Category: Parashah

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.

 

Parsha Noach: Noah’s Perserverance is our Hope

The story of Noah and the Ark begins with a devastating judgment—God considers the world “irretrievably corrupt” and plans to wipe out all living creatures. But beyond that, the story is really about a single, extraordinary act of preservation. From moral despair, one family is chosen for a nearly impossible, world-saving mission, as long as they are willing to accept it.

At the heart of the story is Noah’s character. He was deliberately chosen; the Torah explicitly describes him as “a righteous man, faultless despite the influences of his generations,” adding the powerful phrase: “Noah walked with God.” This is more than just praise—it is a message of hope.

Torah further states, “Noah did everything he was commanded to do”—this is not just about mere compliance; it is a declaration of Noah’s spiritual strength and his ability to hear God’s voice despite all the surrounding noise, challenging us with an important question. Can we look past the judgment of others and the dictates of society and focus on the hope rooted in our own integrity, like Noah? Noah is aligned with the Divine. His response inspires us to act in moments of moral calling. How do we respond to our individual “Ark Moments”? This is the essence of our Judaism, a commitment to goodness and a partnership in the ongoing perfection of our world.

In a generation lost to selfish pursuits, Noah lives a life of virtue. His Neshama, or soul, was such that the Divine voice wasn’t an anomaly but a natural part of his soul’s purpose. Through this, Noah demonstrates that the potential for redemption resides within each individual heart. Our tradition assures us that we have a divine spark (Neshama) and that through our daily ethical choices, we can build the inner vessel needed to hear and act upon that truth clearly, just as Noah built the Ark.

The true test of Noah’s mission wasn’t just the instruction, but the years of solitary, sustained effort, enduring what must have been relentless public mockery. He faithfully built on a vision rooted in an unseen, promised truth, despite being surrounded by a society focused on a cynical reality.

Yet, he kept building. Noah’s perseverance is our hope, demonstrating the power of (Jewish) values to strengthen resolve. His commitment to truth serves as a model for Tzedek (righteousness) and Yosher (straightness/integrity). Building the Ark was a significant act of Tikkun Olam (repairing the world). It teaches us that our inner strength is not only personal determination but also the spiritual legacy that enables us to prioritize the obligation to repair the world over the fear of human judgment.

The universal “Ark Moment” happens when our inner voice urges us to make tough, sacrificial, or unpopular decisions. We often feel tempted to justify our actions for comfort, ease, or self-protection. But in doing so, we sacrifice our integrity and ethics.

However, the Noah story goes beyond this challenge to reveal the ultimate promise of the Rainbow Covenant. The lasting hope is that we are not destined to repeat the past. We are equipped with spiritual tools—Teshuvah (repentance and return) and the ongoing call to Hesed (loving-kindness)—to rise above our baser instincts. We have the inner strength to turn away from temptations, not because we are commanded, but because we are hopeful agents of repair.

Parshah Noah is not just about the flood that was, but about the world that can be. We have the power to make a difference in the things we believe in enough to stand for. The subsequent story of Abraham shows us that the initial strength needed to preserve humanity (Noah) directly leads to the covenantal strength required to build a people (Abraham). Our challenge is to nurture that inner space—to walk with God, as Noah did—so that when our own Ark Moment in life comes, we not only have the courage to act but also believe that through our actions, we are partners with the Divine in Tikkun Olam.

Shabbat Shalom

#BringThemHomeNow

 

What Story Do We Tell Ourselves- V’etchanan

What story do we tell ourselves? Our memory of events often differs from what actually happened. The deviation from the facts is not due to faulty memory; instead, it reveals a story that better meets deeper personal needs as we try to find meaning in the experience. This tendency to reshape narratives is a profoundly human trait, one that is powerfully explored in the Parsha V’Etchanan through Moses.

In the second Parsha of Deuteronomy, Moses recalls the Exodus and God’s giving of the Torah. The word V’Etchanan means “I pleaded.” Moses recounts his encounter with God, beseeching God to allow him to enter the Promised Land. Moses’s plea, filled with a heartbreaking sense of injustice, is denied.  He explains his fate to the people with an accusatory tone: “The Lord was angry with me on your account and would not listen to me.”

Taken at face value, Moses appears to be shifting the blame for his own mistake—striking the rock at Meribah—away from himself and onto the Children of Israel. He isn’t just holding them responsible for the act itself but also for his suffering caused by his unfair punishment for that act. After 40 years of leading often ungrateful and rebellious people, Moses was exhausted, broke down, and acted in a way that was uncharacteristic for him, but he is held fully accountable. Moses isn’t merely recounting a story but revealing a fundamental aspect of human nature: blaming others for our own actions.

We often face these situations. How do we respond when confronted with insult or injustice? Too often, we avoid taking responsibility for our actions and instead blame others. We react with harshness or indifference, rationalizing rather than owning up to the situation. The “whataboutism” mentality justifies bad behavior by claiming that if someone wrongs me, I am justified in doing something wrong too. However, our tradition teaches us that ultimate responsibility lies with the individual. The lesson is not that others’ actions can justify our own, but that we are accountable for our behavior, regardless of the circumstances. We cannot point fingers at others to absolve ourselves.

This theme of personal accountability is closely connected to Moses’s chilling prophecy. He warns the people that after they have lived in the land for some time, they will inevitably “deal corruptly” and turn away from God. This human weakness and tendency toward complacency lead to a future of exile. However, Moses offers a remedy for this bleak future: a return to the fundamental principles of their faith, sharing both the “Ten Commandments” and the Shema and V’ahavta.

Our tradition teaches that living by our values is non-negotiable. What we know as Derekh Eretz—the ethical “rules of the road”—must always be followed. We are only given dispensation when we are prevented from fulfilling our obligations. The strength and enduring nature of Judaism require that we respect others and live in a way that benefits both ourselves and our community.

We stand against all hatred—not just antisemitism.  We support the laws of the land and everyone’s rights to those protections. We believe in feeding the hungry, no matter who they are, housing the homeless, and upholding the dignity of work and the ability to support one’s family. Judaism teaches us to do these things because we understand what it means to be a stranger and to honor every person, since we are all created in God’s image.

A society is judged by how it cares for its most vulnerable. This is a core principle of Judaism. Especially during difficult times like these, we are called to reaffirm and champion our values. They are more than just guidelines; they ground us, giving us clarity, meaning, and purpose.

 

 

 

Pincus-From Righteousness to Self-Righteousness: The Peril of Unchecked Zeal

How do you respond to the following:  We will destroy Hamas even if we must sacrifice every remaining hostage and countless thousands of Palestinian women and children?

For some, this is a statement that requires no analysis. For some, this is a righteous stand; for others, it is self-righteousness. 

There is a moment when a subtle but important shift can happen within us, a transition from genuine righteousness to the often-destructive path of self-righteousness. It is a journey from trying to do what is right according to a higher calling to becoming convinced that we are inherently right, unwilling to consider anything else. Often, this occurs without our awareness.

Pinchas in this week’s Torah Portion offers timely insight into today’s tense social environment. Pinchas was zealous for God.  In a moment of crisis, he acted decisively with deep conviction. He kills Zimri, the blaspheming Israelite, and the Midianite princess/seductress/ and lover, catching and killing them in the act, so to speak. In response to these gruesome murders, the plague that was decimating the Israelites comes to a halt, and God recognizes Pinchas as righteous.

We have struggled with this text. Was Zimri righteous, or someone deranged or delusional? But the text is clear that he acted rightly.  This extreme example prompts us to ask ourselves a similar question: How do we know if our actions are righteous, or if they are self-serving? How can we distinguish between selflessness and self-righteousness? Does the greater good drive our response, or ego and selfishness?

To answer this, I try to step back and ask myself, How am I reacting and why? What does this moment require from me?

It’s so easy to lash out, especially when we feel threatened. That primal “fight or flight” reflex can make us feel trapped, and the only option may seem to be to attack and fight our way out. But even in those moments of intense pressure, thoughtfulness and strategy are essential. What do I want to achieve right now? Am I the conciliator, seeking understanding and resolution, or the vanquisher, determined to win at all costs? Or is the right path somewhere in between?

Understanding my motivations makes all the difference. Whether it’s a heated issue like the Israel-Palestine conflict or something more personal like a disagreement with a family member, we need our inner compass to guide our outward actions and help us make decisions about the best way to proceed.

Finding our shared values often helps us find common ground. This is a powerful tool for navigating disagreements.

For example, we all agree that hunger is bad—everyone should have enough food to eat. There is the value we share.  But we can differ on how to achieve this goal.  Some will take the “give a man a fish” approach, others will opt for the “teach a man to fish” method. This is a question of process. We are arguing about the method to achieve the goal.  We are not vilifying the person offering an opinion.  We can be respectful even when we disagree with each other’s ideas.  Otherwise we can lapse from righteousness to self-righteousness.

Zeal can be misleading and deceptive. Do zealots truly hear God’s word, or are they only hearing their own amplified voices inside their heads, mistaking them for divine commands? Pinchas is shown as hearing God’s command, but history also provides many examples of those who, in their zeal, caused great destruction—like the Sicarii, whose self-righteous fervor led to the destruction of the Second Temple, the tragedy of Masada, and the slaughter of Israelites. Their conviction was unwavering, but they profaned God’s name, and their actions resulted in ruin. Some of us might rationalize this behavior instead of taking the time to analyze the issues critically.

Patriotism and love for America can sometimes make it hard for many of us to recognize when harmful actions are justified in its name. Consider the dark chapters of our nation:

The attacks of 9/11 triggered a wave of revenge, transforming us both at home and abroad. Our history is replete with other examples, including Japanese internment camps, ethnic cleansing of Native Americans, turning away Jews fleeing the Nazis, and more.

And as Jews, we grapple with settler violence in the West Bank and the prosecution of the Gaza war. Perceived righteousness can blind us to the humanity and legitimate grievances of the other side.

Anger, fear, insult, anxiety, and even joy—our emotions are triggered in the moment. But our reactions don’t have to be reflexive. They can’t be.

This brings me back to the core question: What are my values, and how are they shaping my life right now? Reflecting on this calls for a mindful pause—a moment to breathe and assess my position before facing a challenge. It’s important even in everyday, mundane moments. That’s why I avoid writing emails directly in the app when the stakes are high. Instead, I open a word processor and draft my message. I review the draft to make sure it clearly communicates what I want to say. If it aligns with my values and is likely to produce the outcome I want, I then copy and paste.

Reflection is our safeguard. It creates space for righteousness to emerge, rather than fostering a rigid, unforgiving sense of self-righteousness. It encourages us to be passionate about what is truly good while remaining open to understanding, compassion, and the shared humanity that connects us all.

Let us all strive to stand up for what is right, to embrace the humanity of others, and to act with humility, guided by honest assessments of our hearts and motivations. Shabbat Shalom.

#BringThemHomeNow

 

Parshah Terumah- A deeper timely meaning

Yoram RanaanThe key to a deeper message in Terumah, or Offering, is the phrase:

“They shall make for me a sanctuary that I shall dwell among them.”

The people bring contributions, or offerings, of precious items, Gold, Silver, copper, spices and gems, wool, animal skins, olive wood- precious materials- they bring so much that Moses needs to ask them to stop bringing any more.  And then, they proceed to build an elaborate Mishkan, a Home for God to dwell amongst the people.  This comes after two previous Parshiot discussions on the Ten Commandments and the Mishpatim, the details of the laws, and notably the application of Law without bias, that create a civil society as the people coalesce into a nation.

This has modern implications—not that any of you need to bring some olive wood to work or offer your wedding bands for ornamentation.

It IS about embracing the idea that this was to be a nation of Laws sanctified by God’s presence. People actively accepted this covenantal relationship with God and the law’s central importance so they could live together.  The idea that the Mishkan could be readily moved from one location to another– that there was portability means that the law went wherever the people were.  And it was the same law whether they lived in the desert of the Midbar or the Promised Land.

We are currently struggling with the notion that we are a nation of laws.  For some, the law is just only when it rules favorably for them and unjust when it does not or even limits what they want to do.  Trust in the system has been the bedrock of the national and local judiciary. The dedication to the ideal of serving justice, although not always lived up to it, was still the notion that kept our faith in the judicial institutions.   This is evidenced by the enforcement of rulings of law by another branch of government operating in support of this institution.  The erosion of trust, the questioning of authority, and the attack on judges and institutions all seriously undermine the capacity of the courts to hold civil society together.  The other branches of government have been held in check in a system expressly set up to keep guardrails in place when other branches of government step too far outside their lanes.

The system is flawed and has much room for improvement. Equitable application of the law for all is not a practical reality. An overwhelmed court system struggles to seek and deliver justice. Although “efficient,” Plea deals often deny justice for the poor, and outcomes are too frequently based on the accused’s ability to hire the best legal representation. The jury system is under pressure since serving is often seen as a burden rather than a responsibility and privilege of citizenship.

As Lady Justice depicts, the court should be a special and sacred place where justice is dispensed based on the merits. However, the system seems to be abused by the wealthy and against the poor. A lack of civics education contributes to a population that is unappreciative of its importance in maintaining civil society.

We need capable courts that enjoy the full support of the people. Although our system is resilient, it can only tolerate so much stress. As the new nation birthed at Sinai, our nation and government require its people from which to derive its legitimacy and also shine as a beacon to the world.  Our challenge is to imbue society with the embrace of the courts as a foundation for our way of life.  We must ensure jurists are seen as above reproach and incorruptible and that the dispensing of justice and the enforcement of the court’s rulings is done so that a nation of laws believes in this sacred covenant, maintaining a vibrant, healthy society.

 

Torah for Jews Today – Parshat Matot

Matot offers a climax to one of the troubling stories in the formation of our people.

 

On the verge of entering the Promised Land, the children of Israel must fight the Midianite people first. Although Moses instructs his warriors, according to God’s directive, to slay all the Midianites, Moses is angered when the army spares the women and children and reiterates the command to kill.

Were the Israelite people freed so they would unquestioningly carry out God’s dirty work? Or was this a test to see if we were worthy of freedom and the responsibilities such freedom carries? Were we ready to serve God as a righteous light to the nations? The army commanders understood the implications of this barbaric act and refused to follow the order. Moses overruled them, demanding harsh vengeance.

This kind of retaliation is appalling by our standards, and it was unacceptable for the Israelites, too. The phrase “Just following orders” sends shudders down the spine. But, even where legitimate grievance exists, morality trumps brutal vengeance. Matot is a warning for us and our interaction in an often inhospitable, antisemitic world.

However, the past cannot be the only lens we use to see the future. There was legitimate grievance against the Midianites. They attempted to undermine the nascent Israelite nation, and war appeared to be the way forward. But following orders is insufficient reason to commit atrocities. God’s vengeance is best left for God to transact (the flood, Sodom and the Korach Rebellion, to name three).

When individuals assume that responsibility and act on behalf of God, it is dangerous. A humane approach offers compassion instead of annihilation and a path toward peace. This alternative does not dismiss the history but does not make us slaves to the past, repeating and perpetuating tribalistic hate. Our tradition repeatedly admonishes us to act with benevolence and, in the words of Pirkei Avot, “Even in a place where there are no menschen, strive to be a mensch.”

Against this backdrop, we might look again at the lessons of this part of the parsha and see how we can apply them in many current world affairs and, in particular, to the situation with the Russian war’s effects on Ukrainians and Poles. We cannot be indifferent to human suffering; it goes against everything our tradition demands.

Jewish history in Ukraine and Poland is fraught. Persecution and antisemitism characterize much of the Jewish experience. Periods of welcome, such as King Casimir III inviting Jews to Poland as other countries expelled them, are countered by the infamous Khmelnytskyi and pogroms, which accounted for the slaughter and terror of the Jewish population of the region. It is little wonder that approximately 2 million-plus Jews emigrated to America at the turn of the 20th century when the opportunity to leave that place presented itself.

Furthermore, we understand that deeply rooted antisemitism enabled the Holocaust. These are substantial reasons for the Jewish psyche to be wary. But if we are limited to only that, practicing hatred in response to hate, we deprive ourselves of the very humanity our tradition teaches.

We Jews are duty-bound to see and respond to the Ukrainian people’s human suffering and the Poles’ heroic efforts. We know that the support by the Poles is something no one offered us as the Shoah unfolded. And knowing this, we can nonetheless be instruments in alleviating anguish and perhaps elevating ourselves in the process.

We can serve as Or l’goyim, a light to the nations, deeply rooted in our belief that we can be agents of change; partners in the ongoing act of creation; that we hear of the suffering and do not stand idly by as another’s blood is shed. Our values compel us to be part of the solution to the problem rather than remain mired in a history where we were seen as the problem needing to be solved.

Of course, we do not deny the past or naively presume the days of Jew-hatred are over. But we can take steps to help the world become a better place. This is a lesson I learned from Parsha Matot.

Show your support for the victims of war with your donation.  For each donation of $54, we will send you the Ukrainian Sunflower to wear proudly and keep us aware you stand against the suffering.  Proceeds are going to the JCC Krakow, a leader in helping Ukrainian refugees.

 

Shabbat Shalom

It’s National Be Nice to In-Laws weekend!

There is a wonderful commercial on the airways.  The “Good Hands” insurance folks have Tina Fey driving with her mother-in-law, aka Mayhem, portrayed by Dean Winters. It is a caricature of the tensions intrinsic in this relationship.  But it is not always so, as we see in this week’s Parsha, Yitro.  This week we see how the wisdom of the elder father can be shared with the son.  Yitro is transferring knowledge borne from the experience of leading others, he is a Midianite priest after all, to Moses, a relative “newbie” to this challenge.

The wise should share their wisdom.  That is straightforward enough.  But it is in the transferring that things can often be complicated.  If I try to impose my wisdom, it likely won’t be heard, shunted aside instead of embraced.  I must find a way to communicate successfully, requiring understanding and sensitivity.  And on the other side of this relationship, the one benefitting from wisdom needs to be ready for the learning.  Jethro had to listen and find a way to connect with his son-in-law, and Moses needed to be overwhelmed enough to realize he was in over his head and was in a desperate place.  Only then could that wisdom be shared.

Both sides of the relationship are challenged to set aside ego and power so that they can find a place to work together for a common purpose.  How timely a message for all of us.

Shabbat Shalom!

(I have been away for a few weeks traveling in Israel and Rome.  I bring home many new experiences I look forward to sharing soon.)

 

Vayera – What did Abraham hear when God spoke?

I, like so many others, have struggled with Abraham’s responses to God in the stories of Vayera.  Why was our Patriarch eager to confront God and bargain to save Sodom and Gomorrah and then be so passively accepting of God’s command to kill Isaac?  Abraham responds to what he heard, a message filtered by his own biases and his perception of God, the other in this relationship.

In the Akedah, God instructs Abraham in painful detail, “Take your son, your only son, the one that you love, Isaac, go to Moriah and offer him as a burnt offering.”  God is carefully staking out Abraham’s test of faithfulness.  There is no room for a conversation. The Akedah is so intense; it is almost impossible for Abraham to catch his breath, let alone say something in response.   Although there is no conversation, the ensuing language makes it clear that the next three days, Abraham is thoroughly deliberate traveling to Mt. Moriah.  Abraham cannot deliberate with God, but it is clear he is consumed in his mind by what is to come.

Sodom and Gomorrah were decidedly different.  God deliberates about telling Abraham His plan, which included assessing the situation on the ground, framing an invitation to a conversation. Abraham joins in, and God encourages it by continuing to engage  Despite the trepidation of arguing with the God of Justice about acting justly, Abraham bargains to lower the number of righteous needed to spare the city until he reaches what he perceives as the best he can do, 10-  a minyan.  The negotiating ends with the best deal Abraham believes he can achieve.

How we hear and understand something sets the table for how we respond to it.  Why Abraham feels he has license to argue in one case and not in the other remains one of the mysteries of our text.  But it is all too familiar territory for all of us.  Each of us responds to what we think we have heard, rendering very different responses, even to the same person, based on the facts and our emotional and situation, among other factors.

What do we hear when another speaks?  Have they spoken undeniable truth, or is it an invitation to engage to achieve a better understanding of each other? Knowing when to speak and when to be silent is among the more difficult decisions we make.  Grappling with this issue is as hard for us as it was for Abraham.  Our tradition encourages us to confront it.

The practice of Mussar works hard at getting us to understand the virtues, or middot, that drive both the person with whom we are in relationship and us.  We learn that the successful relationship requires that we appreciate the middot are working on both of us so that it can be complicated.  We often do not get it right, but we stand a better chance of engaging in meaningful dialogue when we try. Abraham’s inconsistent reactions to God is a lesson with a timeless message, certainly one that is pertinent to today.  Torah is a profound understanding of the human condition.  The issues Abraham and all the characters of our tradition confront are genuinely human issues, as relevant today as they were when first written down.  Let’s try harder to listen better to understand each other.

Shabbat Shalom