As Shabbat approaches, our world finds itself broken. Love and understanding are under assault by hatred and violence. Cantor Leon Sher’s beautiful prayer Heal Us Now is our plea for Tikkun- repair.
עוֹשֶׂה שָׁלוֹם בִּמְרוֹמָיו הוּא יַעֲשֶׂה שָׁלוֹם עָלֵינוּ וְעַל כָּל יִשְׂרָאֵל וְעַל כָּל יוֺשְׁבֵי תֵבֶל
וְאִמְרוּ אָמֵן
Oseh shalom bimromav, hu ya’aseh shalom aleinu, v’al kol Yisrael, v’al kol yoshvei tevel v’imru amen.
Shabbat Shalom
The rituals and stories of Passover, like many others, are rarely about the literal
meaning; they serve as invitations to explore the richer metaphors of human experience. During Pesach, we engage with texts that connect Divine mystery with human limitation, urging us to find hope in the most difficult circumstances.
A provocative and often-overlooked metaphor lies in the Matza. Tradition holds that the Israelites had so little time to escape Egypt that they couldn’t let their bread rise, yet the modern “halachic” or “kosher” process of Matza-making allows the dough to rise for up to 18 minutes. The text notes that, in the chaos of packing and rushing to leave, there was no time to let the dough rise. But surely, 18 minutes could have been found.
This raises a profound question: if we could have made the time, but the story insists we did not, what is the message? It suggests that the Exodus is more than just a historical event; it is a metaphor conveying a larger, universal message. The Matza symbolizes a deliberate choice to embrace the incomplete or unleavened. It serves as a reminder that when an extraordinary moment arrives, we must seize it, ready to leave behind the familiar, the influence, or relative comfort of our old lives before it can rise and hold us back.
Shabbat chol hamoed Pesach, I wanted to share Israel “IZ” Kamakawiwo’ole’s extraordinary rendition of Somewhere over the Rainbow. His candle only burned briefly but this message of hope for something better lives on.
Praying for Peace- Shabbat Shalom
עֹשֶׂה שָׁלוֹם בִּמְרוֹמָיו, הוּא יַעֲשֶׂה שָׁלוֹם עָלֵינוּ וְעַל כָּל יִשְׂרָאֵל וְעַל כָּל יוֹשְׁבֵי תֵבֵל, וְאִמְרוּ: אָמֵן
May the One who makes peace in the Heavens bring peace to us all!
I am stirred by the Steinsaltz Center’s understanding of Passover. And with full attribution, I share their thoughts on the four key messages of Passover:
May we all enjoy a zissn Pesach, connecting deeply to our tradition and the timeless values of Judaism.
Everyday People, Sly and the Family Stone’s classic produced by Playing for Change. It is a celebration of acceptance and unity, and appropriately offered by the next generation.
Shabbat Shalom
May the One who makes peace in the Heavens bring peace to us all!
Bruce Springsteen sang loudly, “You can’t start a fire without a spark.” In today’s hyper-professionalized culture, we obsess over the “spark”—the viral moment, the massive product launch, or the sudden stroke of genius. But as anyone who has built a lasting organization or a meaningful life knows, a spark is not a fire, and a fire must be tended.
The ancient text of Parsha Tzav teaches what it really takes to maintain a legacy. While it mainly describes the duties of the priesthood, it also offers psychological and leadership insights that are surprisingly modern.
The Parsha begins with an unexpected requirement: the leader must personally remove the ashes from the altar (Leviticus 6:3). More importantly, they must do so while wearing their official, regal garments. It reminds me of Admiral McRaven’s book “Make Your Bed,” where this simple morning ritual can set you up for a successful day. And for anyone who has served as a chair of a committee or clergy, for that matter, we think of that as we move the chairs around in preparation for each meeting.
The Lesson: No task is beneath the mission. True “Architects of Meaning” understand that excellence lies in maintenance, not just spectacle. Whether it is refining a process, mentoring a junior colleague, or tending to administrative details, treating the “mundane” with the same gravity as the “miraculous” is what prevents an organization, in the case of the Priesthood, or an individual’s life, from collapsing under its own weight.
We are told that a “permanent fire shall remain kindled… it shall not go out” (Leviticus 6:6). While a “heavenly fire” may have started the flame, it was the human obligation to fuel it daily.
The Lesson: In a world where we often feel overwhelmed and then withdraw in response, we often tend to wait for “the feeling” to return before taking action. Tzav emphasizes the discipline and importance of alacrity—acting with energy or enthusiasm (Zirizut)—regardless of how we feel. Legacy is built through small, daily efforts we make when no one is watching and when the heavenly fire seems dim.
The Korban Todah (Thanksgiving Offering) had a fascinating constraint, in that it had to be completed in a single day (Leviticus 7:15). This effectively compelled the individual to invite others to the table. You couldn’t celebrate your win alone; you had to share the bounty and the story behind it.
The Lesson: Personal success is a private achievement, but Legacy is a communal one. If your accomplishments don’t inspire others to join you, they won’t endure. True leaders shift the narrative from scarcity to abundance by ensuring their gratitude is visible and shared.
The Bottom Line
Being an Architect of Meaning isn’t about the height of the structure; it’s about the consistency of the flame. By clearing the ash of yesterday and fueling the fire of today, we ensure that our influence outlasts our presence.
How are you nurturing your “inner fire” this week? What “ashes” do you need to clear away to make space for tomorrow’s growth?
This song has always resonated for me. The message that we can give comfort to someone who needs to be held is a beautiful way to honor Shabbat and remind us that we can make a difference to that person who needs us.
Shabbat Shalom
The persistent claim that American foreign policy is being dictated by Israeli pressure regarding the Iranian regime is as common as it is misguided. However, my frustration with this narrative isn’t rooted in a defense of the special relationship of the United States and Israel. Rather, it stems from a refusal to acknowledge a much more uncomfortable truth: the current chaos in the Middle East is not the result of a Jewish conspiracy, but a symptom of Donald Trump’s reckless, superficial, and dangerously transactional leadership.
To suggest that an ally can force the United States into a conflict against its own will is a profound admission of American weakness. It paints a picture of a superpower without a rudder. If the administration is being led into a fight, it isn’t because of the strength of the lobby in Washington; it is because of a vacuum of leadership in the Oval Office.
There are legitimate reasons to debate the extent of U.S. involvement in this region. Many of us remain deeply ambivalent—caught between a sincere desire for peace and a cold-eyed recognition of the threat the Iranian regime poses to Western stability. How imminent that threat is remains a valid question for debate. Israel, facing an existential threat on its doorstep, has its own compelling reasons to seek regime change—a position Benjamin Netanyahu has held for three decades. He is a leader seizing a strategic opportunity for his nation’s survival.
While the United States and Israel may share the broad goal of a neutralized Iran, their specific national interests are not identical. A strong American president would recognize these overlapping interests while maintaining a firm grip on the U.S. strategic compass. Instead, we see a Commander-in-Chief who has consistently approached a high-stakes geopolitical chess match with the mindset of a checkers player.
The tragedy here isn’t that we’re being bullied into a fight we didn’t choose. The real tragedy is that we have a leader who is fundamentally unqualified to operate in a world where the U.S. has historically been the stabilizing superpower. By acting on impulse and self-interest instead of broad strategy, the administration has created havoc that our allies must endure and our enemies can exploit.
If we believe another country can truly force the United States to do its bidding, it confirms our worst fears: that the most powerful man in the world is also the most impulsive and easily swayed. We deserve more than a presidency that acts as a series of erratic transactions. We deserve leadership that understands the weight of its authority and the complexities of the world it aims to lead.
NB. I do not normally write about politics, however, given the current conspiracy claims regarding Israel and the war, I thought this was necessary. ~ Rabbi David Levin
The Book of Leviticus, Parshat Vayikrah, is often seen as an outdated and mysterious guide for animal sacrifice. However, beneath the “flesh and fire” lies a sophisticated psychological framework for accountability. Vayikrah teaches us that for a community to survive its members’ shortcomings or failures, it requires a social reset built on four distinct pillars.
Accountability starts with Semikhah—the person physically places their hands on the animal’s head [1]. The Ramban, Nachmanides, explains that this act makes the individual recognize the sacrifice as a substitute for themselves; it establishes a visceral link between the person and the cost of their mistake [2]. In modern leadership, this shifts from the passive and all-too-common phrase of “Mistakes were made” to taking personal accountability: “I am responsible.” You can’t pass the blame for an error; you must accept it and embrace the consequence, along with the need to fix it.
II. The Taxonomy of Error- Chatat vs. Asham
Vayikrah distinguishes between the Chatat, the offering for unintentional errors [3], and the Asham offered for breaches of trust or trespass [4]. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch notes that while a Chatat is a “missing of the mark,” an Asham implies a desolation of the conscience [5]. This framework teaches that accountability isn’t just for malice or punishment; even unintentional negligence requires a public “clean-up.” It highlights that the impact of our actions matters just as much as our intent.
III. Radical Transparency –Vidui
A sacrifice is invalid without Vidui, or verbal confession. Maimonides, the Rambam, states that no sacrifice achieves atonement unless the offender “makes a verbal confession” [6]. Accountability involves acknowledging the harm for which we are responsible. By speaking the mistake aloud, the offender brings the error out of secrecy and into the open, allowing the community to process the breach.
IV. Restorative Justice -The “Fifth”
Regarding robbery, the Torah mandates that the offender cannot seek Divine forgiveness until they settle the human debt: “He shall restore it in full, and shall add the fifth part more thereto” [7]. Rashi emphasizes that restitution must come before the sacrifice [8]. This is the gold standard of restorative justice. True accountability is “Principal Plus 20%,” recognizing that the victim lost not just property but also time and trust.
Conclusion
Vayikrah teaches us that forgiveness is an earned state, not an entitlement. The sacrificial system ensured that the victim was compensated, the mistake was acknowledged, and the offender faced a tangible consequence. By following these steps—Ownership, Categorization, Verbalization, and Restitution—we transform ancient rituals into a timeless blueprint for integrity that remains relevant today.
Citations
Building a Sanctuary in the Shadows: Vayakhel-Pekudei
In the double parashah of Vayakhel-Pekudei, we conclude the Book of Exodus not with a thunderous miracle but with a detailed account of gold, silver, and blue wool. After the spiritual collapse of the Golden Calf, the Jewish people are tasked with a “rebound” project: building the Mishkan (Tabernacle). But why create a sanctuary in the desert wilderness? Perhaps A more timely reframing of the question is, when the outside world is in chaos, how do we create an internal space that remains untouchable?
The word Vayakhel means “And he assembled.” Moses gathers the community together. This isn’t just a physical gathering; it is a spiritual reunification. After a period of division and sin, the remedy is collective purpose.
Pekudei means “records” or “accounts.” Moses gives a clear breakdown of every shekel donated.
Rashi, commenting on Exodus 35:2, explains that the commandment for Shabbat is placed directly before the construction of the Mishkan to teach us a boundary: as sacred and urgent as the “building” is, it does not take precedence over the Sabbath. Even during our most urgent moments of defense and advocacy, we must preserve the integrity of our holy pauses.
The Torah further admonishes in the next verse:
“You shall kindle no fire throughout your settlements on the day of the Sabbath.” (Exodus 35:3)
What is this fire of which the Torah speaks? Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, the founder of modern orthodoxy, explores this “fire” as the ultimate tool of human mastery and technology. The Torah’s prohibition against kindling fire on Shabbat reminds us that we must not be consumed by our own survival tools or ambitions. We fight when necessary, but we do not become the fight. We preserve our “Shabbat soul,” so we have a sanctuary to return to. The Human fire is different from the sacred fire of God’s presence in the Mishkan once it is built.
This highlights the tension we experience today: balancing our public responsibilities to the Jewish people while safeguarding the private spiritual integrity of our own souls and homes. We are currently facing serious crises. The external threats from Hamas, Iran, and others are existential and seek to destroy the Jewish state. Meanwhile, the rise of antisemitism and violence here and around the world presents significant risks to Jews and Jewish communities. Strengthening internal unity and security is essential. And so many of us are struggling in a world that does not give us the spiritual and emotional support we need.
This struggle for balance is our challenge today. Many of us lack a space for spiritual and emotional rest. The Mishkan, or sanctuary, feels elusive. Many of us are disconnected from traditional places of connection like synagogues. Yet we still long for what such places offer—community, support, and connections. If we don’t have these things that may complete us, how do we build the relationships at the core of a meaningful life? Can we be our best version of a friend, child, or sibling without that fulfillment? And how do we nurture our children, teaching them to be prepared, confident, and strong to face the world that awaits them?
Our task is to ensure that as they prepare to enter the world as strong, confident Jewish adults, they aren’t just experts in their fields, but are “wise-hearted” (Chacham Lev). It is in the home and in our relationships where that heart is fortified. Our home is a sanctuary that protects them from the “fire” of hostility, enabling them to focus on the “work” of becoming who they are meant to be.
The Book of Exodus concludes with the Cloud of Glory filling the Tabernacle during the day and aglow with fire by night.
In Exodus 40:38, we see, ‘The cloud of the Lord was upon the Tabernacle by day, and there was fire within it by night, before the eyes of the entire House of Israel throughout their journeys.”
The phrase “throughout their journeys” is essential. The cloud didn’t just appear when they were safe; it was present during the trekking, the uncertainty, and the transitions.
As we face current challenges both here and abroad, we remember that the “Accounting” of the Jewish people isn’t measured by our enemies’ hatred but by our own ability to build. By maintaining ourselves and the sanctuary that is our home, we create a space that guides and nurtures both ourselves and our loved ones with their own “fire and cloud.” We help ensure that we are fortified, and when it is time for our children to venture out on their own, they carry a piece of that sanctuary within them, ready to lead with strength, pride, and a “wise heart.”
