As if to reinforce Rosh Hashanah as the beginning of our new year, Simchat Torah concludes our reading of the Torah (Deut 33–34) by immediately launching us into reading the Torah from the beginning again. So, we begin again immediately . . . not at some indistinct time in the future, but now.

Shabbat Shuvah has passed for this year. All Israel has listened to the final note of the shofar at the Neilah, the Closing of the Gates at the last Yom Kippur service. Life continues.

During these Days of Awe, we have the opportunity to reach out to those we have offended, and even to those who have offended us, to offer an attitude of shalom that recognizes our differences while at the same time recognizing that spark of the Creator that is in each one of us.

In Moses’ final discourses, he makes it clear that entering the land God has chosen, by crossing over from Moab, is equated with entering into our covenant with God. We can’t fully grasp our purpose as a people unless we understand the decisive connection between God, the people of Israel and the Land of Israel.

As a well-worn saying goes, it’s the preacher’s job to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. They’re both challenging tasks, which is why Jewish tradition devotes, not just a day or two, but a whole season to affliction and comfort.

The commandments are for our benefit; in a sense, they are one aspect of God’s ḥesed toward us. The sages of the Talmud contend that this is a model for us: we imitate God by showing ḥesed to those around us, and even to the natural world.

I long for the day when “Messianic Jewish” is not a religious brand, but a description of the values of our community, values that reflect the presence of Messiah among us. This week’s parasha opens with a foundational text for creating this sort of community.

In our parasha this week, Re’eh, we are faced with a shot over the bow. While life and death will be set before Israel at length at the end of Deuteronomy, here the choice is presented earlier, and more succinctly.

A circumcised heart enables us to follow God in ways we might have previously not thought possible. Through it we can love God and love others, even the outsider, with everything we have.

This week, as I looked back to the opening words of the haftarah portion, did I truly understand what it means to find comfort in the presence of God? How does that prophetic word penetrate our world, fractured, conflicted, and now in constant turmoil?