Weekly Torah Commentaries

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.

That we should self-regulate and voluntarily humble ourselves before the Lord becomes a sign of the work of the Torah in our hearts and minds.

We don't count the seven weeks of the Omer to make sure we celebrate Shavuot on the correct date, since we already know it falls on Sivan 6 every year. Rather, we count the days to express our yearning to relive the encounter at Mount Sinai, when we received the Torah amidst an awesome display of God's presence.

The land of Israel, along with the people of Israel, is the centerpiece of God's eternal program. The two go together inseparably. The land comes into its proper purpose when the people of Israel are its custodians.

The Omer is a reminder that there is enough when we put God first, when we encounter God in the now and trust the soon and then to him.

It is vital for our hearts to focus on redemption, salvation, and deliverance. But in order to maintain those spiritual graces in our life, we must fully drink from the Cup of Intimacy.

As believers in Messiah Yeshua we are part of the holy priesthood. That means we should walk in holiness because he is holy. But the Bible does not expressly define holiness—how should we interpret it?

We all prepare for the big moments in life. As children, we prepare for the first day of school, for vacation, for play dates. As we grow, we prepare for school, sports, tests, and graduation. We prepare for jobs, college, trade school, and adulthood in general. Our spiritual lives are a lot like that.

It's never been more true: Yeshua has something we need, whether we are resisting him or have followed him a long distance over many years. Our hearts yearn to be spiritually renewed.

The culmination of the story we commemorate each Passover isn't our departure from Egypt, but the encounter with the Eternal One fifty days later. To emphasize this, the Torah commands us to begin counting the Omer, or sheaf of firstfruits, during Passover.

The understanding Moses gained after first hearing and then responding to the call, Vayikra, can be experienced by any of us who decide to accept the invitation to draw near to God.

As the Tabernacle was anointed with the sacred oil, may we walk in the daily anointing of God's Spirit by loving God and one another, by giving joyfully, and by reflecting the humility of Messiah in all that we do.

Though he saw a vision of the holy ark, Moshe was not called to build it. This parasha gives us insight into the artistic genius of Israel gifted by God for that purpose: Bezalel, and his equally creative partner in the work, Oholiab.

Like Moses, we all want God's glory. We want to see Him in action. We can all look back at different times of our lives and see how God manifested His presence to us in defined ways. Can I say that I am truly addicted to God's movement in my life? Yes!

The Torah in this week's portion, Tetzaveh, describes the burning of aromatic spices, or K'toret, as an important and normative practice for the Kohanim in the Mishkan, the priests in the Tabernacle.

Israel was created to be the Mishkan of God, the place where He dwells among the nations. Every time we announce the Good News of Yeshua to our people, we are working toward the restoration of His Mishkan. But there is another way to join this divine task.

Slavery, as in this week's parasha, is not simply old news. In fact, all of us are slaves. The Bible says it, and Bob Dylan sang it years ago: “It might be the Devil or it might be the Lord, but you gotta serve somebody.”

Much of the biblical text recounts pitfalls and bad relationships that serve as examples of what not to do. This week's portion gives us a welcome respite from that trend in showcasing the relationship between Moses and his father-in-law, Jethro.

This week's parasha, Beshalach, is one of the most dramatic and inspiring portions in the Torah. It tells of Israel's miraculous deliverance at the Red Sea — a moment when all seemed lost, and yet, through divine intervention, salvation came.

Let's talk about renewal. There's something powerful about starting fresh—about moving forward, not just physically, but spiritually. It's about embracing change and becoming more of who we're meant to be as Israel, the people of the God of Israel.

Moses knew the heart of Pharaoh and doubted the success of God's plan (6:12), but God had commanded him to speak these words; God had put these words in his mouth: “Let my people go that they may serve me.”

How are you wired? What makes you tick? God creates and redeems us to be lights in the world, lights of different kinds. Some of us will be lights of creativity. Some, lights of justice and truth. Some of us are lights of compassionate action. Some are lights of supernatural power. Whatever the case, God wants us to be lights in the world.

This week, as we are reading Parashat Vayechi (“And he lived”), the United States is remembering President Jimmy Carter, who passed away on December 29. In Israel, the country mourns hostage Youssef al-Zidayne, whose body was discovered in a Gaza tunnel on January 8, along with evidence that his son Hamza was also dead.

When I was in 8th grade, the Monkees first appeared on television. They had recorded a hit song called “I'm a Believer.” The lyrics proclaim, “And then I saw her face; now I'm a believer!” This week, we see a similar change in the story of Joseph when his brothers saw his face.

Yeshua is the light that dispels the darkness, the one who brings peace and unity. During this season, as we commemorate the great miracles that God has brought, let's remember in unity the light that he brings into our midst, and among our brethren.

With this week's parasha the great saga of Genesis takes a decisive turn. The dramatic visitations of God that characterized the lives of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob come to an end. In the following story of Joseph and his brothers, we might be tempted to ask where God is amidst all that they have to go through. 

Gratitude is a powerful antidote to the virus of gloom and anxiety that afflicts us today, and it shows up in a surprising way in this week's Torah reading when Esau, of all people, models it for us.

The story of Leah is a profound narrative of unrequited love, longing, and ultimately, acceptance. Leah's journey, as reflected in the names she gives her children, offers a timeless lesson in embracing life's adversities and finding contentment within our circumstances.

The Lord responds to Rebekah's question of “Why is this happening to me?” by showing her that she is seen, cared for, loved, and understood. It's not a quick solution or a trite aphorism; it's simply a move toward trust and learning.

In the three prayers that we have read these past two weeks, we see the heroes of the story, our forefathers and foremothers, invoke the character of God in their supplications before the Lord.

The sages see Abraham as a paragon of love and inclusion. He brought people from the surrounding societies in Haran and Canaan close to the one God through his example and his generosity.

Living in today's world, we too face many unknowns. As people who profess a faith in the God of Abraham, trusting also in the Good News of Yeshua the Messiah, we to come face to face with challenges throughout our journeys.

In God's pursuit of justice, some will be brought low, and others lifted up, but in the end, in the fulness of time, all of creation will be made whole once more.

Though we can't turn back the hands of time, we can—and do—revisit time by rolling the Torah scroll back and recycling the stories noted therein. This we do this every year around this time: on Simchat Torah. And so we begin again . . .

What a tragic and challenging year! We might be very much tempted to say “good riddance” to the last year, 5784. Yet our tradition reminds us to welcome every New Year with a sense of hope and encouragement.

Everybody needs heroes, and heroism can be contagious. In these trying times, Yeshua's sacrifice encourages us to courageously go forward to meet the challenges of life without a layer of self-protection.

With Rosh Hashanah we enter the Ten Days of Awe that will continue through Yom Kippur. But we live in a time when it's hard to be awed . . . because awe is the response to the presence of a transcendent other, something or someone far greater than ourselves, greater than our understanding or our ability to perceive.

Why is it so hard to change? As we approach the season of teshuvah (turning, repentance) and the Ten Days of Repentance, this question is worth considering. Dramatic, intentional changes do happen, but they seem to be the exception rather than the rule.

When Israel enters the land, the Israelites are to declare their origins and identity. "He has brought us to this place and has given us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey; and now, behold, I have brought the firstfruits of the land which you, O Lord, have given me."

This week our spirits were pierced again with a time of national mourning as we commemorated the tragedy of 9/11. As we look out across the social landscape of America we wonder if God is chastising this nation or if we are in some stage of rebellion. Perhaps both at the same time.

At a time when the modern State of Israel is at war, when we are daily praying for hostages, and the world is in upheaval, we must be focused, attentive, and ready for what will come.

We must have spiritual vision and depth perception to see clearly. “Turn my eyes away from gazing at vanity but revive me in Your ways” (Psalm 119:37). Instead of asking “Do you see what I see?” Re'eh asks, “Do you see what He sees?”

It is as our Rabbi Yeshua taught by quoting from this parasha while suffering the hardship of a forty-day fast in the wilderness: “Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of Adonai."

Nothing breathes more life into a community than the sound of young children, laughing and playing. Even the sound of a baby's cry, somewhere in the back of the room, can bring feelings of hope. Hope in the future, hope in the next generation, hope that there will be someone to teach.