The Covenant that Heals a Broken World

Moshe Attained It, Korach Claimed It, but Pinchas Actualized It

Why did the soul of Moshe Rabbeinu have to leave his mortal body? Admittedly, this is a bit of a convoluted way of asking why Moshe had to die, but since a tzaddik never truly dies, we're using this language to avoid the reader misunderstanding. We're not asking why Moshe wasn't allowed to enter the Land—we know that it was because he failed to sanctify Hashem's name at the rock, striking it twice instead of speaking to it. Granted, he couldn’t enter the Land—but why did he have to die? Couldn't he have continued to live outside the Land? The answer to that question isn't about history or theology. It's about avodah.

The question of Moshe’s passing forces us to examine something fundamental about how spiritual Light is meant to function in the world. Moshe Rabbeinu was the greatest navi who ever lived. He ascended into fire at Har Sinai, received the Torah from Heaven, and brought it down to earth. His entire life was one of total deveikut. Even Hashem testified about Moshe (Bemidbar 12:7): בְּכׇל־בֵּיתִי נֶאֱמָן הוּא (In all My house, he is trusted). And yet, he did not bring the people into Eretz Yisrael. He wasn’t allowed to take part in that turning point of history. Why not? Though the answer appears simple, it conceals profound depth: the בְּרִית שָׁלוֹם [brit shalom, covenant of peace] was not given to Moshe, but to another—Pinchas.

At the end of Parashat Balak and the beginning of Parashat Pinchas, the Torah recounts a grave sin: the men of Israel fell into immorality with the women of Moav and Midian. Zimri ben Salu, a leader from the Tribe of Shimon, publicly brought Cozbi bat Tzur, a Midianite princess, into the camp in open defiance of Moshe and the elders. A deadly plague erupted, killing twenty-four thousand people (Bemidbar 25:9). While others stood paralyzed, unsure of how to respond, Pinchas acted. He took a spear, entered the tent, and impaled them both together. Immediately, the plague ceased. In response, Hashem said to Moshe (Bemidbar 25:12-13):לָכֵן אֱמֹר הִנְנִי נֹתֵן לוֹ אֶת־בְּרִיתִי שָׁלוֹם: וְהָיְתָה לּוֹ וּלְזַרְעוֹ אַחֲרָיו בְּרִית כְּהֻנַּת עוֹלָם תַּחַת אֲשֶׁר קִנֵּא לֵאלֹהָיו וַיְכַפֵּר עַל־בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל (Therefore say: Behold, I give him My [or, 'my'] covenant of peace [brit shalom]. And it shall be for him and for his descendants after him a covenant of eternal kehunah, because he was zealous for his G-d and atoned for B'nei Yisrael).

To understand what's happening here, we need to go back to Moshe's first encounter with Hashem at the burning bush. When Moshe asked, מִי אָנֹכִי—"Who am I, that I should go to Paroh and lead B'nei Yisrael out of Egypt?"—Hashem responded (Shemot 3:12):כִּי־אֶהְיֶה עִמָּךְ וְזֶה־לְּךָ הָאוֹת כִּי אָנֹכִי שְׁלַחְתִּיךָ בְּהוֹצִיאֲךָ אֶת־הָעָם מִמִּצְרַיִם תַּעַבְדוּן אֶת־הָאֱלֹקִים עַל הָהָר הַזֶּה (For I will be with you, and this shall be the sign for you, that it is I Who have sent you: when you bring the people from Egypt, you shall serve G-d on this mountain). But what exactly was the sign that Hashem referred to? The pasuk doesn't explain. According to the Zohar ha-Kadosh, the sign was none other than the very covenant of peace—brit shalom—that was later given to Pinchas. This covenant, a spiritual inheritance of profound depth, was originally Moshe’s.

But what does this actually mean? It means that Hashem gave Moshe the Shechinah Herself, as if in the form of a wife—a relationship of intimate spiritual unity. Moshe would be permitted such closeness with the Divine that the very words of Hashem would issue from his throat. The Ba'al ha-Tanya writes explicitly (Likutei Amarim 34): שְׁכִינָה מְדַבֶּרֶת מִתּוֹךְ גְּרוֹנוֹ שֶׁל מֹשֶׁה (The Shechinah spoke from Moshe's throat). No other navi was granted this level of intimacy—this yichud—with the Ribbono shel Olam. That was the covenant made with Moshe at the bush. It was his, and his alone.

As explained at length in the Zohar ha-Kadosh (Pinchas 232a), the brit shalom given to Pinchas was not something new. It was the very same brit that had originally been given to Moshe at the burning bush. Because of this, Ha-Kadosh, baruch Hu, so to speak, needed Moshe’s permission before transferring it to Pinchas. The Shechinah—the Divine bride—had already been given to Moshe. Since the essence of the Shechinah rested with him, Pinchas could not receive even a partial aspect of it unless Moshe consented—and not merely in his heart, but through his own spoken word. Moshe, the most humble man who ever lived, bore no jealousy. He agreed wholeheartedly that Pinchas should receive a portion of this brit. Yet Hashem insisted: it was not enough for Moshe to agree silently—he had to proclaim it aloud, so that all of Klal Yisrael would hear it. This is the deeper meaning behind the pasuk (Bemidbar 25:12): לָכֵן אֱמֹר הִנְנִי נֹתֵן לוֹ אֶת־בְּרִיתִי שָׁלוֹם (Therefore, say: Behold I am giving him my [not 'My'] brit shalom). The emphasis on 'say' signals that Moshe had to articulate the transfer aloud. Hashem was telling Moshe: You’ve agreed in your heart—now speak it, so that all may know. Moshe complied with great simchah—though not without a deep, personal longing.

But lest we misunderstand, the Zohar explains: וְאִי תֵּימָא דְּאִתְעַבְּרַת מִן מֹשֶׁה לָא. אֶלָּא כְּבוּצִינָא דָּא דְּאַדְלִיקוּ מִינָהּ. דָּא יָהִיב וְאַהֲנֵי וְדָא לָא אִתְגָּרַע מִנָּהּ (And if you say that it [the portion of the Shechinah given to Pinchas] was taken from Moshe—not so. Rather, it is like a flame from which others are lit: it gives and provides benefit, yet it is not diminished).

The Megaleh Amukot writes (Ofan 25): ביקש משה מהקדוש ב"ה כשראה לפנחס שזכה להכניע אף וחמה בשטים ובזה זכה שבאו לו ב' נשמות של נדב ואביהו (Moshe requested of Ha-Kadosh, baruch Hu, when he saw that Pinchas had merited to subdue anger and wrath at Shittim, and through this, he merited that the two souls of Nadav and Avihu came to him). The Megaleh Amukot goes on to explain at length what is only hinted at in these opening words: upon witnessing the immense spiritual elevation granted to Pinchas—specifically, the fusion of the souls of Nadav and Avihu into him as a reward for his unparalleled mesirut nefesh on behalf of B’nei Yisrael—Moshe longed for that very same reward. He yearned for those exalted souls to be joined to him as well.

But if the brit shalom given to Pinchas originally stemmed from Moshe, why did Moshe still seek what Pinchas had received? Didn't he already possess it? The Megaleh Amukot explains that while the spiritual root of the brit shalom was indeed in Moshe, it had not yet been permanently conferred or expressed through him. Moshe carried its potential, but the final, eternal embodiment of that covenant had not yet been actualized. His longing, then, was not for personal elevation, but for the sake of others: to unite with the souls of Nadav and Avihu and complete their tikkun. He sought to become the eternal bearer of the brit shalom, through whom their ascent could be finalized. But Hashem said no. That reward—or more precisely, that spiritual inheritance—would pass to Pinchas.

So why was Moshe denied?

It’s important to clarify what Moshe was truly asking for. This wasn’t about kavod, nor was it rooted in jealousy of Pinchas. And he certainly wasn’t seeking to avoid death for personal benefit. As Chazal teach (Sotah 14a), Moshe pleaded to enter the Land not to enjoy its fruits, but to fulfill the mitzvot dependent on the Land. The same principle applies here: Moshe’s request came from a place of pure longing—to bring the Shechinah all the way down. His desire was to carry the light of Hashem not only into the transcendent heights of revelation, but into the grounded, practical continuity of history.

He wanted to remain. Not just to be the one who brought the light down—but to be the one who preserved it. In essence, Moshe was asking to become what Pinchas would one day become: Eliyahu ha-Navi. The one who does not die. The eternal witness to the brit shalom. The one who accompanies the Shechinah through the unfolding of time, generation after generation.

But he wasn’t granted that role. Why not? R' Nachman gives us the answer (Likutei Moharan I:22):כִּי הַיְרִידָה הִיא תַּכְלִית הָעֲלִיָּה (For the descent is the purpose of the ascent). This phrase is often misunderstood to mean the opposite—that 'the purpose of the descent is the ascent.' But that’s not what R' Nachman says here. He emphasizes the supremacy of the descent. The descent is the goal—not the ascent. This principle changes everything. Spiritual elevation is not the destination. It's only the setup. The true test, and the true purpose, is what comes after: the descent. Think of it like a roller coaster. The thrilling descent is the entire point of the ride—but it only works if you first climb. So too in life: the purpose is to descend. And that’s no small matter. Just consider Nadav and Avihu. They ascended, but they never came back down. The real challenge of life is this: Can we bring the light back down? Can we return from the heights and reenter the mess—with peace and clarity?

Moshe could ascend—no one ascended higher. But his generation wasn’t yet ready to receive the fullness of what he could bring down. The vessels weren’t prepared. When Moshe descended from Sinai, his face shone with Divine light, and the people were afraid to come near him. He had to wear a veil (Shemot 34:33–35). He was above them in every way. His light, though absolutely pure and true, was too elevated to be sustained within the limits of this world. And so, he had to leave.

Pinchas, by contrast, ascended in a different way—through courage, not through prophecy. His greatness was in his descent: into a camp riddled with sin, chutzpah, confusion, and death. He took up a spear, entered the tent, and placed his life, his reputation, and his future on the line. And in doing so, he carried the fire not upward, but downward—into the most broken part of the camp. This act revealed his capacity not just for zeal, but for control. He acted without self-interest. He restored peace without compromising truth. That’s why he was given the brit shalom—an eternal covenant—becoming the vessel Moshe longed to be. Pinchas, who later becomes Eliyahu, doesn’t just become another navi. He becomes the continuation—the living embodiment—of the brit shalom in this world. And that continuity is precisely what Moshe yearned for. He didn’t seek ascent for its own sake—he longed to ascend in order to return. He wanted to be part of the world’s ongoing sanctification. But Hashem said no. His role in history was different.

Before concluding, we must turn our attention to the third figure in this story: Korach. Korach, who rebelled against Moshe and Aharon, also sought the brit. He saw greatness in himself—and he wasn’t entirely wrong. He was a Levi, a carrier of the Aron ha-Kodesh, a man of profound spiritual vision. A true tzaddik. Chazal tell us that through ruach ha-kodesh, Korach saw that Shmuel ha-Navi would descend from him, and he took this as proof that he was destined for eternal greatness (Rashi on Bemidbar 16:7). But he made a fatal mistake. He tried to claim the brit without first purifying the vessel. He reached for the light without preparing to descend with it. And so, he was swallowed alive.

Yet Korach does not vanish from history. The Torah says (Bemidbar 16:33): וַיֵּרְדוּ הֵם וְכׇל־אֲשֶׁר לָהֶם חַיִּים שְׁאֹלָה וַתְּכַס עֲלֵיהֶם הָאָרֶץ וַיֹּאבְדוּ מִתּוֹךְ הַקָּהָל (And they went down, and all that was theirs, alive into She'ol, and the earth covered over them, and they perished from the midst of the assembly). Korach didn't die. He descended alive. He was transformed—yes—but he remained alive. And more than that, he remained active. The Gemara (Bava Batra 74a) teaches that Korach gives testimony: מֹשֶׁה וְתוֹרָתוֹ אֱמֶת וְהֵן בַּדָּאִין (Moshe and his Torah are true, and they [i.e. we] are liars). Korach becomes a witness—a living caution against seizing spiritual greatness before its time. His fall is not his erasure. It is his exile. And his eventual tikkun is hinted at in the words of David ha-Melech (Tehillim 92:13): צַדִּיק כַּתָּמָר יִפְרָח כְּאֶרֶז בַּלְּבָנוֹן יִשְׂגֶּה (The tzaddik will flourish like a date palm; like a cedar in Lebanon he will grow). Chazal reveal a secret: the sofei teivot–the final letters—of צַדִּיק כַּתָּמָר יִפְרָח—spell קֹרַח.

So who is the tzaddik who will one day flourish like a date palm? It is none other than Korach. He will rise again. And in doing so, he will embody the deepest meaning of R' Nachman’s awesome teaching:כִּי הַיְרִידָה הִיא תַּכְלִית הָעֲלִיָּה. Korach descended, but his descent will not be his end.

We are left with three figures. Moshe—who rose higher than anyone, but could not remain. Korach—who reached high without humility and was swallowed alive. And Pinchas—who descended with peace into the most broken place, and became eternal.

And now the question turns to us: What is our avodah?

We live in a generation obsessed with ascent. Everyone wants to transcend—to rise above pain, conflict, and difficulty. But the real test is not whether we can ascend. The test is whether we can descend with what we’ve gained, and bring it into the place that needs it most.

Can we take the holy fire of Torah and bring it into the tent of Zimri? Can we act without ego? Speak without anger? Stay silent when insulted?

That is the brit shalom. And that is the brit that—believe it or not—Hashem is still offering. Not just to rise in inspiration, but to return in strength: ratzo v'shov.