Watch, Listen, Learn

A strange, mysterious half-story told in the Torah hints at a failure of leadership and a failure of law, and calls us to be brave and bold, especially when our dreams seem furthest from reality.

A blessing for strength in spirit and body for a new Pope in a time when spiritual and moral leadership matters more profoundly than ever.

…Because there is a space between stimulus and response. What we do in that space is our choice. So please: tell me you’re scared. I’m scared too. Tell me times are tough. Tell me we’re facing a narrowing landscape of possibilities. But please do not tell me there’s nothing we can do. There’s always a choice to make.

There are a number of parallels between the creation of the world and the splitting of Yam Suf, casting this dramatic moment of the Exodus as a kind of “recreation story.”  Which makes the appearance of a provocative midrash about an Israelite woman picking fruit from a tree and feeding it to another that much more fascinating… and I’d like to suggest, subversive.  What exactly happened in the Garden of Eden, and what message does it hold for the generation crossing the sea? Click here to access the text study sheet.

Prepare to embrace the bold vision of Passover (that we are all heading toward freedom, that pharaohs crumble and fall) requires focus. Let’s affirm the twin pillars of the Hebrew Bible (chesed/lovingkindness and tzedek/justice) to gird ourselves for the battle ahead!

Ours is not the first generation in which telling this story, reiterating these foundational ideas, is risky. Dangerous, even. And perhaps that is the greatest reason of all to tell this story truthfully.

Let us not turn to the garden—or the theater, or the studio—to escape this world, but to enrich the soul, to strengthen our hearts to plant for a better future. Making art, tending gardens, telling stories, especially from within the narrowest constraints—all of these can be sacred acts of defiance.

The rabbis radically reinvent Elijah. From violent zealot to gentle peace builder. The path to the messianic era depends on this transformation.

Using Jews as a wedge to break apart the world order is not new.  We must be honest about what’s happening here.

When your most precious resource faces grave risk, you create a sanctuary to protect and nurture it. You hold close the seeds, so that when the conditions are right, you can replant and rebuild.

We are lost and disoriented.  How can the core values of this week’s Torah portion supply us with a compass to navigate the landscape of moral injury?

Yitro reminds us, in the twisted reality of our time: do not quiet your intuition. Defy the new norms. Live from your deepest moral convictions, not your most callous political calculations. And do not eat the tainted grain— no matter how hungry you are. Keep searching for an alternative food source. There is always another food source.

– Rabbi Sharon Brous | B’shallakh 5785 Four postures our tradition warns against, in the face of grave threat: Do not snail. Do not capitulate. Do not meet become the mirror image of your enemy. Do not render yourselves preemptively powerlessness. Instead: do what you know

We are all struggling in this moment of deep darkness – either riding the constant emotional rollercoaster or already feeling numb. The thing is that both of these will destroy us. Instead, we need to stay connected to our humanity and each other to get us through. That is the only way we will find ourselves back in the light.

This is the moment to remember who we are, to ground ourselves in the story that stands in determined opposition to the story of tyranny.  To tell of a God who cares about the vulnerable.  To become again a people whose faith compels us to protect the frightened.

After 15 months of catastrophic loss, unspeakable heartache, and the utter undoing of not one but two peoples—in body and spirit, we stand—at this moment—at an inflection point. May this be the beginning of the end of the suffering. May it be the beginning of the path toward a just peace.

Even as the fires burn, let us hold on another, give voice to what we have lost, and turn toward what remains.

How did Joseph, a man hardened by one life experience after the next, soften his heart to forgive his brothers?  A remarkable midrash imagines a conversation between Joseph and Benjamin that changes everything.  Ten names and all the worlds of meaning, of missing, of memory they contain.

What is Joseph’s legacy? And what can we learn from the character with the most costume changes in all of the Torah?

Jacob tried to flee from his estranged brother. Did he fear more the battle, or the potential reconciliation? What happens when victimhood is built into our self-definition? What do we lose when we stay at the table, and what might we gain? What will it take for us to understand that there is no future until we see one another?

There is a teaching in Pirkei Avot that says that the mouth of the well was made during the first Shabbat of creation. We have long accepted it to be Miriam’s well, but what if it’s the well from this week’s parsha – the one Jacob encounters after his dream, and where he meets Rachel for the first time? If it’s that well, then maybe we, like Jacob, have to find the well, roll off the stone, and discover what exists underneath.

Who is Isaac?  The man perpetually trapped by his father’s story, still bound to the altar, forever defined by the core trauma of his life.  What will it take to break free?  For the once bound to become unbound?

After a life of heartache, two estranged brothers affirmed each other’s humanity, and rediscovered their own. We, too, can make that choice. Let us push back on the encroaching darkness as a force for good—a light force—that counters the cruelty, racism, and violence poisoning our culture with compassion, tender presence, and forgiveness. This is what solidarity looks like.