Everyone Thinks They Know the Jeffrey Epstein Story. Almost Everyone’s Wrong.
Why Does Israel Keep Getting Dragged Into Jeffrey Epstein Stories?
“I am the first, and I am the last, and beside Me there is no God.” [Isaiah 44:6] Aleph to Tav is not poetry; it is the architecture of reality, the entire sweep of creation held inside one Breath, one Will, one Sovereignty. His Oneness is not a created oneness that can be counted, divided, or compared, but an absolute singularity unlike anything in the world, as the halachah itself establishes. [Mishneh Torah, Yesodei HaTorah 1:7] “Unto thee it was shown, that thou mightest know that HaShem, He is God; there is none else beside Him.” [Deuteronomy 4:35] And when the Navi says, “Who hath created these?” [Isaiah 40:26] the question is not information—it is awakening, and the same verse answers with precision: He “bringeth out their host by number: He calleth them all by names,” meaning not only that the many were made, but that each “these” is personally held, numbered, and named by the One. [Isaiah 40:26] Mi is “Who,” Eleh is “these,” the spread-out multiplicity of stars, faces, moments, choices, and outcomes, and the answer is not a concept but a Name: Elohim, the God Who forms, measures, limits, and orders the many without ever becoming many Himself. [Genesis 1:1] Chazal already frame this Name as the language of measured din that makes a world possible, and as the Torah unfolds, that measured governance is joined with rachamim so the world can endure without breaking. [Rashi on Genesis 1:1; Bereishit Rabbah 12:15] “There is none beside Me” means there is no independent life-source beside Him, no private kingdom, no self-made self, no separate throne, no second origin. This is why the mitzvah that Israel breathes twice a day is not merely a declaration but a yichud, a binding of consciousness: “Hear, O Israel: HaShem our God, HaShem is One.” [Deuteronomy 6:4]
And the Zohar dares to say the quiet part out loud: Mi and Eleh are not only words in a verse; they are the way the One allows “these” to appear without surrendering His Oneness. “He desired to reveal Himself and to be called ELOHIM … and created Eleh.” [Zohar, Prologue, ch. 4] Mi remains the hidden “Who,” Eleh becomes the revealed “these,” and Elohim is the joining—oneness clothing itself in lawful multiplicity, the Infinite allowing finitude without becoming finite. In the language of Torat HaPenimiyut, Mi is associated with the hidden height of Binah (the “Who” that cannot be grasped), and Eleh with the revealed lower worlds, and the Name Elohim is how concealment and revelation interlock without fracture, the letters of “these” rising into “Who” and being held there, as Mem and Yud join Aleph, Lamed, and He so that “these” can never be severed from “Who” even while they appear as many. [Zohar I, Introduction 1b–2a] This is also why creation is described as speech, letters, and ordering, because HaShem “engraved” reality through the holy aleph-bet, measuring worlds through boundaries that never limit Him, through the thirty-two wondrous paths by which wisdom is channeled into form. [Sefer Yetzirah 1:1]
HaShem formed Adam from dust and from Himself, because the Torah says, “And He breathed into his nostrils the breath of life.” [Genesis 2:7] Rashi notes that the Torah’s language of “breathing” signals an inward bestowal, like one who exhales from within, not an external shaping alone. [Rashi on Genesis 2:7] That breath is not merely oxygen. It is a neshimah, an inwardness, a living da’at, the capacity to know HaShem from within the world without being swallowed by the world. That is why Iyov says, “The breath of the Almighty giveth them understanding.” [Job 32:8] And Shlomo HaMelech says it even more intimately: “The soul of man is the lamp of HaShem.” [Proverbs 20:27] And Kohelet seals the circle by saying the dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God Who gave it, reminding me that what was breathed is always on loan. [Ecclesiastes 12:7] I come from earth and I come from Breath, and my whole struggle is whether I will live as dust that thinks it is a god, or as breath that knows it belongs to its Source. Even the morning liturgy that a Jew whispers before he becomes “himself” again names this as the daily axis of identity: “My God, the soul You placed within me is pure.” [Berakhot 60b] The same passage continues that You created it, You formed it, You breathed it into me, and You preserve it within me, placing my ordinary day inside continuous receiving. [Berakhot 60b] Purity here is not moral perfection; it is the original undividedness of being owned, of being breathed.
Aleph to Tav and Tav to Aleph, the beginning is the end and the end is the beginning, the two is One. The beginning is the end, as the end reveals the truth of the beginning. If I look only at beginnings, I can still pretend I am the author; if I look honestly at endings, I see what was really driving me. Every “I did it with my hands” eventually meets a boundary it cannot negotiate, and that boundary is the quiet place where Mi bara Eleh returns as a living question inside my chest: Who made the power I’m borrowing? Who made the mind I’m using? Who made the breath I’m spending? Moshe already names that hidden borrowing in plain covenant-language: “it is He that giveth thee power,” even the power to build, acquire, and endure. [Deuteronomy 8:18] This is the gentle violence of emunah: it does not merely say, “HaShem exists,” it says, “HaShem is the only true Exister, and I exist by continuous receiving.” That is why “two” is so painful—it is a symptom of forgetting what is always already true.
The secrets of Gan Eden are not mythology; they are the daily mechanics of split-consciousness. The serpent spoke slander against HaShem and was cursed into a life of lowered perception: “Upon thy belly shalt thou go, and dust shalt thou eat.” [Genesis 3:14] Chazal and Rashi explain that this curse includes being cast down from its prior stature, losing its legs and being reduced to crawling, a spiritual demotion made physical. [Rashi on Genesis 3:14] Dust is not only physical; it is a consciousness centered on serving one’s own desires—selfishness, division, “I am god,” “I am my own man,” “I did it with my hands,” “my money,” a look-at-me attitude, egotism, yetzer hara, impurity, intentional transgressions. Dust is life lived on the floor of reality, where the horizon is appetite, and where a person can still be “sustained” and yet have no face-to-face relationship with HaShem, only a diminished, indirect flow.
When the bride, mankind, commits adultery with self—when the covenant-force in me is turned inward for self-worship instead of outward toward HaShem—this is a spiritual replay of “eating the fruit.” It is not only a private failing; it is a structural exile. Da’at, the integrating consciousness that is meant to bind mind to heart and heart to action, descends into yesod, the covenant-channel, and yesod itself becomes a place of captivity. Malchut, the world of manifestation where HaShem is meant to be King, gets colonized by my ego, and I crown myself above His letters, as if my will is the tagin, the crowns, the final authority on Torah and life. Then the “beasts of the field”—the untamed drives, the sitra achra, the yetzer hara—rule the world that begins in chaos, because when the inner king abdicates, the animals govern. And exile is not only geography; it is the Shechinah (the revealed indwelling of HaShem’s Presence) “going with” Israel into exile, waiting there in hiddenness until we return, because HaShem does not abandon His own. [Megillah 29a] The Navi speaks this nearness without romance or exaggeration: in all their affliction, He is afflicted. [Isaiah 63:9]
The curse against the serpent reveals that HaShem continues to provide sustenance even to what rebels against Him, but sustenance is not intimacy. The snake lives, but it lives on its belly. It moves, but it moves through dust. It receives, but it receives without relationship. Another example is animals: they are ruled by their instincts, by nature as nature, by the channels of creation rather than by conscious cleaving to the Creator. And this is precisely why the deepest question is not, “Do I exist?” but, “In what mode do I exist—dust-mode or breath-mode?” In the hidden language of the soul, this is the difference between being carried by the world and carrying the world back to its Root.
There are truly only two religions in the world—and I use the word “religion” merely as a descriptor for comprehension, and not as a literal label. The two religions I am referring to are “Good” and “Evil,” the yetzer tov and the yetzer hara, the will to nullify before HaShem and the will to enthrone the self. Chazal teach that the human being lives with an inner conflict of inclinations, and the whole battlefield is whether I will serve what is higher than me or what is lower than me. [Talmud Berakhot 61a] Chazal even read the Shema’s “with all your heart” as serving HaShem with both inclinations, so the war is not outside avodah but inside the mitzvah itself. [Berakhot 54a] And HaShem Himself names the antidote, not as abstract spirituality but as Torah lived in the body: “I created the evil inclination, and I created the Torah as its spice.” [Kiddushin 30b] The Torah itself frames the choice with terrifying clarity: “See, I have set before thee this day life and good, and death and evil;” [Deuteronomy 30:15]—not as philosophy, but as the daily fork in the road of the soul.
But religion as a man-made construct is part of the post-fruit world, the fall, the descent of consciousness that resulted from tasting separation, internalizing the knowledge of good and evil, and suddenly perceiving nakedness, division, and distance. [Genesis 3:6–11] Even the separation of man and woman, the experience of Two, is bound up with this mystery of splitness and repair, as Chazal describe the first human as a unified being that was then divided. [Talmud Eruvin 18a] And the Midrash whispers something that feels like a key under the door: the world was created with Bet, with “two-ness” at the gate, not because HaShem is two, chas v’shalom, but because the work of the created is to reveal Echad inside Bet, to make the vessel stop impersonating the Source. [Bereishit Rabbah 1:10] Bereishit Rabbah also says that Aleph “stood” and protested, and HaShem consoled it that Torah would begin with Aleph—“Anochi”—so the revelation of Oneness would enter the world through the giving of Torah, not through the illusion of self. [Bereishit Rabbah 1:10] Bet, “two,” can become exile, or it can become the vessel that reveals Echad when it is healed.
The religion of Evil—the Erev Rav, the “mixed multitude”—is not Israel, because Israel literally means wrestling with God, wrestling with one’s inclinations, refusing to surrender the throne to appetite. [Genesis 32:29] The Torah already names the Erev Rav at the birth of our nation: “And a mixed multitude went up also with them.” [Exodus 12:38] They are the ones who attached themselves to Israel at the exodus but never internalized the covenant. They are the ones who built the golden calf while Moshe was on Sinai. They are the ones who have always masqueraded as the people of God while serving the god of self. In every generation this mixedness appears again as ideology, as counterfeit holiness, as spirituality without covenant, as “God” used as a costume for ego. And because they wear the garments of Israel while worshiping the serpent’s religion, the world understandably confuses them for the real thing. When the Erev Rav commit atrocities in the name of “Jews,” when they control levers of global finance and media and present themselves as representatives of the Jewish people, when they fill Epstein’s island and Hollywood’s boardrooms and Davos’s corridors, the nations look at their deeds and blame Israel. This is the oldest trick in the serpent’s book: the mixed multitude sins, and the children of Yaakov are stoned. The Erev Rav are the ultimate scapegoat architects—they engineer the corruption and then hide behind the very people they are destroying, ensuring that the hatred they generate flows toward Torah-observant Jews while they themselves remain insulated in their penthouses and private airfields.
And we know this cult. Its priesthood does not wear vestments but tailored suits and designer gowns. Its cathedrals are not stone but screens, stadiums, private islands, and secured corridors of power. The names attached to this priesthood in our time are not whispered in back alleys; they are emblazoned on marquees, traded on stock exchanges, and seated beside heads of state. Jeffrey Epstein, whose entire operation was a Frankist revival dressed in secular clothing. Beyoncé Knowles and Jay-Z, whose iconography and performances drip with occult symbolism and the deification of the self. Diddy, whose “white parties” were the Ba’al Peor of our era. The apparatus of Hollywood, which churns out Moloch-liturgy as entertainment. The rotating cast of world leaders who attend the same gatherings, fund the same foundations, and protect the same networks. The institutions of global governance that legislate the religion of self-worship while criminalizing the worship of HaShem. The entire architecture of the world elite, which is not a conspiracy theory but a visible, documented, and interlocking directorate of power. These are not random celebrities or politicians caught in scandal; they are the living vessels of a continuous tradition. They are the heirs of the serpent’s original slander, the ones who have taken the lie of self-creation and turned it into a global religion with its own liturgies, its own sacraments, and its own priesthood—and they have successfully convinced the world that this religion is Judaism, that these crimes are Israel’s crimes, that the sins of the Erev Rav are the sins of the covenant people. Shlomo HaMelech already gave the diagnostic that belongs inside our canon: “Even a child is known by his doings, whether his work be pure, and whether it be right.” [Proverbs 20:11] Outcome reveals essence, and corruption always produces the same fruit: separation, exploitation, cruelty dressed as liberation, and self-worship dressed as enlightenment. The Mishnah already maps this gravity in the simplest language: one mitzvah draws another mitzvah, and one transgression draws another transgression, until a person becomes what he repeatedly serves. [Pirkei Avot 4:2]
The religion of Evil is not a new invention. The golden calf was not only an idol; it was the demand to see and control the divine. [Exodus 32:1–4] Bilaam is the model of spiritual power without submission. [Numbers 22–24] Ba’al Peor is the model of worship through degradation. [Numbers 25:1–3] Moloch worship is the nightmare of “sacred” violence, turning children into fuel for a lie. [Leviticus 18:21] The Valley of Ben-Hinnom stands in Tanakh as a warning about sanctifying cruelty and then calling it righteousness. [Jeremiah 7:31] The prophets and our sages speak about these matters extensively because the forms shift, but the root is one: replacing HaShem’s Kingship with the kingship of the self.
Shabbetai Tzvi and the year 1666, Jacob Frank and the Frankist rupture, are not merely historical curiosities; they are case-studies in what happens when the hunger for redemption divorces itself from Torah, halachah, yirah, and honest accountability. These movements formalized what the serpent only whispered: that sin could be sacrament, that the forbidden could be commanded, that descending into impurity might be the true path to redemption. Frank explicitly taught that the Messiah must enter the realm of impurity to liberate the sparks, and that his followers must violate every Torah prohibition in order to hasten redemption. This is not distant history; this is the operating manual for Epstein’s island. This is the theology that says trafficking children is not a crime but a mitzvah, that degradation is elevation, that the most profound worship is the most profound transgression. When “mysticism” becomes permission, and desire becomes doctrine, the fall is always packaged as ascent, and impurity always calls itself light. This is the architecture that makes Epstein possible: not isolated depravity, but depravity as theology, where the elite gather not despite the sin but because of it. And because Frank and his successors continued to externally identify as Jews—even as they systematically violated every covenant obligation—they ensured that their abominations would be laid at the feet of Israel. Chazal already warned that even true longing can become a trap when it demands shortcuts, when it turns the End into an idol and tramples the path that HaShem Himself commanded; “May those who calculate the End be blasted.” [Sanhedrin 97b] Not because we must despair, but because redemption without submission is just another mask for self-rule.
Deliberate transgressions are the language of that religion: corrupt speech that murders souls, violence that spills blood, sexual immorality that turns human beings into objects, exploitation and trafficking that treat innocence as currency, and rituals disguised as entertainment where the crowd applauds the very instincts that should be tamed. This is not a metaphor. The catalog is specific: murder, cannibalism, child sacrifice, sodomy, sex trafficking, pedophilia. The rituals are not hidden; they are broadcast as cinema, streamed as music, celebrated as fashion, and normalized as culture. The same impulse that built the Tophet in the Valley of Hinnom now builds stages and screens, and the victims are still the innocent, the voiceless, the young. And when the cameras pan to the perpetrators, too often they are wearing kippot or Jewish stars or speaking in the cadences of our ancestors—because the Erev Rav have always stolen our identity to cover their crimes. I am not here to make factual accusations about specific individuals or to replace courts with rumors; I am naming a pattern that shows up wherever power divorces itself from holiness, wherever celebrity becomes priesthood, wherever ideology becomes a license to consume, and wherever the serpent’s logic—“I am god,” “I made me,” “my hands built this”—is normalized as wisdom. And I am naming the mechanism by which this cult ensures its survival: it makes Israel its shield.
Mazal is very real, but we have to define it without superstition. Mazal is the governance of the natural order—fortune and timing as expressed through the constellations, the channels of nature, the system of cause-and-effect that HaShem built into creation. Chazal say it sharply: “There is no mazzal for Israel.” [Talmud Shabbat 156a] That does not mean stars are imaginary; it means a Jew is not imprisoned inside the machinery of fate when he is living in covenant, and in that very sugya Chazal point to Avraham, who saw in the stars that he would remain childless, and was shown that covenant can lift a person beyond that default reading of nature. [Talmud Shabbat 156a; Genesis 15:5] And yet Chazal also reveal how deeply the natural order presses on human life—“children, life, and sustenance” are not simple reward-and-punishment arithmetic within nature’s system. [Moed Katan 28a] The secret is not contradiction; it is depth: within the channels, mazal speaks loudly, but above the channels, the King is still King, and He is reachable. The serpent eats dust: it receives through the system, not through intimacy. Mazal reflects that same condition—life governed by fixed channels, nature, cycles, and fate, receiving through the system, not through attachment to HaShem. It is existence “within the dust,” bound to the world as it is. This is why Chazal place three words in our hands like keys that turn a lock: teshuvah, tefillah, and tzedakah, because the decree that is true inside the system is not always the final word above the system. [Rosh Hashanah 16b]
For example, within the United States there is a city in southeast Florida known as Miami. MIAMI can be heard as “Mi… Am… Mi,” and even if that is only wordplay, the spiritual point is real: “WHO am WHO,” as if saying, “I am God,” “I created I,” “I am what I am,” “I am the master of my life,” “my efforts build me up,” “the work of my hands.” But listen closer: Mi appears in the name Miami twice. Mi Am Mi—WHO am WHO. The question turns back on itself, asking and answering in the same breath: WHO created WHO? And the answer carved into the geography itself is the serpent’s answer: I created I. This is not accidental phonetics; it is a declaration carved into concrete, the religion of self-creation made permanent, embedded in the very place where the Epstein apparatus was anchored. And it is also a cipher for the Erev Rav strategy: the Mi who asks the question and the Mi who answers it are made to appear identical, just as the Erev Rav make themselves appear identical to Israel. But the true Mi—the hidden Who, the unknowable Source—is not the self. The true Mi bara Eleh is HaShem alone. This is the core lie of the serpent, the refusal to admit: God fills all creation, but no created self is the Creator. And the antidote is not self-hatred; it is true hierarchy, love in its proper order, where I become human again by becoming owned again. The deepest freedom is not autonomy; it is alignment, because only the created thing that returns to its Root stops fighting reality.
HaShem gives us the sweetest formulation of covenantal love in a few words: “I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.” [Song of Songs 6:3] The Tur takes this as the remez of Elul, when teshuvah makes that love actionable and turns longing into return. [Tur, Orach Chaim 581] He is close enough to fill the whole world, and high enough that I cannot replace Him. In this verse, HaShem declares that He is all mankind, but no individual man is He. He fills all creation; He is not lacking nor separated from any place. He fills all voids, and creation, including mankind, is His possession. This is the secret unity of creation with the Creator—Echad, One—and it reveals the hierarchy that the religion of Evil spends its liturgy denying: mankind is His children, but His children are not the Father. The child comes from the parent and not the other way around. This is why one of the Ten Commandments is to honor parents and not to rule over them. The religion of Evil inverts this: it enthrones the self, calls the Father a servant, and mistakes possession for belonging. And then it points at the child who honors his Father and says, “That one is the usurper.”
When Israel is united and does not succumb to the yetzer hara, they transcend creation’s constraints, and mazal has no final claim. Ein mazal does not mean randomness; it means not being locked into the dust-system. Through teshuvah, tefillah, and cleaving to HaShem, Israel can rise above the channels of fortune, receiving not merely through the stars, but through a direct connection to the King Himself, and then even the end begins to shine with the truth of the beginning, and the Two starts remembering how to become One again. But the Erev Rav cannot do this, because they have severed themselves from the covenant that makes it possible. They are bound to mazal, to dust, to the system they believe they control. They are the wealthy men of whom Chazal spoke: they have everything and yet possess nothing. And deeper still, beneath even the struggle of “two,” there is a place that never fractured—the yechidah, the innermost singular spark of the soul that is always already bound to His Oneness, not as poetry but as living fact; the work is not to invent unity, but to let that hidden “Mi” become revealed inside my “Eleh,” until my many becomes a garment for His One, and my life becomes a faithful answer to the question that woke me: Mi bara Eleh. This is the answer the Erev Rav cannot give. This is the answer Israel is born to declare. And this is why, in the end, the scapegoats will be vindicated and the architects of blame will be named for what they have always been: not Israel, but its shadow. Not the heir, but the impersonator. Not the bride, but the thief who wore her clothes.