I find myself drawn to the folk music and protest songs of an earlier tumultuous time in this nation’s history and some of the current balladeers singing about the need for justice in a time of injustice.
As Black History month draws to a close, and the work of civil rights seems more urgent than ever, I wanted to welcome Shabbat with Teach Your Children, the classic from Crosby Stills and Nash.
Wishing everyone Shabbat Shalom
Parshat Tetzaveh marks a pivotal shift in the wilderness narrative of the Jewish people. While previous portions focused on the physical Tabernacle, Tetzaveh focuses on the human element: the inauguration of the Kohanim (priests). By establishing this dedicated class, the Torah ensures a disciplined bridge between the Divine Presence and B’nei Israel.
The transition from building structures to preparing “human vessels” reminds us that even the holiest space requires empathetic leadership to come to life. The priesthood was not an elite social hierarchy but a role of “functional holiness.” In Exodus 28:1, God commands Moses to “bring near” Aaron and his sons to serve, separating them to manage the meticulous maintenance of the Mishkan, which the general population could not sustain.
The priestly garments are a physical manifestation of this duty. The Choshen (Breastplate) bore the names of the twelve tribes, ensuring that the Kohen Gadol (High Priest) literally carried the nation’s weight “on his heart” (Exodus 28:29). This teaches that a leader’s primary function is representation and empathy, not merely ritual performance.
Faithfulness among the Kohanim was measured by adherence to strict protocols. The Milu’im (consecration process) involved smearing blood on the right ear, thumb, and big toe (Exodus 29:20), symbolizing a total commitment to:
The Ner Tamid (Eternal Flame) serves as the ultimate metaphor for this duty. Commanded to kindle the lamps “from evening to morning” (Exodus 27:21), the priests maintained a consistency that transcended personal fatigue. Their faithfulness was embodied in the Tamid—the “always.”
The discipline required to keep the light burning is a powerful metaphor for contemporary society. Capricious or arbitrary leadership undermines the sacred role of those dedicated to preserving institutions. Just as the Kohanim served the Mishkan, today’s dedicated bureaucrats and elected leaders play a critical role in upholding the rule of law.
Long before democracy took its modern form, our tradition recognized that power is a sacred responsibility to the people. This value remains central to the rule of law and equal protection. Like the Kohanim, we are entrusted with preserving these “eternal flames” for generations to come.
The Hollies recorded this classic in 1969. The words still resonate for me and this Shabbat I hope we are a little bit close to realizing the message.
Shabbat Shalom
In Parshat Terumah, the transition from Sinai’s abstract thunder to the Mishkan‘s detailed blueprints offers the ultimate master class in institution-building. It suggests that while revelation provides the “why,” the institution provides the “how”—transforming a fleeting spiritual moment into a sustainable communal reality.
At Sinai, the relationship with the Divine was a “top-down” event—overwhelming and temporary. In Terumah, this is reversed by the command: “And let them make Me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them” (Exodus 25:8). The shift here is profound, creating sustainability. Inspiration was found at Sinai. It is a spark; an institution becomes the hearth that keeps the fire burning. The text then speaks of a dwelling, with an interesting word choice: it doesn’t say God will dwell in it (the building), but among them (the people). The institution is not the goal; it is the vessel that allows the communal presence to persist. The idea is further elucidated as the focus shifts to the people’s action.
The word Terumah means “to lift up” or “set aside.” Crucially, the materials for the sanctuary were not collected through a flat tax but from “every person whose heart prompts them to give.” This reveals two core principles of healthy institutions. The first is shared ownership; when people contribute their own “gold, silver, and copper,” they are no longer spectators; they are stakeholders. The second is the diversity of people’s contributions. The Mishkan required everything from precious metals to goat hair. This teaches that an institution is only robust when it integrates the varying capacities of its members—from the wealthy benefactor to the skilled artisan.
This Parsha is known for its precise measurements—cubits of gold, rings of silver, and specific wood types. These details serve a vital purpose. They instill discipline and consistency. Without a structured “sanctuary,” collective energy dissipates. The Mishkan’s physical boundaries protected the sanctity of the community’s mission. This consistency ensured that the institution’s values of justice and holiness weren’t subject to the leader’s capricious mood or the crowd’s whims, but were anchored in a permanent, repeatable structure.
Our times test our understanding of what it means to live in community, bound together by the rule of law, freedom, dignity, and respect for all people. We need each other, and together we are stronger and less susceptible to those impulses. To ensure our country and its institutions endure, we must give of ourselves, investing in its care and championing the values at our core.
We mourn the death of Reverend Jesse Jackson. Jackson was a complex individual and a person of great accomplishment.
In this world of purity litmus tests, cancel culture, and identity politics, it is easy for some to write off this icon of the civil rights movement, focusing on shortcomings and missteps rather than accomplishments.
He helped move the arc of justice forward. We can and should remember him for all the good he did, and hopefully find space in our hearts, even though he, like all of us, had flaws. Jackson fostered a sense of pride and self-esteem in those who struggled in a society determined to deny them, as captured in his well-known saying, “I am Somebody.” Jesse Jackson was Somebody.
This is a moment to rededicate ourselves to the vision of respect and dignity for every person that Jackson preached. The work is far from over, and it is ours to do.
May his memory be for a blessing.
In Parashat Mishpatim, we move from the heights of Sinai and the grand laws given by God to Moses to the granular details of civil law. The shift teaches that a righteous society is built not on abstract ideals but on the daily, impartial application of the Rule of Law.
Mishpatim introduces three pillars essential to our current struggles:
Our institutions are threatened as society’s trust in them erodes. Mishpatim reminds us that an orderly society is a deliberate choice, one that requires our involvement and confidence. Our future as a nation and world leader depends on upholding a system in which the rule of law anchors us against the storms of political passion
One Day
Mattisyahu’s song One Day is our hope – but it will take a our concerted effort to realized the dream of peace. Shabbat is our taste of what it could be, Now more than ever we must commmit to making our dream a reality.
Trying to rewrite history cannot deny its truth.
Slavery is a moral stain on the United States. No matter how much bleach we use, we cannot scrub it out, nor can we pretend the stain doesn’t exist. Removing historically accurate plaques that teach the fullness of our history at the President’s House exhibit on Constitution Mall, the paradox of Freedom and Slavery, does not make the events they depict any less true. The attempt to deny our past keeps us from learning and growing from it. Our challenge is to rise above it, not to define ourselves by it and remain mired in it.
The fear of some who see this as an attack on our country and turn a blind eye is baseless. I am ashamed of slavery and the hatred it embodies, while remaining proud of the aspirations our vision embodies. We have a long journey ahead of us to right the wrongs and heal the lingering pain and injustice. But we are better off when all are better off. When every person is treated with justice, dignity, and respect. These are the principles of this nation, principles we must remain dedicated to championing.
When we hide from things that make us uncomfortable, we miss the chance to engage with and learn from them. We are better than slavery. It is our history. But it does not have to be our legacy. We are better than that.
The Shvesters share their rendition of a poignant Yiddish song Vi Iz Dus Gesele, Where is the little street? A song of longing, nostalgia, and lost love.
It is a way to help us perhaps enter this Shabbat. Given the current turmoil, we seek a better time. May we work to see that time come soon.
Wishing you Shabbat Shalom.
We are horrified that Temple Beth Israel in Jackson, MS, was firebombed. It is a violent act of hatred targeting Jews. As antisemitism continues, we find ourselves vulnerable and seeking support.
The community of Jackson, MS, has rallied around its Jewish community in wonderful ways. Many of us, however, feel abandoned by others across the country who have not expressed support for their local Jewish communities amid escalating threats. This is counterproductive, creating divisions and exacerbating tensions where they should not be.
Sadly, there is too much violence and hatred. It is impossible to respond to every incident. The Jewish communities could not meet that standard either. We would spend substantial time issuing statements of outrage and comfort instead of devoting ourselves to the important work of uniting against these blights and working toward changes in our society to create a safer space for all.
Too many understand the pain, often through lived experience. We need solidarity and action, not just words.
