If Abraham and Sarah could see our world today, I think they might weep. We’ve traded tents for walls and neighbors for networks. We are more “connected” than any generation before, yet loneliness has become the epidemic of our age.
In the one place where life is lived daily under threat, where rockets, wars, and uncertainty are part of the national daily experience, Israel stands unique among western nations in maintaining a sustainable, even vibrant, birth rate.
Quietly tucked into one of the last verses of Parashat Noach is the template for God’s plan of calling and leadership. It is also a reflection of the enduring concept in Judaism known as l’dor v’dor – from generation to generation.
Another way to translate the opening words of Genesis could be: “With beginnings, God created,” emphasizing that everything in life has a beginning. Although there are times when everything seems to just fall into place, the reality is that most beginnings are not easy.
Every year we have a divinely orchestrated time in which we not only recognize His Presence as our ultimate covering, but we also have the opportunity to sew that beautiful reality into the tapestry of our future generations.
Kol Nidre, the opening prayer of Yom Kippur services, can be seen as the prayer that frees us—not only from words spoken aloud, but also from hidden vows of bitterness, fear, and despair. It becomes our collective cry to Hashem: release us from these bonds.
As we move through this sacred time of reflection and renewal from Rosh Hashana to Yom Kippur, many of us carry questions that linger beneath the surface. As we bring our heartfelt petitions before the throne, perhaps the most tender of questions is this: Where is God in the midst of our suffering?
Messiah Yeshua bears the awesome glory of the heavenly throne room into the ordinary spaces of our lives, if we have ears to hear and eyes to see.
We are in the month of Elul, the season of return. We draw near to God and seek forgiveness. This week, we are stirred to arise; we are moving from a time of sorrow to a time of glory and great joy. Arise and shine; it’s time to wake up.
We are called to care for our fellow Israelite, even as we would care for his lost animal! We are to participate in God’s program of consolation and protection for the people of Israel until “the Lord, our Redeemer” returns to have compassion on her.
The first word of our parasha, re’eh, is conjugated in an imperative form, meaning that it is a command to do, to pay attention to, and “to see to” all the instructions God is setting forth. Moshe does not just present Israel with a choice between blessings and curses. Moshe actually opens with a prophetic blessing to the Jewish people.
We who desire his righteousness to live through us will always be willing to lend a helping hand to any and all in need. Out of our surrender renewal is birthed; out of our renewal transformation occurs. It is out of this transformation that our heart-felt worship wafts through the heavens to the throne room and our service is blessed.
A modern reader may have difficulty accepting the prodigious acts that accompanied the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt. But perhaps more challenging, given our culture’s commitment to the equality of all people, is the idea that God would choose one people in particular.
Tisha B’Av begins this coming Saturday night, and marks one of the most tragic days on the Jewish calendar. Numerous atrocities have befallen the Jewish people on this date (or just around it) throughout the last 3,000 years, the pinnacles being the destruction of both the first and second Temples.
There are always two unseen guests at every bris — neither of whom ever gets an invitation, and both of whom probably wouldn’t RSVP even if we sent one. But their presence is felt nonetheless. One is Elijah — the beloved and expected one.
Midrash Rabbah 21.12 attributes to the daughters of Zelophehad the role of judges of the law, even in Moses’ presence, for as the Lord says, they “speak what is right” (Num 27:6). That is quite startling!
The voice from the flames declared: “I am the God of your forefathers, the God of Avraham, the God of Yitzhak, and the God of Ya’akov.” And then, this voice—the voice of Hashem—said something astonishing: “I have seen the plight of my people, and I am sending you.”
Parashat Chukat is one of the most enigmatic portions in the entire Torah. It seems to flow with contradiction: it begins with a mysterious ordinance, introduces a miraculous yet perplexing deliverance, and ends in what feels like a strange and tragic justice. Midrash teaches us that hidden within these paradoxes are holy lessons, if we’re willing to live with the mystery.
When Moses was confronted and accused by Korah and his clan, he didn't hastily defend himself or his position; he didn't explain himself. Rather, “When Moses heard this, he fell on his face.”
When has the world not been trembling somewhere? Perhaps what Scripture is really telling us is that our so-called “last days” may stretch on for generations. The question is not when the end will come, but how we are meant to live in such a time.