Few aspects of human relationships are more uncomfortable than criticism, whether giving it or receiving it. Yet we cannot grow without it.

If we are to become better people, we have to recognise our mistakes, learn from them, and change. The question is not whether criticism has a place in our lives, but whether we know how to give it and receive it well.

This week's parsha, Devarim, begins with one of the Torah's most important moments of correction. As Moshe prepares to take leave of the Jewish people, he reflects on forty years in the desert and offers them words they need to hear, not necessarily words they want to hear.

Drawing on Parshat Devarim, Pirkei Avot and the example of our greatest leaders, the Chief Rabbi explores one of life's most difficult questions: how does telling someone they're wrong become an act of love rather than an act of harm?

Key Questions

• If speaking up risks the relationship, is silence really the safer choice, or just the easier one?

• Can criticism be an act of friendship, or is that always self-justification?

• Why does Moshe correct the people without ever naming them?

• What does a person have to become before they're allowed to correct someone else?

• Is the goal of a hard conversation to be right, or to make someone else greater?

We instinctively look for the quickest most efficient path from where we are to where we want to be.

But life rarely unfolds in straight lines. It twists, detours and doubles back, leaving us wondering whether we've lost time along the way.

This week's parsha opens with a list: forty-two stops, forty years, for a journey Rashi says should have taken eleven days. Rashi also brings a midrash: God recounting each stop is compared not to an accounting, but to a parent narrating every stage of a sick child's slow recovery. Not a report, but something closer to a love letter.

Drawing on Pirkei Avot, the Chief takes that same tenderness and turns it toward our own lives. "Efficiency is everything in commerce," he says. "But the human being is not a product." The years you thought were setting you back may have been the years that were shaping you most.

Every stop got written down, because every stop was precious enough to be remembered.

Key Questions

• What if the years you thought were setting you back were actually shaping you?

• Is someone who takes forty years to learn something behind, or exactly on time?

• Why do the things that matter most refuse to be rushed?

• Can you trust that none of it was wasted?

After countless hours of searching, I thought the picture was complete. We had found the heart of Avot - the Torah of who you become, the third pillar of Jewish life - and mapped it across the whole tractate. Everything felt like it made sense.

Then I noticed something I couldn't explain.

Woven in among all the mishnayos about character and Torah learning, are mishnayos about action. About mitzvahs. About the imperative to do. Not study is the main thing, but deeds. Run to a mitzvah. Be careful even with the lighter commandments.

Our entire theory had been built on the idea that Avot is not about what you do. It is about who you become. So how do these fit?

The clue comes from a single mishnah, of a tree with great branches and shallow roots. And what the Maharal says about it begins to pull the entire picture - Avot, the 613 commandments, the whole of Torah - into a relationship I hadn't seen before.

This is Part 4 of the journey. The moment the pieces stopped being separate and began to form something whole.

KEY QUESTIONS

· If Avot is about who you become - not what you do - why does it keep insisting on the importance of action?

· What does it mean to have brilliant branches but shallow roots? And what does that say about a person who understands everything but hasn't lived it?

· Is there a version of Jewish life where the mitzvahs you keep and the person you are becoming are actually the same project?

· What would it mean to do a mitzvah and ask not only "did I fulfil this?" but "what is this doing to me?"

· If Avot is the beating heart of the entire system of Torah, what changes about how you understand everything else you do?

The theory was beautiful. The Maharal, the Vilna Gaon, the Rambam, all pointing to the same conclusion: that Pirkei Avot is the third pillar of Torah, the book of who you become. But where was that picture actually visible in the text?

In Part 3 of his series, the Chief opens his notebook, and lays out all 126 mishnayos of Avot. He counts. He categorises. And slowly, what had been there all along starts to come into focus.

Two themes dominate. And under both, a deeper claim about how we come to see the world.

Drawing on the Maharal, the Vilna Gaon, the Rambam, and Avot d'Rabbi Natan's surprising claim, this is the moment in the journey when the pieces finally begin to fit together.

Key Questions

• What changes when the way you see the world changes?

• What had been hiding in plain sight in Avot for 2000 years?

• Why is Avot the only tractate of the Mishnah structured chronologically rather than thematically?

• If Torah learning is one of the 613 commandments, why does it appear so heavily in a book that isn't about commandments?

This episode is the next stage of my personal journey to discover the soul of Pirkei Avot. It is a search for what lies at the heart of the human being, and what Pirkei Avot empowers us to become.

In the previous episode, I shared a discovery that had taken me years to reach. I thought I had finally discovered the central idea of Pirkei Avot. I assumed, at that point, that the journey was almost over. Then I realized that sometimes a breakthrough is not the end of a journey, but the beginning of one.

In pursuit of a deeper understanding, I opened the Rambam - Maimonides - who wrote an eight-chapter introduction to Pirkei Avot. An introduction that is longer than the book itself. If anyone could confirm what I had found and show me what it meant, it was this great sage.

Instead, the mystery deepened.

KEY QUESTIONS

· If you stripped away everything you do - every obligation, every role, every action - what would be left? What are you, underneath all of that?

· The Rambam says we have free choice not just over our actions but over our character and intellect. What does it actually mean to choose who you are?

· What is the difference between a person who does good things and a person who has become good?

· If the core of who we are is our character and understanding, why does so much of Jewish life feel focused on what we do?

· What would it mean to take your inner life as seriously as your obligations?

I spent years learning it, teaching it, writing about it. Then one day I stopped and realised I had never asked what Pirkei Avot actually is.

What I found changed how I understand almost everything else.

Many of us grew up with Pirkei Avot. Its teachings feel like something we have always known. If not now, when? Acquire yourself a friend. The world stands on three things. There is a warmth and familiarity to this book that is unlike anything else in Jewish life.

And that familiarity, I have come to realise, is precisely what hid the question from me.

After more than two decades as Chief Rabbi — after years of giving shiurim on this text, writing commentary, serving as general editor of an encyclopedic work on Avot — I stopped one day and found I could not answer the simplest question about it.

What is this book?

Not what does it say. What is it? The Mishnah is an elaboration of Jewish law — more than sixty tractates, each one unpacking what a Jew is obligated to do. Every single tractate deals with commandments. Except Avot. Avot contains no law, no ritual, no halakhic ruling of any kind.

So why is it in the Mishnah? Why did the greatest compiler in Jewish history put this book there, among all the laws — and why have we been reading it every Shabbos for over a thousand years without ever finding that strange?

This is the question I could not let go of. And the answer — traced through the Maharal, the Maharasha, and the Vilna Gaon, three towering minds writing centuries apart who arrived, independently, at the same conclusion — turns out to be unlike anything I had expected.

This episode is where that journey begins.

KEY QUESTIONS

· How can a book feel deeply familiar your whole life, and still contain a question you have never thought to ask?

· What does it mean that the one tractate in the Mishnah without a single law is also the one people love most?

· Is there something Avot has been doing all along that we never had a name for?

· What would it mean to discover, after decades of learning, that you had never quite asked the right question about a text you thought you knew?

· If the greatest minds in Jewish thought all arrived at the same unexpected answer about Avot - what is it that they saw?

We are always looking for something new. A new place to go, a view we haven't seen, a fresh experience to inspire the spirit. There is a deep restlessness in being human, and no superficial experience ever quite settles it.

In this week's talk for Shavuot - the festival whose name means weeks, the festival of the journey - the Chief Rabbi opens with this restlessness, and what it tells us about who we are.

Drawing on Pirkei Avot's image of the human being as a traveller from another world, on the Maharal's reading of 'Adam' as pure potential, on the strange Mishnah about those who walk and learn, and on the Chief's own observation that animals don't get bored, this is a talk about a profound psychological need that we have, and why no destination ever quite scratches the itch.

What are we searching for, and where do we find it?

Key Questions

• Why is the human need for change so deep, and so easily disastrous?

• What does it mean to be a traveller from another world?

• Why are we never quite satisfied by the new things we find?

• What is the difference between travelling outwardly and travelling inwardly?

We all reach for structure. Routines, habits, the small repetitions that hold a day together. Without them, life can feel like chaos.

In this week's talk on the Parsha of Bamidbar, the Torah describes the Israelite camp arranged with extraordinary order around the Mishkan, every tribe in its place. The Chief Rabbi argues that structure is not just helpful. It is one of the deepest psychological and spiritual needs of the human being. The architecture beneath every meaningful life.

But there's a problem. Too much structure crushes the soul. Where does the joy go? The spontaneity? The love?

Drawing on the Maharal, on Rabbi Yerucham Levovitz's image of pearls held by a string, on the Mishnah's strange instruction to pray with structure but not as routine, and on the very word Siddur, the Chief Rabbi traces the paradox at the heart of Torah, and the way it holds structure and passion in tension.

And asks what holds a life together, and what sets it free.

• Why do we need structure to feel alive?

• Can routine crush the very thing it's meant to protect?

• What is the difference between Torah as structure and Torah as rote?

• How does the same Mishnah tell us to pray with order, and yet not by rote?

Something astounding has just happened in America.

In an official presidential proclamation marking the 250th anniversary of the United States, the President has called on Jewish Americans to observe a national Shabbat — from sunset Friday 15 May to nightfall Saturday 16 May.

In over 3,300 years of Jewish history, no head of state has ever officially recognised Shabbat in this way and called on Jews across an entire nation to keep it. Never before. Not in America. Not anywhere.

In this address, Chief Rabbi Warren Goldstein — founder of the global Shabbat Project — calls on every Jewish American to answer the proclamation. To rally every family, every community, every Shabbos table. To make this Shabbat a moment of unity, pride, and Jewish connection across the United States.

Above politics. Shabbat is a gift. And this is the moment to open it.

We live in an age of headlines.

One event follows another so quickly. Wars and crises. History can begin to feel fragmented and almost impossible to understand.

But the Torah asks us to step back and see something larger.

In this week's talk on the Parsha of Behar-Bechukotai, the Torah confronts us with one of the most difficult questions in Jewish thought: how do we understand suffering, history, and the unfolding story of humanity itself?

Drawing on Pirkei Avot, the Maharsha, the Rambam, and the broader sweep of Jewish history, the Chief Rabbi argues that current events have a shape, even when they feel like chaos.

Key Questions

• Are we living through random events, or part of a larger story?

• What changes when history stops feeling random?

• What does it mean to see yourself as part of history, rather than merely watching it?

• How do ordinary lives shape the moral direction of the world?