yesterday’s “dangerous change” has a funny way of becoming tomorrow’s new status quo.

07/08/2026

This week’s parsha, Re’eh, brings us back to one of the most dramatic moments in the Torah:

The blessings on Har Gerizim.
The curses on Har Eival.

And Moshe gives instructions for what is to happen when the Jewish people finally cross the Jordan and enter the Land.

Build an altar.
Bring offerings.
Write the words of the Torah on stones.
Stand on these mountains and renew the covenant between Am Yisrael, Hashem, and this Land.

And then Yehoshua does exactly that.

This video was taken in 2022, standing beside the ancient altar on Har Eival identified by archaeologist Adam Zertal as the altar of Yehoshua.

Back then, getting here was an operation.

An armed convoy.
Security coordination.
A place in the heart of our homeland that Jews could barely reach.

And today?

The reality is changing.

Because of the unbelievable dedication of Jewish shepherds and farmers who have established farms throughout these hills, roads and areas that were once inaccessible are opening again.

These men aren’t just raising sheep.

They are holding the land.

They are creating a Jewish presence in places where, for years, Jews were afraid—or unable—to walk.

And because of them, the rest of us can return.

We can stand on Har Eival.
We can look across toward Har Gerizim.
We can open a Tanach and read the words that happened right here.

That is what I love so much about this Land.

The Torah isn’t a story about somewhere far away.

It happened here.

On these mountains.
In these valleys.
Along these roads.

And after thousands of years, the Jewish people are coming home and learning those stories again—not only from books, but with our own feet.

So much gratitude to the shepherds and farmers quietly dedicating their lives to making that possible.

Re’eh — “See.”

Sometimes you have to actually stand there to understand what the Torah has been telling us all along. 🇮🇱

06/08/2026

Yesterday, I lost an old army friend.

Harel Birenstock was killed in Lebanon.

His daughter and my daughter are best friends.

I can’t stop thinking about how in a single moment, one little girl lost the man who was her entire world.

Harel wasn’t just someone who wore a uniform.

He lived it.

From the day I knew him, he poured everything he had into serving the Jewish people. The army wasn’t just a job—it was his calling. He constantly pushed himself to become a better soldier, a better commander, a better leader. He climbed the ranks because excellence wasn’t something he talked about. It was simply who he was.

There are people who serve because they have to.

Harel served because he believed protecting Am Yisrael was one of the greatest privileges a person could have.

And yesterday, he gave everything.

There is a wife who will never again hear his voice when he walks through the front door.

There is a daughter who will grow up hearing stories about her father instead of making new memories with him.

There are friends trying to make sense of a world that suddenly feels emptier.

To my Jewish brothers and sisters in America:

When you see another headline about another fallen soldier, remember that behind every name is an entire universe.

A family.

Children.

Friends.

Dreams that will never be fulfilled.

These men and women are not fighting only for the people who happen to live within Israel’s borders. They stand on the front lines for the future of the Jewish people.

If you’ve been thinking about coming to Israel, come.

If you’ve been waiting to strengthen your connection to your people, don’t wait.

Call your family here. Pray for our soldiers. Teach your children to love this land and this nation. Wear your Judaism proudly.

Because while oceans separate us, our destiny has always been shared.

Harel understood that.

He gave his entire life to it.

And in the end, he gave his life for it.

May we be worthy of the future he died defending.

31/07/2026

There are places in Eretz Yisrael that don’t just tell our story—they are our story.

Herod’s Pool in Patzael is one of them.

For decades, this ancient spring sat beyond where most Jews would ever dream of going. It became another place we spoke about in the past tense, another chapter in a history book.

Today, Jewish shepherds, families, hikers, and soldiers are returning.

Not because someone handed it back to us.
Because Jews showed up.

This is how redemption has always looked in our land—not all at once, but one spring, one path, one footstep at a time.

To swim in these waters isn’t just a fun adventure. It’s to reconnect with the landscape our ancestors knew, to breathe life back into places that were almost forgotten, and to remind ourselves that the story of the Jewish people in Eretz Yisrael is still being written.

Every Jew who visits strengthens the connection.
Every family that comes turns history into the present.
Every child who jumps into these waters grows up knowing that Judea and the Jordan Valley are not distant biblical places—they are home.

The return to Herod’s Pool isn’t just about reclaiming a spring.

It’s about reclaiming memory.
Reclaiming presence.
Reclaiming our responsibility to know, love, and walk the Land of Israel.

Am Yisrael isn’t just returning to history.

We’re making it.

28/07/2026

26/07/2026

There are places in Eretz Yisrael that, until very recently, most Jews simply didn’t go.

Not because they were far away.
Not because they weren’t beautiful.
But because they were considered too dangerous.

And then something changed.

Jewish shepherds began returning to these hills.

Not with hotels or visitor centers.
With sheep. With dirt under their fingernails. With an incredible determination to live on, protect, and reconnect with the land.

And slowly, places that had disappeared from the Jewish map are becoming accessible again.

Ancient springs.
Hidden valleys.
Corners of Binyamin and Shomron that most Israelis have driven past their entire lives without realizing what was just over the hill.

And now—we’re swimming in them.

There’s something incredibly powerful about jumping into a spring in a place you were once told, “Jews don’t go there.”

Because Eretz Yisrael isn’t only something we read about, pray about, or look at from the highway.

It’s something we walk.
Something we explore.
Something we build a relationship with.

Sometimes reclaiming our connection to this land looks dramatic.

And sometimes…

it looks like a shepherd, a flock of sheep, an ancient spring—

and a bunch of Jews jumping into the water. 🇮🇱💦

23/07/2026

For 2,000 years, Jews cried for this place.

From Jerusalem to Babylon.
From Spain to Poland.
From Morocco to Auschwitz.

We faced this mountain when we prayed.
We mentioned it under the chuppah.
We left our homes unfinished because it was destroyed.
Every Tisha B’Av, we sat on the floor and cried for it.

And then came a generation that could come back.

To stand where our ancestors stood.
To bow where they bowed.
To cry where they cried.
And to scream from the depths of our souls:

HASHEM IS KING.

This isn’t about a mosque.

It’s about what was here long before it —
and what never disappeared from the Jewish heart.

The Kodesh HaKodashim.
The beating heart of the Jewish people.

Our grandparents could only dream of Jerusalem.
Their grandparents could only pray toward it.

We get to stand here.

And sometimes you suddenly realize the weight of that privilege…

and the only thing left to do is cry.

ה׳ מֶלֶךְ. ה׳ מָלָךְ. ה׳ יִמְלֹךְ לְעוֹלָם וָעֶד.

We came home.

23/07/2026

Putting on Tefillin on Tisha B’Av… on Har HaBayit.

And yes, I was nervous.

Not because of the Tefillin. Because I promised my wife I wouldn’t get arrested on Tisha B’Av. 😬

The absurdity of the restrictions on Jewish religious expression on Judaism’s holiest site is hard to explain.

Only a few years ago, a Jew could be detained for moving his lips in prayer.

Then quiet prayer became possible.

Then bowing.

Then Minyanim.

And now, Tefillin.

Things that once sounded radical—or could get you removed from the Mount—are slowly becoming normal.

That didn’t happen because people politely accepted the status quo. It happened because Jews kept showing up, kept pushing the boundaries, and kept demanding the right to pray on Har HaBayit.

So when someone tells you, “You can’t do that on Har HaBayit”…

Ask them again in five years.

Today’s “illegal” can become tomorrow’s mainstream—but only if we keep pushing for more Jewish religious freedom on the Mount.

One boundary at a time.

And preferably without me having to explain an arrest to my wife. 😅