Ask a Jew to name the greatest expression of G-d's love for the Jewish people, and the answer might be the Exodus, the giving of the Torah, or our survival through centuries of persecution.
But this week's Haftarah, taken from Malachi 1:1-2:7, points to something else: Eretz Yisrael.
The prophet opens with a declaration from Hashem: "I have loved you, says the Lord." The Jewish people respond with a startling question: "How have You loved us?" (Malachi 1:2).
After exile and destruction, they want to know where G-d's love can be seen.
Hashem answers by referring to the brothers at the heart of this week's Parsha: "Was not Esav a brother to Yaakov? ... Yet I loved Yaakov" (Malachi 1:2).
What does that love mean?
Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki, 1040-1105) offers an explanation that is extraordinary. Commenting on the words "I loved Yaakov," he writes that Hashem gave him "a desirable land," invoking Jeremiah's description of Eretz Yisrael as a land coveted by the nations (Jeremiah 3:19).
For Rashi, the proof of G-d's love is the gift of Eretz Yisrael.
Not wealth. Not military strength. Not political power.
The Land itself.
Indeed, the same message emerges from Parshat Toldot.
When famine strikes, Yitzchak considers leaving Canaan for Egypt, just as Avraham had done. But Hashem commands him: "Do not go down to Egypt ... Sojourn in this land, and I will be with you and bless you" (Genesis 26:2-3).
G-d could have promised to protect Yitzchak wherever he chose to live. Instead, He tells him to stay and immediately reaffirms the promise of the land to his descendants.
Rashi, citing the Midrash, explains that because Yitzchak had been sanctified through the Akeidah, living outside Eretz Yisrael was not fitting for him.
The land, then, is not merely a place where Jews happen to live. It is bound up with our identity, our obligations and our relationship with G-d.
That is something the world increasingly seems determined to forget.
We hear endless arguments about borders, diplomacy and international resolutions. Those questions matter. But they are not where the Jewish people's connection to Eretz Yisrael began!
It did not begin in 1948. It did not begin with the Balfour Declaration in 1917. And it did not arise because Jews fleeing persecution needed somewhere to go.
Our connection began with the promises made to Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov. It was sustained through nearly two thousand years of exile by Jews who prayed toward Jerusalem, mourned the Temple's destruction, and proclaimed at the Passover Seder, "Next year in Jerusalem."
Those prayers were not for an abstract symbol. They were for a real place, with real cities, hills and valleys, to which the Jewish people never ceased to belong.
There is, however, a warning in the Haftarah that we should not overlook.
Malachi addressed Jews who had returned from Babylonian exile. Yet they still asked, "How have You loved us?" They were taking the blessing of return for granted.
Can we be certain that we are any different?
For generations, our ancestors dreamed of what we can now do: walk through Jerusalem, pray at the Western Wall, build Jewish communities and raise Jewish children in the land of our forefathers.
The State of Israel faces serious challenges, and its leaders are not above criticism. But neither its imperfections nor the controversies surrounding it should diminish our gratitude for the restoration of Jewish life and sovereignty in our ancestral homeland.
Rashi reminds us that Eretz Yisrael is not simply an asset to be defended or a political cause to be argued over. It is a manifestation of Hashem's love.
And when others seek to portray Jews as foreigners in their own land, we should remember that our bond to Eretz Yisrael is older than the states, institutions and resolutions that now presume to judge it.
The question in Malachi was, "How have You loved us?"
The answer is written across the hills of Judea and the streets of Jerusalem.
We have only to recognize the gift - and refuse to take it for granted.