Sukkot: Celebrating God’s Presence

Sukkot 5786

David Tokajer, UMJC Vice-President, Congregation Mayim Chayim, Daphne, AL

Sukkot is called z’man simchateinu—the season of our joy—but the joy is not shallow happiness. It is joy rooted in God’s presence, His faithfulness, and the promise of ultimate redemption. The Torah reading for Shabbat Chol HaMoed during Sukkot (Exodus 33:12–34:26) and the primary Haftarah reading for Sukkot from Zechariah 14 together highlight this reality. They remind us that God’s presence is the true source of our joy, and that His glory will one day cover all nations as the waters cover the sea.

In the Torah portion, Moses pleads with God after the sin of the golden calf. Israel’s rebellion has jeopardized their loyalty to the covenant, and God has threatened to withdraw His presence. Moses refuses to settle for that. His cry is simple yet profound: “If Your presence does not go with me, don’t let us go up from here!” (Exod 33:15 TLV). Israel can survive without many things, but not without the Shekhinah, the Presence of God. Moses goes further—he dares to ask, “Show me Your glory.” God responds with a revelation of His character, the Thirteen Attributes of Mercy (Exod 34:6-7).

The essence of Sukkot comes into focus here: God’s people rejoice not because life is easy or secure, but because His Presence dwells among us. The sukkah itself is a reminder that our security does not rest in walls of stone but in the covering of El Shaddai.

How does the sukkah remind of us this reality? We build what can be best described as a temporary hut, leaving behind the comfort and security of our homes to reside in the outdoors where we have no control over the weather or natural environment. We step into our own vulnerability and place our trust in God for our security. We set aside the comfort of our homes that are designed to withstand significant external forces and we step into temporary dwelling places designed to remind us of God’s Presence leading our forefathers through the wilderness and of His divine hand providing for all our needs.

In the Haftarah reading, the prophet Zechariah looks forward to the end of days, when the nations will gather against Jerusalem but God Himself will intervene. His feet will stand on the Mount of Olives, and living waters will flow from Jerusalem to the east and the west. Then comes the stunning vision: “Adonai will then be King over all the earth. In that day Adonai will be Echad [One] and His Name Echad” (Zech 14:9 TLV). And what feast will the nations be commanded to celebrate at that time? Sukkot. The nations who once opposed God’s covenant people will be required to ascend to Jerusalem year after year to worship the King and to keep the Feast of Booths (Zech 14:16–19).

Why Sukkot? Because this festival embodies dependence on God, universal joy, and the gathering of all peoples. Unlike Pesach or Shavuot, Sukkot is explicitly tied to the nations. Seventy bulls were sacrificed in the Temple during the festival—one for each of the seventy nations of the world (Talmud, Sukkah 55b). The prophetic picture is that in the Kingdom age, all nations will acknowledge God’s sovereignty, and Sukkot will become the great unifying festival of worship.

The Torah and Haftarah together frame the tension we live in today. We, like Moses, cry out for God’s Presence in the midst of a broken world. We build sukkot to remind ourselves that our true dwelling is not yet here. But we also look forward with hope to the day Zechariah describes, when Messiah Yeshua reigns in Jerusalem and every nation comes to rejoice before Him.

This is one of the most significant reasons why Sukkot relies so heavily on the concept of l’dor v’dor (from generation to generation). Leviticus 23:42–43 relays that we are to live in Sukkot so that future generations will remember all that God did for Israel as He brought us out from the land of Egypt. It can become all too easy to become comfortable, complacent, and assimilated into the environment we find ourselves in, however once a year we are commanded to give up that comfort and to remember how we are to rely wholly upon God’s Presence for our security and our blessing. Sukkot is a fun and energetic holiday, it is a time of great joy and gladness, but the reason for that joy and gladness is that we know God is with us. We know that God is our covering and our protection, and 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 as well.

So as we celebrate this z’man simchateinu, we don’t simply shake the lulav—the palm frond, myrtle, and willow branches (Lev 23:40)—and dwell in the sukkah out of ritual. Rather, we proclaim with our lives that God’s Presence is our covering, His mercy is our joy, and His coming Kingdom is our hope.

Chains of Words, Freedom of Spirit

Yom Kippur, 5786

Rabbi Isaac S. Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham, Ann Arbor, MI

Some years ago, when our congregation’s leadership considered adding Kol Nidre to our Yom Kippur service, it sparked deep discussion. This haunting and powerful piece has long carried an air of controversy. 

First, it is not really a prayer but a legal formula. It always feels strange: we arrive for the holiest night of the year, hearts open, white Torah scrolls in our arms, expecting fire and poetry. Instead we chant . . . a legal contract. Asking Hashem to absolve us of vows.

Second, it has been weaponized by our detractors through the centuries, who twisted its meaning to accuse Jews of being untrustworthy or failing to keep commitments.

And yet Kol Nidre has become such a core aspect of the holy day that it feels unthinkable to exclude it. For me personally, its haunting and beautiful melody makes our observance more profound and deeply moving.

And so we chose to include it, but with careful explanation. In our liturgy we are careful to declare it as a prayer that annuls only vows between us and God, not between people. We also connect it to Messiah Yeshua, recognizing our human frailty while asking God to look upon us with mercy in light of his Son, who is ever faithful and true.

The impetus behind this prayer is the question: how can we stand before Hashem on this Day of Atonement carrying the weight of broken vows? Its focus is on promises made rashly or mistakenly to God that could not be fulfilled. In this it resembles the sacrificial system, which offered no atonement for deliberate sins but only for those committed in error. Kol Nidre, likewise, seeks release from vows made hastily or under mistake, not from intentional deceit.

This prayer recognizes that words have import. God spoke and things came to be. Likewise, we create things with our words. Our words also create worlds, for blessing or for harm. This fact is recognized in the Torah, which insists that we take our words seriously. “He shall not break his word; he shall do according to all that comes out of his mouth” (Numbers 30:3).

Messiah Yeshua emphasized this same truth, exhorting us to let our “yes” simply be yes and our “no” simply be no—without the need to pile on oaths or vows. As Yeshua declares: “But I tell you, do not swear an oath at all. . . . All you need to say is simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything beyond this comes from the evil one” (Matthew 5:34, 37).

Vows can become chains. Rash promises, careless oaths, inner vows spoken in fear or anger—they linger, binding us long after they are spoken. The Torah gives us a horrible example of this when Yiftach makes a vow to sacrifice whatever came out of his house. His daughter emerged. A careless vow destroyed his family.

What I would like to encourage us, however, is to focus on a different set of vows. Ones that are equally as damaging and can wrap us in chains. These are existential ones; vows made in our hearts.

When someone hurts us, we may be tempted to declare: “I’ll never forgive them” or “I will never open myself to others again.”

We may also bind ourselves with vows of despair, whispering: “I will always be broken” or “I can’t change.”

These too are vows, and they suffocate the soul. Kol Nidre 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, for they block the flow of grace and love in our lives.

If it were only legal, Kol Nidre would not pierce us as it does. But the melody carries the ache of our hearts. It is the cry of souls desperate to be released from chains.

That’s why Kol Nidre opens Yom Kippur: before we can confess sins, we must shed the shackles. Only free hearts can truly repent.

Kol Nidre invites us to:

• Cancel the vow never to forgive.

• Cancel the vow never to hope.

• Cancel the vow never to risk love.

For if God cancels our vows, should we not also cancel the vows we’ve made against ourselves?

If you look at the words of Kol Nidre carefully, you will see that perhaps surprisingly, they are not about past vows but future vows. It says "All vows . . . which we have vowed . . . from this Yom Kippur to the next".

The original text indeed focused on the cancellation of past vows, but this was viewed as problematic and it was changed by Rabbeinu Tam, the grandson of Rashi. It is forward looking. So, too, may we look forward into this new year.

Our Sages taught that Kol Nidre is not merely annulment but rebirth. Like removing old garments before donning white, we strip away the chains of the past year. Rabbi Eliezer Simcha Weisz, a member of the Chief Rabbinate in Israel, says, "Kol Nidre offers a path to freedom, a way to unbind ourselves from the past and step into the future unshackled."

And so we begin Yom Kippur not with judgment, but with release. Not with fear, but with freedom. So that when we stand before God on the day of Yom Kippur, we stand as new creations—unbound, forgiven, free.

May we use this sacred Day to search our hearts and souls, uncovering the hidden vows we have made—the ones that keep us bound and less free to love God, others, and even ourselves. In letting them go, may we taste true renewal and be reborn. On this Holy Day, we beg the Master of the Universe to release us from the words that bind us. To release us from vows made in fear, anger, or despair.

To seal us not with chains, but with compassion. So that our words in the new year may be words of blessing, words of truth, words that build and not destroy.

Ketivah v’chatimah tovah—May you be inscribed and sealed for good!

He Will Not Leave You

Erev Yom Kippur at the Western Wall

Parashat Vayelech, Deuteronomy 31:1–30  

 Matt Absolon, Beth Tfilah, Miramar, FL

“Be strong and courageous. Do not fear or be in dread of them, for it is the Lord your God who goes with you. He will not leave you or forsake you.”

Then Moses summoned Joshua and said to him in the sight of all Israel, “Be strong and courageous, for you shall go with this people into the land that the LORD has sworn to their fathers to give them, and you shall put them in possession of it. It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.” (Deuteronomy 31:6-8)

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?

In this week’s portion, we find Moses speaking to our people on the edge of uncertainty. Fearful about the difficulties that lie ahead, twice he tells them: “Be strong and courageous.” But Moses doesn’t ask them to ignore their fear. Instead, he offers this assurance: “It is the LORD your God who goes with you. He will not leave you nor forsake you.”

God does not promise to remove our fears, but to walk with us through them.

This same comfort echoes in the words of the prophet Joel in this week’s Haftarah:

You shall know that I am in the midst of Israel,
    and that I am the Lord your God and there is none else.
 And my people shall never again be put to shame. (Joel 2:27)

The promise is much more precious than material provision. The promise is God’s presence. And for His people, the antidote to our fear is the presence of God.

In these days of war, with the ongoing engagement in Gaza and those in the diaspora facing a sharp rise in antisemitic vitriol and physical attacks, there is once again this fearful sense that we are standing on the edge of uncertainty. In these dark and challenging days, we are reminded that our true strength comes from the steadfast presence of our ever-faithful God.

This is why teshuva, returning to God, is so essential. It is not just about repentance for wrongdoing; it is about closeness. Teshuva draws us back into alignment with the One whose promise has carried us through the generations: “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted” (Psa 34:18). We return to God not only to be forgiven, but to be near. To rest in that nearness. To know, once again, that we are not alone. 

Many among us are carrying pain too deep for words. Some live daily with physical suffering. Some have lost loved ones in the current war. Some of us are praying for loved ones on the front lines. Others are walking the long, slow path of caring for a loved one with no certain future. And for some, the fear isn’t dramatic—it’s quiet, persistent: waking to a new day, stepping back into the burden, wondering how to once again carry the weight of tomorrow. 

In these moments, there is no earthly wealth that can comfort us. No music, no words that can fully soften the heartache. But this one promise has never failed us: “I will never leave you, nor forsake you.” 

As Yeshua was ascending to the Father for the final time, he gave no illusion of a life free from hardship. He promised no riches, no immunity from sorrow. But he did leave his disciples with this promise: “And behold, I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matt 28:20). This is the same divine faithfulness, the same eternal nearness. Not a life without fear, but a life with God beside us, walking through the fear.  

As we prepare for Yom Kippur, may our teshuva and our ma’asim tovim, our good deeds, open new space within us for God's presence to dwell. We seek forgiveness not simply to escape judgment, but to be drawn closer to the One whose nearness is life itself, and who gives us the strength to face our fears.

My prayer is that we may all be written and sealed for a good year; as we thrive in a future still full of uncertainty yet held together by His Presence. 

Days of Awe and Repentance

High Holy Days 5786

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel

One day, early in his ministry, when Yeshua was standing on the shore of the Kinneret—the sea of Galilee—getting ready to teach the word of God, people started pushing in from all directions, eager to hear every word. There was hardly a place to stand and Yeshua couldn’t raise his voice above the noise of the crowd. He saw two fishing boats pulled up to the shore nearby, so he got into one and asked the owner, a man he knew named Shimon, to put out a little from the land. Yeshua sat down and taught the people from the boat, and when he had finished, he said to Shimon, “Put out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.” But Shimon answered, “Master, we were fishing all night and didn’t catch a thing! . . . But at your word I’ll let down the nets.” And when they did, they caught a huge number of fish, so many that their nets were breaking and their boats started to sink. But when Shimon saw it, he fell down at Yeshua’s knees and said, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord.” (Luke 5:1–8 paraphrased)

We don’t know at what time of year this story takes place, but I think Shimon is ready for Rosh Hashana and the Days of Awe that follow. He’s ready because he knows he’s not ready. He’s in awe at the presence of one who is clearly far greater than himself and he responds with repentance—or at least with the core impulse of repentance as he realizes his unworthiness. All he can do is fall down and say, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord.”

Shimon has revealed the heart of Teshuva (“turning” or “repentance”), as he turns in deep humility away from his self-sufficiency and complacency. Repentance is one of the main themes of the High Holy Day season about to begin (September 22 – October 2). And so, the ten Days of Awe from Rosh Hashana through Yom Kippur are also known as the Days of Teshuva/Repentance.

If we are ever privileged like Shimon to experience awe in the presence of the holy, we shouldn’t be surprised if we’re overtaken at that moment by how unworthy we are.

Shimon’s response recalls a scene early in Isaiah’s ministry:

In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up; and the train of his robe filled the temple. Above him stood the seraphim. Each had six wings: with two he covered his face, and with two he covered his feet, and with two he flew. And one called to another and said:

Kadosh kadosh kadosh Adonai Tzva’ot

M’lo kal ha-aretz kevodo!

“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts;

the whole earth is full of his glory!”

And the foundations of the thresholds shook at the voice of him who called, and the house was filled with smoke.

And I said: “Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, Adonai Tzva’ot!”

Then one of the seraphim flew to me, having in his hand a burning coal that he had taken with tongs from the altar. And he touched my mouth and said: “Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, and your sin atoned for.” (Isaiah 6:1–7 ESV modified)

It’s this initial encounter, including his deep sense of unworthiness and the cleansing touch only God could provide, that prepares Isaiah to bear the message to Israel all his life and on through the ages. Even into the 21st century, we still read his chapters of comfort and consolation through the weeks leading up to the Days of Awe.

So, awe and repentance are linked, but not always in the sequence of awe leading to repentance. Rather, in this season it’s customary to practice repentance to prepare for the awe we are to encounter in the Holy Days.

But how are we to prepare? In this season, it’s customary to spend extra time in prayer and Scripture, especially Psalms, and to give attention to the state of our souls. Shimon isn’t doing anything like this in the boat with Yeshua, of course. Rather, he realizes he’s a sinner suddenly, at the same instant that he realizes he’s in the presence of one far greater and more powerful than himself. But we can also practice teshuva in anticipation of the awesome encounter.

So how do we translate this story into a take-away for the Days of Awe, the Days of Teshuva?

We can’t schedule or manage awe, but we can practice teshuva in the form of turning away from our ordinary routine, even disrupting it, to heighten our spiritual alertness—and turning toward God. Between now and the close of Yom Kippur, then, let’s try this:

1) Take account of your soul. Teshuva isn’t just a one-time experience, but part of our daily practice as followers of Yeshua, who taught us to pray, “Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts as we also have forgiven our debtors” (Matt 6:11–12 TLV). And this practice isn’t just self-reflection or self-examination, but humbly seeking the light of the Spirit.

Search me, O God, and know my heart!

Try me and know my thoughts!

And see if there be any grievous way in me,

and lead me in the way everlasting! (Psa 139:23–24 ESV)

You might find it helpful to record your daily accounting in a log or journal.

2) Create less distraction in your life. Spend less time on the screen, whether TV, laptop, tablet, or phone—a partial fast from the ever-distracting, unabashedly human-centered and evanescent realm of media. You might even put some blocks of no-screen time on your calendar!

3) Read Psalms every day. Include reading or even singing them aloud if you can and listen actively to their words. You might already do this sort of thing, so try ramping it up during this season. All of scripture speaks to us; the Psalms speak for us. Psalms speak from heart to heart.

4) Be alert for the transcendent other. I know that’s a fancy phrase, but what I mean is simple enough. Shimon, for all his shortcomings, knew when he was in the presence of something and someone way beyond his ordinary experience. He refrained from labeling, packaging, managing the transcendent other, and instead simply recognized it. That’s something we rarely do in our materialistic, human-centered world – but we can put it into practice as we reduce the distractions around us, and also within us, and seek God’s presence.

Back to Isaiah 6: “In the year that King Uzziah died I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up. . . . And I said: ‘Woe is me! For I am lost; for I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, Adonai Tzva’ot!’”

Our experience of awe is intrinsically tied in with turning in deep humility from our sense of self-sufficiency.

Isaiah is awed and broken at a vision of the heavenly throne room; Shimon is awed and broken in his ordinary workplace at an encounter with the Awesome when Yeshua shows up. This contrast reflects a profound truth: Messiah Yeshua bears the glory of the heavenly throne room into the ordinary spaces of our lives, if we have ears to hear and eyes to see.

We can’t manage or schedule awe, but we can make ourselves ready in the ways I’ve outlined to recognize and bow to the presence of the Awesome One, whether in a glorious vision of the heavenly throne room, or in an encounter of the transcendent Messiah within the humble surroundings of our daily lives. We can make ourselves ready as we cry out for God’s help:

Search me, O God, and know my heart!

Try me and know my thoughts!

And see if there be any grievous way in me,

and lead me in the way everlasting!

Arise and Shine!

Sixth Haftarah of Comfort, Isaiah 60:1-22

Suzy Linett, Devar Shalom, Ontario, CA

“Kumi ori—Arise, shine, for your light has come! The glory of Adonai has risen on you” (Isaiah 60:1). It has been six weeks since Tisha b’Av, since that time of deep mourning for all that has happened to the Jewish people over the centuries, so much of which occurred on that date. This week, we read the sixth of the Seven Haftarot of Comfort, read between Tisha b’Av and Rosh Hashanah, or Yom Teruah, the Day of Trumpet Blast (Leviticus 23:24). We are in the month of Elul, the season of return. We draw near to God and seek forgiveness. We long for that ultimate Day of Trumpet Blast, the sounding of the Shofar, and the coronation of the King of Kings. 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. 

“Rise and shine.” Although I was unfamiliar with this haftarah at the time, these are the words I heard some mornings when I was awakened for a school day. Later, in Jewish summer camp, we sang, “Rise and shine, and give God the glory, glory, children of the Lord.” (Actual origin of the song unknown). It was time to wake up.  

Isaiah 60 is both a prophecy and a command. Throughout scripture, the theme of “arise and shine” repeats. Abram was told to arise, to leave his father’s house, to become Abraham and bring forth the people who would take God’s shining light to the world. In Exodus 34:29–30 we read, “Now it happened, when Moses came down from Mount Sinai . . . Moses did not know that the skin of his face was radiant, because God had spoken with him. When Aaron and all Bnei-Yisrael saw Moses, the skin of his face shone in rays, so they were afraid to come near him.” He had climbed and risen to the top of the mountain to meet with the Lord, and he shone after the experience. After Yeshua ascended the Mount of Transfiguration, with Peter and Jacob and John his brother, “He was transfigured before them; His face shone like the sun, and His clothes became as white as the light” (Matt 17:2). They had climbed, arisen, to the top of that mountain.

The second verse of Isaiah 60 reads, “For behold, darkness covers the earth, and deep darkness the peoples. But Adonai will arise upon you, and His glory will appear over you.” This is reminiscent of Genesis 1:2–3, “Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light.” The presence of the Lord brings light. We are to be the ones who bring the light; we are to rise and shine.

The tragedies that occurred over history on the ninth of Av were a result of turning away from God. Our sages taught those events were the result of the bad report brought by the ten spies which resulted in a 40-year wilderness journey (Mishnah Taanit 4.6:3). They did not see the spiritual truth. They did not rise to the occasion and trust the land would be theirs. They did not see that the Lord would shine through the Israelites and overcome the darkness of the pagan tribes living in the land.  

Now, in repentance, it is time to turn towards Him; to return to Him. It is time to turn to His light and to reflect it and take it to the world. Isaiah 60 is a call to wake up and show the glory of the Lord. Israel will shine. Israel is not dead. Israel has not been replaced. Israel will respond to the command, “Kumi Ori.” Israel will “Arise and shine.” 

Arise and shine – wake up and do your best. Arise and shine – get up and get going. Arise and shine – move from darkness to light.

“Nations will come to your light, kings to the brilliance of your rising” (Isaiah 60:3). Nations will come to the light. Nations will come to the Lord through Israel’s light. When diamonds and other gems are first mined, they are rough and uneven stones. They do not look anything like the refined and polished jewels we admire. They are raised from the earth, then must undergo a process of refinement. They must be cut, shaped, and polished. They must be made into shapes that sparkle when they reflect light. They must undergo a process provided by trained gem cutters who work with precision. Isn’t that like us? When we come to the Lord, we are raised into new life, but we must undergo refinement. We must be cut, shaped, and polished through a process, trusting the Lord Who knows how to cut each of us to uniquely shine.  

Throughout history, the Jewish people have been cut. We have been mined, excavated, and elevated. We have been “diamonds in the rough,” a chosen people with great value who have shone throughout the ages. Then, we stumble, we fall. It is as if the diamond slipped from its setting back into the dirt. Then, the Master brings it out again, cleans it off, and sets it out to shine once more.  

We are commanded to wake up, to get up, to move, to shine and give glory to God. Yet it is difficult. How do we shine? “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overpowered it” (John 1:5). We shine in the darkness when we reflect the light of the Lord. We reflect His light when we live as He commands. The journey through the seven weeks from Tisha b’Av to Rosh Hashanah mirrors our walk as we draw closer to the Lord. Messiah Yeshua said, 

You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden.  Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a basket. Instead, they put it on a lampstand so it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men so they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven. (Matt 5:14–16)

During this season we travel towards the Lord in repentance and awe. As we turn towards Him, we see His radiance, His glory, His light. We have His forgiveness, if we only return to Him and seek Him. As we are cleansed, we are chiseled into gems of glory. We recall a promise found in this haftarah.

No more will the sun be your light by day,

nor the glow of the moon be your light,

but Adonai will be your everlasting light,

and your God for your glory.

No more will your sun set,

nor will your moon wane,

for Adonai will be your everlasting light,

as the days of your mourning end. (Isa 60:19–20)

The Lord is available. He is waiting for us to turn to Him. He will shine His light upon us as we seek Him. In his vision of the New Jerusalem, John sees the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy:

I saw no temple in her, for its Temple is Adonai Elohei-Tzva’ot and the Lamb. And the city has no need for the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God lights it up, and its lamp is the Lamb. The nations shall walk by its light, and the kings of the earth bring their glory into it. . . . Night shall be no more, and people will have no need for lamplight or sunlight—for Adonai Elohim will shine on them. And they shall reign forever and ever! (Rev 21:22–24, 22:5)

The King will sit on His throne, He will provide the light, and we will reflect His glory. Wake up! Kumi Ori! Arise and shine! The King is coming!

Scripture references are from the TLV

The Stray Ox and the People of Israel

Parashat Ki Teitzei, Deuteronomy 21:10 – 25:19

Haftarah of Consolation #5: Isaiah 54:1–10

Rachel Wolf, Congregation Beth Messiah, Cincinnati

You shall not see your brother’s ox or his sheep going astray, and hide yourself from them; you shall certainly bring them back to your brother. And if your brother is not near you, or if you do not know him, then you shall bring it to your own house, and it shall remain with you until your brother seeks it; then you shall restore it to him.  (Deut 22:1–2)

A while back I saw an inspiring connection between this rather ordinary (though revolutionary) statute, and a seemingly unrelated section of Hosea. To explain the connection, I will focus on two Hebrew words and also make use of the Jewish literary technique called kal va-chomer, which literally means “light and heavy.”

One type of kal va-chomer appears in midrashic stories that make a teaching point using a commonplace situation most people would readily understand—the “light” part. This point is then used to help us understand something more complicated or far-reaching, perhaps a prophetic scripture or a particular commandment—the “heavy” part. In a kal va-chomer the commonplace story would be compared to the biblical point by saying, If this is true (that is, the moral or point of the commonplace situation), how much more is it true in the “heavy” parallel situation (the prophecy or commandment). 

The Hebrew word in this passage usually translated “going astray” is nidachim (root: נדח, nadach). “If you see your fellow Israelite’s ox [or sheep] straying, do not ignore it but be sure to take it back to its owner” (paraphrase). 

The verb form nadach means “to be thrust forth, impelled; to be expelled, driven out, cast away,” with the noun form nidach meaning “one expelled, driven out, an outcast. The lost ox or sheep that an Israelite may come upon was not merely a wanderer, a stray. These animals were driven from the flock—perhaps by a predator. I checked other references for this word and saw that nadach is most often applied to the people of Israel. Here are just two of many instances:  

Jer. 50:17 – Israel is like scattered sheep; the lions have driven him away.

Ezek 34:16 – I will seek the lost, bring back those driven away.

 (For a word study on nadach go to

 https://bethmessiah.net/rachel-wolf/f/word-study---nidach?blogcategory=Insights+and+Essays.)

We can easily apply this injunction of Torah in Deuteronomy 22:1–2 as a kal va-chomer: If this is true for your fellow Israelite’s oxen or sheep, how much more for your fellow Israelite? If you see your fellow Israelite straying, driven out, scattered or lost, be sure to take him back to his owner. That would be Hashem, the God of Israel himself! 

But the verse continues: “If your brother is not nearby, bring the ox or sheep to your own house until its proper owner seeks it and you shall restore it to him.”  

How does this apply to us, and to our brother Israelite who has been driven from the flock of his God, and how does it apply to the Haftarah portion? Another reading from the Prophets helps us see the connection.

Hosea and the Prostitute

Within the context starting at Hosea 2:14, God commands Hosea to show love to a woman who is a harlot “just like the love of the LORD for the children of Israel” (Hos 3:1). “So I bought her for myself. . . . And I said to her, ‘You shall stay with me many days; you shall not play the harlot, nor shall you have a man—so, too, will I be toward you’” (Hosea 3:2–3). Hosea takes care of the harlot in his own house!

Then God immediately connects this with his ultimate Consolation and Restoration of Israel:

For the children of Israel shall abide many days without king or prince, without sacrifice or sacred pillar, without ephod or teraphim. Afterward the children of Israel shall return and seek the Lord their God and David their king. They shall fear the Lord and His goodness in the latter days. (Hosea 3:4–5)

The kal va-chomer would go something like this: If we are required to treat a stray ox or donkey as our own family member until its owner comes to claim it, how much more are we compelled to love, honor and protect the sons and daughters of Jerusalem until our God returns to redeem Jerusalem?

Haftarah of Consolation #5, Isaiah 54:1-10

This kal va-chomer connects us intimately to this week’s Haftarah of Consolation. Here we see Zion described as a barren and desolate woman, “a woman forsaken and grieved in spirit.”  

There are at least five different Hebrew roots used here in Isaiah 54 to connote barrenness and shame, all of which are predicated on rejection, on being an outcast (nidach). I am going to unpack the word translated “barren” in the opening verse, Isaiah 54:1: “Sing, O barren . . .” 

We see right away that the barren woman is told to sing; rejoice. But why? And, more, what does “barren” mean in this context? We know that all of the matriarchs were barren until Hashem visited them, but what does it mean when applied to Jerusalem, a metaphor for all of Israel? 

The Hebrew for “barren” here is עקרה (akara). In checking the origin of this word and more straightforward usages of it, I saw that עקר (akar) means an “offshoot” and the verb can mean “pluck or root up.” Aha! 

Zion/Jerusalem, the barren and forsaken woman, is barren (rejected, not able to bear fruit) specifically because she has been “plucked up” or “rooted out” of the soil in which God has planted her. She is a nidach, and an akara, captive in a foreign land. It is only the soil of Zion in which she can “expand her tents” and bear offspring for the blessing of the world. It is here she is called by the “God of the whole earth” (Isa 54:5) to be fruitful!  She cannot expand or bear among the nations. Zion and the people of Israel are intimately connected one with the other. One is not fruitful without the other. Each is barren without the other. 

The barren woman is called to sing, because her captivity is coming to an end! Her owner, her Maker, her husband is bringing her back home! 

“Sing, O barren,

You who have not borne!

Break forth into singing, and cry aloud,

You who have not labored with child!

For more are the children of the desolate

Than the children of the married woman,” says the Lord.

“For a brief moment I abandoned you,

but with deep compassion I will bring you back.

In a surge of anger

I hid my face from you for a moment,

but with everlasting kindness     

I will have compassion on you,”

says the Lord your Redeemer.

“Though the mountains be shaken

and the hills be removed,

yet my unfailing love for you will not be shaken

nor my covenant of peace be removed,”

says the Lord, who has compassion on you.   (Isaiah 54:1-10 portions)

 Comfort Ye My People: No More Nidach, No More Akara

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 and take her back to his own home and bring all of her children back from captivity. This is the time, the era, of “favor for Zion” (Psa 102:13 [14]). It is the time for Zion to expand her tents for all of her offspring.

And if, as I believe, it is the time to favor Zion, how much more will this mean favor for all? “For if their being cast away [here Paul is reflecting the Hebrew word nidach] is the reconciling of the world, what will their [homecoming] be but life from the dead?” (Romans 11:15). 

Scripture references are from the New King James Version, NKJV.

Muddled Minds and Confused Hearts

Parashat Shoftim, Deuteronomy 16:18–21:9

Matt Absolon, Beth Tfilah, Miramar, FL 

You shall not accept a bribe, for a bribe blinds the eyes of the wise and subverts the cause of the righteous. — Deuteronomy 16:19

One of life’s deeper meditations is the realization of just how narrow the line is between righteousness and wrongdoing. This week’s portion presses that point powerfully, not by warning the wicked, but by cautioning the wise. The Torah displays that is not the evil man who is at risk here; it is the wise man.

Rabbi Shabbethai ben Joseph Bass comments: “Once he has accepted his bribe . . . his clear-sightedness will be blinded because his mind will become muddled.”

The sober warning extracted from R. Bass is that a bribe does not require an evil heart to do its work. It only requires accommodation, a small compromise, to muddle a mind that was once clear. In this sense, that which clouds our spiritual clarity is not wickedness, but accommodation.

A little bribe clouds wise judgment.
A little lust misdirects the faithful heart.
A little white lie chips away at truthfulness.
A little greed puts a price tag on honesty.
A small dose of deceit fetters transparency.

And that is the tragedy, not that fools fall into sin, but that the righteous can be gently led astray. Not by leaps, but by inches. Not by rebellion, but by slow erosion. Not by coercion, but by a bribe.

A seemingly harmless gesture of goodwill, a favor here, a small gift there, muddles the mind. What begins as a passing glance, if unchecked, distorts devotion and opens the door to unfaithfulness. The trusted mouth, if it bends once for convenience, becomes a source of doubt. The honest man, once he permits a minor exception, teaches his heart that truth has a price. Even the transparent person, motivated by hidden self-interest, can shackle himself to a millstone of lies.

Again, R. Bass is surgical in his language: “his mind will become muddled.” Muddled, as in clouded, confused, disordered. During our Yom Kippur Musaf Service, the prayers address this condition of muddled confusion. Reciting the Al Chet we say: “For the sin we committed before you with a confused heart.” The sages understood the quiet danger of the confused heart and the muddled mind, and they penned this confession to help us remember too.

You see, our transgression isn’t always born out of outright sin, but often out of small, socially acceptable compromises, the little bribes of the heart.

How often have we welcomed these small consensual trades? How often have we, in a moment of fatigue or flattery, permitted something we knew wasn’t right, because it seemed too small to matter?

This month of Elul, leading us gently toward Yom Kippur, is a time to reflect not only on the major failings, but the subtle shifts, the small bribes we’ve allowed to creep in.

My prayer for all of us is that the Spirit of God may grant us grace and strength to recognize where we have given an inch, only to find ourselves miles from the values we hold dear. May we name these small bribes for what they are, reject them, and return, with clean hearts and clear minds, to the One who is always ready to receive us.

“Justice, justice shall you pursue” (Deut 16:20). May our pursuit begin in the quiet places of the heart.

May you be written and sealed for good, and a warm Shabbat Shalom!

Parashat Re’eh: Seeing the Mystery

Parashat Re’eh, Deuteronomy 11:26–16:17

Rabbi Dr. Joshua Brumbach

Congregation Simchat Yisrael, West Haven, CT

The opening line of this week’s Torah portion reads: “See, I present before you today a blessing and a curse” (Deut 11:26). 

The first word of the 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. The blessing is the hope that Israel would be able to re’eh – “see” beyond the blessings and curses. It is the prayer of Moshe that the Jewish people would observe the commandments of Hashem and prophetically “see” God’s ultimate purposes in and through them. This way of understanding the opening words of our Torah portion as a prophetic blessing is supported by the Malbim (Meir Leibush ben Yehiel Michel Wisser, 1809–1879): 

The blessing and curse are not simply promises for the future. Once can actually see that people who observe the Torah have a sense of accomplishment, fulfillment, and spiritual growth. The blessing is there for all to see. (Artscroll Stone Edition Chumash, 998) 

To be able “to see” is to have vision. As Proverbs 29:18 states, “Without a prophetic vision, the people throw off all restraint; but he who keeps Torah is happy” (CJB). Similarly, Moshe is directly connecting observance of Torah with spiritual discernment and prophetic (spiritual) giftings. Moshe wants the Jewish people to walk in the ways of Hashem, and the mitzvot help guide us on the path toward spiritual maturity.  

As we know, the Book of Deuteronomy is a repetition of much of the Torah to the next generation, and this week’s portion is an even further condensed repetition. As such, the opening verse speaks of the importance of re’eh, “seeing” to all that God requires of us. 

Therefore, observance of the mitzvot is an exercise in spiritual discipline. In doing the things God instructs us, we become more sensitive to the working of the Spirit. It is the blessing of Moshe that by choosing to follow God’s instructions we will re’eh - “see” into the mysteries of HaShem. That is why this parasha concludes with the commandments concerning the shalosh regalim, the three pilgrimage festivals when we are to appear before God – Pesach, Shavuot, and Sukkot (Deut 16:16–17). These festivals are known as mo’edim. The word mo’ed is a divine appointment. These are times when God chooses to meet with us, times set aside for God to impart something into us. They are ultimately opportunities for a more intimate relationship.   

We know that God’s ultimate purpose for us is relationship. As the great Jewish philosopher Abraham Joshua Heschel describes it, since creation, God has been in pursuit of a relationship with us (see God in Search of Man, 136–144). This relational connection between observance and our relationship with God is also supported by Yeshua in his instruction: “If you love me, you will keep my commands” (John 14:15 CJB). Our observance of the Torah is not simply an act of obedience, it is relational. It is an opportunity to become united with our Creator, and through that intimate union, gain greater spiritual perception. In our prayer and observance we become united with Hashem through Yeshua, the Living Torah, and are shaped by that experience, becoming reflections of the Torah/Messiah ourselves. As the Messianic Jewish pioneer Paul Philip Levertoff once wrote, “The deepest longing, therefore, of the genuine [person of faith] is to become a ‘Living Torah.’ The keeping of the Law is to him only a means to an end: union with God” (Love and the Messianic Age, 43). 

When we invest in our relationship with God by drawing closer to him through prayer and observing what the Torah instructs, we are choosing “to see” spiritually. We are choosing to view the world, and ourselves, through a spiritual lens. Parashat Re’eh, therefore, provides keys to establishing the very presence of God in our midst. This week’s portion guides us through the observance of kashrut, the dietary laws, the rules for offering gifts (tithes, offerings, and sacrifices), and for the mo’edim, as prophetic opportunities to understand and experience the essence of Hashem.

 Shabbat Shalom! 

Fuel for Righteous Living

Parashat Ekev, Deuteronomy 7:12-11:25

Mary Haller, Tikvat Israel, Richmond, VA

Our portion this week covers topics that are essential for building an unshakable foundation of faith as well as a strong and unwavering relationship with the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. Moses tells the people:

It is not by your righteousness or the uprightness of your heart that you are going in to possess their land. Rather, because of the wickedness of these nations, Adonai your God is driving them out from before you, and in order to keep the word Adonai swore to your fathers—to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob. So you should understand that it is not because of your righteousness that Adonai your God is giving you this good land to possess—for you are a stiff-necked people. (Deut 9:5-6)

These words seem pretty clear. God was doing the kind and loving thing for a people who were, well, not so kind and loving. Today we might say God was paying it forward, giving out of his love to simply bless and provide. I believe there is more to it than simple kindness. God wanted to give the people a fresh start; God was reaching out to the people.  As I understand it, God was taking the first step towards building a relationship with the Israelites.  They were to respond accordingly by accepting God’s ways or rejecting them.  Last week's portion explains all the ways to live well through the commands and in the Shema. God wanted good things for the people and his statutes were their guide to living well.

The simple Hebrew word Ekev (the name of this parasha) is packed with deep meaning. When we take a close look at the origin of the word and familiarize ourselves with it, the word speaks loudly. We also need to understand its meaning in today’s western culture.

Ekev in Deuteronomy 7:12 means “because of,” or “on the heels of.” The biblical story of Jacob and Esau’s birth uses the root word Ekev to describe Jacob having a grasp on the heel of his twin brother as they are being birthed. The three-letter Hebrew root is the same for Ekev as it is for Jacob’s name, Yaakov.

An example we can consider to paint a picture of the meaning of Ekev is lake-effect snow. If you have ever lived near one of the Great Lakes, Lake Michigan for example, lake-effect snow would definitely be in your vocabulary. This snow occurs when cold air moves over the warmer lake waters, causing evaporation and the formation of narrow snow clouds downwind of the lake. The greater the temperature difference between the air and the water the greater the potential for a lot of snow. The snow comes in on the heel of the wind blowing across the lake. This is not because of the wind being a good thing or the waters being good or bad; it is just a result of existing forces of nature. Something happens because of something that preceded it.

Now that we have an idea of the meaning of Ekev as something or someone coming into our realm because of something or someone else, we should also take a moment to recall some of the highlights of last week's portion. In chapter 5 of Deuteronomy, Moses recounts how the people were fearful of the voice of God speaking out from the fire on the mountain. Moses reminded the people how he stood between the Voice of God and the people who were listening to all the words spoken. The words were instructions and commandments on how to live a life that would be pleasing to the God who delivered them out bondage to the Egyptians. This portion includes the well-known Shema. Many of us can recite this with hardly a thought, which poses the question of our heartfelt intention.

It is as important for each of us today as it was for the people just entering the land to have an understanding of the expectation God has for his people so we can live a life that is pleasing to him. A peaceful life full of blessings not just for ourselves and our families but also for our communities.

Moses continues to remind the people not to forget the God who was there to bring them into the Promised Land. The people weren’t perfect, they complained and even wanted to return to their former place when they were hungry for the food of Egypt. Moses continued to remind the people God delivered them because he loved them and had a plan for them. Again from last week’s portion we read:

Only be watchful and watch over your soul closely, so you do not forget the things your eyes have seen and they slip from your heart all the days of your life. (Deut 4:9)

It will be righteousness to us, if we take care to do all this commandment before Adonai our God, just as he has commanded us. (Deut 4:25)

God did not want the Israelites to forget what they had lived through.  God did not want the Israelites to forget He was with them throughout the 40 year journey.  God did not want the Israelites to forget the manna that fell daily or that their shoes did not wear out.

Like the Israelites, we too must not forget that we cannot build a relationship with God out of our own goodness or our own righteousness. As we read in Paul's letter to the Romans, “God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Messiah died for us” (5:8).

Our world today encourages us to be motivated by many things, money, career growth, better, bigger, and brighter things, but l want to leave you with this one thing Yeshua said: “For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat; I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink. . . .  Whatever you did to the least of these My brethren you did it to Me” (Matt 25:35, 40). Yeshua painted a picture for those who truly loved him then and even today. 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.

Shabbat Shalom! 

The Paradox of Election

Parashat Va’Etchanan, Deuteronomy 3:23–7:11 

Dave Nichol, Ruach Israel, Needham, MA

Our parasha begins with Moses continuing his speeches of exhortation to the Israelites on the plains of Moab, as the Israelites prepare to enter the land of promise. He asks a question that to this day resonates:

Has any god ventured to go and take for himself one nation from the midst of another by prodigious acts, by signs and portents, by war, by a mighty and an outstretched arm and awesome power, as the Lord your God did for you in Egypt before your very eyes? (Deut 4:34 JPS)

A modern reader may have difficulty accepting the prodigious acts and portents 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. 

But Moses doubles down, claiming: “And having loved your ancestors, God chose their heirs after them” (4:37). This one people gets chosen, not because of any merit, but because of who they are related to! It’s bald nepotism! God really liked one guy (Abraham), and 3000 years later everyone with even a tenuous connection to him gets to be part of this special club.

It is a startling paradox of our faith that an eternal, limitless, all-encompassing God chose a family of humans, and, for lack of a better way to describe it, initiated a friendship with them.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks zt”l helps us make sense of this in his book The Dignity of Difference. According to the dominant narrative in Western thought, the moral arc of history moves from tribal particularism (bad!) to undifferentiated universalism (good!). But in Genesis, according to R. Sacks, it’s the opposite: universalism, identified as totalitarian, globalist Babel, doesn’t work at all. And what is God’s solution? Choosing a particular family, that of Abraham. Why? Sacks explains,

The universality of moral concern is not something we learn by being universal but by being particular. Because we know what it is to be a parent, loving our children, not children in general, we understand what it is for someone else, somewhere else, to be a parent, loving his or her children, not ours. There is no road to human solidarity that does not begin with moral particularity—by coming to know what it means to be a child, a parent, a neighbor, a friend. We learn to love humanity by loving specific human beings. There is no short-cut. (p. 58)

In other words, the most elevated expressions of love are not toward “humanity,” but toward actual, individual people. In fact, the only trustworthy love of humanity is that which is rooted in real interpersonal relationships . . . and that even applies to God.

Okay, fine, you might say. It makes sense that God would have a relationship with Abraham. But how can this special love extend to all of Abraham’s descendants three millennia later?

Further, why doesn’t God just love the good people more than the bad people? In a sense this is the claim of certain streams of Christian thought, that God’s elect are those who believe the right things, regardless of their background. Wouldn’t it make more sense if God had a special relationship with the good people?

But that’s not the story of the Torah. As Michael Wyschogrod puts it, Israel’s election is “a carnal election that is transmitted through the body” (Body of Faith, 176). Perhaps it is because the Torah elevates the unconditional love of family over the love of those we like (“even the pagans do that”). Perhaps it’s because the physical world matters, and spirit doesn’t exist separate from body. Or perhaps it is because humans are deeply social animals, and the modern conception of humans as free-floating individuals with identities independent of society and culture is more philosophical fiction than reality.

I think all these are true: familial love is undervalued today; spirit and body are inseparable; and corporate, social identity is fundamental to human life, identity, and flourishing. But whatever the reason, it is clear that the Torah privileges peoplehood, and not just a spiritual peoplehood, but an embodied, physical peoplehood of parents, children, and families.

And then there’s the issue of being chosen. We might occasionally find ourselves echoing Tevye’s complaint in Fiddler on the Roof: ”Maybe you could choose someone else for a change!” But the truth is that as much as we value freedom and choice, the most meaningful relationships in life are not chosen: you can’t shop for different parents or siblings. Or, in the case of a spouse, we make a choice once and get to live with the beauty (and challenges) of being stuck with someone. To paraphrase Antonio García Martínez, an author and tech entrepreneur who wrote eloquently on his decision to convert to Judaism, optionality is overrated.

So, we have this idea that physicality matters and that peoplehood matters. We have this idea from the Torah and from the very fact of the incarnation of Messiah—and not as a solitary, disconnected human, but one who is part of a people, with everything that entails. It would be easy to ask how this idea constrains us, but let’s look instead at how it opens up possibilities.

First of all, this gives us permission to be loyal to our people even through disappointment, disagreement, and conflict. The world is full of people who are willing to love Jews in the abstract, or love Jews that they agree with. The State of Israel may express the highest values of liberalism and justice—or it may not. It matters, but it doesn’t matter enough to undermine our love for acheinu benei Yisrael, our brothers and sisters, the Jewish people. It doesn’t always feel good, just as some familial bonds bring as much heartache as joy, but this bond’s power comes in part from its immutability.

Second, while many of us may intuit that it is important for our Jewish children to marry Jewish, the Torah’s valuing of familial identity provides a theological basis for “marrying in.” In contemporary parlance to say that the ethnicity or religion of a person matters for marriage is practically transgressive. (Jewishness is both ethnicity and religion—and neither—but we will set that aside for now). But understanding the importance of peoplehood and families (also see Deut 6:20–25) allows us to take seriously the notion (which was obvious in earlier times) that marriage is not only about romance, or even just about two individuals in isolation from their past or future families.

Finally, coming to terms with the particularity of God’s love for Israel gives us clarity in our responsibilities to others. Imagine a parent who is so loving and generous to others that their children get squeezed out and feel neglected. It’s not that the parent doesn’t love their children, even love them the most. More likely they just have a hard time saying “no” to the needs of others. That ability to draw boundaries is a prerequisite for meaningful, consistent, loyal relationships. 

Yeshua was quite capable of saying no (e.g. Matt 15:21–27). It was not for lack of compassion or love, but he understood that, as Priya Parker writes, sometimes you need to exclude in order to include. She writes (quoting Barack Obama’s aunt!), “If everyone is family, no one is family.” It is blood that makes a tribe, a border that makes a nation (The Art of Gathering, How We Meet and Why it Matters, p. 38).

Leaning into Ahavat Yisrael, the love of Israel, will always have its share of challenges, as will any relationship that we are stuck with. The wonderful thing is, we are also loved in this same way. Daily when laying tefillin we remind ourselves of God’s words to us through the prophet Hosea, “I will betroth you to Me forever . . . with righteousness, justice, covenant loyalty and compassion. I will betroth you to Me with faithfulness” (2:21–22 TLV). 

The security of being loved immutably will free us to love our people . . . freely. May we follow the examples of Yeshua and Moses, and may all of our actions and words be “rooted and grounded in love” (Eph. 3:17).