The God of Each of Us

Sh’lach Lecha, Numbers 13:1–15:41

Suzy Linett, Devar Shalom, Ontario, CA

Years ago, when I attended my confirmation class as a teenager, the conservative Rabbi taught that the reason Scripture refers to Adonai as the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob rather than simply “the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” is due to the concept of progressive revelation.

Each generation of the patriarchs built upon the foundation of the previous ones. Although the rabbi was not a believer in Yeshua, it has occurred to me that he was exactly right. Abraham was told by the Lord to leave his father’s house and to leave the pagan worship of idols to follow the one true God. Isaac experienced a unique blend of obedience and mercy/grace from the Lord. He grew up in a home with a believing father, and so was raised in faith. Rarely is his faith discussed, including what he might have been thinking while Abraham bound him to the wood. Jacob struggled with God and with men, receiving the name Israel in Genesis 32:29. In verse 30, he asked the angel/man/theophany for his name, and received a blessing. Although the name of the spiritual being was not given, Jacob named the place Peniel (“face of God”) – because he had seen God face to face.

No matter how this is interpreted, we see a continuum of deeper and deeper interaction with Adonai. Today is no different. There is progressive revelation of who the Lord is and how we are to relate to him.

This week’s parasha begins with a command to Moses from the Lord. He is to send spies from each tribe to “investigate the land of Canaan” (Num 13:2). We are told these men were “princes” of their respective tribes (v.3) and they were sent from the “wilderness of Paran” until they reached Hebron (vs.3–21). They traveled a good distance from Paran and came back to give their report. Caleb and Joshua gave a good report and encouraged the people to move forward and take the Land. The remaining ten expressed fear and certainty that the Israelites would be defeated. The people grumbled, they rebelled, they threatened the leadership. The Lord appeared in his glory and Moses pleaded on behalf of the people to spare them. The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob was indeed the God of Moses as well, but the people had failed to truly make him their God. We know the story. The ten who gave a bad report died in a plague, and the Israelites were destined to complete 40 years before they entered the Land.

In the Maftir section of our parasha, Numbers 15:37–41, Adonai gives the commandment and instruction for the tzitzit which were to be on the borders of the garment. They also were found on the hem of Yeshua’s garment in Luke 8:44, bringing healing to a woman who had been ill for 12 years. Let’s look at this passage a bit more closely and in a greater context. The people had failed to recognize the sovereignty and power of the Lord to lead them in safety. There was a need for a constant visual reminder of the Lord’s presence, and to make him personal. Israel had been redeemed from slavery as a nation, as a people group, and Aaron had been installed as high priest. Despite all of this, the people were swayed by the bad report of the ten spies. This commandment was not limited to Aaron, nor even to the tribe of Levi. We are told each Israelite was to make “his own” tzitzit so that individually there would be recollection of the mitzvot, and of what the Lord had already done.

Corporate worship and study are valuable, but Adonai also requires individual worship and time with him. When the people looked at each other and saw the tzitzit, and the commanded special techelet color, they recognized national covering of God. When they looked at their individual tzitzit, each recognized individual, personal covering. While the English translation simply uses the word “blue” to define the color, the Hebrew word, techelet, actually means a lot more. It is a specific shade, a highly prized and difficult-to-produce color/shade.

Even the Talmud makes mention of techelet (Menachot 44a) as a critical color in service to Adonai. Why blue? Why this very expensive shade of blue? When times are tough, we are to look upon the tzitzit covering us and we are reminded that God covers us; we are reminded to look up to the blue heavens, and the special, difficult-to-produce, and valuable dye reminds us not only that Israel significant as a nation, but also by wearing our own tzitzit, each one of us individually has specific importance to our heavenly Father. We are reminded that as he keeps close to each one of us, we are to keep ourselves close to him – individually as well as nationally.

The God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob, and the God of Suzy? No, I am not putting myself in the same class as the patriarchs, yet there is indeed progressive revelation of the nature of God, who he is, and what my relationship with him is to be. I see this pattern in my personal life and in the life of others. The pattern ranges from the earliest years of my life, of hearing the Bible stories as a toddler and upwards; from learning the Shema and beginning to understand that indeed here is a God, one God, who is real. It continued into my teenage years of hearing others speak of him, on to my college years of ignoring him, all prior to coming to faith. The progressive revelation continued on to my mid to late 20’s when I had a divine encounter that really was a culmination of progressive encounters; a building upon foundations provided by those who went before me, and of those who shared with me sequentially, revealing more and more.

Even in the last 43 years, since coming to faith, I have seen the progressive revelation as I continue on my own spiritual quest. Each of us has an individual itinerary within our growing movement. Just as the Israelites were led out of Egypt as a nation and embarked on a national course, each was to make his own tzitizit for individual treks within the corporate movement. So it is with us. The Messianic movement is one of progressive revelation and growth, yet within that movement, each of us is responsible for our own individual journey. As I give thanks to the  Lord for my own progress, I also thank him for each individual and group I have met along the way as they continue on their own journeys, corporately as part of congregations and within the greater Messianic community, and individually, continuing to develop a personal relationship and walk with him.

Indeed, he is the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, the God of Jacob. He is the God of Moses, and may he be revealed as the God of each of you in a new way. Shabbat Shalom!

 Scripture references are from the TLV.

Spirit-Infused Torah

Parashat Beha’alot’cha, Numbers 8:1–12:16

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel                                                                                             

I spent my earliest days as a follower of Yeshua in the Charismatic-Pentecostal world, where I heard more than once the saying, “We’ve got to get out of the Book of Numbers and into the Book of Acts.” It was a good-natured way of saying that we needed to turn our attention away from counting attendance and offerings and onto the work of the Holy Spirit in our midst. Beyond that, though, it also reflected the old Letter vs Spirit paradigm that has plagued Christian theology for centuries. And, of course, its portrayal of the Book of Numbers is way off-base. Numbers has a lot to say about the Spirit of God, and it goes a long way toward resolving the supposed tension between Torah, or “Law,” and Spirit.

Parashat Beha’alot’cha provides a picture of Torah and Spirit dwelling together at peace.

First, it reminds us that the glory-cloud, the visible presence of God’s Spirit, was not only with the Israelites as they journeyed through the wilderness, but actively led them in every stage of the journey.

On the day the Tabernacle was erected, the cloud covered the Tabernacle. By evening until morning, the cloud above the Tent of Testimony had an appearance like fire. It was that way continually. The cloud covered it, and by night it appeared like fire. Whenever the cloud lifted up from above the Tent, then Bnei-Yisrael would set out, and at the place where the cloud settled, there Bnei-Yisrael would encamp. At the mouth of Adonai, Bnei-Yisrael would set out, and at the mouth of Adonai they would encamp. All the days that the cloud remained over the Tabernacle, they would remain in camp. (Num 9:15–18)

In this last verse the Israelites get their direction from “the mouth of Adonai,” and as they follow the cloud. Word and Spirit work together.

As Paul reminds us, “Our fathers were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea, and all were immersed into Moses in the cloud and in the sea” (1 Cor 10:1–2). The cloud and the sea point to immersion by or in the Spirit (1 Cor 12:13; Mark 1:8, etc.) and immersion by or in water, and our fathers experienced both, at least in prototypical form, and they “all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink—for they were drinking from a spiritual rock that followed them, and the Rock was Messiah” (1 Cor 10:3–4). We don’t need to wait for the Book of Acts to get a healthy dose of the Spirit.

In this week’s parasha, after nearly a year at the foot of Mount Sinai, the cloud moves on and Israel finally begins its journey towards the Promised Land. But within a few days the people begin to complain, and keep on complaining even after the Lord sends fire upon them as chastisement. Moses hears all this kvetching and lodges a complaint of his own against Adonai: “Why have You brought trouble on Your servant? Haven’t I found favor in Your eyes—that You laid the burden of all these people on me? . . .  I am not able to carry all these people by myself! The load is too heavy for me!” (Num 11:11, 14).

In response, Adonai instructs Moses to gather seventy of the elders of Israel and stand with them at the Tent of Meeting. There, the Lord says, “I will take some of the Ruach that is on you and will place it on them. They will carry with you the burden of the people, so you will not be carrying it alone” (11:17). The Spirit comes to rest on the seventy and they speak as prophets. When two men who did not go out to the Tent of Meeting with Moses begin to prophesy in the camp, Joshua urges Moses to stop them. Moses replies, “Are you jealous on my behalf? If only Adonai would make all the people prophets! If only Adonai would put the Spirit on all of them!” (11:29).

Moses in this one statement manifests both spiritual greatness and profound prophetic insight. The two men may be prophesying in the wrong place or manner, but Moses recognizes that something greater is going on. With prophetic insight, he longs for the day when all Israel – not just the seventy elders – will receive the gift of the Spirit. As a midrash comments:

The Holy One, blessed be he, said: “In Olam Hazeh, this age, only a few individuals have prophesied, but in Olam Haba, the age to come, all Israel will be made prophets,” as it says, And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men, etc. (Joel 3:1). (Numbers Rabbah 15:25)

Last week we celebrated Shavuot, the Time of the Giving of Our Torah, which is also the Time of the Outpouring of the Spirit foretold by Joel, and described in the Book of Acts, which my Pentecostal-Charismatic friends contrasted with the Book of Numbers. This outpouring of the Spirit is spectacular and awesome, and Peter delivers a sermon to explain what’s going on. Like the midrash above, he quotes Joel, telling the crowd that the resurrected Messiah has “poured out this—what you now see and hear” (Acts 2:33). The conclusion is inevitable: “Let the whole house of Israel know for certain that God has made Him—this Yeshua whom you had crucified—both Lord and Messiah!” (Acts 2:36).

Shavuot isn’t about the Torah only or about the promised Spirit only, and ultimately not even about Torah plus Spirit. Rather, for followers of Yeshua, Shavuot celebrates the Spirit-infused Torah, the fulfilment of Adonai’s promise to Israel:

I will give you a new heart. I will put a new spirit within you. I will remove the stony heart from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. I will put My Ruach within you. Then I will cause you to walk in My laws, so you will keep My rulings and do them. (Ezek 36:26–27)

Today we remain in Olam Hazeh, this age, but we taste the realities of the Age to Come through the gift of the Spirit, poured out by the risen Messiah—a gift that doesn’t set aside the teachings of Torah, but empowers us to walk in them. This reality of Spirit-infused Torah is, or should be, the distinctive mark of Messianic Judaism, a reality that lifts us beyond the supposed conflict between Law and Spirit, and into the living Torah of Messiah Yeshua.

If this Torah-Spirit fusion is, or should be, the distinctive mark of the Messianic Jewish community, how do we walk it out in real life? We actively seek—and gladly depend upon—the leading and presence of the Spirit, just as our ancestors depended on the glory-cloud to lead them in all their journeys. We listen for the voice of the Spirit as we read the weekly parasha or recite the daily prayers of the Siddur. We expect the Spirit to show up in our lives in fresh and unexpected ways, even as we remain rooted in God’s Word, knowing that the two dimensions are not at odds, but mutually reinforcing.

Moses longed for the day in which we are living: “If only Adonai would make all the people prophets! If only Adonai would put the Spirit on all of them!” Let’s say Amen to that as we walk daily in the Spirit-infused Torah of the risen Messiah.  

All Scripture references are from the TLV.

Bless is More

Parashat Naso, Numbers 4:21–7:89

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

This week’s parasha contains one of only two prescribed blessings in all of Torah, the Birkat Kohanim.  

Adonai bless you and keep you!
Adonai make His face to shine on you and be gracious to you!
Adonai turn His face toward you and grant you shalom! (Numbers 6:22–26 TLV) 

This blessing is so familiar to us; it is part of the morning shacharit, and is traditionally chanted by the Kohanim, descendants of the priestly line, on Yom Kippur. Parents also say it over children on Erev Shabbat. I find it so meaningful that at Congregation Shuvah Yisrael it is our custom to have a Kohen deliver this blessing every Shabbat at the end of mussaf.  

This blessing is a cleverly crafted gem, which becomes particularly evident when it’s studied in Hebrew. The blessing contains an increasing pattern of words on each line (three, five, seven) and an increasing pattern of both consonants (fifteen, twenty, twenty-five), and syllables (twelve, fourteen, sixteen). The very wording therefore creates a sense of meter, order, climax, and completion.  

What is ultimately apparent in the recitation of this blessing is that the Kohen serves an appointed and vital, yet limited role. He is not a magician generating magic, but a channel for blessing to pass through on the way from the Holy Blessing One to the Jewish people. For that reason, each line begins by mentioning God as the active agent, and the last line explicitly states the words of Hashem, “In this way they are to place My Name over Bnei-Yisrael, and so I will bless them” (Num 6:27). 

Interestingly the entire blessing is phrased in the singular, an unusual phenomenon in Torah, which generally speaks to Israel in communal language. So why this anomaly? The simplest answer is that Torah does not conceive of any one person to be holy in a way that is different from the holiness of any other human being. At the same time, the priestly blessing reminds us of the sanctity of all humanity, and the awesome otherness of the God of Israel. This is of course an answer that would satisfy the universalistic spirit of this age. It sounds great, but is it true? In fact, Torah makes a point of establishing unique roles not only for Israel as a whole, but within Israel. The entire book of Vayikra (Leviticus) establishes the role of the sons of Aaron as priests, as does this blessing itself. And the blessing follows the precise details of Nazarite dedication, a path to a greater exhibition of holy behavior and commitment to Hashem. Torah establishes specific leadership positions, and much of the book of Bemidbar exposes the folly of transgressing godly leadership. In fact, this very idea is expressed by the villainous Korach when he incites mutiny against Moses by querying, “Aren’t all of Israel holy?” Holy yes, but all the same . . . ? I don’t think so.  

I think there is a more plausible explanation, that it is not always possible or even wise to extend the same blessing to everyone uniformly. For the farmer, rain may be an anxiously awaited blessing, but for a beach port vacationer, not so much. Wealth, good looks, or extraordinary talent might be tremendous gifts for one person, yet a tremendous burden for another. The fact is that only the Designer of all creation and the Endower of all gifts and resources knows what blessing is most appropriate for whom. Therefore, he instructs the kohanim to bless the people in the singular; so that each person might receive the blessing that is most appropriate for him or her. 

To this effect Rashi comments on the first verse of the Birkat Kohanim, “May God bless you and safeguard you” (6:24), by saying that we will be blessed with wealth and talent and guarded from dangers. Though the order may seem incorrect, and an individual might need to be protected before he or she is blessed, not all dangers are physical and external. A person who is given much wealth, for instance, may find that the money is their downfall. The Kohen’s blessing asks, therefore, that we be blessed with much wealth and safeguarded against its evil effects. Isn’t this what Yeshua meant when he taught us to pray, “Grant us our daily bread and lead us not into temptation”? I often pray for my children that they should never want for that which they need, but never have so much that they would enter perdition as a result.  

The second section of the blessing refers to M’ohr Torah, the light or illumination of Torah. May God enlighten you with the wondrous wisdom of Torah. Having the blessing of prosperity, we can go beyond the elementary requirements of survival. 

Finally, the third part of the blessing might express Hashem’s unconditional capacity to forgive. Again, Rashi explains this prayer stating, “May He suppress His anger toward you.” This means that by His countenance being upon you, God will show each of His people special consideration even if they are sinful. Therefore, when the Holy Blessing One places His gentle gaze upon us, we can lift our heads even when we are unworthy. 

This blessing is more than an ancient link to our tradition; it is an ongoing instruction to rely upon the beneficence of God. On exhibit in the Israel Museum in Jerusalem are artifacts from the excavation of a burial plot from the end of the First Temple period.  Among the exhibit is a small thin silver plaque the size of a thumb. Inscribed on it in Hebrew is the Birkat Kohanim. An observant Jew wore the same prayer that we are blessed with each week some 2600 years ago! We are blessed with the same prayers that have been echoed through countless generations.  

Much in human history changes; our customs, styles and cultures swell and shift radically. But there are three constants:

1)      The human heart retains many of the same needs, urges, and concerns throughout time.

2)      The God of Israel has not changed or faltered despite our changing perceptions of the divine.

3)      The covenant with Israel is still the tie that binds all of humanity to the God who gives us His good name – the Greatest Blessing of All!

This commentary was originally posted June 2020.

With Brotherly Affection

Parashat Bamidbar, Number 1:1–4:20

Matt Absolon, Beth T’filah, Miramar, FL

And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, “Bring the tribe of Levi near, and set them before Aaron the priest, that they may minister to him. They shall keep guard over him and over the whole congregation before the tent of meeting, as they minister at the tabernacle. They shall guard all the furnishings of the tent of meeting, and keep guard over the people of Israel as they minister at the tabernacle. And you shall give the Levites to Aaron and his sons; they are wholly given to him from among the people of Israel.” Numbers 3:5–9

In this week’s portion, we see the emergence of a symbiotic relationship between the house of Aaron and the rest of the tribe of Levi. With Aaron and his sons appointed to lead the priesthood as High Priests, the rest of the tribe of Levi is assigned the task of ministering to Aaron and his sons.

The translation of the Hebrew v’shertu / “they may minister” (3:6) is a good interpretation and, like so much in our native language, it evokes multiple layers in the mind’s eye. In particular, this reading suggests a subservient “to wait upon,” like that of a servant waiting upon his master, and in parallel “to serve” by way of strengthening or nourishment, as a nurse or doctor might strengthen and nourish their patients.

In one form, the server is subservient; in the other form, the server is ascendant.

One of the pitfalls common to leadership is the pride of self-reliance. While it is good for God’s people to be confident and self-assertive, it is just as critical that we remember that we need each other to fulfill the destiny of national salvation.

Returning to the passage, we see how this symbiotic relationship displayed Aaron’s responsibility as leader and as a consequence, his need to be ministered to by those around him. Likewise, also the priesthood had the right to expect leadership from Aaron and the corresponding responsibility for them to minister to Aaron and his sons.

To receive ministry is to encourage spiritual humility; it is a buffer against the spiritual pride of self-reliance. It encourages spiritual humility when we embrace the truth that even the strongest amongst us need to be ministered to. We must not lose sight that those who minister unto us, also need to be ministered unto.

There is a symbiotic relationship between the leader and their followers. As much as the followers look to the leader for strength, the leader must learn to find strength from those who are following him or her. Together in harmony and mutual submission, we strengthen each other.

We see this exemplified in the life of our Lord. Though Yeshua was the embodiment of the divine, yet he too needed to be ministered to in order to be strengthened and encouraged.

Then Yeshua said to him, “Be gone, Satan! For it is written, ‘You shall worship the Lord your God and him only shall you serve.’” Then the devil left him, and behold, angels came and were ministering to him. (Matt 4:10–11 )

Our Lord demonstrates to us that he is not immune to human frailty. He too needed to be ministered to. Although in this passage he received strength from angels, in later stories he will be ministered to by his many friends. Mary, Martha and Lazarus come to mind. We see as a matter of regular spiritual discipline that the Lord received ministry from both angels and those who followed him. Much as God resting on the Shabbat serves as an example to us to receive the Shabbat rest, so also Yeshua’s receiving of ministry serves as an example to us to receive ministry from our family of faith.

This is a word of encouragement to both our leaders and lay folk in our communities. To our leaders, do not fall into the trap of self-reliance. While we need our leaders to be strong, understand that in your times of frailty the strength of the community is imperative for your spiritual walk.

To our lay members, do not underestimate the power of a word of encouragement, or a kind mitzvah towards your leadership. As much as you need your leaders to show the way forward, the leaders also need you for moments of respite and recovery.

Our forefather Paul the apostle encourages us to behave towards one another in this way:

Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good. Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. (Rom 12:9–10)

May the bonds of brotherly affection fill our communities as we learn to lean on one another. Shabbat shalom!

Scripture references are from the English Standard Version (ESV), adapted.

Our apologies: an audio version is not available this week.

Be an Agent of Hope

Parashat Bechukotai, Leviticus 26:3–27:34

Mary Haller, Tikvat Israel, Richmond, VA

Preparing this drash has taken me on a journey through my own faith walk. While processing the challenging part of this week’s reading known as the Tochechah (“Reproach” or “Rebuke,” Lev 26:14–43), I realized how prayerful self-examination holds the potential to lead us to a deeper connection with hope.

When we read through this portion we are initially made aware of the importance of obedience and how it has an effect on our future. In the Tochechah, we quickly learn how Israel’s failure to follow God’s laws and keep his commands has consequences. History tells us these consequences can be deadly. Thankfully, this dark section is immediately followed by a wonderful reminder of hope in 26:44-45.

Yet for all that, when they are in the land of their enemies, I will not reject them, nor will I hate them into utter destruction, and break My covenant with them, for I am Adonai their God. But for their sake I will remember the covenant of their ancestors, whom I brought out of the land of Egypt in the sight of the nations, that I might be their God. I am Adonai.

In my early walk of faith, life seemed simple—do good and be obedient and it will be okay. It didn’t take long for me, however, to realize life on earth is not at all simple. It was during that time I began to read scripture not just for face value, but to understand the underlying meaning. This shift initiated lessons that were challenging but valuable. It wasn’t too long before my prayers shifted from what I needed to prayers for understanding what my Creator desired of me.  I wanted to live out what he had designed me to do.

The day was May 25; the year was 2005. Memorial Day celebrations in the USA were just around the corner. The day was clear and the morning sun was shining brightly in the eastern sky, bringing with it a warmth that felt like a loving hug. I was sitting at my desk looking out the large window onto my peaceful street. Thoughts were flooding my head as I prepared my fingers to be the vehicle that brought my thoughts to the keyboard and into words. My thoughts of love, mercy, grace, and hope were then interrupted by the harsh clanging sound of the doorbell.

Answering the door that day changed my life forever. God’s lesson plan was nothing I could have predicted, and my only preparation was the life I had lived leading up to that day. My childhood, my choice to surrender my life to Messiah, and every moment led me to this time.

On the other side of my door were two young soldiers, one male and one female. They were in dress greens with maroon head covers. Let me explain: both my son and my son-in-law were serving in the military. The maroon head covers told me these two soldiers were attached to an airborne unit. Immediately my mind went to thoughts of my son, since his assignment was with the 82nd Airborne Unit. Confusion set in and I asked myself what could possibly have happened that would cause these soldiers to be at my door? It was as if my whole body was moving in slow motion, as if time had stopped.

The day suddenly took a sharp detour. One moment I was preparing a lesson on living a life filled with the hope we have in Messiah and the promises of blessings that are ours. The next moment the messengers were delivering their news. One soldier was a chaplain from Ft. Liberty (then known as Ft. Bragg) and the other was his driver. 

The message they were tasked to deliver was harsh. With it came a lesson for my entire family. Life has dark days, and we must choose how to proceed. The soldiers stood straight and tall asking repeatedly for my daughter. My thoughts were not of relief. I knew the message was dire and her future would be forever changed. 

The Army only sends soldiers to a family member’s door to deliver a death notification. Our son-in-law sacrificed his life that day carrying out a mission in Iraq. My heart was broken for my young daughter, and for my son-in-law’s family. Anger could have followed the brokenness that invaded my soul, and that anger could have slipped into hatred, utterly disabling me from providing loving support for my daughter.  

Thankfully, I was able to press on in love, extending grace and mercy, and being an agent of hope in this time of despair.

Throughout history, many people have been faced with dire circumstances. Elie Wiesel was clearly an agent of hope in a time when hope was scarce. He made many statements on the value and importance of hope, including this:

One must wager on the future. I believe it is possible, in spite of everything, to believe in friendship in a world without friendship, and even to believe in God in a world where there has been an eclipse of God’s face. . . . We must not give in to cynicism. To save the life of a single child, no effort is too much. . . . To defeat injustice and misfortune, if only for one instant for a single victim, is to invent a new reason to hope. 

It is now nineteen years since we lost our son-in-law, and my choice to hold on to hope has birthed blessings. The dark night dissipated; the sun eventually rose brightly bringing a new day.  

Ha Tikvah (the hope) will only fade if we allow it to. I encourage you to be an agent of hope. Your life will dispel the darkness.                            

Scripture references are from the Tree of Life Version (TLV). 

Sooner or Later, Jubilee is Coming

Parashat Behar, Leviticus 25:1–26:2

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel

Have you ever wished that you could start over? That you could be, as in the words of Dylan’s immortal song, “forever young”—going back to your earliest years of life, able to erase all your mistakes, cancel all your debts, and undo all your sins? In the dark time we’re living through right now, we might be especially drawn to the idea of a new, fresh beginning.

Such thinking may sound naïve and wishful, but it was a reality in the Torah legislation of the Jubilee recounted in Parashat Behar. From one Jubilee to the next, the Israelites counted forty-nine years—seven sevens of years. Seven, the number of perfection, was itself perfected. Then came the fiftieth year, in which Moses instructed the people to “proclaim liberty throughout all the land,” so that “you shall return, each man to his holding and you shall return each man to his family” (25:10). The liberty of Jubilee restores to its original owners any land holding that had been sold, and to his family any Israelite who had sold himself into slavery. Jubilee returns Israel to the original order that the Lord intended for it, the order that he will restore forever in the age to come. Thus, it is a great enactment, both of justice and of the prophetic future.

The count of forty-nine years between one Jubilee and the next reminds us of the count of forty-nine days leading up to Shavuot, the Counting of the Omer, as outlined in our previous parasha (Lev 23:15–21), in which we’re currently engaged. There we see that Shavuot, like all of the festivals, anticipates the conditions of the age to come. The laws of Shavuot provide a share of the harvest to all who live in Israel, anticipating the restored justice of the age to come.

Even more than Shavuot and the rest of the festivals of Leviticus 23, Jubilee provides a foretaste of “the day that will be all Shabbat, and rest for everlasting life” (Soncino Talmud, Tamid 33b).

As the year of restoration in Israel, Jubilee shapes the messianic hope of restoration described in the Scriptures and beyond. Thus, Ezekiel employs Jubilee language to rebuke the false shepherds of Israel. They have not done for Israel what the Jubilee is designed to do: “The weak you have not strengthened, nor have you healed those who were sick, nor bound up the broken, nor brought back what was driven away, nor sought what was lost; but with force and cruelty you have ruled them” (34:4).

Ezekiel proclaims that the Lord intends the liberty of the year of Jubilee for all who are broken and estranged. He promises that the day will come when he himself will accomplish what the shepherds of Israel have failed to do. “I will feed my flock, and I will make them lie down. I will seek what was lost and bring back what was driven away, bind up the broken and strengthen what was sick; but I will destroy the fat and the strong, and feed them in judgment” (34:15–16).

The hope of Jubilee restoration echoes through the prophets and into the prayers of Israel. In the second blessing of the Amidah, the traditional series of daily blessings, we address the Lord as the One who “sustains the living with kindness, resuscitates the dead with abundant mercy, supports the fallen, heals the sick, releases the confined, and maintains His faith to those asleep in the dust” (Artscroll Siddur 101).

The accounts of the coming of Messiah also echo this hope. When Yochanan the Immerser was bound in prison, he sent two of his disciples to ask Yeshua, “Are you the Coming One, or do we look for another?” Yeshua answered in the language of Jubilee. The restoration of the age to come had already broken into this age, so Yochanan should know who Yeshua was. “Go and tell Yochanan the things that you hear and see: The blind see and the lame walk; the lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear; the dead are raised up and the poor have good news proclaimed to them. And blessed is he who is not offended because of me” (Matt 11:2–6).

Why would one be offended by Yeshua? Because he claims to be Messiah at a time when the Jubilee is not fully established. Yochanan remains imprisoned. Roman armies occupy the land of Israel. But Yeshua shows that the Jubilee has indeed begun with his arrival in Israel, and so will inevitably be fulfilled. In the meantime, do not be offended, but maintain hope.

Once during a discussion at my home congregation’s interfaith couples meeting, one of the non-Messianic Jewish men said, “OK, Yeshua is a great guy. I’ll even accept that he is the greatest guy, but Messiah—who knows? Besides, who needs a Messiah?”

I could have told my friend that I needed a Messiah and Yeshua proved himself as Messiah to me . . . and that if you ever figure out that you need a Messiah, Yeshua will be there for you too. Instead, I focused on the corporate aspect. You may not realize that you need a Messiah, but you cannot deny that this world does. Just look at the suffering, injustice, and oppression all around us. Yeshua embodies the hope of liberty, of a return to God’s order and justice that is rooted in the Torah and reflected throughout our Scriptures and prayers. Yeshua has already launched a restoration that has had immeasurable impact on the world we live in, and is evidence of the redemption to come. My personal story of salvation is only a foretaste of the worldwide Jubilee that Messiah will bring.

Jubilee decrees that each one is to return to his family and to his holding. In our day of isolation and estrangement, this promise is especially significant. In the final chapters of Leviticus, God provides a way of return to himself which anticipates the great restoration that is the underlying theme of all the books of Torah. This return includes restoration of families and friendships that may have been damaged, and restoration to the inheritance of Scripture and the tradition that flows from it. Those who follow Messiah Yeshua believe that he is the one who brings about this return. Therefore, we refuse to account our personal Jubilee complete apart from the Jubilee for all Israel, which ultimately is the Jubilee that restores all humanity.

Jubilee must be proclaimed. Moses says, “You shall sound the shofar, and you shall proclaim liberty” (Lev 25:9–10, paraphrased). As we await the Jubilee to come, may we proclaim the Jubilee that is already here in Messiah Yeshua, so that many in Israel and beyond may return to their families and their holdings, and to the God who is calling them back.

Adapted from Creation to Completion, Messianic Jewish Publishers, 2006.

Our Priority: Conservation or Contagion?

Parashat Emor, Leviticus 21:1–24:23

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel

Years ago, I worked at a Bible-based residential drug treatment center located on the site of a former Catholic boarding school. One day, a man from the neighborhood showed up at my office and asked if he could talk with me. I welcomed him in and he asked, “Are you a father?” I said yes, because I had four children, and he said, “Well, Father, here’s my story.” For my neighbor, “Are you a father?” meant “Are you a priest?” I had to tell him that I wasn’t, but we had a good conversation anyway.

As I thought about it later, though, I realized that in Messiah I actually am a priest, called to stay close to God and represent him among those around me. I possessed quite a bit of what my neighbor was looking for. Without claiming to fill the specific office he had in mind, I had something to offer through staying in touch with the Almighty, being filled with the Spirit, and keeping myself separate from the manifold pollutions of everyday life.

The qualities of priestly service laid out in Parashat Emor, however, don’t seem so attractive to our modern sensibilities. The priest or cohen puts a lot of energy into guarding his holiness, so that he’s limited in how he mourns the dead, and is banned from marrying the wrong sort of woman. Through Moses, the Lord instructs Aaron, “None of your descendants who has a defect may approach to offer the bread of his God. No one with a defect may approach — no one blind, lame,” or possessing any number of flaws (Lev 21:17–18). Even if the priest is free from these “defects,” he becomes unclean, and temporarily barred from priestly service, if he has tzara’at (so-called “leprosy”) or a bodily discharge, or touches another person made unclean by a dead body or a discharge, or “who is unclean for any reason and who can transmit to him his uncleanness” (Lev 22:5). Becoming unclean is temporary, but entering the holy place in an unclean state is a grave offense, so the priest must remain on guard.

The focus in this week’s portion, therefore, is on guarding and conserving the holiness required of a priest. Since all Israel is called to be “a kingdom of cohanim” for Adonai, “a nation set apart” (Exod 19:6), conservation of holiness becomes a priority for the people as a whole. When Messiah Yeshua appears on the scene, however, he acts in ways that may at first seem to challenge this whole priestly system and its stringent requirements. But a closer look reveals how Yeshua upholds the Torah, even as he expands its redemptive impact.

In one of the first scenes in Mark’s account, for example, we see a man falling on his knees and begging Yeshua to cleanse him of his tzara’at. Yeshua reaches out his hand, and touches the man, saying, “Be cleansed!” Now, Yeshua does a lot of touching throughout his entire healing ministry (as in Mark 3:10; 5:27–31; 6:56; 7:33; 8:22–23) . . . but one afflicted with tzara’at is unclean and will render unclean anyone who touches him. When Yeshua touches this “leper,” then, many readers and scholars see him as rejecting the whole purity-holiness code of Torah. The code, however, doesn’t specifically forbid touching such a person, but it states that such touching will result in at least temporary uncleanness. Yeshua’s holiness, however, is not corrupted by contact with the unclean as would normally happen; rather it “uncorrupts” the unclean and makes it pure. Touching a leper normally makes one unclean; but when Yeshua touches this leper, the leper becomes clean. Yeshua manifests a “prophetic, invasive holiness that needs no protection, but reaches out to sanctify the profane,” as Mark Kinzer describes it, a holiness that is “contagious,” as scholar Matthew Thiessen puts it in his book, Jesus and the Forces of Death. This contagious holiness reflects the power of God’s Kingdom pushing back against the forces of death that have corrupted the created order, at least since Adam and Eve defied God’s command in the garden. 

Lest we think that this contagion of holiness is overturning the priestly system, Mark lets us know that Yeshua sends the man to the priest for confirmation of his cleansing, in accord with the Torah (Lev 14:1–32). The priest cannot cleanse tzara’at—that is the work of Adonai alone—but he has the authority to certify the cleansing when it happens, and Yeshua endorses that authority and its role in providing “a testimony to the people” (1:44). The genius of Mark’s account, reflecting the genius of Messiah himself, is to affirm both the conservation and contagion of holiness.  

As a preacher and teacher, I’m tempted to draw a contrast in our treatment of holiness between conservation and contagion. Are we mostly concerned with preserving our spiritual status quo and protecting our community from the corrosive influence of an increasingly secular and lawless culture? Are we aligning with the stereotype invoked by those who are disenchanted with God, religion, and religious people, that is, defining ourselves by what we’re against and what we don’t do, rather than what we are for? Or are we ready to spread around the spiritual benefits bestowed on us—confident that whatever holiness we might have is contagious?

So, it’s not so much a matter of contrast between conservation and contagion; we need both. The stability and separation of a healthy religious community provides a platform for influencing the surrounding culture. So let’s not be afraid of touching and lifting up those around us who might seem lost or hopeless. We might be afraid of catching something around them, but they might actually catch something good from us. Let’s be ready to touch those our culture might think of as unclean.

When Yeshua sends the cleansed man to the priest, he warns him to say nothing to anyone else about what has happened. The man, however, goes out and freely spreads the news (and we don’t even know whether he ever makes it to the priest), so that Yeshua can “no longer enter a town openly but stayed out in the country” (1:45), ironically reflecting the conditions of the so-called leper, who has to stay away from the towns and dwell apart (Lev 13:46). But the people still find a way to get to Yeshua and continue “coming to him from all around.” And so the contagion of holiness spreads.  

Scripture references are from Complete Jewish Bible (CJB).

Sweat the Small Stuff

Parashat Kedoshim, Leviticus 19:1–20:27 

Dave Nichol, Ruach Israel, Needham, MA

The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the whole Israelite community and say to them: You shall be holy (kedoshim), for I, the Lord your God, am holy. (Lev 19:1–2)

Parashat Kedoshim begins with an injunction to be holy. I hesitate to define what holy means, though it includes the idea of being set apart, or profoundly other. Just the idea of taking on a characteristic that is attributed to God is, well, somewhere between impossibly daunting and downright mind-blowing. 

What does it take to be holy? Apparently for us, based on the verses that follow, it is to honor your parents, avoid idolatry, observe Shabbat, perform sacrifices correctly, and make provision for the economically (and otherwise) disadvantaged. The requirements are dizzying in their variety: do not hate your kinsman in your heart; do not wear cloth made from a mixture of two kinds of material.

It is as if the Torah gives us a simple, straightforward prescription—be holy—and immediately goes on to show how it is not simple or straightforward at all. I suppose that is fitting: “how one should live” is a sufficiently broad question so as to resist easy answers. 

Commenting on this parasha in his excellent book, The Heart of Torah, R. Shai Held focuses on one verse in particular:

You shall not insult (lo tekalel) the deaf, or place a stumbling block before the blind. You shall fear your God: I am the Lord. (19:14)

R. Held points out that the verb קלל (k-l-l), to insult, connotes taking the deaf person lightly. The opposite is כבד (k-v-d), to honor, or treat something as weighty. So, in this verse, fearing God is the opposite of taking a person lightly: it means treating them with honor or gravity.

From the perspective of a simplistic, utilitarian ethic, you’d think there is nothing wrong with insulting the deaf. They can’t hear you! As Rashi points out, it’s a victimless crime. No harm, no foul. And yet, if a reason is given for this commandment, it has nothing to do with the victim, but that we should fear God. 

Fear—of God or otherwise—is out of fashion in much of contemporary spiritual discourse. And yet, it is a common motif in the language of scripture. “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Psa 111:10); it is “altogether pure” (Psa 19:10); it is one of the basic requirements God makes of us (Deut 10:12).

The Ramchal (R. Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, 1707–1746), in his classic mussar work Mesilat Yesharim, envisions life as a journey through a maze where the final destination is invisible to those inside, but wrong decisions can make the difference between reaching the goal, or not. All the paths inside look the same, and only knowing the way will get you out of the labyrinth.

My natural tendency is to find this off-putting. I tend toward preferring a casual, low-drama spiritual life. I hate dressing up, generally respond to seriousness with humor, and have an allergy to the melodramatic. The Ramchal, however, is hard core. It is evident, not just from his writing, but from what we know of his life, that he almost certainly lacked chill. I bet if he lived today he would wear a button-up shirt every day, if not a suit and tie. And yet, I hesitate to write him off completely. For one thing, in his model of the world, things matter.

There are benefits to a worldview where small things matter. For one thing, it can imbue our lives with real purpose in the day-to-day. Meaning isn’t reserved for those who do big, impressive things like save thousands of disadvantaged children or invent new green technologies; the uber-rich or the policy-makers. No! Your choices and mine, the seemingly little choices we make about how we treat others, eat, spend, even think, have real import.

This principle holds for positive, as well as negative, actions. Years ago I received a chain email (if you’re under 40, think reposted Facebook posts) about how a smile could have outsize impact on the world: you smile at someone and make just enough difference in their day that they do the same to someone else, and the effects ripple out ad infinitum. This strikingly echoes how Chassidic thought understands the performance of mitzvot: the observance of even minor commandments has an unseen material influence on the cosmos; indeed, these mitzvot are the most powerful levers we have to change the world.

Whatever the mechanism, you can think of this as an alternative economy of change. Billionaires pontificate at Davos and politicians attend summits, while in reality, the fate of the world rests on a family removing chametz before Pesach. A smile, a berakha after eating, or a choice to restrain negative speech, become the heroic acts that turn the tide. Indeed, the hardest part of accepting this paradigm is having the faith to see it. 

But once we choose to live in this parallel universe of power in actions, do we have the discipline to constantly push ourselves to raise the bar? Will we have what it takes to engage in regular self-reflection and contemplation, and live with the consistency that holiness requires? 

In America this is the season of NBA and NHL playoffs. Watching these basketball and hockey games, I marvel at the ability of these players to maintain the focus to compete at a high level night after night. Fighting for every rebound matters, as each possession can make the difference between advancing to the next round or getting bounced from the playoffs. I believe the greatest players in the game were not the tallest or fastest, but those who were relentless in their attention to detail and pursuit of excellence (Jordan, Bird, and Ray Allen all come to mind).

Shaul the shaliach was not familiar with playoff basketball, but spoke of the same idea in his time:

Don’t you know that in a stadium the runners all run, but one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may win! Every competitor exercises self-control in all respects. They do it to receive a perishable crown, but we do it to receive an imperishable one. So I run in this way—not aimlessly. So I box in this way—not beating the air. Rather, I punish my body and bring it into submission, so that after I have preached to others, I myself will not be disqualified. (1 Cor 9:24–27, TLV)

This is a similar message to that of the Ramchal, an argument for practicing zehirut, constant attentiveness to how we live. In a sense, to walk through life without self-reflection and seriousness is to lack yirat Hashem, fear of God. It is, if you will, to treat life lightly. The opposite, on the other hand, is to treat life as weighty (kaved), as if it really matters.

Perhaps this is the connection between the hodgepodge of commandments that begin our parasha, and fearing God. Just as Yeshua taught us to be faithful in small matters (Luke 16:10), Kedoshim teaches us to “sweat the details.” The small things are the big things.

May the Holy One grant us the strength—and even an appropriate amount of fear—to be, little by little, holy ourselves.

All quotations from JPS unless otherwise noted.

Walk It Out!

Parashat Acharei Mot, Leviticus 16:1–18:30

Matthew Absolon, Beth Tfilah, Hollywood, FL

 You shall follow my rules and keep my statutes and walk in them. I am the Lord your God. (Lev 18:4 ESV)

This week’s portion deals with the laws regarding forbidden sexual relations. Like many of the mitzvot given to our people, they come with the charge: “You shall not do as they do in the land of Egypt, where you lived, and you shall not do as they do in the land of Canaan, to which I am bringing you. You shall not walk in their statutes” (Lev 18:3 ESV, emphasis added). Alternatively, the Lord declares the positive commandments to “follow . . . keep . . . and walk” in the mishpatim (judgments/rules) and chukotai (statutes) he has given to us. This following, keeping, and walking is to effect sanctification of the Jewish people from the nations that surround them. We should be different from the nations around us in that we hold fast to the godly virtues of love, truth, justice, hope, faith, and life. This sanctification is memorialized as we pray every day, “Blessed are you, Lord our God, King of the universe, who has sanctified us with your commandments . . .” and so forth. In order to guard this sanctification, Israel is enjoined to walk in the rules and statutes of the Torah.

But how do we do this? And what does it mean to walk in the Torah?

Commenting on Leviticus18:4, Rashi gives us timeless advice:

TO WALK IN THEM — do not free yourselves from their environment, i.e. that you must not say, I have acquired Jewish wisdom, now I will go and acquire the wisdom of the other peoples of the world in order to walk in their ways.

Through long familiarity, there is a tendency for God’s people to replace the spiritual discipline of walking in the Torah with the acquisition of rationale. In a luciferian way, we surmise that once we know the rationale behind a mitzvah, it is no longer a matter of practice, but that of extraction; that is, I can extract the lesson from the mitzvah and, therefore, actually doing the mitzvah becomes subordinate to the extraction. In this way our pride trumps our obedience. This is a great danger.

Spiritual discipline through the repetitive action—the “walking” out—of the mitzvot builds within us emotional muscle memory. Given that we are largely driven by our emotions (good and not-so-good), any repetitive action binds itself to our personhood, our heart, our mind, and that same action builds within us an emotional response. The more repetitive the action, the deeper the emotional muscle memory.

Take for example the mitzvah of Shabbat. We keep the Shabbat as a reminder of the sovereignty of God over time and space (Exod 31:17). The observance of Shabbat reinforces to us the fundamentals of who God is and who we are in relationship to him and with him. The Shabbat sanctifies us from every other creation story that exists among the nations, and it acts as an inoculation against the spiritual acidity of “Ex nihilo nihil fit” (nothing comes from nothing). So that when we are confronted with the scientific myths and carefully woven theories which exclude God from the work of creation, we become emotionally uncomfortable with the sales pitch.

In a parallel way, the discipline of limiting our sexual relations to those outlined in today’s mitzvah creates in us emotional muscle memory that inoculates us against the sordidness of the nations around us. Those practices that they deem to be acceptable, even “liberating,” we find repugnant and contemptible (see 1 Cor 5). As we walk in the Torah, we reinforce the process of sanctification.

This gift of emotional muscle memory is a direct result of walking in the Torah. It does not come from a carefully articulated apologetic, ready for an opportunity to pontificate. It does not come from hours of study and academic acquisition. It does not come from allegorical extractions.

No, it’s much more powerful than all that. It’s an emotional response that is so inextricably bound up in our spiritual DNA such that any intellect, luciferian or otherwise, cannot move us from the place of knowing in our kishkes that we “shall live by them” (Lev 18:5).

Additionally, we have the indispensable gift of our traditions to help us discipline our spiritual walk and to guide us as we walk in the Torah. This past week, we all opened our Haggadot and observed the Pesach Seder. The Haggadah is a wonderful example of how our traditions help us to walk in the Torah. As we read of our slavery, our outcry, our deliverance, and our freedom; as we partake of the four cups of God’s promise that “I will . . .” (Exod 6:6–7); we strengthen the emotional muscle memory that helps to sustain us during the trying and doubtful times.

For each of us, there will be both similarities and individual uniqueness in our walking in the Torah. Our traditions offer a tried-and-true track to follow, providing a way to walk in the Torah. Beyond that, I encourage us one and all to consider how we might walk in the Torah, through spiritual discipline and inculcating the mitzvot into our daily lives.

Why Is This Passover Different?

Passover 5784

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel

Why is this Passover different from all other Passovers?

Many voices within the Jewish community have noted how deeply our observance of Passover in April 2024 is marked by trial and difficulty. How can we celebrate the Season of our Deliverance, Zeman Cherutenu, when over 130 of our brothers and sisters remain in bondage in the tunnels of Hamas? How can we celebrate new life and resurrection hope when Israel is embroiled in deadly warfare? When antisemitic words and deeds are proliferating on campuses and in the public square across America and around the world?

But all this is not what makes this Passover different. Indeed, our Haggadah clearly reminds us, “in every generation they rise against us and seek to destroy us . . .”

I’m talking about another theme of Passover, highlighted throughout the Haggadah, which looks different this year. It’s the mitzvah of remembering Passover, keeping the festival alive for all generations, as Moses teaches us: “This day shall be for you Yom Zikaron, a day of remembrance, and you shall keep it as a festival to Adonai; throughout your generations, as a statute forever, you shall keep it as a festival” (Exod 12:15; see also 12:17, 42; 13:7–8, 14).

This mitzvah of generational transmission has always been demanding, but in recent years it has become uniquely challenging. Telling our children and grandchildren a story rooted in ancient history, and equipping them to pass it on, amidst our culture of endless sound bites and news flashes can be challenging indeed. That’s why Passover in this current generation may be different from all other Passovers.

I recently came across a review of a new book, The Crisis of Narration by philosopher Byung-Chul Han, in First Things, April 2024. Han contends that “narratives—formally constructed stories, rich with allusion and suggestion, open to interpretation by the community [like the Passover story]—are disappearing.” The reviewer continues,

But, one may object, isn’t the world full of narratives? Don’t people turn to their phones in search of Instagram stories? Aren’t politicians always trying to construct a compelling “narrative”? Not so: “The more we talk about narration or narrative,” Han cautions us, “the more we’re alienated from it.” The stream of pseudo-narratives one finds on TikTok, Instagram, or X are replacement calories for a narrative-starved hive mind. Han calls this development “the inflation of narrative.”

The reviewer goes on to say that these pseudo-narratives are a weak substitute for “the complex, allegorical, future-oriented, rich, and humanizing narratives that Han locates . . . in the past”—an apt description of the Passover story that we reenact each year in the Seder.

The “inflation of narrative”—another “every generation” passage in the Haggadah can help us address its challenge:

In every generation let a person look upon himself or herself as personally coming forth from Egypt, as it is written, “You shall tell your child on that day, ‘It is because of what Adonai did for me when I came out of Egypt (Exod 13:8).’” 

This narrative of our deliverance is not inflated, but has profound substance and personal relevance. It’s about far more than me, of course; ultimately it’s about the power and goodness of the God of Israel, who is the God of all humankind. But this God seeks to bring each of us individually into his story, and did so most decisively in Messiah Yeshua, who offered himself as the ransom for our souls, and rose on the third day during Passover long ago. This personalized element—this personal relevance—of our observance of Passover is a key to transmitting it from generation to generation.

All this ties into Sefirat ha-Omer, Counting the Omer, a custom that tracks the days from the present—Passover, season of our deliverance—to the future— Shavuot, Festival of Weeks, season of the giving of Torah (Lev 23:15–17). It’s a tradition of looking toward the future, anticipating what lies ahead, and we capture it in the UMJC tagline for this year’s Counting of the Omer, Kadima: Forward! As we are still in the first week of counting the Omer, I encourage you to join in if you haven’t already. Download your guide to counting the Omer here.

This Omer theme recognizes that keeping the Passover story alive from generation to generation means raising up a new generation of leaders—rabbis, teachers, worship leaders, and members with leadership qualities. But, if you’ve been involved in Messianic Judaism for very long, you know that we’ve been talking about the challenge of generational transmission for years. Thank God, we can see a good number of younger leaders and committed members who’ve been added to our community or equipped within our community in recent years. In truth, however, the numbers are not yet enough to sustain a whole new generation and the generations beyond.

Our haftarah reading for this Shabbat, Ezekiel 37:1–14, provides a clue to addressing the challenge of generational transmission. The reading opens as the Lord brings the prophet in the Ruach, the Spirit of the Lord, to a valley filled with dry human bones, and asks, “Can these bones live?” Ezekiel answers, “O Lord God, you know.” It would seem impossible for these “very dry bones” to just start living, but the prophet has walked with God long enough to know that with him nothing is impossible, and he answers accordingly. And then the Lord hands the impossible task over to Ezekiel.

Then he said to me, “Prophesy over these bones, and say to them, O dry bones, hear the word of the Lord. Thus says the Lord God to these bones: Behold, I will cause ruach—breath—to enter you, and you shall live . . . and you shall know that I am the Lord.” (Ezek 37:4–6)

In context, the bones are the whole house of Israel, exiled and without hope in the “graves” of the nations, and Ezekiel is granted a vision of their spiritual reawakening and return to their own land (37:11–14). But Jewish readers over the centuries have also seen this text as a vision of the promised resurrection at the end of the age, one of the themes of the Passover season, enacted in advance in the Passover resurrection of Messiah Yeshua.

Comparing today’s Messianic Jewish community to a valley filled with dry bones might seem histrionic, or at least overly pessimistic. My focus here, however, isn’t on the bones, but on the prophet. Ezekiel provides a two-fold lesson:

1. In the face of the impossible, he says “Lord, you know.” Our ultimate hope is in God. In his grand scheme, even what appears hopeless to us, whether in our personal and family lives or in the morning news, may unfold in life-giving ways.  

2. He has a part to play in response to the impossible. The prophet tells the bones to live. In our modest way, through prayer, through financial support, and through deeply connecting with our younger generation men and women, we also have a part to play in bringing what might appear as a scene of dry bones back to abundant life.

 This Passover may be different from all others, but its age-old message of hope is still alive and at hand for our community today, as promised through the prophet: “I will put my Spirit among you and you shall live!” (Ezek 37:14).