Jewish Relationships Initiative

Category: culture

  • The Leadership of the Hearth: Why the Best Architects of Legacy Start with the Ashes-Tzav

    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.

    1. The “Lowly” Work of High Leadership

    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.

    1. Don’t Wait for Inspiration; Build the Rhythm

    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.

    1. Success is a Communal Meal

    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?

  • Building a Sanctuary in the Shadows: Vayakhel-Pekudei

    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.”

     

     

     

  • The Palace of Redactions: A Modern Megillah

    On Purim, we wear masks to hide our faces. But the Megillah is a story about taking masks off. It is about a world—much like our own in 2026—where wealth and status are the ultimate masks. Behind the silk curtains of Shushan and behind the redacted lines of the Epstein files, the same crime is hidden: the belief that some people are “taken” (lekach) for the pleasure of those who are untouchable. Today, we aren’t just celebrating a victory; we are demanding a revelation.

    The Megillah is a crime report of systemic objectification. The “law of the women” (Esther 2:12, Sefaria) turned state-sponsored trafficking into a standardized procedure. This mirrors our modern “Dat” (decree): the Non-Prosecution Agreements and Non-Disclosure Agreements (NDAs) that transformed silence into a contractual obligation. When abuse is cloaked in the law, it becomes invisible.

    Neither Ahasuerus nor Epstein acted alone. Ahasuerus relied on seven advisors—the enablers who legalized cruelty to protect the throne and the men in power. Today, we see this in the strategic redactions that shield the powerful while the victims’ trauma remains exposed.

    A just society cannot be built on the minimum files the system is willing to release. Our call to action is to mirror Esther’s courage. She moved from being a nameless body to an active agent of justice who acted lo chadat—not according to the “rules” of the elite.

    We must demand accountability from the enablers, not just from the predator. Mordecai’s challenge echoes today: “And who knows, perhaps you have attained to royal position for just such a crisis.” (Esther 4:14, Sefaria)

    We are called to be the generation that finally tears down the palace walls and unmasks the truth.

    May we be blessed with the eyes of Esther, to see through the redactions and masks of our own time. May we be granted the voice of Vashti, to say NO to the commodification of our bodies and our dignity. And may we be filled with the resolve of Mordecai, to understand that our positions of safety are not for our comfort but for the protection of those still trapped behind palace walls.

    May the light of truth scatter the darkness of the inner court, and may we see a day when justice is a shared inheritance for all.

     

  • Parshat Tetzaveh-Responsible Governing for the People

    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:

    • Hearing: Attuning oneself to Divine instruction.
    • Action: Performing service with precision.
    • Movement: Walking a righteous path.

    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.

     

  • Shabbat Shalom my brother

    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

  • Terumah-Power to the People

    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.

     

     

  • Remembering the Rev. Jesse Jackson

    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.

  • Mishpatim and the Modern State

    Ra'anan
    Ra’Anan

    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:

    • Resistance to Tribalism: Exodus 23:2 warns, “You shall not follow the multitude (the mighty) to do evil.” In an era of “mob justice,” strongman tactics, and polarized echo chambers, this mandate requires that truth must supersede the pressures of the crowd.
    • Absolute Impartiality: The text prohibits favoring the wealthy or the poor in judgment. Legitimacy and order collapse when the law is seen as a tool for the powerful or a shield for the ideologically aligned. The blindfolded Lady Justice proclaims that all should be treated equally under the law.
    • Protection of the Vulnerable: By repeatedly centering the “stranger,” the Torah insists that legal structures are only as strong as the protections they afford the marginalized. A society’s greatness is defined by how it protects its most vulnerable.

    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

  • Thoughts on the Tu B’Shvat

    I write this, it is Groundhog Day and Tu B’Shvat!

    The American Sage, Punxsutawney Phil, has predicted another 6 weeks of winter. It is incredible where we get our news!

    More importantly, I would argue that this is the 15th day of the month of Shvat, Tu b’Shvat. This day marks the beginning of the new year for trees.

    It is about the rebirth that will come from life that has gone dormant during the winter within the greater cycle of the year. We could not have a more apt metaphor for what is happening in our lives. The brutal and violent transgressions of the Federal Government through ICE and the Border Patrol, as well as the multiple assaults on human dignity and respect, seem to have seeded the birth of a popular uprising against these violations of our rights.

    As spring approaches, the trees will blossom, and warmth will fill the air. But the rededication to our ideals requires us to act. Our tradition teaches that we are partners with God in the ongoing work of creation. Now is our time to commit to this sacred task. We must each ask ourselves what we are able or willing to do, and get to work.

    In the harshest, coldest, and darkest times, hope arises that something better is coming. The Jewish tradition and the founding principles of our country require us, in the words of Abraham Lincoln, to work to ensure “a government of the people, by the people and for the people shall not perish from the face of the earth.”

    Wishing you a happy Tu b’Shvat.

    Rabbi David

  • Shabbat Shalom

    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.