Weekly Torah Commentaries

Parashat Tetzaveh and Shabbat Zachor, our readings just before Purim, together offer a simple but urgent charge. Remember who you are. Remember whom you serve. Remember why you were redeemed. And do not forget.

In Moses' day the heartfelt donations were used to construct a special place for Adonai to dwell with his people as they continued on their journey. Today, instead of giving precious materials to construct a physical dwelling we are learning to live less for our own worldly successes and physical desires and more to become one with the Spirit of God.

When we first moved to Ann Arbor, more than forty years ago, there was a Chinese restaurant nearby with a giant lobster in a tank in its foyer. The creature was nearly three feet long and must have weighed close to twenty pounds. No one knew for sure how old it was—perhaps seventy-five years, give or take. So why am I talking about lobsters and what does it have to do with our parasha?

Each time we stand before the open ark, we stand again at Sinai. We repeat Israel's ancient pledge, affirming that all God has spoken, we will do. Parashat Yitro reminds us that this pledge demands more than belief. It demands shared leadership, covenantal responsibility, and lives shaped by service.

In the modern world, no text has spoken more profoundly to people about their potential to achieve freedom. The message to Israel for all time is clear. The God who has raised you up in fulfillment of his promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob will not forget his promises to you.

In Parashat Bo, a portion filled with plagues, Pharaoh, and Passover instructions, we are reminded that woven into the fabric of our history, God has provided tangible, sensory traditions that remind us of who he is and who he called us to be.

Just as Israel experienced an initial redemption in Egypt even while still enslaved, so we, too, are invited to live within the redemption God has already enacted in Messiah. Our life is shaped not only by anticipation, but by participation: learning to recognize what God has done, what he is doing now, and how we are to live as his redeemed people today. Our ransomed life is now.

It is only after Moses turns aside that God speaks. Moses first hears God through the miracle of the bush that burns without being consumed. Only then does he truly listen—by pausing, turning, and giving his full attention to what is unfolding before him.

The idea of a long process toward a distant goal feels daunting unless we're rewarded along the way. What happened to perseverance—to enduring hardship so that, when we look back, we can see how much stronger we've become because of it?

Parashat Miketz — meaning “at the end” — opens with the words “At the end of two full years…” referring to the final stretch of Joseph's imprisonment following the false accusations from Potiphar's wife. But behind those two years lies a far longer story of waiting, injustice, disappointment, and perseverance.

Chanukah is usually told as the story of a jar of oil. Yet the oil miracle, beautiful as it is, appears only in the Talmud—recorded centuries after the Maccabean revolt. If we look more closely at the earliest sources, something surprising emerges. Chanukah was once focused not on the menorah, but on the altar.

Each of us will struggle with God, but hang on in your wrestling—don't let go until you realize the blessing! Be reconciled. If you wronged someone, seek forgiveness; if you were wronged, give forgiveness freely without prompting.

Rosebud was the name of Citizen Kane's childhood sled, an emblem of simpler days, a symbol of a time when he knew joy, safety, and belonging. What makes that symbol powerful is not its sentimental value. It is what it represents: the longing for a spiritual home.

The relationship between Jacob and Esau is a foundational relationship in the Scriptures: Israel and the Nations in shalom, under one Shepherd, sharing in each other's destinies through humility and turning toward the other.

Sarah is a woman well worth remembering, one who continues to be an example to each generation. Sarah's story is a picture of what it takes to journey through life as an imperfect human. All the while, we seek God; He knows us, He knows our value to His plan.

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.

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.”