A Much-Needed Renewal of Awe

Rosh Hashanah 5785

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel

With Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, we enter the Ten Days of Awe that will continue through Yom Kippur.

But we live in a time when it’s hard to be awed . . . because awe is the response to the presence of a transcendent other, something or someone far greater than ourselves, greater than our understanding or our ability to perceive. Much of modern life has inoculated us from that awe, focusing instead on what can be explained and managed and quantified. But awe is something we need to be fully human.

This year on September 12, the entrepreneur Jared Isaacman became the first private citizen to walk in space.

“It’s gorgeous,” he said, in awe of what he could see, as he eased out of the spacecraft into the vacuum of space, hundreds of miles from Earth. “Back at home, we all have a lot of work to do. But from here, it sure looks like a perfect world,” Isaacman said as the capsule soared above the South Pacific. Cameras on board caught his silhouette, waist high at the hatch, with the blue Earth beneath. (Sky News, news.sky.com)

Isaacman reportedly spent hundreds of millions to gain this vision of awe. The call of the Shofar this week draws us all back to awe in more direct fashion, back to realizing we are in the presence of something—someone—far greater than ourselves.

In some of the special passages we read at Rosh Hashanah services, the Shofar announces the approach or presence of the King, as at Mount Sinai, although it’s not clear who is sounding the Shofar: “And when the blast of the Shofar sounded long and became louder and louder, Moses spoke, and God answered him by voice” (Exod 19:19). Perhaps it is the Lord himself who sounds the Shofar: “Then the Lord will be seen over them, and His arrow will go forth like lightning. The Lord God will blow the Shofar, and go with whirlwinds from the south” (Zech 9:14).

This is what we might call the Shofar from Above, calling us to attention, to alertness in the presence of the True King. Several times in Exodus when the Shofar is sounded the people tremble. We need to hear, to pay attention to, this awesome, flesh-trembling call amidst the secular-material age in which we’re living.

There’s also the voice of the Shofar from Below, when we sound the Shofar to remind God-who-is-present of our need for his gracious response.

On the day of your gladness also, and at your appointed feasts and at the beginnings of your months, you shall blow the [shofars] over your burnt offerings and over the sacrifices of your peace offerings. They shall be a reminder of you before your God: I am the LORD your God. (Num 10:10 ESV)

This Rosh Hashanah, let us be mindful of both, the Shofar from Above awakening us to the presence of God in our midst, and the Shofar from Below, as we call on God to remember his promises of compassion and deliverance, above all the promise of deliverance through the sacrifice of Messiah Yeshua.

Another essential text for Rosh Hashanah is the Akedah, the story of the binding of Isaac in Genesis 22, which sheds additional light on this matter of awe, in turn revealing deep insights into the matter of worship. Our fundamental human need for awe is also a need to worship, to know and recognize and serve One beyond ourselves.

God had told Abraham to take his uniquely loved son Isaac to the land of Moriyya “and offer him up there as an offering-up” (Fox trans), signifying an act of worship. When it’s time to make the final ascent to the place God had marked out, Abraham tells his two servants, “You stay here with the donkey, and I and the lad will go yonder; we will worship/bow down (nishtachaveh) and return to you” (22:5).

God created humankind—on Rosh Hashanah, according to the sages—as worshipers, those who would be in awe of him and serve him. Worship, like awe, is a fundamental human need, but left to ourselves we create our own ways to worship with human perspectives at the center. Maybe it’s always been this way, but our age has carried this to near-perfection, as evident in the recent spacewalk and its grasp for awe. Moreover, the dominant culture says it may be fine to speak of God and worship in abstract and subjective terms, but forget about speaking of a personal God who has revealed both himself and his expectations of humankind.

But God is the Creator of all. He created us as worshipers and is seeking those who will genuinely worship him, in spirit and in truth, as our Messiah teaches (John 4:24). The Shofar from Above is God calling us to worship in spirit and in truth, offering up not what we choose, but what God directs—even the best and most difficult to give up. We want to worship to a point. Our ancestors in the wilderness made the golden calf because Moses was gone too long. They wanted to worship in truth until it got too hard or too scary, until it seemed incompatible with their immediate human needs.

Abraham faces a similar test. When he and Isaac reach the appointed site, Abraham builds an altar, binds Isaac, and places him upon it to be offered up. Only then does the angel stop him and reveal a ram caught in a thicket by its horn, a ram that Abraham is to sacrifice in place of his son. When the angel stops Abraham from raising the knife to Isaac’s throat, he says, “For now I know that you are in awe of God” (22:12 Fox). Abraham’s act of worship isn’t only until it’s too demanding or too mysterious; it is in place despite, or better amid, what is too demanding and too mysterious. And it prepares the way for the Shofar from Below, for crying out to God for his merciful intervention.

The Days of Awe call us to a renewal of awe, which in turn yields a renewal of worship. Will we live in awe of God until it’s too challenging or too paradoxical—or amid the challenges and paradoxes life in this world always presents? Will we devote ourselves this New Year to worshiping in spirit and in truth, knowing that the Father seeks such to worship him?

Teshuvah: How To Return

Parashat Nitzavim-Vayelech, Deuteronomy 29:9–31:30

David Nichol, Ruach Israel, Needham, MA 

And it shall come to pass when all these things come upon you . . . and you shall turn your heart. . . and return to Adonai and heed his voice . . . that Adonai will return your captivity . . . and return and gather you from all the nations where Adonai your God has scattered you. . . . And you shall turn and heed the voice of Adonai . . . and Adonai will return to rejoicing over you . . . if you return to Adonai your God with all your heart and with all your soul. (Deut 30:1–10, trans. R. Russ Resnik)

Why is it so hard to change? As we approach the season of teshuvah (turning, repentance) and the Ten Days of Repentance, this question is worth considering. Our mistakes are not usually one-time events; most of the time our flaws follow us like our shadow, as if they are part of who we are. Dramatic, intentional changes do happen, but they seem to be the exception rather than the rule.

Unsurprisingly, then, the conventional wisdom is that such an about-face is rare: people are who they are, and real change is, at best, an exceptional case. And how much more for a nation or people! There is much talk about nations going the wrong direction, institutions weakening, and societies crumbling. The unspoken assumption is that the movement is always monolithic and unidirectional. 

What is fascinating about Moses’ speech here is that it occupies a kind of middle ground between fatalism and the power of choice. Moses tells us, “When these things befall you . . .” not if, but when! Israel, according to the Torah, cannot avoid this future of descent into sinfulness and rebellion, nor can we avoid the resulting punishment and exile from the land.

And yet after all this, we and our children will return and heed his commands with all our hearts and souls. Repentance and return are just as assured as the initial failures and exile. 

Yet there is no guarantee that we will be the generation of return that this passage speaks of. The fact remains that change is hard. How can we overcome the obstacles, to become ba’alei teshuva, masters of repentance?

The theme of repentance is powerfully evident In the passage from Nitzavim above, though most English translations obscure the repetition of the Hebrew root shuv (turn). Writing on this passage in The Heart of Torah, R. Shai Held cites R. Shalom Noah Berezovsky (1911–2000), who “maintains that although many of us are convinced that we genuinely want to repent, most of us lack the courage required to go deep inside our inner worlds and repair what is broken. We thus prefer to tinker rather than transform.”

R. Berezovsky offers a powerful—and disturbing—parable. “The task of a person,” he writes, “is like that of a person who is building an elaborate house on a foundation of rubble.” If we are unwilling to invest the money and effort required to build a solid foundation, the building will be unstable, and cracks will appear again and again. Time and again we will spend money on fixing the latest crack, but these repeated investments will accomplish nothing because more cracks will inevitably emerge. Under such circumstances “the house remains perpetually in danger of collapse.” There is only one alternative . . .  Berezovsky avers: “to have the courage to destroy the whole structure of the house and to dig deep and strong foundations. On top of those foundations, [a person] can build and establish a strong building.” 

Doing substantive teshuvah requires, first of all, courage. It can be daunting to tear down a house to rebuild it from scratch; but to apply this strategy to our lives is downright terrifying. Why is this? Well, it’s risky to look at ourselves and honestly evaluate which parts of our identity we have been holding on to, that would be better let go. The opinions we don’t want to revisit, the negative habits we secretly enjoy, the conceits of self-image, the condescension we want to believe is warranted. The main obstacle to a good cleaning out of the messy garage of our souls is a very understandable fear of what will happen when we start pulling on those threads. The dysfunction we know seems safer than the uncertainty of wholesale renovation.

Perhaps this is why encounters with the divine in scripture so often start with the directive, “Don’t be afraid!” (see Gen 15:1, Gen 46:3, Luke 1:30). An encounter with the Holy One threatens to shatter whatever illusions we maintain about the state of our lives; fear is an understandable response. Indeed, we should probably fear more! And yet, these encounters in scripture are not expressions of God’s transcendent otherness, but are moments of intimacy and blessing. 

Encounter with God should engender fear and trembling, but also closeness and love. This paradox, found in the Torah and throughout our people’s history, is fundamental, and we should embrace both in this time of repentance: the fear that brings us to repentance, and the intimacy that gives us the courage to act on it. Our task is to internalize both fear of God and his compassionate embrace. Our haftarah describes this embrace using the imagery of being wrapped in finery:

I greatly rejoice in the Lord,

My whole being exults in my God.

For He has clothed me with garments of triumph,

Wrapped me in a robe of victory,

Like a bridegroom adorned with a turban,

Like a bride bedecked with her finery. (Isaiah 61:10 JPS)

The prophet’s response to exile is not to fear, but, paradoxically, to rejoice. Even as Israel’s house has been torn down to the foundations, Isaiah finds overwhelming joy in the hope of its rebuilding. To move forward, we need to also internalize this mind-bending reality that God holds us, and will turn to us, even as we turn to him.

Near the end of our parasha, as Moses encourages Joshua to lead the nation to the land, he might as well be speaking to us:

Be strong and resolute, for . . . the Lord Himself will go before you. He will be with you; He will not fail you or forsake you. Fear not and be not dismayed! (Deut 31:7–8)

May these words remind us of God’s constant presence with us, and thus help us find the strength for deep and enduring teshuvah in this season.

Application

It is one thing to know some lofty idea, but quite another to actually know how to internalize it. Let me recommend this practice of hitbonenut, contemplation, to help foster an abiding awareness of God’s presence. I find it a helpful way to solidify the faith needed for action, including repentance; perhaps you will also find it beneficial. 

For clarity (and alliteration), let us break down this practice into four stages: purpose, preparation, posture, and presence. 

Purpose

The Baal Shem Tov told a parable comparing God to a great king who surrounded himself with walls within walls so that only those who sought him the most insistently could find him. In the end, however, the walls were illusory, and his subjects could have approached him at any time. Our intention in this practice is not to seek out God’s ḥesed (sustaining love), but to discover it already encircling us.

Preparation

Recite words out loud to set the stage. The siddur offers many resources for this. Say or sing texts, particularly those that emphasize God’s abiding love for his people and each of his creatures. Song or niggun (wordless melody) can help break through obstacles and distractions. Psalms or verses from them are tailor-made for this (if you need a start, try 23, 27, 100, 103, 131, 145). Repeat them multiple times daily until practically memorized, in Hebrew or English. This can be part of, or in addition to, your usual daily prayer.

Posture

Orient yourself physically and mentally in an appropriate position. Know before whom you stand or sit. Start with the way the body is postured and then have your mind and soul join it in a posture of humility and awe. Your smallness and dependence should contrast with the magnificence and absolute heart-wrenching, mind-bending otherness of the Holy One.

Presence

Finally, having made yourself aware that God is right there before you, sit in that place. Realize and accept that all of us are like grass of the field, lasting a minute before the wind blows us into nothingness—and that’s ok. Then let go. Breathe in and out and realize that the fact that you can breathe is a gift beyond hope. Accept—no, feel—the love of One who rejoices over you as a bridegroom over a bride. God’s presence is in fact there at all times; you’re just usually looking elsewhere. So try to be aware of it.

And just sit in his presence until it’s time to go.

Remember Who You Are!

Parashat Ki Tavo, Deuteronomy 26:1–29:8; Haftarah, Isaiah 60:1–22

Rachel Wolf, Congregation Beth Messiah, Cincinnati

Ki tavo, when you come in (ki tavo) to the land . . . Remember Who You Are!

Toward this end, as Moses approaches the conclusion of his discourse to all Israel, he commands many practical, active, and concrete things that will serve as constant visible reminders to the people of Israel of who they are, and to whom they belong.

The significance of the identity of the Jewish people cannot be overstated.

Through the painstaking record-keeping of Moses, we witness the long, intensive efforts by God and by Moses to impress upon the people the seriousness of being the covenant people of God – the great blessings that will come from observing God’s commands and principles, and the dreadful curses that follow from God’s people turning away (see Deut 28).

Here are some of the constant visible reminders from this portion:

Reminder #1: First of All, First Fruits

Demonstrate and declare your origins and identity!

This week’s portion begins: “When you come in to the land which the Lord your God is giving you as an inheritance, and you possess it and dwell in it . . .” The first thing the people are told to do is to take some of the firstfruits of the land, put them in a basket, and bring it to “the place God has chosen to put his name” (Deut 26:1–2). There, before the priest, at the holy place, the people of Israel are to

(1) publicly declare their covenant identity, and then

(2) recount their origins and history.

First they are to say to the priest: “I declare today to the Lord your God that I have come to the country which the Lord swore to our fathers to give us” (26:3).

Next, they are to tell the story of their origins. After recounting their humble beginnings each Israelite is to say:

So the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and with an outstretched arm, with great terror and with signs and wonders. He has brought us to this place and has given us this land, “a land flowing with milk and honey”; and now, behold, I have brought the firstfruits of the land which you, O Lord, have given me. (Deut 26:8–10)

 Reminder #2: The First Billboards

Israel is to set up huge stone signposts to be their solid visible reference point: 

It shall be, on the day when you cross over the Jordan to the land the Lord your God is giving you, that you shall set up for yourselves large stones, and whitewash them with lime. You shall write on them all the words of this law, when you have crossed over, that you may enter the land which the Lord your God is giving you. (Deut 27:1–7) 

 Moreover, they are commanded to use good handwriting! (v.7)

Reminder #3: Two Mountains

Do Not Forget: You are the people of God; you are to represent him in your actions. Just before the detailed recital of the blessings and curses in chapter 28, Moses sets up a powerful visible and audible reminder for the people that literally shouts to them as they are entering the Land:  Representatives of six of the tribes are to stand at the top of Mt. Gerizim to recite the blessings over the people, and the other six tribes are to stand at the top of Mt. Ebal to recite the curses over the people. Remember, at this point these blessings and curses are all in the “if, then” formula. This is a reminder, literally from on high, that Israel’s actions will affect their future—because they belong to the Lord their God. As they walk between these mountains these voices of their own brothers are to encourage them to choose the right path.

Yet as we read the blessings and curses in chapter 28, we know the tragedies that are to come.  But that is not the end of the story! Zion is called to Awake! and Arise!

Prophetic Words of Consolation in the Haftarah Portion that are to cause Jerusalem to Remember who she is: Awake and Arise!

During the seven weeks between Tisha B’av and Rosh Hashanah we read the seven Haftarot of Comfort and Consolation from Isaiah. Biblical comfort is not emotional sympathy. It is the proclamation of the besorah that Israel’s times of constant battlement are at an end. We are called to proclaim this truth to our people!—that in God’s historical timetable we are entering the holy era of Comfort, when God sets into action his plan to conquer the pervasive violence of evildoers. In Scripture, those who hate Israel also hate God.

But after the reverberating call to “Comfort!” in Isaiah 40, the prophet’s visions show that this is a process. I am going to quickly explore this process in the fourth Haftarah of Comfort (Isaiah 51:12–52:12) and then connect it to this week’s haftarah.

Three Times: AWAKE, AWAKE!  Remember Who You Are!

The Resurrection of Jerusalem

In this haftarah portion Zion is called twice to Awake, Awake!  But before that, the prophet, or perhaps God himself, first exhorts God’s Holy Arm to “Awake, awake! and put on strength” as in ancient days, when his arm parted the Red Sea for the redeemed to cross over (Isa 51:9–11). This is key, and gives us a pattern for prayer, because it is by God’s power that the subsequent Awake and Arise will happen.

After God’s arm of power is awakened, then, in 51:17, Jerusalem is being called to awake from the exhaustion and dejection of warfare and captivity; from having drained the cup of God’s wrath:

Awake, awake!

Stand up, O Jerusalem,

You who have drunk at the hand of the Lord

The cup of his fury. (51:17)

 Then God asks a question that I have repeatedly posed to our congregation and to Christians I know. God cries out: “By whom shall I comfort you?” (51:19). I believe he is calling all of us to take on this role today.

But Isaiah also indicates that God’s arm has indeed awakened. Calling Israel “You afflicted,” he speaks through the prophet:

See I have taken out of your hand the cup of trembling . . .

You shall no longer drink it.

But I will put it into the hand of those who afflict you. (51:22–23)

Finally, Zion is called to again, “Awake, awake!” But this time Zion is called to the beauty and strength she was created for. Zion, Remember who you are!  This time she is called to both awake and arise:

Awake, awake

Put on your strength, O Zion;
Put on your beautiful garments,
O Jerusalem, the holy city! . . .

Shake yourself from the dust, Arise . . .
O captive daughter of Zion!”  (Isa 52:1–3)

In this week’s Haftarah, Isaiah 60:1-22, Jerusalem is called not only to awake and arise, but to Arise and Shine out into the darkness!

Arise, shine;

For your light has come!

And the glory of the Lord is risen upon you.

[“Risen” in Hebrew is the word for the sun rising.]

For behold, the darkness shall cover the land,

And deep shadow the people;

But the Lord will arise [like the sun] over you,

And his glory will be seen upon you. 

The nations shall come to your light,

And kings to the brightness of your rising.  (Isa 60:1–3)

Historical Progression to Resurrection

In these consolation sections of Isaiah we see this progression:

1. Zion is called to awake from the stupor of captivity

2. Zion is called to awake to her beauty and strength in order to shake off her captivity and remember her calling

3. Zion is called to arise and shine as the glory of the Lord rises upon her in the sight of all the nations.

4. The righteous of all the nations are drawn to Jerusalem’s light, bringing help and gifts, and with acceptable offerings for the God of Israel, the God of the whole earth.

This is the death and resurrection of Jerusalem that brings life to the whole earth. Yeshua understood his own death and resurrection to be tied to the death and resurrection of Jerusalem, the holy city, in the eternal plan of God. Jerusalem is at the center of God’s plan to release the captives of all the earth. This is why she is so embattled from all sides. How can we be signposts, like those Moses commanded, to help our people Remember who they are? God is still asking, “By whom shall I comfort you?” Can we say, as did Isaiah, “Hineni!”?

Everlasting Love

Parashat Ki Tetze, Deuteronomy 21:10–25:19; Haftarah, Isaiah 54:1–10

Matthew Absolon, Beth T’filah, Miramar, FL

“For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed,

but my steadfast love shall not depart from you,  

and my covenant of peace shall not be removed,”

says the Lord, who has compassion on you. Isaiah 54:10

This is week four of the seven weeks of consolation. We have traveled a spiritual roller-coaster ride as we are reminded of our transgressions, as we mourn our dead, as we remember the bitter cup of chastisement, and at the end we see the steadfast love of the Lord to bring us back to him. After the process of chastisement and discipline, we find our forefathers returning to the Lord with emotions of shame, fear and reproach.

How could we turn our backs to the Lord?

Why did we attach ourselves to worthless idols?

Why did we spend our money for that which is not bread? (Isa 55:2)

The beautiful poetry of the Prophet Isaiah brings into sharp focus the consequences of removing ourselves from the Lord, and simultaneously the faithfulness of the Lord to redeem his people. In today’s reading we have a double citation of that most precious of virtues, Chesed, otherwise translated as steadfast love or loving kindness.

“In overflowing anger for a moment I hid my face from you,

but with everlasting love (chesed) I will have compassion on you,”

says the Lord, your Redeemer.

“For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed,

but my steadfast love (chesed) shall not depart from you . . .”  Isaiah 54:8, 10

The term chesed speaks of the special form of love that our God has for his people. It is the love that can never be broken, an everlasting love. God’s chesed is the ultimate source of hope for the Jewish people, because it speaks of a love that, despite all wrongs, despite all rejection, despite all rebellion, is a love that will never die. In the midst of our shame, fear, and reproach, the Lord reaches down and reminds the Jewish people, “My steadfast love shall not depart from you.”

That is a comforting meditation.

And inside of that meditation is the microcosmos of our individual lives. It is the realization that Israel is not a nameless, faceless conglomerate, but rather a living and vibrant community of sons and daughters of God. It is the realization that his everlasting love shall not depart from me or from you at an individual level.

That is also a comforting meditation.

Our rebellion, our sin, our foolishness and folly, in whatever form it takes, it results in the separation of our hearts and minds from our father above, separation from our maker, our God. Oftentimes in our walk of faith, we find ourselves enduring self-inflicted chastisement, long after the Lord has forgiven us and seeks to restore us. Those emotions of shame, fear and reproach can linger on as we wrestle with the guilt of our own rebellion. But the Lord offers to us words of healing and comfort.

“With everlasting love, I will have compassion on you,” says the Lord, your Redeemer.

It is also comforting to know that we are not unique in our struggle to forgive ourselves. Our forefathers also struggled with self-abasement. The cure to these struggles is to be immersed in the chesed of our Lord and our God. We must let his loving-kindness seep in and permeate every crack and dry crevice of our hearts. There in the place of complete immersion into his love, there we find redemption and healing and restoration. This is the Lord’s desire for us; in fact it is bound up in his very nature.

In the great epiphany on Mount Sinai, the Lord proclaimed himself to Moses this way:

The Lord passed before him and proclaimed, “The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness.” (Exod 34:6)

Abounding in chesed. And this chesed is inseparable from the nature of God. Just like all the great eternal virtues of Torah, such as truth, righteousness, mercy, and justice, chesed is inseparable from the very nature of God. As we draw close to God, these eternal virtues become manifest in our life. In this way we know that God desires for us to experience his love.

This week our spirits were pierced once again with a time of national mourning as we commemorated the tragedy of 9/11. Twenty-three years have passed and the national wounds still ache. As we look out across the social landscape of America we wonder if God is chastising this nation or if we are in some stage of rebellion. Perhaps both at the same time. In like mind we look over the landscape of our Eretz Israel and wonder if God is chastising us or if we are in some stage of rebellion. Perhaps both at the same time.

One thing we can be sure of. The only hope for our people is to experience the chesed of our Lord and to walk in his redemption. The only place of healing and restoration for this day lies in the same place of healing and restoration for our forefathers as the prophet Isaiah wrote for us some 2500 years ago. To find healing, we all must experience God’s steadfast love.

I encourage us all to find comfort in the chesed of the Lord. I encourage us all to immerse ourselves in his love, and there find redemption for our broken hearts. I encourage us all to share God’s love to a hurting Israel and a hurting America. May his redemption come soon and in our days!

Shabbat Shalom to all!

Season of Return

Parashat Shoftim Deuteronomy 16:18–21:9

Ben Volman, UMJC Canadian Regional Director

As the month of Elul arrives, life begins to change. Summer may still be in the air, but lately, where I live, we’ve had some fresh, cool breezes giving a foretaste of autumn. All those “first day of school” memories remind us that vacations are over. Along the tree-lined streets there’s a hint of color in the high branches. At services during Elul, the rousing blast of the Shofar beckons us to remember that we are the people who received their call at Sinai, and whatever our situation, we are summoned to return back to God, back to faith. We are on the verge of a spiritual season for renewal. At a time when the modern State of Israel is at war, when we are daily praying for hostages, and the world is in upheaval, we must be focused, attentive, and ready for what will come. Who knows what task the Lord will call us to in the coming days?

This week’s parasha, which is largely Moshe’s instructions to Israel’s future leaders, is uniquely aimed at inspiring us to raise our spiritual vision higher. The first word, shoftim, refers to those who will be appointed as judges, and the sidra opens with Moshe’s charge to appoint local magistrates and administrative officials in every place where God’s people are settled. The integrity of the administration of justice and the rule of law in Israel are to be as sacred as any spiritual principle in Torah: “Justice, justice [Tzedek, tzedek] you must pursue, so that you may live and possess the land that Adonai your God is giving you” (Deut 16:20). The repetition of Tzedek highlights the solemnity of Moshe’s directive to judges, community leaders, Levites, and Cohanim who will be responsible for the moral consistency of the law, both for the Jew and the foreigner in their midst. The commentary in the Hertz Chumash calls this the “keynote of the humane legislation of the Torah,” and notes that it prefigures the great plea of Amos: “Let justice roll like water and righteousness like an ever-flowing torrent” (Amos 5:24).

Those who aim to give leadership must show evidence of a character that inspires trust. Moshe demands that this must be seen in judges who will not be bribed, and even more so when Israel may seek to be ruled by kings “whom Adonai your God will choose” (Deut 17:15). The instructions here are prophetically replete with portents and warnings for the future, including cautions that a king must not have too many horses or wives or be diverted by amassing wealth. Kings must either receive or write out their own copy of the Torah for study and meditation. This is no place for superficial spirituality. Qualities of authentic faith and humility are to be etched into the king’s character, so that “his heart will not be exalted above his brothers and he will not turn from the commandment to the right or to the left—so that he may prolong his days . . . in the midst of Israel” (Deut 17:20).  

The late Rabbi Jonathan Sacks described the call to humility for Israel’s kings as “one of the genuine revolutions Judaism brought about in in the history of spirituality.” In an era when pharaohs and regents engraved their effigies and deeds in massive tableaus on temple walls, this ideal may have been radical. But how many kings of Israel and Judah exemplified this model? The passage probably brings to mind more disappointments than spiritual triumphs. Yet, who are we to criticize? Each of us has our own personal copy of the Torah. We’ve all heard countless instructions and cautions about poor habits and behaviors that we’ve ignored, shrugged off, and yes, resisted, with all the regrets that came later.  

That’s why we have Elul. That’s why we’re given this time to reflect, to recharge our spiritual energies, and to reset our course back to a path of faithfulness. Consider the story of Isaiah, praying in Solomon’s Temple after the death of King Uzziah. The nation had attained new heights under this brilliant, powerful leader who was later seized with pride and tragically spent his final years in leprous isolation (see 2 Chron 26). Isaiah had no illusions about his sins, and when God gloriously appeared before him in the Temple, he cried out, “I am ruined” (Isa 6:4). Yet in that moment, when the Lord issued the call that would change his life, he was able to say, “Hineni”—“Here I am.”  

In this week’s Haftarah, the fourth of the Haftarot of Consolation, the prophet tells us that despite Israel’s long years of suffering, God will not fail to vindicate his people and be fully present in their time of need:  

“My people will know My Name.
Therefore in that day,
    I am the One who will be saying, ‘Hineni!’”

And then we read those familiar words of the Messianic promise:

How beautiful on the mountains are
the feet of him who brings good news. (Isa 52:6–7)

Yeshua, surrounded by disciples who anticipated that he might soon be recognized as Israel’s true king, was steeped in the Torah when he described the character of his kingship, and also the character of those who would follow in his steps:

“You know that the rulers of the nations lord it over them, and their great ones play the tyrant over them. It shall not be this way among you. But whoever wants to be great among you shall be your servant, and whoever wants to be first among you shall be your slave—just as the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.” (Matt 20:25–28)

How high will you be called? Some of you will know a story by the Yiddish writer L.L. Peretz (translated by Ruth Wisse).

The revered rabbi of a little town would famously go missing early on Friday mornings approaching the Ten Days of Awe during the hours of selichot, the penitential prayers. His disciples would say that he must be in heaven, and his congregants would agree. He must be interceding for them. But then a Litvak yeshiva bocher arrives in town. While he scoffs at their reverence, he secretly decides to solve the mystery. Hiding under the rabbi’s bed, the Litvak is awake early on Friday morning when the rabbi rises. The yeshiva bocher watches as the rabbi gets dressed as a common peasant, puts an axe in his belt along with some rope. Discreetly, he follows the rabbi to a nearby forest. Out of the rabbi’s belt comes the axe, and he chops down a tree, cuts it into firewood, and uses the rope to make a bundle. Arriving at the dark, cold home of a sick Jewish woman, he speaks to her with a peasant’s accent, compelling her to accept the wood without payment. While she complains that can’t even get up to light a fire, he recites the penitential prayers, fills her stove, and sets it alight. The Litvak, who becomes the rabbi’s disciple, no longer scoffs when the others speak of him ascending to heaven. He only adds, “If not still higher.”

All Scriptures are taken from the Tree of Life Version.

Depth Perception

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

Suzy Linett, Devar Shalom, Ontario, CA

When I entered kindergarten at the age of five, it was discovered that I required glasses. I had already been learning to read and had no problem seeing things which I held close. When it came to seeing the words things the teacher wrote on the chalkboard, however, everything was blurry and difficult to distinguish. As soon as I received my glasses, I remember being startled by things I could see. My vision included not only what the teacher wrote, but also I could see individual leaves on trees and details that I had simply missed before. This week’s parasha, Re’eh, reminds me of that. Re’eh means “see.” It is not a simple glance or a casual observation that we need, but instead a true, deep vision of the word of God and what our Lord requires of us. 

In this Torah section, the Lord lays before us choices. We not only see what is required; we also see the consequences if we are not obedient. We see the good and we see the bad that can result from our behavior. We cannot appreciate the good unless we see the bad, and we have no desire to avoid the bad unless we see the good. In the human body, it is necessary to see out of both eyes to perceive the depth of things around us. As each eye sees things at a slightly different angle, the brain interprets the two different messages and puts them together to calculate distance and relative position. Re’eh requires that we see not only what we gain by following the Lord, but also what we lose if we don’t. 

As it is read between Tisha b’Av and the beginning of the High Holy Days, Re’eh serves as a way to bring us from deep sorrow into the presence of the Lord God of Israel in glory and joy. It follows the instruction about obedience in last week’s portion, Ekev, which taught that blessings will abound to a people chosen by and obedient to the Lord, and actually that super obedience yields super blessing. In Re’eh, Moses continues with lessons about consequences of choice and of behavior, about holiness and service. 

These lessons are given in the wilderness prior to entry into the Land of Promise. The old generation has died, and only Joshua and Caleb remain with memories of Egypt and the Exodus. Two paths are laid in front of the people. The choice is theirs. They need to see both. Just as we need both eyes for visual depth perception, the Israelites need to see both options for spiritual depth perception. 

The first verse of this parasha, Deuteronomy 11:26, sets the tone: “See, I am setting before you today a blessing and a curse.” Both are set before the Israelites, and indeed, both are set before us today. A choice must be made. There is no middle of the road. One or the other. That’s it. There is distinction and separation. There is no confusion, no gray areas at all. We cannot “stumble” into disobedience; it is a choice, a decision, as the Lord has given us a view, a vision, the power to see consequences. As the parasha continues, it is evident that in order to fully live in the Land, to live the life promised by the Lord, the Israelites had to “cross over” the Jordan River. They had to leave and go to “the other side.” We see this throughout biblical history. Indeed, the word “Hebrew” derives from a root meaning to cross over. Avraham had to cross over the Euphrates, the Israelites had to cross over the Red Sea, the disciples had to cross over the Sea of Galilee, we must cross over from old lives to new ones. We must see the Lord, and we must see how He desires each of us to live.

In Numbers 13, the ten spies who gave a bad report were only able to see the physical realm. They did not have the spiritual depth perception to see what the Lord could do. A few weeks ago, we read how the donkey was able to see the Angel of the Lord even though Balaam could not. In Genesis, Abraham saw the Promised Land of the future. The author of Hebrews, when discussing the faith of our ancestors, wrote, “These all died in faith without receiving the things promised—but they saw them and welcomed them from afar, and they confessed that they were strangers and sojourners on the earth” (11:13). They had spiritual vision, true spiritual depth perception, to see not only what was, but also what is, and what will be.

Separation is the theme of the rest of this parasha. The Lord requires not only that we see spiritually, but that we separate from the path of disobedience completely. We are to eat clean animals only. Unclean animals are simply not food. We are to follow the tithing cycle, which means forgoing the sacrificial system of the pagan nations, and following the Lord’s commands about giving. We are to sanctify the first-born, not sacrifice him to a pagan deity. We are to live apart, not intermingle, yet become an example to the nations around us. In Revelation 3:16 we read, “So because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I am about to spew you out of my mouth.” How do these commands relate to spiritual depth perception? There is a connection between the physical and spiritual realms. Our physical lives set the stage for spiritual blessings. The English writer John Heywood (ca. 1546) wrote, “We cannot see the forest for the trees.” This applies spiritually. Are we so focused on details that we miss the bigger picture? Or, are we so intent on the future that we cannot see those things right in front of us? Re’eh requires that we see the forest and the trees. We must have the depth perception to really see both and how they impact each other.

A song written by Johnny Nash in 1972 says,

 I can see clearly now, the rain has gone
I can see all obstacles in my way
Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind
It's gonna be a bright, bright sun-shining day
It's gonna be a bright, bright sun-shining day

We must have spiritual vision and depth perception to see clearly. “Turn my eyes away from gazing at vanity but revive me in Your ways” (Psalm 119:37). Instead of asking “Do you see what I see?” Re’eh asks, “Do you see what He sees?”

Scripture references are from the TLV

Not by Bread Alone

Parashat Ekev, Deuteronomy 7:12–11:25

Dr. Daniel Nessim, Congregation Kehilat Tsion, Vancouver, BC

Ekev. It means “because” but shares the same spelling as “ekev” as in “heel,” the root of the name of our patriarch Yaakov. It is an odd word, or at least an odd use of the word. The Baal HaTurim by R. Yaakov (1270–1340) explains that the word עקב (ekev) is used because it has a numerical value of 172—the number of words in the Ten Commandments, which were given to Israel in the previous parasha. Perhaps that has merit.

What we do know about this parasha is that it is a veritable cornucopia of admonitions, encouragements, warnings, affirmations, blessings, exhortations, and promises. Here in Ekev God pours out his blessings and well-wishes upon Israel. Written at the end of forty years in the wilderness, throughout its chapters the parasha is rooted in the story of redemption from Egypt, and the subsequent events that Israel had experienced in the wilderness over the past four decades.

Some of the passages are memorable, even pivotal, and well-known.

There is the phrase “You shall be blessed above all peoples” (Deut 7:14). This the Lord says to the nascent nation, still in the process of being delivered. Perhaps today these words seem problematic as envy over Israel’s chosenness has stuck in the craw of supersessionists and antisemites; but the words are unavoidable.

Looking forward to the conquest of the Promised Land, Moses assures Israel of God’s faithfulness with the prophetic phrase “Adonai your God will expel those nations ahead of you little by little” (Deut 7:22). In fact, as the Tanakh records, this process would take many centuries until it was approximately completed in King Solomon’s reign (1 Kings 4:21).

Our parasha this week encourages introspection and self-awareness. The Lord knows our propensity to self-reliance, entitlement, and self-aggrandizement. So we are warned that when we are prosperous we ought to “remember Adonai your God, because it is he who is giving you the power to get wealth” (Deut 8:18).

In this parasha we are given the promise of inordinate success as Moses tells our ancestors: “You are to cross the Yarden today, to go in and dispossess nations greater and stronger than you, great cities fortified up to the sky” (Deut 9:1).

Nevertheless, in this parasha Moses recounts how he broke the first tablets, and then interceded for the people. Again and again, repeatedly, we are reminded to “remember you are a stiff-necked people.”

It is in this land, in the words that have become central to birkat hamazon (the blessing after meals) that Moses promised וְאָכַלְתָּ וְשָׂבָעְתָּ “and you shall eat and be satisfied” (Deut 11:15).

What is the context of all these messages? The context is memory.

Memory, in a reproof to those who say they have no use for history, is crucial for the people of Israel. It is a defining characteristic of our people to this day. It is because of the memory that we were strangers in Egypt that we are not merely to tolerate, but to love the stranger who is among us (Deut 10:19). This is a command which the Soncino Chumash asserts is “unparalleled in the legislation of any ancient people.”

The memories of what God has done and what has happened all culminate in what may be the most crucial exhortation of all:

And now, O Israel, what does the Lord your God demand of you? Only this: to revere the Lord your God, to walk only in His paths, to love Him, and to serve the Lord your God with all your heart and soul, keeping the Lord’s commandments and laws, which I enjoin upon you today, for your good. (Deut 10:12–13 JPS 1985)

The problem, as has already been noted, is that we are stiff-necked. This is why we are admonished to “Circumcise . . . the foreskin of your heart; and don’t be stiff-necked any longer” (Deut 10:16). Christian translations, at least the English ones, tend to downplay the graphic nature of this admonition. When that is done, presumably for the sake of 20th century modesty, some of its impact and significance is obscured. The idea is that just as the uncircumcised skin of the male member protects its most sensitive part, so do our stiff necks shield our most sensitive part—our hearts. Jewish translations into English sometimes word this more directly, using language such as “Cut away, therefore, the thickening about your hearts” or “You are to remove your heart’s blockage, not to make yourselves stubborn anymore.”

It is an understandable thing to shield one’s sensitive heart, but to shield our hearts from God is not sensible at all. It is a misdirected act of self-preservation if, when we suffer the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” we blame God and turn away from him. Perhaps a parent has lost a child. Perhaps a child has a parent held hostage in a Hamas tunnel. Perhaps life just isn’t turning out the way we have hoped. There is something painful about accepting these things. It hurts even to bring them to Hashem, and perhaps there is some solace in having someone, something, to blame for our pain. To resist the temptation to blame God and to accept his love and to love him with all of our hearts is painful: but it also puts us on the pathway of life, so that we may walk in his paths, for our own good. Perhaps—and this was the point of our suffering in the wilderness as the Lord says in Deut 8:3—even the hardships we endure are for our good.

Our hearts are to be his. It is all he asks—that we revere him, walk only in his paths, love him, and serve him with all our heart and soul, knowing that his commandments and laws are not dated, outmoded, capricious, or nonsensical, as we may be tempted to think. We may not understand the reasoning behind them, but they are for our good.

We are admonished to have an open heart to God, to walk in his ways—and as much as this might mean a painful exposing of our hearts, it is for our good. The rewards promised are outrageously extravagant. They are wondrous and profuse.

Concerning our parasha’s reminder of God’s provision for Israel in the wilderness, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai was once asked by his disciples, “Why didn't the manna come down for Israel once a year?” After all, it would have been much easier to bring in the harvest annually, as is done for wheat and barley. Why have to go out to reap every single day?

Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai replied:

I shall give a parable. This thing may be compared to a king of flesh and blood who had an only son, whom he provided with maintenance once a year, so that he would visit his father once a year only. Thereupon he provided for his maintenance every day, so that he called on him every day. The same with Israel. One who had four or five children would worry, saying: Perhaps no manna will come down tomorrow, and all will die of hunger? Thus, they were found to turn their attention to their Father in Heaven. (b. Yoma 76a)

It is as our Rabbi Yeshua taught by quoting from this very parasha while suffering the hardship of a forty-day fast in the wilderness. We were given hardship in the wilderness to teach us that “Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of Adonai.”

Unless noted, biblical citations are from the Complete Jewish Bible.

The Consolation of Children

Parashat V’etchanan, Deuteronomy 3:23–7:11

Matt Absolon, Beth T’filah, Miramar, FL

You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, and when you walk by the way, and when you lie down, and when you rise. (Deut 6:7)

Nothing breathes more life into a community than the sound of young children, laughing and playing. Even the sound of a baby’s cry, somewhere in the back of the room, can bring feelings of hope. Hope in the future, hope in the next generation, hope that there will be someone to teach.

This week’s parasha features children as a central focus for the purpose of God’s covenantal relationship with our people.

When your son asks you in time to come, “What is the meaning of the testimonies and the statutes and the rules that the Lord our God has commanded you?” then you shall say to your son, . . . “It will be righteousness for us, if we are careful to do all this commandment before the Lord our God, as he has commanded us.” Deut 6:20, 25

The Lord has a keen interest in the way we raise our children. Moreover, the Shema seems to imply that the bearing of children and dedication to their nurturing is an essential mitzvah in our covenantal work. If the words of Torah are on our hearts, we will teach them diligently to our children.

When we gather for the second day of Rosh Hashanah, we read of a terrifying and horrific moment in the history of our people:

Thus says the Lord: “A voice is heard in Ramah, lamentation and bitter weeping. Rachel is weeping for her children; she refuses to be comforted for her children, because they are no more.” (Jer 31:15)

Today, Rachel weeps once more. She weeps for 1,139 victims of October 7. She weeps for her children Ariel and Kfir Bibas who remain in captivity. She weeps for the twelve children of Majdal Shams. She weeps for the children who are no more. She weeps and we weep with her.

And in our weeping we are reminded of those generations who went before us whose children were snatched away, whose young ones were dashed, whose very future was snuffed out. To whom would those generations diligently teach the Torah? Whose son will ask the questions? Who will carry on the covenant into the next generation?

We are reminded of the words of the prophet Isaiah in the haftarah portion for this week:

Comfort, comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem. . . . He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms; he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young. (Isa 40:1–2, 11)

In the passage, Isaiah comforts our people with a vision of children. The Shepherd of Israel will gather the lambs and gently lead those who are with young. He will gather the young children and the expecting mothers. He will gather the future of our people. The faithfulness of the Lord will once again bring us hope through this picture of rebirth. We find hope and consolation in our children.

Here in the UMJC we remain steadfast in our commitment to our children. We are proud, and glad, to have the Ashreinu School where we teach our children and nurture the spiritual development of the next generation. We have youth camps that instill faith and community bonding among our teens and young adults. We find consolation that there will be a next generation of Messianic Jewish children who will be tenderly gathered in the arms of our Shepherd.

As we gather this Shabbat Nachamu (Shabbat of Consolation) I encourage us all to remember those whose children are no more. I encourage us to see children through the eyes of the Good Shepherd who gathers them in his arms. And when we hear the cry of the baby in the room during our morning prayers, or the pitter-patter of little feet running up and down the aisles, to smile and be glad, Ashreinu, for Rachel will find consolation in her children.

Scripture references are from the English Standard Version, ESV.

Tisha b'Av: Lamenting with Hope

Tisha b’Av 5784 (August 12–13), the Scroll of Lamentations

Russ Resnik, UMJC Rabbinic Counsel

We live in an era that’s impatient with the past. We often hear people ask why we should remember and revisit events that happened centuries ago. History is increasingly neglected in our schools and bulldozed out of our media to make way for whatever is the latest thing. A date like Tisha b’Av, the ninth day of the Hebrew month of Av—on which the ancient Temple of Jerusalem was destroyed in 586 BCE and again in 70 CE—can seem especially remote. The drama that this date memorializes, however, is as current as today’s news stream. Recognizing and honoring that drama has been and remains a key to the vitality of the Jewish people.

After Israel’s declaration of independence in 1948, some Jewish voices advocated abandoning the observance of Tisha b’Av. This catastrophic date embodied all the loss and suffering of the exile that followed, and it also marks some of the lowest points of that exile, such as the expulsion from Spain in 1492, and the outbreak of World War I, which set in motion the events leading to the Holocaust. But with the return to the land of Israel it seemed as if the exile was coming to an end and its mourning could be replaced with rejoicing, as the Prophets had foretold.

Seventy-five years later, it’s clear that continuing to observe Tisha b’Av was the right direction to take. The Jewish return to the land of Israel is ongoing, but so are the conditions of exile and the forces of resistance to Jewish restoration. The first days of the month of Av this year are overshadowed by the threat of retribution by Hezbollah and Iran, its puppet-master. After the elimination of Hamas’ leader last week, the terrorist group chose the mastermind of the October 7 attack on Israel as its new leader, defiantly signaling its undying urge to destroy the Jewish state.

So, our commemoration of Tisha b’Av remains sadly relevant in the year 2024. And the special reading for Tisha b’Av, the scroll of Eicha or Lamentations, traditionally attributed to the prophet Jeremiah, can guide us in our commemoration. It raises a voice of lamentation but also insists on hope, two impulses that have carried us as a people through our agelong exile.

The first Hebrew word in the scroll, which provides the name of the book, is Eicha, meaning literally, How? “How lonely sits the city, once so full of people!” as in the TLV and numerous other translations. One recent translation, however, might capture the sense of the original more compellingly:

 Eikhah! How can it be –
that she sat alone,
the city so great / so swelled with people?

Rabbi David Seidenberg, https://opensiddur.org/

If we hear the words of Lamentations well, and if we are paying attention to the swirling events around us right now, we might well ask, “How can it be?” Jeremiah wisely does not just provide explanations, as we often seek to do in the face of tragedy and loss. Rather, he goes beyond explaining how it can be to draw us into a response to how it is, a response with two components—lamentation and hope.

Lamenting is evident from the first verse, just cited, onward through the entire scroll. Toward the midpoint, after two and a half chapters of mourning the destruction of the Temple, and the sins that brought it on, Jeremiah calls out to Adonai:

Remember my affliction
my homelessness, bitterness and gall.

Whenever I remember,
    my soul is downcast within me. (Lam 3:19–20)

In this context, we might not expect verses of hope but they are coming. Before we look at them, it’s good to remember the familiar contrast between hope and optimism. Like some of you, I sometimes say I’m not optimistic, but I am hopeful. Optimism considers the circumstances, sees some promising elements, and believes, however cautiously, that things are going to work out. Hope considers the circumstances and then looks past them to the One behind all circumstances and hangs on to his promises. As Jeremiah declares,

This I recall to my heart—
    therefore I have hope:
Because of the mercies of Adonai
    we will not be consumed,
    for His compassions never fail. (3:21–22)

Toward the end of Lamentations, both themes, lamentation and hope, seem intertwined. We ask God, “Why do You always forget us and forsake us for so long?” (5:20), and then we voice the famous lines, Hashivenu Adonai elecha v’nashuva. Chadesh yameinu ki-kedem. “Turn us back, Hashem, to you and we shall return; renew our days as of old!” (5:21, my translation).

Tisha b’Av keeps alive the memory of the whole Jewish story through the centuries, a story reflecting both the lament of exile and the hope of return. Those who follow Messiah Yeshua see both exile and return, lament and hope, embodied in his death, burial, and resurrection.

In light of this truth, as I mentioned in last week’s Weekly Torah email, the UMJC Exec is calling for an emphasis on repentance, or teshuva, return, along with prayer for Israel, in addition to the traditional prayers, during our observance of Tisha b’Av next week (Monday evening, 8/12–Tuesday, 8/13). 

Here are seven points of prayer for Tisha b’Av and the days leading up to it:

• For all plans of retaliation against Israel to fail. May the unprecedented events of recent days that threaten to tip the Middle East into all-out war, instead set the stage for lasting peace.

• For all the hostages to be set free, speedily and soon. “He has sent me . . . to proclaim liberty to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound” (Isa 61:1).

• For many within the ranks of Hamas and Hezbollah to see the futility and wickedness of their hatred of Israel and the Jewish people, turn away from it, and drop their arms.

• For the children of Gaza and the Palestinian territories to be freed from the indoctrination toward hatred in their schools. For seeds of understanding and peace to be sown among both the Arab and Israeli populations.

• For deep repentance within Israel over the growing divisions and discord there. Pray for wise and sacrificial leadership that can help bring the people of Israel together.

• For mercy and minimal harm upon civilians on all sides, and for a growing awareness and turning toward the one true God among them all.

• Against the rising tide of antisemitism around the world. Pray with authority against the demonic forces of hatred directed at the Jewish people. 

Arise, Adonai! May Your enemies be scattered! May those who hate You flee from before You! (Num 10:35)

Scripture references, unless otherwise noted, are from the Tree of Life Version.

According to Jewish tradition, the regulations for fasting on Tisha b’Av are similar to those for Yom Kippur, with abstinence from the same five activities: 1) eating and drinking; 2) washing one’s body; 3) anointing oneself (which includes perfume, cologne, etc.); 4) wearing leather shoes; 5) marital relations. On Erev Tisha B’Av it is customary to read the book of Lamentations, often seated on the floor or on low stools.

Be True to Your Word

Parashat Matot-Masei, Numbers 30:2–36:13  

Matt Absolon, Beth T’filah, Miramar, FL

Moses spoke to the heads of the tribes of the people of Israel, saying, “This is what the Lord has commanded. If a man vows a vow to the Lord, or swears an oath to bind himself by a pledge, he shall not break his word. He shall do according to all that proceeds out of his mouth. (Num 30:2–3)

The Torah places a high value on words. It even has a book named “Words,” or Devarim. God’s words are the vehicle through which our universe was created and God’s words are the vehicle that offer mankind the bread life. It is fundamentally central to the character of God that he is a “God of his word,” that is to say, that God means what he says. God is a God of integrity.

That is a very comforting thought.

The subject of words takes front and center stage as we open up this week’s portion. More specifically, the mitzvah that a man “shall not break his word.” The Hebrew for break, yachal, is often translated by the sages as “profane.” The imagery is that we should not sully or muddy our word.

In Psalm 12:6 we read, “The words of the Lord are pure.” We should strive to be like our Father, whose words are pure.

It’s a very Jewish thing for us to take our word with all earnestness. We are people of the Book, a book made up of words. We are then, quite literally, a people of words. And when we “give our word” in the colloquial sense, we understand that God is watching and recording.

As we open the services on the eve of Yom Kippur we start out with that ancient prayer of Kol Nidrei, translated as “All Vows.” The Kol Nidrei prayer draws its theological power from this week’s portion and it sets the tone of Yom Kippur. In reciting the Kol Nidrei we seek forgiveness for the vows and oaths we have spoken in vain or (in the case of persecution) under duress.     

Why should we open Yom Kippur with the Kol Nidrei? Perhaps one answer might be found in the Psalms:

O Lord, who shall sojourn in your tent? Who shall dwell on your holy hill? . . . he who swears to his own hurt and does not change. (Psa 15:1, 4)

In this psalm King David highlights one of the necessary character traits of those who will dwell on God’s holy mountain, those who keep their word even to their own hurt. The Kol Nidrei seeks to make amends before the Heavenly Court for our disingenuous vows and oaths, so that we might restore the integrity of our word before our God and King. On Yom Kippur we seek to restore our integrity and purity before God. We start by restoring our words.

As God’s children we must value the virtue of having integrity of our word.

Yeshua admonished our forefathers about the importance of integrity when we give our word. In Matthew 5 he tells the crowds gathered to hear his Sermon on the Mount, “Let what you say be simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything more than this comes from evil.”

It is important for us as God’s people to display integrity and purity when we give our word. In the vows we vow and the oaths we pledge, we must live out the nature of our Heavenly Father, whose living Word is pure and bring us to eternal life.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. John 1:14

Shabbat Shalom!