Cut into Covenant: The Passion and Promise of Messianic Judaism

Our Weekly Torah commentary this week is the text of the Shabbat morning sermon from last week’s UMJC conference, delivered by Rabbi Paul L. Saal of Shuvah Yisrael, West Hartford, CT. The audio version is an abridgement of the full message. 

There are always two unseen guests at every bris — neither of whom ever gets an invitation, and both of whom probably wouldn’t RSVP even if we sent one. But their presence is felt nonetheless.

One is Elijah — the beloved and expected one. The chair we set aside for him isn’t just a quaint tradition. It’s a bold reminder that covenant is never just about the past. It’s about the promise of a future.

The other guest? He’s not quite so cuddly.

His name is Pinchas — and he doesn’t get a chair. He gets a spear. And frankly, if he showed up unannounced at your next family simcha, most of us would probably call security.

And yet... every bris includes the passage from this week’s parasha, where God makes a covenant of peace with Pinchas:

Pinchas son of Elazar, the son of Aharon the priest, turned back My wrath from upon the Children of Israel when he zealously avenged Me among them . . . therefore I grant him My covenant of peace. — Numbers 25:11–13

What an odd text to recite at a baby’s circumcision. Couldn’t we go with something lighter? Maybe something about Abraham holding baby Isaac, with soft lighting and a harp in the background?

But no — it’s Pinchas. Zealot. Avenger. Spear-wielding priest. The Torah doesn’t shy away from the tension, and neither should we.

 Why Pinchas? Why Here? Why Now?

We first met Pinchas at the end of Parashat Balak (Num 25:7–8). The nation of Israel, under divine protection, could not be cursed by Balaam — no matter how much Balak paid him. So, as we learn in this week’s parasha, Matot-Masei, Balaam, ever the strategist, proposed a more covert and devastating tactic: corrupt them from within (Num 31:16). According to Moreh Nevuchim (1:36) and Sanhedrin 106a, since he could not curse Israel, Balaam advised Balak to strike at their moral center — specifically, to target their sexual integrity, knowing that sexual morality is one of the foundations of Jewish holiness. He counseled that if the people could be seduced into transgression, their divine protection would collapse from the inside.

So Balak sent the women of Moab to entice the general population, and the daughters of Midian were reserved for a more insidious purpose: to undermine Israel’s leadership, to entangle those closest to the heart of the covenant.

And it worked.

Zimri, a leader in Israel — a prince of the tribe of Simeon — publicly flaunts this rebellion by bringing Cozbi, a Midianite princess, into the heart of the camp and cohabiting with her in full view (Num 25:14–15). This was not merely an indiscretion. It was a calculated act of defiance. A challenge to Moses, to Torah, to the moral foundations of the people, and to the God who had set them apart.

Enter Pinchas.

Without invitation. Without instruction. Without delay. He rises, spear in hand, and impales them both — ending the plague and halting Israel’s descent into chaos.

Outrageous? Over the top? Shocking? Overly dramatic? Illegal?

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. And — according to halakhic tradition — yes.

And yet... God responds with affirmation.

We are left to wrestle with this.

The rabbinic tradition is clear that Pinchas’ action was extraordinary and not legally sanctioned: ein morin kein — we do not teach this as precedent. This is not normative behavior. This is not the model. It is a lightning-strike exception.

And yet the Torah blesses him. God makes with him a covenant of peace.

This is not an endorsement of violence. It is a recognition of something deeper: the power of holy passion.

Other Moments of Severe Response

Pinchas is not alone in the biblical narrative when it comes to divine responses that overwhelm us. There are other moments that challenge our sensibilities:

• Jephthah makes a rash vow and ends up sacrificing his own daughter (Judges 11)

• Uzzah reaches out instinctively to steady the Ark — and is struck down (2 Samuel 6)

• Ananias and Sapphira lie about their offering and fall dead before the apostles (Acts 5)

• Abraham is called to sacrifice Isaac — a test so harrowing it has reverberated through centuries of sacred memory (Genesis 22)

Each of these stories makes us uncomfortable. They disturb our modern notions of grace, process, and proportionality. But they all force the same recognition: covenant is sacred. Holiness is dangerous. God's presence, though full of love, is not to be trivialized.

The Torah is not subtle in moments like these. It tells us: there are things worth trembling for.

Bris: A Moment of Vulnerability and Vision

Dare I say that if there’s ever a moment when widespread biblical illiteracy might offer unexpected comfort, it is during a bris — when nervous parents are about to watch their child undergo minor surgery without what would today be considered adequate anesthetic.

As a father of four daughters and no sons, I’ve been quite content to stand at the back of the room during these rituals. The mohel will often try to lighten the moment — with soothing words, gentle humor, sometimes a bit of misdirection. And all of that is entirely appropriate.

But still — why this passage? Why bring up a religious zealot with a sharp object at precisely this moment?

Because, while our first concern is naturally for the child’s safety, the real focus of the brit milah is not medical — it is covenantal.

This act marks entry into something ancient, sacred, and communal. It is not merely a ritual of identity. It is a claim of destiny — on the life of this child, by the people of Israel and by the God of Israel. And that claim must be preserved with the same seriousness and passion that Pinchas embodied.

What Are We Willing to Risk?

The passion of Pinchas reminds us that sacred identity is not maintained by accident. It must be guarded. It must be lived. And at times — it must be defended.

It is somewhat axiomatic in our age that when moral norms are quietly abandoned, the foundations of a people begin to crack. Few things so easily erode a covenantal community as unaddressed transgressions involving sex and money. Entire movements have collapsed under the weight of what they failed to confront.

But our generation fears zeal — often for good reason. We have seen what religious extremism can do. We have seen zeal without knowledge, fire without wisdom, and certainty without compassion.

But what about the opposite danger?

What about apathy? What about silence? What about the slow, dignified slide into irrelevance — because nothing is worth fighting for, and nothing is worth guarding?

Today, we are not losing Jews to violence or exile. We are losing them to forgetfulness. To assimilation. To absence.

We are losing Jews not to persecution — but to indifference.

Pinchas reminds us that covenant requires commitment. That peoplehood requires passion. 

Pinchas and Elijah: Zeal and Hope

Pinchas and Elijah are spiritually linked — so much so that both midrashic and mystical sources suggest that Pinchas became Elijah. This idea appears in Bamidbar Rabbah and is expanded in the Zohar, where their connection is seen spiritually, or even mystically, as the same soul continuing across generations. Both figures are marked by passionate commitment, a willingness to stand alone, and an unflinching zeal for God’s holiness.

Yet over time, there is a transformation — from spear to whisper, from fire to stillness. And this matters deeply.

We remember the story of Elijah on Mount Horeb, hiding in a cave, desperate for God’s reassurance. There is wind — tearing at the mountains. Then an earthquake. Then fire. But God is not in any of those. Finally, there is kol d’mamah dakah — a still, small voice. And only then does Elijah wrap his face in his cloak.

The message is clear: the Lord can break mountains and shake the earth, but His truest presence is often discerned in the quiet and the gentle. Elijah responds not to the dramatic, but to the intimate — the voice that speaks not to the ears, but to the soul.

It is rarely the brazen or vociferous that exemplify godly action, but rather the quiet, the spiritual, the unassuming. The Spirit of God is the voice to our innermost being — a presence that melts the heart rather than hardening it. Sternness hardens; love alone melts. Miracles may ring like a great bell through the fabric of nature, but the Spirit is God’s personal whisper to the soul.

This same spirit — the passion of Pinchas, matured through Elijah — continued through the generations. Yochanan the Immerser came “in the spirit and power of Elijah,” calling Israel to repentance and preparing the way for Messiah. In every age, this spirit reemerges — bold, refining, and prophetic — reminding us that covenant is not only inherited, but must be reawakened.

This does not mean there are no moments that call for bold and deliberate action — Pinchas shows us there are. But most often, true heroism is as quiet and unassuming as the small, still voice that inspires it. 

And this is our calling: to live in that sacred tension — between courage and compassion, between fire and whisper. Between the boldness to act and the humility to listen.

Ruth the Moabitess: A Holy Contrast

It is important to remember that not every outsider in this story was a threat. While Moabite women were part of the moral sabotage Balaam proposed, one Moabite woman later became the very symbol of covenantal love and belonging.

Her name was Ruth.

Where Cozbi was a Midianite woman sent to destroy, Ruth was a Moabite woman who chose to build.

Where others tempted Israel away from holiness, Ruth embraced Israel’s God and Torah freely and permanently. Her declaration to Naomi — “Your people shall be my people, and your God my God” — was not just a conversion. It was an entry into peoplehood.

And that matters deeply.

Judaism is more than an ethnicity and more than a religion. It is a peoplehood — a civilization forged in suffering, sustained by memory, shaped by Torah, and carried forward by covenant.

Ruth did not just adopt a creed. She took on a people. She chose the sacred burden of identity — and through her came the Davidic line, and ultimately, Messiah.

A Vision for Messianic Judaism

Messianic Judaism cannot be a spiritual costume — a kind of Hebrew-flavored Christianity. Nor can it simply be “Judaism plus Jesus.” It must be something deeper, more authentic.

A true return. A rebuilding of the house of Israel with Yeshua at the center — not as an in  truder, but as the Cornerstone.

We dream of a community where Jewish life is not a performance but a way of being. Where we wear tzitzit not to prove a point, but to remember the mitzvot. Where our children grow up saying the Shema with conviction and singing Modeh Ani with joy. Where Yeshua is not only our personal savior but the Redeemer of All Israel.

This is the meaning behind Ruth’s words: “Your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” It is not just about belief, but about belonging — about becoming part of a people with a sacred story and an eternal calling.

This kind of faith takes more than belief. It takes passion. It takes people willing to be like Pinchas — not violent, but unafraid. Not reckless, but courageous. People who love this faith enough to live it fully, and pass it on.

Conclusion: Carrying the Fire

And so, we return to the bris.

The child is brought into the covenant.

Elijah is seated.

Pinchas hovers, silently.

And we must ask: What kind of faith are we passing on?

Will this child see a community that burns with passion for holiness? That protects what is sacred? That knows who they are?

Will we be the generation that guards the covenant — not with fear, but with love?

May we be that people.

May we carry the fire of Pinchas and the stillness of Elijah.

May we walk in the courage of Ruth and the conviction of Moses.

May we build a Messianic Judaism that is bold, mature, rooted, and real.

And may the One who is coming — the Son of David, the pierced Redeemer — find us faithful, passionate, and ready.