Skin in the Game

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Parashat Ki Tavo

Parashat Ki Tavo, Deuteronomy 26:1–29:8

Rabbi Ira Brawer, Shalom Boca, Boca Raton, Florida

There’s an ancient story that the Romans required bridge builders to stand underneath their completed bridges when the supporting scaffolding was removed. The reason is obvious—it was an incentive for them to show that they had done the job correctly, that they had “skin in the game.” Otherwise there would be some consequences for them.

It is clear that God has a lot of skin in the game in the story of our people. Follow the story from Abraham, through the slavery in Egypt, to the exodus, to the rebellion and wandering in the desert, to the moment Moses is recounting the covenant to the next generation in Parashat Ki Tavo. God’s design to restore mankind is taking a major step forward, and Israel is the key player in the “game” as this new generation is getting ready to enter the land. Over and over, starting with Exodus 1, we read of God’s desire for Israel, from recognizing their identity as his “firstborn son,” “treasured possession,” and their calling as a “light to the nations” and “kingdom of priests.”

In this week’s parasha, we read about a re-affirmation of the covenant, which was first given by Hashem to the previous generation at Sinai, and is now restated by Moses to this next generation getting ready to enter the Land. The idea of covenant was familiar to the ancient world, where two parties entered into an agreement to do certain things for mutual benefit, not just in words, but in actions. Both sides would have skin in the game. The parasha starts off with specific instructions and actions for Israel to take when they come into the land,

Now when you enter the land that Adonai your God is giving you as an inheritance, and you possess it and dwell in it, you are to take some of the first of all the produce of the soil, which you gather from your land that Adonai your God is giving you, put it in a basket and go to the place Adonai your God chooses to make his Name dwell. (Deuteronomy 26:1-2)

Possessing the Land is key in these verses; it is their inheritance, or nachalah, tied to the covenant. Yet, they will have to possess it, virishta, and dwell in it, v’yashavta. Israel fulfilling her identity and calling is clearly tied to the Land, and of course still is.

Clearly here God is calling Israel to have skin in the game. They demonstrate that with the tithes of their produce “to give to the Levites, the outsider, to the orphan and to the widow, so that they may eat within your town gates and be satisfied” (Deuteronomy 26:12). This act of giving is a demonstration of gratitude and acknowledgment that it all comes from Adonai. It is also a reflection of his heart of compassion to care for the needy. Of course the same principle is still at work in our lives, as we are called to give generously and care for those in need.

God’s skin in the game has been demonstrated all along and the Israelites are reminded of it again in this parasha. They were to remember (as we do every Pesach, reading from the Haggadah),

My father was a wandering Aramean. . . . Adonai brought us out from Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with great terror, and with signs and wonders. He brought us to this place and gave us this land—a land flowing with milk and honey. (Deuteronomy 26:5–9)

Moses goes on to acknowledge that Israel had that day affirmed the covenant, acknowledging their obligation to obey his mitzvot. This is to be their skin in the game beyond bringing their tithes and offerings.

Deuteronomy 26:17–19 is perhaps the key passage in the whole parasha, which again expresses God’s heart for Israel, his “treasured people,” or am segulah, and what he expects their part to be in the relationship.

Today you have affirmed Adonai as your God, that you will walk in his ways, keep his statutes, mitzvot and ordinances, and listen to his voice. Now today Adonai has affirmed you as his treasured people, as He promised you; that you are to keep all his mitzvot; that he will set you high above all the nations he has made, for praise, fame and honor; and that you are to be a holy people to Adonai your God, as he has promised.

And also 27:9–10,

Then Moses and the Levitical kohanim spoke to all Israel, saying, “Be silent and listen, O Israel—this day you have become a people for Adonai your God. Therefore listen to the voice of Adonai your God, and do his mitzvot and statutes that I am commanding you today.

This is all covenant language, in which Moses lays out God’s part in the covenant and what he expects Israel to do in response to fulfill their calling to be a light to the nations.

Chapters 27 and 28 lay out the blessings of obedience and the curses for disobedience. Another word for curses is consequences. It reminds me of what we used to tell our children when they were little: “Obedience brings blessing, disobedience brings consequences.” When our children disobeyed and received consequences, it did not diminish our unconditional love for them.  

In the same way the Lord is laying out the choice for his people Israel. But disobedience and even rebellion, while bringing harsh consequences, do not negate his love for them. The purpose of covenant consequences is ultimately restoration, not destruction. That was always his desire for Israel and is for us today as well.

God’s ultimate skin in the game is the death of the Messiah himself.

For the joy set before him, he endured the cross, disregarding its shame; and he has taken his seat at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who has endured such hostility by sinners against himself, so that you may not grow weary in your souls and lose heart. (Hebrews 12:2–3)

He gave for us that which was most precious to him. And what does he expect from us? Yeshua was clear, “Anyone who wants to come after me must lay his life down, pick up his cross and follow me” (Mark 8:34). Ouch, that’s a lot of skin in the game! But we need to keep in mind that obedience to God is not about a list of dos and don’ts, or walking straight or else, or obeying so that he will accept us. Rather, we are to be obedient because we belong to him, and are to live accordingly.

The final verse of our parasha is a powerful summary for Israel, and for us: “So keep the words of this covenant and do them, so that you may prosper in all that you do” (Deuteronomy 29:8).

For us, the challenge of Ki Tavo is to ask what it looks like to put our faith fully into action. Do we have skin in the game? Are we walking in the blessings of obedience or suffering the consequences of wrong choices or behavior? During this time of forty days of teshuvah, I encourage all of us to seek the Lord’s face and have him help answer those questions.

Ethics in Unexpected Places

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Ki Tetse

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

Matt Absolon, Beth T’filah, Miramar, FL

‍When you go out to war against your enemies, and the Lord your God gives them into your hand and you take them captive, and you see among the captives a beautiful woman, and you desire to take her to be your wife, and you bring her home to your house, she shall shave her head and pare her nails. And she shall take off the clothes in which she was captured and shall remain in your house and lament her father and her mother a full month. After that you may go in to her and be her husband, and she shall be your wife. But if you no longer delight in her, you shall let her go where she wants. But you shall not sell her for money, nor shall you treat her as a slave, since you have humiliated her. (Deuteronomy 21:10–14)

This week’s portion opens with a legal code regarding the treatment of prisoners of war that can seem remote from life today, until we set it against the catalogue of wartime horrors compiled over the past century. Read against that record, the distance collapses.

To students of war, we recognize that sexual violence against women is not an unfortunate byproduct of war, but a deliberate tactic perpetuated against civilian populations for the purposes of terror and subjugation. Imperial Japan’s atrocities in China, Nazi Germany’s tyranny of Europe, Russian conduct in Ukraine, and October 7 2023, stand as recent entries in a far longer list. In the light of contemporary and historical record, the awful truth is that this conduct is not an aberration from the norms of warfare . . . it is the norm. What is unusual, historically, is restraint. Torah’s ethic stands in stark relief against that.‍ ‍

First, Torah assigns the captive intrinsic worth. She is not chattel, to be used and discarded at the whim of the conqueror. The Torah does not suspend human dignity upon the defeated, nor does it suspend accountability upon the victor. Instead, it reinforces human dignity towards the captive and it demands personal accountability from the victor. ‍‍ ‍

Second, the Torah requires empathy toward the enemy, allotting a full month for the captive woman to mourn her parents before any claim may be foisted upon her. The law refuses to let the victor reduce “the other” to an object, a restraint that is imposed on the conqueror precisely at the height of his power.

Third, the ritual itself interrogates the victor’s desire. Having the captive shave her head, pare her nails, and remove the garments in which she was captured strips away every external mark of allure. The implication is pointed: the desire that prompted this taking is itself suspect, and the Torah responds by imposing a month-long delay before that desire may be acted upon. ‍‍ ‍

Fourth, the passage concludes by protecting her long-term status: “If you no longer delight in her, you shall let her go where she wants . . . you shall not treat her as a slave, since you have humiliated her.” ‍‍ ‍

Having married her, the man may not humiliate her at will; she may be released, but never sold or enslaved. The sages, for their part, were very vocal regarding this passage, which became known as the law of “yefat toar” (lit. “beautiful of form”). Ibn Ezra charges the victor with acting in deception should he divorce her and Ramban goes further still, holding that the victor is liable to lashes should he violate any of her legal rights as a lawful Jewish wife (Kiddushin 21b). ‍‍ ‍

We see some important ethical teachings in this passage:

1. Torah extends human dignity to all people, including our enemies, and requires us to do likewise.‍

2. Torah permits warfare, if necessary, but demands moral restraint in its execution.‍

3. Victory is never a license to unfetter our morality.‍

4. Permission is not endorsement: where Torah makes allowances for a base motive, it hedges that allowance with safeguards.

This remains painfully relevant as we grapple with the stories that continue to emerge post-October 7, along with the rising litany of war crimes perpetrated against Ukrainian woman and sub-Saharan African woman alike. It marks a clear ethical line between us and our enemies, past and present: we hold human dignity as non-negotiable even in war’s darkest moments.‍ ‍

A second reading in this week’s passage is that of the rebellious son. ‍ ‍

If a man has a stubborn and rebellious son who will not obey the voice of his father or the voice of his mother, and, though they discipline him, will not listen to them, then his father and his mother shall take hold of him and bring him out to the elders of his city at the gate of the place where he lives. (Deuteronomy 21:18–19)

In most cultures of the ancient world, a father’s absolute right over the life of his child was simply the legal norm. Rome codified this most starkly in “Patria Potestas” (lit. the power of the father). While patricide was punished with extraordinary cruelty, filicide remained a father’s legal prerogative for most of Rome’s history. The doctrine flowed directly from Roman theology: a pantheon whose gods wielded capricious, unaccountable power over their children and subjects.

Rome was far from alone in its legal code of filicide; comparable paternal authority over a child’s life, marriage, and sale into slavery appears across Babylon, Assyria, the Hittites, classical India, imperial China, the Germanic tribes, ancient Kievan-Rus, and the Aztec world just to name a few. In each case, family law mirrors the theology underpinning the culture; gods who exercised absolute tyranny upon their subjects. Most painfully, our own forefathers were not immune to this horror when we turned to the Canaanite deities, with some of our kings killing their sons as offerings to the gods (2 Kings 16:3; 21:6).

But the Lord our God is different. “Out of all the peoples on the face of the earth, the Lord has chosen you to be his treasured possession (segulah)” (Deuteronomy 14:2; cf. Leviticus 25:55). Torah’s consistent claim is that every Israelite belongs to God as his treasure, not to any human master, and not even to his own parents. We are sons and daughters of the Most High.

This week’s passage lives out that claim. It denies parents of the power of life and death over their children and hands that responsibility to the elders, the very officers the Torah established in last week’s portion, charged to pursue justice, and justice alone. No father’s wounded pride or fractured ego, however severe, ever authorizes him to harm his own child; because the child is the Lord’s treasured possession, his segulah.

The limitation of paternal power is one of the more important, but often overlooked, contrasts between the Torah and the legal code of the nations surrounding Israel. It is a contrast worth naming, especially as we in the modern West still live, largely unaware, inside its long inheritance.

We Messianic Jews do well not to take that inheritance for granted. Where the western world now assumes many of these ethics as simple “status quo,” or as enshrined by law as a human right, it fell to Torah to first establish these rights. However, as recent world events have reminded us, the work of spreading the light of the Torah is never complete, and it falls to us to keep shining that light into a world full of darkness.

Shabbat shalom!

The Heart of a Mediator

Parashat Shoftim

Parashat Shoftim, Deuteronomy 16:18–21:9

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel

The Rock, perfect in every act:
Who can say to Him, “Why do You so act?”
You who speak and act: show us kindness we do not deserve,
And in the merit of the one who was bound like a lamb, hear us and act. 
                                                              (From the burial service, Koren Siddur)

One of the age-old controversies between Judaism and Christianity concerns the need for a mediator between God and man. Rabbinic writings often assert that Israel needs no intermediary with God, but can approach him directly. Thus, Jewish commentator Ovadiah ben Jacob Sforno (ca. 1475–1550) comments on the first of the Ten Commandments: “I am the Lord your God” (Exodus 20:2):

I alone am Hashem who grants existence; the Prime Cause known to you through tradition and proof; and I confirm that you have accepted upon yourself My sovereignty, to be your God, with no need for a mediator. Therefore, to Me alone shall you pray, and Me alone shall you serve without any mediator.

Likewise, Rambam (Moses Maimonides, 1138–1204) says that this commandment and the one following—“You shall have no other gods before me”—“reached [Israel] just as they reached Moses our Master and that it was not Moses our Master who communicated them to them.” All Israel stood before the Lord at Sinai and received his revelation directly with no mediator.

Yet, as the prayer cited at the opening attests, another strain of Jewish thought calls out for a mediator, for one whose merit will benefit all Israel, as the merit of Isaac, “bound like a lamb,” is believed to have done. This ambivalence about a mediator reflects a tension within the biblical text itself. For example, it is true that God appears directly to all Israel at Mount Sinai, but it is also true that Moses serves as an intermediary for Israel through much of that encounter.

At Mount Sinai, Israel encounters the Lord “face to face,” according to Deuteronomy 5:4, but in the next verse Moses “stands between” the Lord and Israel to mediate the divine word. Indeed, this seems to be Moses’s unique place within the story of the Jewish people. He alone regularly communicates with the Lord “face to face” and brings the report of this communication back to the people. Moses, then, indeed serves as mediator between God and Israel.

God desires to bring us near but his transcendent purity and holiness create a distance that must somehow be bridged.

In this week’s parashah, Moses is contemplating the end of his life, which means the end of his mediatory work. We might ask, was his mediation necessary only for the first generation, those who received the Torah at Mount Sinai? Can Israel now meet with God face to face with no one to stand between them and him? No, Moses says that when he is gone,

The Lord your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among you, from your brothers—it is to him you shall listen—just as you desired of the Lord your God at Horeb on the day of the assembly, when you said, “Let me not hear again the voice of the Lord my God or see this great fire any more, lest I die.” (Deuteronomy 18:15–16)

This prophet will be a mediator in the same way that Moses was a mediator. Like Moses, he will hear the voice of the Lord and then he will speak to the people. Through him, God will reveal himself to Israel. “And whoever will not listen to my words that he shall speak in my name, I myself will require it of him” (Deuteronomy 18:19).

The Torah will conclude at the end of Deuteronomy with a statement that the prophet like Moses had not yet appeared. “And there has not arisen a prophet since in Israel like Moses, whom the Lord knew face to face. . .” (34:10). For Messianic Jews, of course, this prophet arose many centuries later, in the person of Yeshua of Natzeret.

Citing our text from this week’s parashah, Peter urges the Jews of Jerusalem to return to God through trusting in Yeshua.

Repent therefore, and turn back, that your sins may be blotted out, that times of refreshing may come from the presence of the Lord, and that he may send the Messiah appointed for you, Yeshua. . . . Moses said, “The Lord God will raise up for you a prophet like me from your brothers. You shall listen to him in whatever he tells you.” (Acts 3:19–20, 22)

This is a fitting text as we enter the forty-day period of teshuvah, turning or repentance, which traditionally runs from the first day of Elul, beginning sundown August 13, to the closing of Yom Kippur, September 21. We also, along with our Jewish brothers and sisters in Jerusalem, are called to “repent and turn back.” I won’t seek to detail all the possible ways in which we need to turn to God, but will highlight one example that Moses and the prophet like Moses provide for us.

When Moses went before the Lord to seek forgiveness for Israel after the sin of the golden calf, he revealed the depth of his burden for the people: “But now, if you will forgive their sin—but if not, please blot me out of your book that you have written” (Exodus 32:32). Moses stands inseparably with his people and finds their estrangement from God insufferable. Yeshua bears a similar burden for his people. On his way to Jerusalem, he tells the holy city, which represents all Israel: “How often would I have gathered your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing!” (Luke 13:34).

Later, as “He drew near and saw Jerusalem,” Luke tells us, “He wept over her,” yearning for her salvation (Luke 19:41).

During our season of teshuvah this year, it is essential to remember our mediator, Messiah Yeshua, the prophet like Moses. The promise in Deuteronomy 18 is familiar enough to us, especially in the Messianic Jewish world, but we need to go beyond mobilizing it as a proof text. Rather, can we join our hearts with Messiah’s heart for the brood of Israel that he longs to gather under his wings? As we remember our need for restoration during this season of self-examination and repentance, we are thankful for the One who stands before God on our behalf. But can we also look beyond our own need for restoration and share in the burden that Messiah Yeshua carries for the restoration of all Israel? “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often would I have gathered your children together, as a hen gathers her brood under her wings.” May his longing fuel our prayers this season!

Article adapted from Creation to Completion: A Guide to Life’s Journey from the Five Books of Moses, by Russell Resnik (Lederer Books, 2006).

The Lord Is Our Inheritance and We Are His

Parashat Re'eh

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

Rabbi David Wein, Tikvat Israel, Richmond, Virginia

Sometimes when I meet new parents, I tell them I have good news and less good news. The good news is: it gets easier, you get more sleep, you learn things. The good news is also that your baby is in what my friend calls the potato phase. Wherever you put a potato, there it stays.

But there’s one thing they don’t tell you in the hospital. Right now you’re in the potato phase. But in a few years, this child will develop a will of their own—a strong opinion about bedtime, leaving the playground, brushing their teeth, and every other transition you need them to make. That’s the less good news.

So, what do I do as a dad? Well, I’ve tried many things, and here is what I say:

“Hey, let’s go upstairs and hide so mommy can come find us.”

“Use the bathroom correctly and get a sticker. Seven stickers and you get a toy car.”

“I bet I can put my shoes on first!”

“Can you brush your teeth please?” “No.” “Well, Daddy wants to brush his teeth.” “I wanna brush my teeth!”

Parenting, at least in these moments, isn’t just about getting my son to cooperate. It’s about his heart formation, his development, and our relationship. Sometimes there is a reward, and sometimes there is a game, but this is what they all have in common: we are doing it together.

That helps us understand what the Lord is doing with Israel in this week’s parasha. Like every good father, he’s not merely trying to produce obedience. He’s forming a people who will learn to trust him. And nowhere do we see that more clearly than in the unusual inheritance of the Levites. “But don’t neglect the Levi staying with you, because he has no share or inheritance like yours” (Deuteronomy 14:27 CJB).

Several times in this week’s parasha the Levites are mentioned, to the tune of “they have no inheritance as you do, so take care of them.” They have no land per se. But that doesn’t mean they have no inheritance. Later in the parasha, after instructing Israel not to worship other gods like the other nations do, we find this:

You will not do things the way we do them here today, where everyone does whatever in his own opinion seems right; because you haven’t yet arrived at the rest and inheritance which Adonai your God is giving you. (Deuteronomy 12:8–9 CJB)

Israel, you are no longer in the potato phase. Now it’s time l’shmoa—to listen, understand, and obey—so that you may enter the rest and inheritance God has prepared for you.

The Hebrew word for “rest” (menuchah) echoes the word “Noach,” whose name points toward comfort after the curse (Genesis 5:29). Israel’s rest in the land is the beginning of the reversal of Eden’s exile—a move toward a place of security where God dwells among His people. Here’s the continuation of the passage from the parasha:

But when you cross the Yarden and live in the land Adonai your God is having you inherit, and he gives you rest from all your surrounding enemies, so that you are living in safety; then you will bring all that I am ordering you to the place Adonai your God chooses to have his name live — your burnt offerings, sacrifices, tenths, the offering from your hand, and all your best possessions that you dedicate to Adonai; and you will rejoice in the presence of Adonai your God — you, your sons and daughters, your male and female slaves and the Levi staying with you, inasmuch as he has no share or inheritance with you. (Deuteronomy 12:10–12 CJB)

Even though the Levite has no land inheritance, all of Israel inherits the land and the rest and the security and the place where God dwells. Everyone inherits the joy of God’s presence. Moreover, the Levites did receive tangible provision through the tithes (Numbers 18:23–24). But tangible provision was not the whole of their inheritance. “But the L’vi’im have no share with you, because the office of cohen to Adonai is their inheritance” (Joshua 18:7).

Their inheritance also included their priestly vocation—the honor of serving, worshiping, and ministering before Adonai. It’s like saying that the relationship my son and I share is itself part of his inheritance. But there’s even one more definition of inheritance for the Levites. This is from next week’s parasha:

The Levitical kohanim, all the tribe of Levi, are to have no portion or inheritance with Israel. They are to eat the offerings made to Adonai by fire as His inheritance. They will have no inheritance among their brothers—Adonai is their inheritance, just as He promised them. (Deuteronomy 18:1–2 TLV)

God is their inheritance. He is with them. The one who brings rest and security, who dwells with them, he is the inheritance of the Levites. And although the Levites experienced this uniquely through their priestly calling, the entire nation ultimately shared in the greater inheritance—God himself dwelling among his people. And this inheritance is incorruptible. So, therefore, the Lord is your inheritance.

The time with my son, the joy and the teaching—that is his inheritance. But I am also his inheritance. Yes, we are saving up for his future, but that could all go away. What my son ultimately inherits from me isn’t primarily something tangible. It’s my presence. It’s the joy of learning together. Our greatest inheritance isn’t money, or any reward that can fade. It is God himself.

Blessed are the no-longer-potatoes, who listen and learn, for they shall enter his rest.

Blessed are those who submit their own will to the Father, for they will enjoy the presence of God.

But here’s the thing: not only is the Lord your inheritance, but you are his.

But you, Adonai has taken, and He brought you out of the iron furnace, out of Egypt to be a people for His own inheritance, as you are this day. (Deuteronomy 4:20 TLV)

In Messiah Yeshua this is expanded to the nations. The Son is given the nations, all the earth, as his inheritance:

I will proclaim the decree:

Adonai said to me,

“You are my son;

today I became your father.

Ask of me, and I will make

the nations your inheritance;

the whole wide world

will be your possession.” (Psalm 2:7–8 CJB)

And so, Scripture reminds us that before we ever inherit anything from God, God chose us as his inheritance. He delights in his people. We are our beloved’s inheritance, and he is ours. The One who gives rest. The One who dwells among his people. The One who, through Messiah Yeshua, welcomes all nations to be his inheritance.

So, if I as a mere human father delight in walking with my son through every stage of learning, kal va-chomer, how much more does our heavenly Father delight in teaching, being present, and leading his children into the inheritance that is ultimately himself?

Thankfulness is the Thing ‍

Parashat Ekev

‍Parashat Ekev, Deuteronomy 7:12–11:25; Haftarah, Isaiah 49:14–51:3

Joe Miterko, ‍Kol Mashiach, Melbourne, Florida‍ ‍

Then it will happen, as a result of your listening to these ordinances, when you keep and do them, that Adonai your God will keep with you the covenant kindness that He swore to your fathers. He will love you, bless you and multiply you. He will also bless the fruit of your womb and the produce of your soil, your grain and your new wine and your oil, the increase of your herds and the young of your flock, in the land that He swore to your fathers to give you. (Deuteronomy 7:12–13)  ‍‍ ‍

But Zion said: “Adonai has forsaken me, Adonai has forgotten me.” Can a woman forget her nursing baby or lack compassion for a child of her womb? Even if these forget, I will not forget you. Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of My hands. Your walls are continually before Me. (Isaiah 49:14–16)

In both the Torah and Haftarah readings, we see even in the first few verses the Lord’s burning desire to bless His people Israel. Moshe says that God will love us, bless us, and multiply us. Isaiah illustrates that He will not forget about us. Both display a beautiful picture. God wants us to prosper, and His desire is that we receive good gifts from Him. No matter what, He will guide his people through it all. ‍‍ ‍

We see this intense desire of Hashem wanting to bless His people all throughout the Scriptures. The psalmist pens, “The earth has yielded its harvest—God, our God will bless us. God will bless us, and all the ends of the earth will fear Him” (Psalm 67:7–8). In the Brit Chadasha, Paul writes, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Yeshua the Messiah, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Messiah. He chose us in the Messiah before the foundation of the world, to be holy and blameless before Him in love” (Ephesians 1:3–4).‍‍ ‍

Because God so desires to bless us, we ought to be the most thankful people in the world. ‍ ‍ ‍

Birkat HaMazon: Thankfulness Every Day‍ ‍

Our parasha includes a famous passage: “So you will eat and be full, and you will bless Adonai your God for the good land He has given you” (Deuteronomy 8:10). This verse displays a specific order: we are commanded to eat first, then be satisfied, and then bless the Lord for all the good land, Eretz Yisrael, He has bestowed upon us. Because of this sequence, our sages introduced a set order for prayer after the meal. This is where the Birkat HaMazon (Grace after Meals) comes into play.‍ ‍

The Birkat HaMazon thanks God for all the provision He has given. It is not just for the food on the table, but includes beautiful details of the Land, the rebuilding of the Temple, and the ultimate reign of King Messiah. When recited in full, it can take twenty minutes or so. Many congregations will take on at least the first blessing, which says:‍‍ ‍

Praised are You, O Lord our God, Ruler of the universe, who feeds the whole world with goodness, with grace, with lovingkindness and mercy; God gives food to all creatures, for God’s mercy is everlasting. Through God’s abundant goodness we have never yet been in want; may we never be in want of sustenance for the sake of God’s great name. God nourishes and sustains all beings and does good to all, and provides food for all the creatures whom God has created. Praised are You, O Lord, who provides food for all. (Translation: Sefaria.org)

‍Birkat HaMazon and the Apostles

Did the followers of Yeshua interact with the Grace after Meals? According to the Didache, a second-century collection of sayings of the Apostles, they recited something like it after they ate. Didache Chapter 10 states, “But after you are filled, thus give thanks.” The blessing includes the following, “You gave food and drink to men for enjoyment, that they might give thanks to You; but to us You freely gave spiritual food and drink and life eternal through Your Servant.” Consistent with the Torah, the early followers of Yeshua obeyed this commandment. ‍‍ ‍

Paul also interacts with some form of Birkat HaMazon as he tells the Corinthians,‍‍ ‍

You cannot drink the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons. . . . If I partake with thankfulness, why am I denounced because of something I give thanks for? Therefore, whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.” (1 Corinthians 10:21, 30–31)

This full chapter discusses the centrality of table fellowship. Do not eat, or give thanks, with bad company. Rather, treat the table as a holy altar. Be thankful. Be faithful to the Lord even with eating and drinking. ‍‍ ‍

Gratitude Until the End

‍Our haftarah reading is the second of seven Haftarot of Consolation. After the tragic day of Tisha B’Av, when we remember both Temples falling and numerous atrocities that struck our people, these readings are meant to provide consolation and healing to Israel. Our portion this week ends with these verses: ‍‍ ‍

“Listen to Me, you who pursue justice,
    you who seek Adonai.
Look to the rock from which you were hewn,
and to the quarry from which you were dug.
Look to Abraham your father
and to Sarah who bore you.
For when I called him, he was but one,
then I blessed him and multiplied him.”

‍ For Adonai will comfort Zion.
He will comfort all her waste places.
He will make her wilderness like Eden,
her desert like the garden of Adonai.
Joy and gladness will be found in her,
    thanksgiving and a sound of melody. (Isaiah 51:1-3)

‍ We see again God’s deep desire to bless His people through Abraham. The covenant established through Abraham’s seed is unbreakable. We also see that Zion will be redeemed at the end of days filled with joy, gladness, melody, and thanksgiving. Even in Isaiah’s vision of a restored Jerusalem, we will be giving thanks to God for all that He has provided. ‍‍ ‍

Thankfulness is the Thing ‍ ‍

According to neuroscientist Dr. Caroline Leaf, we make around 35,000 decisions each day. Some of these decisions are automatically made through cultivated habits. Others are made to reduce decision fatigue (the fear of too many choices). Still others can be learned and ingrained by a fascinating quality called neuroplasticity. This function allows the brain to change and adapt to new circumstances.‍‍

Being grateful for what we have is an everyday choice we must make. Will we acknowledge HaShem for all the blessings He gives us? Or will we boast in ourselves, rejecting his good council? ‍‍ ‍

Let us remember the good the Lord has done for our ancestors and the Good News of shalom and joy Messiah Yeshua has brought us. Let us always give thanks to the One who is worth thanking.

‍Nodeh Lecha—We thank you!

‍All Scripture references are from the Tree of Life Version, TLV.

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Tisha B’Av: Why We Mourn

Tisha B’Av 5786/2026

Rabbi Isaac Roussel, Chavurat Zera Avraham, Ann Arbor, MI

We are at the conclusion of the Three Weeks leading up to Tisha B’Av (July 22–23 this year). The Ninth of Av is a day of fasting on which we commemorate the destruction of the two Temples and many other calamities that have befallen our people over the centuries.

This day often goes unobserved in the non-Orthodox world. Some say that since we now have the State of Israel there is no need to mourn over a Temple destroyed 2,000 years ago.  Others say that the destruction of the Temple pales in comparison to the horrors of the Holocaust. There are some more liberal-minded Jews who even celebrate the destruction of the Temple because it means that we no longer have animal sacrifices.

I am sometimes asked why Messianic Jews should still observe this day since we have the risen Messiah. While I could go into many different reasons, my response to this question is fourfold.

First, we mourn because the world is not yet fully redeemed. The question above is rooted in a common misunderstanding of Yeshua’s death and resurrection. People tend to think that with his resurrection all is complete. In fact, this was just the beginning of redemption. Yes, Yeshua died, rose, and ascended to the Father’s right hand, but we still live in a fallen world. There is still poverty, suffering, disease, violence, and sin. Full redemption does not occur until his return. Rav Shaul says, “We know that until now, the whole creation has been groaning as with the pains of childbirth; and not only it, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we continue waiting eagerly to be made sons” (Romans 8:22–23).

Second, we mourn because we ourselves are not yet fully redeemed. Our reading from the prophets this week is the second haftarah of admonition, from the book of Jeremiah. In it the Lord mournfully declares, “My people have committed two evils: they have abandoned me, the fountain of living water, and dug themselves cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water!” (Jeremiah 2:13). This text is speaking to Israel’s idolatry, but we do this in many small ways on a regular basis ourselves. We take our eyes off the Lord to try to get what we want through our own efforts.  We scheme, gossip, speak harshly, ignore others’ pain, and are consumed with pride. Though we have forgiveness through the Messiah, we are still not fully redeemed. Our sins contribute to the suffering of this world. This is why the Rambam says that we fast on this day to recall that our evil deeds and those of our ancestors have caused the destruction (Hilkhot Ta’anit 5:1). And, I would add, continue to cause destruction in our lives and the lives of those around us. Tisha B’Av is not just a time of mourning, but a time of teshuvah, repentance.

Third, we mourn because Israel is not yet fully redeemed. Our movement’s strong evangelical Christian roots influence us to think individualistically. This perspective is at the core of the question, “I have the Messiah, so why should I mourn the Temple’s destruction?” But the fact is that both Scripture and Jewish tradition have a different perspective. We are individuals, but we are part of a wider community, for whom we are responsible. Judaism is not an “I-Thou” religion, it is a “We-Thou” religion. This is why the vast majority of the prayers in our Siddur are written in the plural. This includes our confessions of sin. We may not have committed a particular sin, but a fellow Jew may have. Our community as a whole has sinned, and we are all responsible. 

Yom Kippur is predominately focused on the individual before God. Rabbi Ismar Schorcsh, a former chancellor of the Jewish Theological Seminary, therefore, argues that this is why we need Tisha B’Av. He writes,

Yom Kippur and Tisha B’av are tandem. . . . Whereas Yom Kippur is set aside for self-reflection, Tisha B’av is dedicated to pondering the nation’s destiny. . . . To remove Tisha B’av from the liturgical structure is to accentuate the pursuit of personal salvation and to disrupt the carefully crafted equilibrium between individual need and group primacy.

We need both individual and corporate repentance. While we may have found the Messiah, our people by and large have not. We are a part of them and they are a part of us, therefore we need to focus on our joint destiny.

Finally, we mourn because God mourns. Both Scripture and our tradition repeatedly declare that God grieves over this broken world. Because we have a mutual destiny with God, we join in his sorrow over this unredeemed world. (And I believe that there is somber joy in sharing in his pain.) Our Sages understood that God suffers along with Israel and the world. The Talmud puts these words in God’s mouth, “Woe to the children, on account of whose sins I destroyed my house and burnt my Temple and exiled them among the nations of the world. . . . Woe to the Father who had to banish his children!”

One of my favorite interpretations of the Mourner’s Kaddish is based on this passage. Not only are we seeking God’s comfort in the loss of a loved one, but we in turn comfort God in that he has lost a child from the world too. Kaddish is therefore not just for the individual, but for the community to comfort God! I find this poignant and beautiful. There is something holy and sacred about sharing in God’s pain for the world.

Thus, I commend observance of Tisha B’Av to you. Yes, as Messianic Jews, we have the risen Messiah. But we still live in a world of poverty, disease, war, and oppression; a world that destroys temples. We ourselves contribute to this through our own sinful behavior. We are part of a people that is often far from God and desperately needs Messiah Yeshua. And we can join our weeping with God’s over this broken and unredeemed world.

The destruction of both Temples stands as a sign for all the destruction that exists in the world.

May the groans of our liturgy resonate with the groans of all Creation.

May our fast call us to teshuvah, repentance—repentance for our own sin that brings destruction into this world.

May we mourn for our people, who sometimes live lives far from God.

May we, amid our own mourning, comfort our Father, who weeps over his burnt House and the exile that not only Israel but the whole world experiences.

And thereby, we can bring healing to this world and speed the final redemption!

Start Over from the Beginning‍

‍Parashat Devarim, Deuteronomy 1:1 – 3:22

Rabbi Adam Landsman, Beit Hashofar, Seattle

‍This week, we begin the book of Deuteronomy, a name derived from the Greek for “second law.” It is called Devarim in Hebrew, which means “Words.” Both names fit well. At the end of his life and the era of his leadership, Moses took it upon himself to review the Torah, a second run through the laws that Hashem had given his people.

‍‍Over the last four decades, Moses led the people out of Egypt and through the Red Sea to receive the Torah at Sinai, then across the desert for thirty-eight years to arrive at the bank of the Jordan, on the cusp of entering their land. He will not be going with them. Devarim is his last words, the last message he can send with them to start their new life in the land. At his complete ending, Moses starts over at the beginning, but not with the beginning we might expect.

Where to Start?

Moses begins recounting his leadership of Israel.

Adonai spoke to us in Horev. He said, “You have lived long enough by this mountain. Turn, get moving and go to the hill-country of the Emori. . . . I have set the land before you! Go in, and take possession of the land Adonai swore to give to your ancestors” (Deuteronomy 1:6–8 CJB). ‍ ‍

This is a moving call, but it is the wrong place to start the story! What is Moses doing?

‍‍We all know that Moses’s story started on the banks of the Nile and B’nei Yisrael’s story started with the Ten Plagues and the Exodus on Passover. This generation’s story started forty years before the opening of Devarim, on Tisha b’Av, after their parents’ generation listened to the ten spies and shied back from Hashem’s command to enter the land (Numbers 14), ensuring that the ones standing before Moses forty years later would be the ones to enter the land. One could even start the story on the first Shavuot, when the Children of Israel first received the Torah and then constructed the Tabernacle so that Hashem had a dwelling-place among them. ‍ ‍

Moses does not start with any of these obvious points. He picks a day that is not marked on our calendars, that happens rather unceremoniously in Numbers 10. It is the day that God decided that it was time for the people to get moving from Mount Sinai. Moses’s beginning sets up the Exodus and even receiving the Torah as a prologue, background knowledge that the people do not need to focus on at this moment. For the generation entering the land, the real work of being God's people begins after the mountaintop experience.‍‍ ‍

Where Are You Headed?‍ ‍

Moses does not want the people to get started by thinking of themselves as the first generation, though we are to remember that we were freed from Egypt and that the Torah was given to us (Deuteronomy 6:20–25). Instead, this generation is given a new start as the doers of Hashem’s commands. Rather than escaped slaves or an unformed nation, Moses’s framing casts them as a people ready to move, as those who act according to the Torah. The rest of the book of Devarim makes it clear that Moses wants to establish this idea as the core of their path going forward. He spends the rest of the parashah recounting the Israelites’ journey to the spot where they are as he speaks to them, but he continues by saying, “Now, Isra’el, listen to the laws and rulings I am teaching you, in order to follow them, so that you will live” (Deuteronomy 4:1). This refrain appears throughout Devarim, including in the texts that comprise the Shema.‍‍ ‍

This is an important shift in the identity of Israel. Just over forty years prior, the descendants of Jacob were slaves without a future until Hashem brought them out of Egypt as a free people and restored their direction. They moved from slavery and deprivation to freedom and providence, and their story from Passover to the rebellion of the spies can be described as the story of forming and organizing a new nation. ‍‍ ‍

Moses shifts the new generation’s focus away from where they came from to where they are headed. Their story starts in the same way as Abraham’s – God telling them to go – and it grows from that first order. It is the process of obeying Hashem’s commands and following his will. Since the Exodus happened before their story started, they will not have the constant complaining refrain of “when we were in Egypt. . .” Instead, they are repeatedly told “when you go into the land. . .” Everything is focused on what they will do in obedience to God. This sets the whole arc of their identity, from their beginning to their future, on a pathway for success.‍‍ ‍

Start Over from the Beginning‍ ‍

Questions of identity, beginning, and direction are just as important for us today as they were for our ancestors. “Messianic Jew” is an identity that constantly faces disapproval and derision – many are quick to tell us all about how we’re headed in the wrong direction and leaving from the wrong place. Thankfully for us, our identity has a firm foundation in a new beginning.‍‍ ‍

New beginnings are a core element of Yeshua’s mission and our discipleship in him. “Through immersion into his death we were buried with him; so that just as, through the glory of the Father, the Messiah was raised from the dead, likewise we too might live a new life” (Romans 6:4). He came to bring renewal, repentance, and new direction, and through his life, death, and resurrection, we can participate in his renewed Kingdom of Heaven and bring that newness into our own lives.‍‍ ‍

When we commit to Messianic identity and practice, we commit to a new journey. It is a call to leave familiar ideas, habits, and worldviews and strike out across the desert, to leave what we know in pursuit of Hashem’s commands and promises. Even if we have been following a path for forty years, we can take heart that our new beginning has set us on a pathway to all of Messiah’s promises. Whatever our pasts, whether we leave the depths of Egypt or the heights of Mt. Sinai, we are offered a new beginning of our own – a chance to turn and get moving toward the future God has prepared for us. Don’t let your prologue define you, but be shaped by the calling of Hashem.‍

Miklat! Miklat!

Parashat Matot-Masei

Parashat Matot–Masei, Numbers 30:1–36:13

‍Rabbi Paul L. Saal, Congregation Shuvah Yisrael, West Hartford, CT

‍Justice Begins with Mercy

‍One of the most persistent misunderstandings of Scripture is the belief that the Torah reveals a God of judgment while the Besorot (Gospels) reveal a God of grace. Few portions challenge that misconception more clearly than Matot-Masei. As Israel stands poised to enter the Promised Land, before cities of commerce are established, before military fortifications are built, and before political institutions are organized, the Holy One commands that Cities of Refuge be established. Before Israel learns how to defend herself, she must first learn how to show mercy.‍ ‍

This ordering is no accident. The Torah is not merely a legal code but God’s gracious instruction, teaching his covenant people to move beyond humanity’s instinct for vengeance and become a community marked by justice, compassion, and holiness. The Cities of Refuge (Num 35:9–15) were virtually without parallel in the ancient Near East. Rather than allowing an endless cycle of blood vengeance, the Torah provided sanctuary for one who caused death unintentionally until justice could be rightly discerned. Even the familiar phrase, “an eye for an eye,” was never permission for personal revenge, but a limit upon vengeance, ensuring that justice remained measured and proportionate.‍ ‍

It is equally significant that these cities were entrusted to the Levites. Those who ministered before God also became guardians of mercy. Justice in Israel was never to be driven by uncontrolled emotion, but administered within a covenant community reflecting the character of its God. Vengeance belonged to the Holy One. His people were called to pursue justice tempered by mercy.‍ ‍

A Place to Rest

‍There is another beautiful irony hidden within this portion. The Cities of Refuge appear in Masei, the account of Israel’s forty-two wilderness journeys. For forty years Israel herself had been a people on the move, learning to trust God one campsite at a time. Now, as they prepare to settle permanently in the land, God commands them to establish places where others may stop running.

Every journey toward holiness requires places of refuge. God’s purpose was not simply to bring Israel into the land, but to form a people who reflected his own character. Before Israel could become a light to the nations, she first had to become a community where mercy restrained vengeance and truth was given room to emerge.

That calling has never changed. Our congregations are likewise called to become places of refuge. People arrive carrying grief, shame, broken relationships, disappointments, and burdens invisible to everyone else. The synagogue must never ignore sin, but neither should it become a place where wounded people fear to seek healing. Often, before we can continue walking with God, we need a place where grace allows us to catch our breath.

The rabbis beautifully expanded this vision. The Mishnah teaches that the roads leading to the Cities of Refuge were carefully maintained and clearly marked with signs reading, Miklat! Miklat! “Refuge! Refuge!” (Makkot 2:5). Rashi explains that bridges were repaired, roads widened, and every obstacle removed so that no one seeking safety would lose precious time. Mercy was never intended to be difficult to find.

That image should challenge every congregation. Are we making it easier for people to find God’s mercy, or harder? Have we placed obstacles in the road through pride, suspicion, gossip, unforgiveness, or harshness? Long before people hear our theology, they encounter our spirit. The question is whether that encounter points them toward refuge or away from it.

Justice and Mercy

Another remarkable detail is easily overlooked. The Torah explicitly says these cities were to serve “the Israelites, the ger, and the resident among them” (Num 35:15). The protection of justice extended beyond native-born Israelites. The ger, often translated “sojourner” or “resident alien,” was also entitled to refuge and due process.‍ ‍

This principle echoes throughout the Torah. Israel is repeatedly reminded that she was once a stranger in Egypt and therefore must not oppress the stranger living within her gates (Exod 22:21; Lev 19:33–34; Deut 10:18–19). The Torah never asks Israel to abandon justice, nor to forget mercy. Holding those responsibilities together has never been easy, but every discussion concerning immigration is ultimately a discussion about people created b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God.‍ ‍

The principle extends far beyond immigration. Every generation wrestles with balancing accountability and restoration, justice and compassion. No legal system is perfect, yet Scripture continually calls every society toward justice without partiality, mercy without favoritism, and dignity for every person created in God’s image. That responsibility begins long before we influence governments. It begins in the ordinary ways we treat one another.

Becoming Cities of Refuge

‍What, then, is our personal responsibility?

The Torah was never intended to remain an ideal embodied only in Israel’s institutions. It was to be lived in the daily conduct of God’s people. Each of us is called to become, in a very real sense, a small city of refuge for those around us. We cannot erase the consequences of another person’s choices, nor should we excuse genuine wrongdoing. Yet we can refuse to become instruments of unnecessary shame, humiliation, or vengeance. We can become people whose presence reflects the character of the God we worship.

That calling may be more difficult today than ever before. We live in an age when reputations can be destroyed in hours, outrage often spreads faster than truth, and disagreement too frequently becomes permanent estrangement. Social media has made communication effortless, but it has also made condemnation effortless.

The Torah invites us to ask searching questions of ourselves. Am I being harsh or judgmental? Am I trying to remove the speck from another person’s eye while my own vision remains clouded (Matt 7:3–5)? Am I helping to restore a brother or sister, or merely adding another stone to the pile? Perhaps the deepest question is whether others experience me as a place of refuge. Do people leave my presence more aware of God’s mercy or more burdened by my criticism?

Of course, mercy must never be confused with permissiveness. The Cities of Refuge did not abolish justice. They delayed vengeance until justice could be rightly discerned. The Torah neither excuses sin nor encourages revenge. Instead, it creates space where truth, repentance, and justice may flourish together.

Our generation wrestles with difficult questions involving criminal justice, addiction, mental illness, homelessness, immigration, and the restoration of those who have failed publicly. Faithful people may disagree about public policy, and these matters deserve careful thought, humility, and wisdom. Yet the Torah reminds us that justice without compassion becomes cruelty, while compassion without moral clarity becomes license. God’s people are not called to choose one over the other. We are called to hold both together, reflecting the character of the Holy One Himself.

The best place to begin is with our own lives. No legislation is required for kindness. No government can compel humility, patience, forgiveness, or gentleness. Every act of mercy becomes a testimony to the God we serve, and every relationship offers another opportunity to demonstrate that justice and compassion are not enemies but companions.‍ ‍

Mercy Fulfilled

When Yeshua ascended the mountain to teach, he did not diminish the Torah. He revealed its deepest intention.

You have heard that it was said to those of old, “You shall not murder. . .” But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother shall be liable to judgment. (Matt 5:21–22)

The commandment had always aimed at more than outward behavior. Murder begins long before violence is committed. It begins in the heart that nurses resentment, contempt, and anger. Yeshua calls his disciples beyond outward obedience to the transformation of the inner life.

Throughout the Besorot, Yeshua repeatedly extends forgiveness to those who seek him, yet his mercy is never separated from repentance. To the woman caught in adultery he says, “Neither do I condemn you. Go, and from now on sin no more” (John 8:11). Mercy is not permission to remain unchanged. It is God’s gracious invitation to become the people we were created to be.‍ ‍

From Sinai to Messiah, the story remains remarkably consistent. The Torah restrains vengeance and establishes justice. The Prophets call Israel to embody righteousness with compassion. Messiah carries that same calling into the hidden places of the heart, where anger, pride, bitterness, and hatred first take root. God’s purpose has always been to form a people who bear his likeness.‍ ‍

The Sages likewise remind us that just as the Holy One shelters the vulnerable, so his people are called to imitate his ways. The covenant community is not merely a gathering of those who believe the right things. It is a people whose life together reflects the mercy of the God who dwells among them.

Miklat! Miklat!

‍As Israel completes the journeys of Massei and prepares to hear Moses’ final words in Devarim, the Torah leaves us with one enduring image.

Miklat! Miklat! “Refuge! Refuge!” (Makkot 10a).

Before Israel could become a light to the nations, she first had to become a people of refuge. Before others could learn of the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, they had to encounter a community where justice and mercy walked hand in hand, where truth was joined to compassion, and where even the vulnerable stranger found protection beneath the covenant.

Perhaps that remains the measure of every Messianic Jewish congregation today.

Our calling is to become those signposts. Long before people find refuge in our synagogue, they should encounter refuge in our words. Before they experience God’s mercy in our worship, they should discover it in our homes. Before they hear us teach about grace, they should recognize it in the way we forgive, encourage, and bear one another’s burdens.

The world already has enough voices pointing toward condemnation. May we become a people who point instead toward the mercy of God. May weary travelers find rest among us. May strangers discover a home among us. May those who have stumbled encounter both truth and grace among us.

And may every road leading to our congregation be clearly marked with the same invitation that once stood at the crossroads of ancient Israel:

Miklat! Miklat!‍ ‍

Refuge! Refuge!

Zeal is the Deal

Am Yisrael Chai - The People Israel Lives!

Parashat Pinchas

Parashat Pinchas, Numbers 25:10-29:40; Haftarah, Jeremiah 1:1-2:3

Joe Miterko, Kol Mashiach, Melbourne, FL

Darkness and Light

‍‍We are entering the period of the Hebrew calendar known as the Three Weeks. They begin on the 17th day of Tammuz, July 2 this year, a date marking the breaching of the walls of Jerusalem by the Romans in 69 CE. During this tragic time period, mourning rituals are observed, including no haircuts, weddings or reciting the blessing of Shehechiyanu. All joyous occasions, except for the weekly Shabbat, are prohibited. This time period culminates with the most tragic day of the Jewish calendar, the 9th of the month of Av (July 22-23). Numerous atrocities befell our people on this date, including the fall of the two Temples, first under the Babylonians in 586 BCE and again under the Romans in 70 CE. ‍‍ ‍

As sad as these events are, they should fill us with zeal, especially considering October 7, 2023. We continually need to stand with Am Yisrael, the Jewish people, and not be afraid of the consequences. In a world that is increasing in antisemitism and rage, our “yes” and devotion to God speaks volumes. We are called to be children of light. Isaiah cries out to us, “Come house of Jacob, let us walk in the light of Adonai” (Isa 2:5). Paul also emphasizes to the Ephesians, “For once you were darkness, but now in union with the Lord you are light. Walk as children of light (for the fruit of light is in all goodness and righteousness and truth), trying to learn what is pleasing to the Lord” (Eph 5:8-10). We must emulate Yeshua, our light, and be zealous for him. ‍‍ ‍

Zeal can take many shapes, forms, and sizes. Below are some examples from our texts. Each contains a hero, a promise, and a unique pathway to living with zeal:‍‍ ‍

A Covenant of Peace, A Spared Priesthood‍ ‍

This week’s parasha opens with our hero, Pinchas son of Elazar, Aaron’s grandson. The text picks up where portion ends. Israel is going after Moabite women, provoked by the wicked Balaam the diviner. He leads the whole camp to idolatry and severe disobedience toward the covenant. Disturbed greatly, Pinchas thrusts his spear into an Israelite man and Moabite woman in front of the whole camp, and the plague is lifted. Our parasha begins with these words:

‍Then Adonai spoke to Moses saying, “Phinehas son of Eleazar son of Aaron the kohen has turned away My anger from Bnei-Yisrael because he was very zealous for Me among them, so that I did not put an end to Bnei-Yisrael in My zeal. So now say: See, I am making with him a covenant of shalom! It will be for him and his descendants after him a covenant of an everlasting priesthood — because he was zealous for his God and atoned for Bnei-Yisrael.” (Num 25:10-13)‍‍

For Pinchas, the promise of an eternal priesthood must have brought a huge sigh of relief. This role was nearly stolen from him in Korach’s rebellion. Not only that, but this act of courage brought about atonement for the camp — the plague that killed 24,000 people lifted.

‍Young Pinchas was not afraid to act, and God was not afraid to answer him. In fact, according to some of our Sages, Pinchas is considered to be the same person as Elijah the Prophet. Not only are  both described as being exceedingly zealous for the Lord through their actions, but we also do not read any account of their deaths. Indeed, Pinchas still ministers well into the period of Israel’s judges (see Judges 20:28).  Whether they are the same person or not, Pinchas demonstrated his loyalty to Hashem and his commandments through his actions.‍‍ ‍

A Bold Request, A Spared Family

‍Later in our parasha, we encounter another act of bravery and zeal. Now the heroes are the five daughters of Zelophehad and the promise is a lasting inheritance. Numbers 27:1-11 records this account. Zelophehad had no son, so his daughters sent a request to Moses to see if they could obtain the family inheritance themselves. Moses brings this request before Hashem, and it is approved.

Can you imagine if the daughters did not ask for this inheritance? The family line could have ended, leaving them humiliated and ashamed. They stirred up courage to ask in this manner and received a good reward. ‍

An Unlikely Prophet, A Spared Promise

Our haftarah speaks about another kohen who had quite an enormous task ahead of him. Our hero is Jeremiah the prophet. He lived in some of the darkest days of the kingdom of Judah, including a bitter exile. Yet, it is this unlikely young hero that Hashem chooses to deliver His word. Jeremiah is afraid and declares, “Alas, Adonai Elohim! Look, I don’t know how to speak! For I’m still a boy!” (Jer 1:6). He thinks that he is unfit and unqualified for this role because of his age. Nevertheless, Hashem said He would guide his mouth in what to say and who to speak with. In spite of his age, Jeremiah committed himself to a life of zeal, speaking God’s truth to Israel and the nations.

If Jeremiah did not take the position as prophet, then we would not have the extraordinary promise that Israel would return from Babylonian captivity and that God would once again have compassion on His people, allowing them to rebuild Jerusalem (see Jer 29). We also would not have the promise of a New Covenant in Jeremiah 31 had Jeremiah said no. Jeremiah had zeal to speak up in difficult times.

‍Our Yes to Yeshua

As we have seen throughout our texts, zeal can take on a wide variety of forms. It does not mean one must go and pick up a spear . . . consult your local rabbi before doing this! Every moment of every day is a great moment to ask how we can take a stand for Hashem through our actions. ‍‍ ‍

An important act of submission for me was saying yes to teaching Hebrew at Ashreinu School. I often don’t see it when I’m teaching the little ones their Aleph Bet, but the school is a beautiful example of an act of zeal. The world does not want the light of followers of Yeshua, but here we are teaching from generation to generation.

‍As we turn to the Three Weeks, we mourn about our current state, but we ask God “where can I say ‘Yes’ to You? What is an act of zeal that I can commit to?” He wants us to share in His light and truth. ‍ ‍

Thus . . . Zeal is the Deal.

‍ Shabbat Shalom!

Scripture references are from the Tree of Life Version, TLV.

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Divine Diplomacy

Chukat-Balak

Parashat Chukat-Balak, Numbers 19:1–25:9

Mary Haller, Tikvat Israel Congregation, Richmond, VA

Our double portion for this week is full of valuable history lessons that continue to be applicable for our lives today. Chukat contains instruction regarding purification rituals in the Red Heifer story. We can also learn from Moses as he initiates some first steps in negotiating principles in his dealings with Edom and Sihon.

As we continue to read and learn from this parasha, Moses’ struggles paint a clear picture of the human condition as it unfolds during the diplomatic process.

Learning from the interactions of ancient Israelites can help us appreciate how the community can either come together in unity with the Creator or experience division and strain when people pursue selfish gain without consideration for the greater good for the community.

Parashat Balak contains the story of the Moabite king who contracts the gentile prophet Balaam to curse the people Israel. Despite all the antics to thwart the Israelites through curses, God’s blessings prevailed.

As I took time to process this parasha, an important lesson stood out to me. This year 2026 has brought many things to the surface. I believe all of us would benefit from understanding the way Moses and the people employed negotiations during their journey across the land. Two different sections of land, two different communities, two different responses from the occupants of the land, and two very different outcomes.

Today we call it diplomacy. It is the lesson that humanity continues to struggle with in a major way. Diplomacy is a peaceful way that sovereign states, governments, and organizations conduct negotiations and build relationships. Through diplomatic processes humans can discuss situations, resolve conflicts through dialogue, and compromise to come to a conclusion that will be mutually beneficial to all involved.

Diplomacy is a process that requires all those involved to pack their patience. Throughout my adult life I have experienced successful negotiations that led to positive results as well as unsuccessful attempts at negotiation that birthed negative results.

For diplomacy to achieve positive results each person involved should enter into the process with the understanding that calm, clear, communication birthed out of kindness is a necessary investment. No matter the number of participants, no matter the reason for the negotiation, whether it is a family situation or a global effort toward peace a foundation of kind words and clarity is imperative. 

Let’s see what Moses and the people Israel can teach us from their experiences with diplomacy crossing the land of Edom and Sihon. Initially we see that there are two different situations with two different outcomes.

In Numbers 20, beginning at verse 14, we read Israel’s plea to the king of Edom to cross their territory. Israel negotiates clearly and shows kindness by seeking permission to cross on their road:

“We will not cross through any field or vineyard or drink water from any well. But we will travel on the Kings highway.” Edom’s response follows: “You may not pass through me — or I will march out against you with the sword.” The Israelites respond politely out of kindness, “We will travel on the main road, and if we or our livestock even drink any of your water we will pay its price.” Again Edom responds, “You may not pass through!” (Num 20:17–20).

Edom came out with a show of military force and Israel turned away and proceeded to take the long way around Edom’s territory. In a brief examination one might assume that the negotiations had failed, but perhaps not. Israel presented their need and request, and it was denied. In response to the threat of war Israel made the decision to go another way.

As the journey continued, Israel reached another territory and again tried another attempt at a fair negotiation in a calm format. However, after their long and strenuous journey around Edom tensions were rising due to encounters with other peoples along the way as well as the death of Aaron.

In chapter 21 we read of Israel’s second attempt at diplomacy. Israel approaches the king of Sihon: “Permit us to pass through your land. We will not turn aside into any field or vineyard nor drink water from the wells. We will travel on the king’s highway until we have passed through your territory” (21:22). This is similar to the last negotiation with Edom, yet as we read through the chapter detailing the situation, we see it has very different results. This time Sihon’s entire army marched out to attack Israel. This time Israel did not turn and take another road. They stood and conquered all the land. This begs the question, why? As we read through the chapter we see more battles, and we soon read the reason behind this distinctly different outcome.

 Adonai said to Moses, “Do not fear him. I have given him with all his people and his land into your hand.” (Num 21:34-35)

Moses and the people were upfront and clear with their request to cross the lands; they were willing out of kindness and fairness to offer compensation. This shows respect for what was not their own. They employed reasonable negotiation in their attempts at diplomacy. 

This is what stood out to me. All we can do at any given time is to be responsible for our part in negotiating our way through life. We present clear intent with kindness and respect and act accordingly. The deeper lesson is the part where we come to know we are not alone. Adonai is with us and will direct our paths. As it was with Israel in the days of old, Adonai will provide when we do our human best to honor him by respecting his creation.