The Oil of Joy

Parashat Pekudei, Exodus 38:21-40:38

Ensign Jacob Landers, UMJC Endorsed U.S. Navy Chaplain Candidate

Kehilat Ariel Messianic Synagogue, San Diego

Pekudei, the name of this week’s parasha, means “amounts of” and refers to the items donated by the people of Israel to Moshe and Aaron for the building and equipping of the Mishkan, or Tabernacle, culminating in the anointing of the Mishkan with holy oil. “You shall take the anointing oil and anoint the Tabernacle and all that is in it to consecrate it and all its furnishings, so that it shall be holy” (Exod 40:9 JPS).

We don’t much use oil for anointing kings anymore (we haven’t had a king in Israel since Yeshua ascended to the right hand of the Father), but we do still have ceremonies by which we consecrate items like a Sefer Torah, or people–like a new Rabbi. Such ceremonies mark a point in time in which one thing has been completed and a new thing has begun, a new thing devoted to service to Hashem and Yeshua for the benefit of the Kehilah.

I once read a blog about making olive oil, which struck close to home . . . literally! (My family in Sparta, Greece, has owned a large olive orchard for as long as anyone in the village can remember, and the trees still produce oil). The article explained that olives must be pressed in order to get the “liquid gold” from them. They must be pressed and squeezed and crushed and beaten, as the oil oozes out. Inside each olive, however, is an unbreakable seed that contains the essence of what is needed for a new tree to grow. So, after the pressing, the broken skins and the seeds are removed, and the oil is strained multiple times to ensure it is pure and clear (and delicious!). In much the same way, Yeshua was crushed and beaten so that his pure anointing oil could be extracted, yet the seed of his words and his works could not be crushed. They were planted in each of us, growing further orchards.

Even in the word Mashiach, we find further illustration of this rich mystery; Mashiach מָשִׁיחַ – Anointed One, comes from the Hebrew word mashach משׁח – to smear or anoint with oil. When a person is anointed with oil, they shine; not because they become the source of light, but because they reflect the light. As the Ruach enters and indwells the Temple that is our own bodies once we are immersed and anointed with the “oil” of Messiah, we begin to reflect the light of Hashem (Matt 5:14-16). What does that look like? One answer comes from slightly rearranging the letters of mashach to spell samach שָׂמַח– to be joyful!

The Jewish tradition of immersions borrowed, in part, by Christians (Judaism has different kinds of immersions whereas Christianity has just one) is a different form of the kind of ceremony like anointing or laying of hands, but nonetheless just as sacred. In Hebrew we call it Tevilah and in Christianity it is called Baptism, from the Greek word “βαπτίζω” (Baptizo). Its usage outside of the context of the New Testament includes the practice of dying garments.

The garments of the Priesthood in Parashat Pekudei are intended to be pure linen, signifying the pure nature of the service of the priests: “See, I have removed your guilt from you, and you shall be clothed in [priestly] robes” (Zech 3:4). Baptism, however, appears to be almost the opposite – in dyeing cloth, a whole cloth is submerged into a vat of dye, usually multiple times (maybe three times?), so that it now looks different than it did before it was immersed. In a way, the cloth is no different than it was before – it still has the same thread count, the same weaving pattern and style, the same shape for the same purpose of covering the wearer – but, in another way, it is now fundamentally changed. Every fiber of its being has been irreversibly steeped in the dye, making it appear completely different, and yet, somehow still the same. In tevilah, or baptism, this process is almost like having the stains of the dye of guilt or sin removed.

Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow. e

Though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. (Isa. 1:18)

Just like the process of dyeing cloth, immersion does the same thing to us: we are somehow both changed to our very core and yet still somehow ourselves. Parts of us are precisely the same (our ethnicity, our hair, skin, and eye color, our height, our gender) and yet, we are somehow now different and new. Our minds, our perceptions, our words and actions all reflect this deep change in us. After being immersed in the “dye” of the blood of Messiah, and with the natural outflowing of the Spirit now living in us, we are now like the Mishkan, the Tabernacle in the wilderness, consecrated for the purpose of serving Hashem.

Each of us, Jew and Gentile, anointed and immersed in the oil of the sacrifice of Yeshua Tzidkeinu, when the Spirit has come to dwell in us, reflects the light of Hashem through our joy, simcha. We are who we were before we knew Messiah and yet somehow fundamentally changed, reflecting our God and our Master.

As the Tabernacle was anointed with the sacred oil in Parashat Pekudei, may we walk in the daily anointing of God’s Spirit by loving God and one another, by giving joyfully, and by reflecting the humility of Messiah in all that we do.

Masterpiece in the Desert

Logo of the Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design, Jerusalem

Parashat Vayakhel: Exodus 35:1–38:20

Ben Volman, UMJC Canadian Regional Director

When Israel emerged from the desert after 40 years, they were led by one of the most iconic human creations of all time: the ark of the covenant (Josh 3:1–3). According to tradition, Moshe received the original vision of the ark in the presence of God on the heights of Mount Sinai. Though he saw it, Moshe was not called to build it. This parasha gives us some insight into the artistic genius of Israel gifted by God for that purpose: Bezalel, and his equally creative partner in the work, Oholiab. Together, they brilliantly oversaw the design, construction, and numerous artistic talents that fashioned the Mishkan, Israel’s portable setting for worship, known as the Tabernacle, or Tent of Meeting.

We rarely associate Israel’s 40-year trek through the desert with great art, but the biblical text reflects a deep respect for Bezalel and Oholiab’s divinely inspired gifts. Bezalel’s name even has a certain flair. It means, “In the shadow [protection] of God.” The rabbis tell us that when Moshe first shared the vision of the Mishkan, Bezalel immediately grasped certain details that had eluded Moshe. He remarked that Bezalel, in a way, must have been there, “in the shadow of God.”

The Talmud tells us that the people also were required to approve the appointment. This is how Moshe commends Bezalel and his co-worker, Oholiab:

See, Adonai has called by name Bezalel son of Uri son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah. He has filled him with the Ruach of God, with wisdom, understanding and knowledge, in all manner of craftsmanship. . . . He has also placed in his heart the ability to teach—both he and Oholiab son of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan. He has filled them with wisdom of heart . . . they can perform every craft and ingenious designs. (Exod 35:30–35)

It’s an impressive seal of approval on their calling, and a midrash gives special attention to their combination of talents. The singular dedication of men from tribes of very different standing in Israel, Bezalel of Judah and Oholiab from Dan, carries an important message about national unity for a great cause.

Indeed, in the barren desert, this uniquely beautiful place of worship fashioned by the Spirit’s gifts of “wisdom, understanding, and knowledge” is nothing less than a renewal of Creation. The Mishkan brings Israel closer to the original relationship we were meant to have with our Creator. The threatening image of angels who guard Gan Eden after the expulsion of Adam and Eve is replaced here by the golden, winged seraphim overseeing “the mercy seat.” This is the spiritual heart of the nation where the children of Abraham can receive absolution from sin and Hashem will be truly present to His people, as he was in the Garden before Adam and Eve sinned.

I have a special sense of connection with Bezalel and Oholiab. My late father, Yossi, a Holocaust survivor from Hungary, grew up in a world which has long since perished. Raised from youth to work in his father’s workshop, he learned the craft of a metalsmith alongside a talented older brother who died in the war. It was a time when much of the industrial world was being constructed in steel, and these skills were highly valued. When Yossi arrived in the concentration camp of Sachsenhausen-Oranienburg, north of Berlin, in 1944, he became a slave laborer, permitted to receive bread with a scraping of butter once a day that allowed him to survive.

Out of the ashes of the past, my father recreated a workshop in the basement of our home. Here he put me and two older brothers through a regimen like the one he had received. I worked alongside him at many jobs, although my own talents would lead in a much different direction. Yet, while we worked in steel, I learned a great deal about art. There was always a striving for excellence in our labor, a love of beauty in the mastery of each skill. The brilliant writer of the apocryphal book Sirach says of the crafters: “they keep stable the fabric of the world, and their prayer is in the practice of their trade” (Sirach 38:34).

Those experiences have in turn shaped me, and I think of myself as a crafter in words. When I consider the past, I not only recall my father, but connect to his beloved brother for whom I am named, and the grandfather murdered in Auschwitz. For some years, I felt some bitterness for toiling at work in which I had no future. And then, I had a thought. My father was giving his sons the only wisdom, understanding, and knowledge that he possessed that he might equip us to survive in circumstances beyond imagining wherever the shadow of God might find us.

In the early years of our Messianic Jewish movement, a sense of freedom in the arts was a wonderful aspect of our unique vision. We recalled that Israel had been famous for its arts, including song, dance, music, and the art of worship, and could be again. That vision was rooted in a spiritual renaissance that was resonating in the rest of the Jewish world.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks reverently recalls how Rav Kook, the first Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of British Mandatory Palestine, supported the founding of a school for the arts in Israel in 1906. Kook once told a sculptor that he was particularly enamored by Rembrandt’s paintings and even considered him a tzaddik. The painter was one of those who are wonderfully gifted to use light as if he had experienced it on the first day of creation. Rabbi Sacks agrees that in Rembrandt’s pictures, the artist portrays in the faces of his subjects “the transcendental quality of the human, the only thing in the universe on which God set his image.” And this is the name of the school on which Rav Kook gave his blessing and still continues today: the Bezalel Academy of Arts and Design in Jerusalem.

Our gifted brothers, Bezalel and Oholiab, alongside the many artists whose unique talents raised up the Mishkan, were blessed by the Spirit to fulfill an extraordinary vision that unites all of Israel across the ages and ages to come. In the climax of the book of Revelation, when all humanity is united under the reign of Messiah, the ark will also be there: “Then the Temple of God in heaven was opened, and the Ark of His Covenant appeared in His Temple” (Rev. 11:19). The ultimate signature of excellence is in its enduring value. For it is not just a reminder that we have survived. The art of Bezalel and Oholiab has left an indelible imprint on the human imagination and continues to empower the worship of our Creator even long after the ark vanished into mystery.

All Scripture references are taken from the Tree of Life Version.

“Please, Show Me Your Glory!”

Parashat Ki Tisa, Exodus 30:11–34:35

Barri Seif, Congregation Sar Shalom, Dallas

So Moses said to Adonai, “You say to me, ‘Bring up this people,’ but You have not let me know whom You will send with me. Yet You have said, ‘I know you by name, and you have also found grace in My eyes.’ Now then, I pray, if I have found grace in Your eyes, show me Your ways, so that I may know You, so that I might find favor in Your sight. Consider also that this nation is Your people.”

 “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest,” He answered.

But then he said to Him, “If Your presence does not go with me, don’t let us go up from here!  For how would it be known that I or your people have found favor in Your sight? Isn’t it because You go with us, that distinguishes us from all the people on the face of the earth?”

Adonai answered Moses, “I will also do what you have said, for you have found favor in My sight, and I know you by name.”

Then he said, “Please, show me Your glory!” Exodus 33:12–18 TLV

I love this story of Moses wanting to see God’s glory, waiting to “see” God manifest himself. Rabbi Hertz rightly notes in his commentary, “Emboldened by the success of his plea on behalf of the people, Moses begs the privilege of being acquainted with ‘the glory of God’, i.e. with His eternal qualities” (D.J. Hertz. Pentateuch and Haftorahs, 1973, pg. 363). 

We all want God’s glory. We want to see Him in action. We can all look back at different times of our lives and see how God manifested His presence to us in defined ways. Can I say that I am truly addicted to God’s movement in my life? Yes!  

I would like, however, to take a different perspective on this passage. There are times in our lives when we feel utterly alone. Perhaps we feel misunderstood. The people that we care about seem distant. The heavens are silent; God is quiet. Why do we go through times when we feel like God has placed us in a season of isolation? This is not abandonment. It is not punishment.  

It is a divine process. God isolates you because He has something more extraordinary. 

Before David became king, he was alone in the wilderness, tending sheep. Before Joseph was exalted in Egypt, he was betrayed and sold into slavery. He endured years in prison. Even Yeshua, before his ministry began, spent forty days and forty nights in the wilderness. 

These moments of isolation are not times of despair, but sacred seasons in which God refines, teaches, and prepares us for a greater purpose. Isolation removes the distractions of worldly activities, noise, and opinions. Our vision can get clouded and it’s in these quiet, lonely places that we hear God’s voice more clearly. God’s wisdom speaks to our heart, whispers to our spirit, and molds our character. There are lessons that can only be learned in solitude, waiting, patience, humility, and trust. These are not built in the spotlight and on the mountain top.  

These lessons can only be experienced during times of loneliness and isolation in the dark night of the soul.  

When we are isolated, when everything is stripped away from us and our props are gone, God can put us on the potter’s wheel and mold us for His future purpose. It takes faith to embrace this process.       

Years ago, I was going through a difficult time. I attended a conference, and God made me attentive to the speaker’s words, “get alone with God.” I know that I probably had heard other people speak on the subject of a quiet time, but this time, it was different. God told me to sequester myself and spend time with Him, to quietly sit, read the Bible, then ponder what God had spoken to me through His word. God gave me the strength to persevere through my difficult time, and many more. That dark season prepared me for harder trials, accompanied by greater blessings.  

Times of isolation, solitude, and loneliness are not there to break you, but to make you into something beautiful. They are the chisels in the hand of the Master Sculptor. God has a calling upon our lives, and He uses times of isolation and affliction to get our attention. He wants our focus to be only on Him, and in this pain to call out, “Show me Your glory!” 

This is an opportunity for us to trust God and believe that He is working behind the scenes. He is faithful to bring you through. He who began a good work in you, will be faithful to complete it (Phi 1:6).  

Hebrews 12:11 TLV encourages us, “Now all discipline seems painful at the moment—not joyful. But later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it.” 

Twenty-five years ago, I was participating in worship dancing at a conference, never thinking that a missed step would lead me to have broken my right foot in two places, to have two surgeries, recuperating on my bed for almost 6 months with my foot above my heart. What made it worse was that I was in the process of being transferred from Nashville to Kansas City, where many of my Jewish family members lived. My elderly mother took care of me. I was humbled. It was one of the top five worst times of my life. However, on the anvil of affliction, God gave me an assignment — to learn Hebrew, to become a Bat Mitzvah at the ripe age of 45, and to begin a devotional book on the Names of God. That journey of brokenness and broken foot changed the direction of my life. Fifteen years ago, a similar incident happened, two weeks before I was to lead my first charity trip to Israel. I went into Walgreens, went to the ladies’ room, slipped, and broke my left foot. Although my doctor told me that I was allowed to go to Israel, I was ordered not to put my foot down whatsoever. He told me after I returned home how seriously broken it really was and my recuperation took four-and-a-half more months for complete recovery.  

In both instances I knew that I had not sinned, and afterwards I was shown that God was truly orchestrating every single detail for my good. Transformation takes place in this sacred time of suffering and trusting. As Paul told the Philippians, “My aim is to know Him and the power of His resurrection and the sharing of His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death” (Phil 3:10). 

It is in these moments that God refines our heart, chisels away our pride, and builds perseverance for the journey ahead. The quiet often brings clarity. The loneliness brings dependence, and the waiting cultivates our trust. Like Paul, we learn to trust God in the darkness, and we gain a deeper knowledge of Him. 

I love what the Hertz commentary notes about God’s goodness: “Pity is a Divine attribute; and man is never nearer to the divine than in his compassionate moments. God’s merciful qualities are, therefore, the real links between God and man” (Hertz, pg. 363).

Moses had the mountain-top experience with the beautiful encounter of God’s glory as it passed by (Exod 33:21-23). However, we must recall the many challenges of Moses that led up to that moment.

Recall your times in school when during testing the teacher is silent. When tested, remember that the Teacher is silent, yet “Now all discipline seems painful at the moment—not joyful. But later it yields the peaceful fruit of righteousness to those who have been trained by it” (Heb 12:11 TLV). May we all crave the peaceful fruit of righteousness, as we walk through the valley.

The Sweet Aroma of Prayer

Parashat Tetzaveh, Exodus 27:20–30:10

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

I cannot recall ever smelling incense burning in shul. In my mind, such practices seemed to belong categorically to Roman Catholic or Orthodox churches, or to Buddhist shrines. Most of my own experiences with the scent of burnt fragrances occurred in the dormitory during my college years, when coeds would use incense to cover the smell of illicit cannabis. Clearly, the use of incense was foreign to my own religious experience, and yet, the Torah in both this week’s portion, Tetzaveh, and next week’s, Ki Tisa, describes the burning of aromatic spices, or K’toret, as an important and normative practice for the Kohanim in the Mishkan, the priests in the Tabernacle.

The incense was to be burned by the Kohanim on the golden altar in the Holy Place, just outside the Holy of Holies, before the Ark of the Covenant, both morning and evening each day (Exod 30:1–8). Apparently, this fragrant offering was so crucial that altering its formula or contents in any way would cause estrangement from the entire community (30:37–38). Such an alteration may have been the cause of the death of Nadab and Abihu, the sons of Aaron the Kohen Gadol (Lev 10:1–2), further emphasizing the significance of these burnt offerings.

But why was incense so central to the worship of ancient Israel, when it seems to have no place in Jewish worship today? And how might we derive meaning from this practice for today? First, we must recognize that we live in a world that is separated from theirs not only by time and distance but also by fundamentally different worldviews. Modern worshipers are part of a principally cerebral world, where our worship is dominated by articulated ideas. In contrast, ancient Israel was more attuned to phenomena and sensory experience. Their worship was enriched and defined by sights, sounds, and, yes, even smells. The rising scent from the golden altar was meant to accompany, and perhaps even define, the prayers of Israel. This is why the psalmist pleads, “May my prayer be set before you like incense; may the lifting up of my hands be like the evening sacrifice” (Psa 141:2), and why the author of the New Covenant Apocalypse uses the same figurative language (Rev 5:8; 8:3, 4).

To help translate the meaning of K’toret for today, I like to use an acronym that provides not just the formula for incense but a formula for appropriate prayer as well—Kedusha (holiness), Tohar (purity), Rachamim (mercy), and Tikvah (hope).

● Kedusha (holiness) – Appropriate prayer must encompass all that is holy and sacred. When the community of faith prays, it must envision itself as set apart and sanctified, preparing for the Age to Come. We realize that our actions matter, and they have the potential to sanctify God’s name in this world (Kiddush HaShem). Holiness has a sense of locality and proximity; just as the Holy Place was the only appropriate place to burn the sacred incense, we must create sacred spaces (synagogues) and sacred times (such as Shabbat) for prayer.

● Tohar (purity) – Prayer should be offered in an orderly fashion and from pure hearts. Tohar suggests an appropriate state of being for all of creation. Every creation and creature have a unique and appropriate state of being, which can also describe the proper state of being when coming into God’s presence. Nadab and Abihu’s disastrous results came when they tried to innovate and offer “strange fire,” as we mentioned earlier. The Apostle Paul often spoke of the importance of proper order in worship (1 Cor 14). Jewish prayer should follow the structure of keva (order) and kavanah (intention) to maintain purity. Without these, our prayers may be sincere but not authentically Jewish.

● Rachamim (mercy, compassion) – Prayers without genuine compassion are faithless (James 2:16). God would not even hear Israel’s prayers if they failed to care for the widow and the orphan (Isa 48). Jewish tradition tells the story of Rabbi Moshe Leib of Sassov, who was late for Kol Nidre one year. When asked why, he explained that on his way to shul, he encountered an unattended child that he took time to attend. Although expected at the Yom Kippur service, he explained, “In our prayers, we often call God HaRachaman (the merciful one), but an act of rachmanut (mercy) is also a prayer.”

● Tikvah (hope) – “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for . . .” (Heb 11:1). In July 1944, just a month before the Nazis captured her and her family, Anne Frank wrote in her diary: “I see the world gradually being turned into a wilderness. I hear the ever-approaching thunder that will destroy us too. I can feel the sufferings of millions. And yet, if I look up into the heavens, I think that it will all come out all right, that this cruelty too will end, and that peace and tranquility will return again.” Prayer demands that we speak into the world as it is, with the assurance of a world that does not yet exist. It is only through the hope and trust in God’s promises that our prayers can be truly effective.

While we no longer burn incense, symbolically, we can continue to offer a sweet savor to the nostrils of HaShem. We do this by sanctifying God’s name, ourselves, and those around us. This is only possible by keeping ourselves pure and maintaining God’s highest standards. We must grow in compassion and show pity to those who may not deserve it. Finally, we must maintain hope—not in utopian illusions or theological abstractions, but in God’s promises and in the substance of the age that will surely come.

The Mishkan and the Restoration of Israel

Parashat Terumah, Exodus 25:1–27:19

Matheus Zandona, Har Tzion Congregation, Belo Horizonte, Brazil

וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם׃

"And they shall make Me a sanctuary, and I shall dwell inside of them." (Exodus 25:8)

The directive to construct the Mishkan (Tabernacle) is fundamental within the order of Parashat Terumah. Along with guiding an architectural endeavor, this command also indicates a deeply theological truth: God’s presence does not seek to be limited to a physical structure but rather desires to live among His people. The Tabernacle—and later on, the Temple—was a means of education to Israel on holiness, the significance of sin, and, most importantly, their divine vocation: to be a kingdom of priests and a holy nation (Exodus 19:6).

Jewish philosopher and theologian Michael Wyschogrod devoted considerable attention to God's indwelling in the people of Israel. He underscored that Israel was not chosen to be “Hashem’s abode in the created world” merely for its own sake, but for the redemption of the world (The Body of Faith: God and the people of Israel, p. 212). A restored and reunited Israel serves as evidence of God’s love for the world and aids in its salvation. This perspective corresponds with many prophecies concerning the restoration of Israel, as in Isaiah 60:1-3:

Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. For behold, darkness shall cover the earth, and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and His glory will be seen upon you. And nations shall come to your light, and kings to the brightness of your rising.

The apostle Paul connects Israel’s restoration with the revelation of Yeshua to His people, bringing an unprecedented world revival:

For if their rejection (of Yeshua) means the reconciliation of the world, what will their acceptance mean but life from the dead? (Romans 11:15)

Israel was created to be the Mishkan of God, the place where He dwells among the nations. Every time we announce the Good News of redemption in Yeshua to our people, we are working toward the restoration of His Mishkan. But there is another way to join this divine task: through aiding the sons of Abraham to return to their lost heritage. This reconnection is a crucial element of Israel’s eschatological restoration, which in turn signals the ultimate redemption of the world. An example that stands out in this case are the Anusim, the descendants of Jews who were forcibly converted during the time of the Inquisition.

A parallel can be drawn between the basic structure of the Mishkan and the spiritual journey of the Anusim. The Mishkan had three levels of holiness:

The Outer Court — open to all Israelites, representing the initial phase of restoration, where one reclaims their Jewish identity.

The Holy Place — accessible only to the priesthood, symbolizing a deeper commitment to spiritual refinement.

The Holy of Holies — where the Shechinah (Divine Presence) rested, representing the full reintegration into the people of Israel.

The Portuguese sage Don Isaac Abarbanel, who witnessed the expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492, foresaw the return of the Anusim in his commentary on Ezekiel 20:

The Ingathering of the Exiles will include not only those who are part of the community of Israel, but also those who were compelled to leave the faith, for all of God’s sheep shall return to the flock. (https://www.jpost.com/opinion/fundamentally-freund-the-abarbanel-and-the-return-of-the-bnei-anusim-423752)

Writing on Deuteronomy 30, Abarbanel adds:

In the End of Days, God will awaken in the hearts of the Anusim a desire to return to Him. . . . And when they return to God and follow Him, everyone according to his status and his ability, He promises that the exalted God will bring them close to Him.

Abarbanel was convinced, based on his interpretation of biblical prophecy, that the Anusim would one day return to the people of Israel. But their return is not only about their own longing—it is also about the Jewish world opening its heart to receive them.

Today, as in the past, the return of the Anusim is a subject symbolized in many Jewish communities as an indication of Israel's redemption. Their story is one of trails of tears, triumph, and faithfulness. After several centuries of forced conversions, persecution, and even exile, they did not completely lose their Jewish identity. The Jewish soul within them is now crying out: “we need to come back home”! Their return today stands as a testament to the restoration of Israel echoing the prophetic vision of Ezekiel’s valley of dry bones:

Behold, I will open your graves and raise you from your graves, O My people. And I will bring you into the land of Israel. (Ezekiel 37:12)

The medieval Jewish thinker Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi wrote in The Kuzari about the vision of Israel’s restoration in Ezekiel:

These bones retain a trace of vitality, because they were once the vessels of a living heart, head, spirit, soul, and mind.

This image fits the Anusim, who, though hidden for centuries, remained a vital part of Israel’s spiritual body. The prophet Jeremiah also foresaw this restoration embodied in a Renewed Covenant that is made with all Israel:

“Behold, the days are coming,” says the Lord, “when I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel and with the house of Judah. . . . I will put My law within them, and I will write it on their hearts. And I will be their God, and they shall be My people.” (Jeremiah 31:31, 33)

These days, conversations around the return of the Anusim are increasing in scholarly discussions. But to what extent does this issue concern the Jewish follower of Yeshua? What is essential is that if we trust in the future redemption of Israel, we must also accept that the return of the Anusim is an act of God, with Yeshua at the epicenter. Will our movement play any role in this prophetic gathering of our people?

In Brazil, Ministério Ensinando de Sião (Teaching from Zion Ministry), Congregation Har Tzion, and the Museum of the History of the Inquisition are actively working to reconnect the Anusim with their Jewish heritage. Through historical research, education, and spiritual guidance, we help them rediscover their place in the covenantal story of Israel, keeping the most important gift Israel has given them: Yeshua as our promised Messiah!

It is more than just an interesting subject and a tragic story; the restoration of the Anusim is one of Israel’s redemptive motifs. God will certainly bring the outcasts of Israel back, whether we wish to get involved or not. The good news, however, is that He is giving us the chance to engage in this redemption, being His partners. The question is, will we accept this challenge as Jewish followers of Yeshua?

Yeshua’s focus was on restoration—looking for the lost sheep from the House of Israel and waiting for the world’s redemption. The building of the Mishkan was a divine mission which symbolized a restored Israel as the indwelling of the divine glory, reflecting God’s light to all humanity. The return of the Anusim is part of this process.

“In that day I will restore David's fallen Tabernacle. I will repair its broken places, restore its ruins, and build it as it used to be, so that they may possess the remnant of Edom and all the nations that bear my name,” declares the Lord, who will do these things. (Amos 9:11–12)

While reflecting on Parashat Terumah, let us never forget that we are living tabernacles of His Shechinah. And our goal is to show forth His light, demonstrate love, and actively take part in His covenantal promises. “The kingdom of God is within you” (Luke 17:21).

Let's appreciate this call and work with the Almighty to restore Israel, so that the whole world once again can be a place of God’s divine presence.

You Gotta Serve Somebody

Parashat Mishpatim (Sh’mot/Exodus 21:2–24:18)

Rabbi Stuart Dauermann, Shuvah Yisrael Messianic Synagogue , Plainview, New York

Today’s parasha, Mishpatim, examines a variety of mitzvot including laws about treatment of slaves, damages, loans, returning lost property, Shabbat, the sabbatical year, holidays, and uprooting idolatry. 

In our drash, we only get to pick one of these themes. Let’s look at slavery. 

Our parasha mentions two kinds of slaves. One was Hebrew slaves (Exod 21:2) who exchanged their freedom to pay a debt or to escape poverty. Their period of servitude was six years, unless they chose to remain slaves longer, even for life. The second kind of slavery mentioned was that of Hebrew women who, due to poverty in their families, could be sold as slaves (Exod 21:7–11). If  these women became wives of their masters or his sons, there were special measures in place ensuring that they were treated with dignity and not as discardable property. 

In Vayikra/Leviticus 25:44–46, we read of yet a third category of slaves, those bought from other nations or captured as prisoners of war. In the case of women in this position, they were allowed a month to mourn for their families from whom they were separated, showing that even under these tragic circumstances, Torah sought to preserve human dignity. 

But slavery is not simply old news. In fact, all of us are slaves.

The Bible says it, and Bob Dylan sang it years ago: “It might be the Devil or it might be the Lord, but you gotta serve somebody.”

Chances are, you don’t like that idea. In fact, human experience continually proves that we find this idea offensive and intrusive. 

The root of that offense is what Paul calls “the law of sin” — a kind of reflex living in us which I term the “Oh Yeah? Principle.” This names our insistence on maintaining autonomy at all costs, as manifest in a rebellion against being directed or restricted, even by God. And when he tries to direct or restrict us, isn’t it true that our response is sometimes, if not often, “Oh Yeah?”

The testimony of scripture recommends not going that route. Sefer Mishlé, the Book of Proverbs, puts it this way, “There can be a way which seems right to a person, but at its end are the ways of death” (14:12). Dylan was right, our choice is a binary one: the Devil or the Lord, life or death. Sefer Mishlé strikes this chord again, saying, “The path of the righteous is like the light of dawn, shining ever brighter until full daylight. The way of the wicked is like darkness; they don’t even know what makes them stumble” (4:18–19). 

Our way through this binary morass is lit by a paradox: It is by serving as a slave of God that we find our deepest freedom. Saint Augustine of Hippo touches upon this, referring to “God, ‘whom to serve is to reign.’” The Anglican liturgy picks this up referring to God “whose service is perfect freedom.” And John Donne, 16th–17th century, pointed us toward the words of Paul, saying, “I, except you enthrall me, never shall be free. Nor ever chaste except you ravish me.” 

Like Donne and Augustine, Paul commends the path of slavery as the road to freedom. 

In 1 Corinthians 6:19–20, he says, “The fact is, you don’t belong to yourselves; for you were bought at a price. So use your bodies to glorify God.” 

Notice, Paul is not calling us to be servants of God. Servants receive a wage. He calls us to become slaves of God, bought with a price. 

In 1 Corinthians 7:21-23 , Paul sketches the different classes whom the Spirit brought to Yeshua-faith in the Roman world, before naming the class into which God has placed us all throughout time: 

Were you a (Roman) slave when you were called? Well, don’t let it bother you; although if you can gain your freedom, take advantage of the opportunity. For a person who was a slave when he was called is the Lord’s freedman; likewise, someone who was a free man when he was called is a slave of the Messiah. You were bought at a price, so do not become slaves of other human beings. (CJB)

Notice, when God calls us to himself, he calls us to live as his slaves, bought with a price.

The word in Greek for slave is doulos. The word for servant is diakonos. 

John MacArthur reinforces the difference for us:

There are six or seven Greek words that mean “servant” in some form. (Diakonos is the most prominent of those words). Doulos never means “servant.” A servant is someone hired to do something. The slave (doulos) is someone owned. Big difference, huge difference, and yet all through (almost every translation of) the New Testament the word (doulos) “slave” is masked by the (English) word “servant.”

Servant or Slave?,” Grace to You, August 26, 2010, https://www.gty.org/library/sermonslibrary/ GTY129/servant-or-slave

Paul outlines for us two consequences of our being slaves of God. First, our bodies do not belong to us, but to the Holy One. Because we are bought with a price, we must glorify God in our bodies, which belong to God (1 Cor 6:20). 

Second, because we were bought with a price we must not become slaves of other human beings (1 Cor 7:23), and that includes not becoming wage slaves, as many employers expect. Our relationships with people should not curtail our availability to God. We belong to him and are answerable to him first in all things.

Being called slaves of God rankles our contemporary sensibilities. It tweaks the sin principle living in us. But Yeshua told us that the only choice we have is to whom we will be enslaved: “Yes, indeed! I tell you that everyone who practices sin is a slave of sin. So if the Son frees you, you will really be free” (Yochanan 8:34, 36), Yeshua sets us free to become slaves of God. Or, as the Lord said to Pharaoh through Moshe, “Let my people go, that they may serve me” (Exod 8:1).

If we would know the freedom to which God calls us, we must remember we are not hired, we are owned.  We have been bought by the kindest of masters with the most precious of prices, the blood of his Only Begotten Son. 

Our Yom Kippur liturgy has the last word here, reminding us who Adonai is, and who we are. 

Like the clay in the hand of the potter—
he expands it at will and contracts it at will—
so are we in Your hand, O Preserver of kindness,
look at the covenant and ignore the Accuser.

Like the glass in the hand of the blower—
he shapes it at will and dissolves it at will—
so are we in Your hand,
O Forgiver of willful sins and errors,
look to the covenant and ignore the Accuser.

So who are you gonna serve? 

“It might be the Devil, and it might be the Lord, but you gotta serve somebody.” 

How to Have Peace with the In-laws

Parashat Yitro, Exodus 18:1–20:23

Matt Absolon, Beth T’filah, Miramar, FL 

Moses went out to meet his father-in-law and bowed down and kissed him. And they asked each other of their welfare and went into the tent. Then Moses told his father-in-law all that the Lord had done to Pharaoh and to the Egyptians for Israel's sake, all the hardship that had come upon them in the way, and how the Lord had delivered them. And Jethro rejoiced for all the good that the Lord had done to Israel, in that he had delivered them out of the hand of the Egyptians. (Exodus 18:7–9)

Much of the biblical text is spent recounting the pitfalls and bad relationships that serve as examples of what not to do in our connections with each other. This week's portion gives us a welcome respite from that trend in showcasing the relationship between Moses and his father-in-law, Jethro. In the catalogue of family relationships that are notorious for being contentious, the “in-laws” take a special place at the top of the page. Regardless of this tendency, Moses and Jethro’s relationship shared a special intimacy, one that echoes down to the modern-day friendship between Israel and the Druze peoples.

What lessons might we learn from Moses and Jethro that can help us navigate our in-law relationships today?

 As a first impression, we see that Moses maintains deep respect for Jethro. He “bowed down and kissed him.” Moses keeps himself humble before Jethro and pays respect to both the man and the position of father-in-law. When navigating relationships, it is often helpful for us to differentiate between the person and the title they hold. When we honor our in-laws, we honor the position they hold, not just the person. This distinction helps us overlook dissimilarities in personality and allows us to honor our in-laws for who they are.

In following Moses' honor towards Jethro, we read, “they asked each other of their welfare and went into the tent.” It becomes evident that Moses and Jethro genuinely care for each other. Naturally we lean towards the concern and welfare of our immediate parents and might be inclined to make negotiated concessions for our in-laws. However, we see that Moses and Jethro share a deep concern for the welfare of each other. Sometimes in the bustle of life, marriage, and children, we forget that we are not the only concern in the life of our in-laws. Oftentimes the children-in-law expect care and concern to flow down to them while overlooking the duty they have to direct care and concern upwards to the parents-in-law. The grandchildren might be the focus, but the in-laws are also people with cares and concerns beyond just the children. Moses displays this mutual concern in the way he cares for Jethro.

In the next verse we capture a glimpse of Jethro’s character trait of good will. “And Jethro rejoiced for all the good that the Lord had done to Israel” (18:9). Jethro was cheering for Moses’s success. The wellbeing of the family ought to be expressed in both words and deeds. Jethro verbalized his support and encouragement to Moses, after all the difficulties that Moses had endured. Before Jethro offered Moses advice, he showed him that he was for Moses and his success.

If we can imagine for a moment the overwhelming situation that Jethro found before him, it would have been understandable for him to take a skeptical approach. In this hypothetical setting, Jethro could have logically asked the following:

What are you thinking that you will lead two million people into the desert?!

Burning bushes and sticks to snakes, what has gotten into you?!

Moses, are you sure this is God's plan for your life?!

This was not the deal when you married Zipporah!

Instead of being the sceptic, Jethro validates the pain and hardships that Moses has endured, and is presently carrying, in fulfilling God's will in his life. Despite the obvious ways in which God's calling will impact Moses and his marriage to Zipporah, Jethro was supportive of God's calling in Moses’s life.

After Jethro shows his steadfast support for God's work in Moses' life, he then displays his care by offering reasoned critique with well-thought-out solutions. “What you are doing is not good. . . . You are not able to do it alone. . . . I will give you advice, and God be with you!” (Exod 18:17-19). Jethro did not fall into the trap of offering biting critique without a solution. It seems to me that Jethro spent time pondering Moses’s predicament before he decided to critique him. Jethro exemplified true care in his readiness to work through the problem, enhancing Moses’s well-being, and allowing him more time to be with his children. Jethro was committed to the health of his grandchildren by offering tangible support to his son in-law. 

Finally, “Moses let his father-in-law depart, and he went away to his own country” (18:27). Moses and Jethro understood the need for personal space. They understood that, although we share common values which will align us towards common goals, yet God has an individual purpose for us all. They demonstrated that we bring strength to the family as we walk in harmony side by side, but not too close, leaving space for each other’s individual privacy. 

In the final analysis, the respect and affection that Moses and Jethro shared continues to bear fruit to this day. Today, the Druze Israelis honor Jethro, Moses' father in-law, as their forefather and founder of their faith. This relationship between Jethro and Moses has given us their patriotism as fellow Israelis living and fighting beside the Jewish people to establish Eretz Israel as a land of peace and prosperity. Their love and devotion to the Jewish people is recorded as far back as the 12th century, when Jewish traveler Benjamin of Tudela commented on the Druze in his diary that they were “mountain dwellers, monotheists who . . . love the Jews” (Mordechai D. Nisan, Minorities in the Middle East: a history of struggle and self-expression). We both honor our family connection and, although we walk in harmony, we both make space for each other’s privacy. 

Truly, peace in the home is a righteous goal. The example we find in Moses and Jethro offers us some guidelines to work towards that goal. Their example offers us the hope that when we build genuine love and peace between the in-laws, the blessing is for us and for the generations to come.

God Bless you all and a warm Shabbat Shalom. 

Being God's “Hope Dealers”

Parashat Beshalach, Exodus 13:17-17:16

Rabbi Isaac S. Roussel, Congregation Zera Avraham, Ann Arbor, MI

This week’s parasha, Beshalach, is one of the most dramatic and inspiring portions in the Torah. It tells of Israel’s miraculous deliverance at the Red Sea — a moment when all seemed lost, and yet, through divine intervention, salvation came.

In our parasha it says, “The Children of Israel lifted their eyes, and behold! Egypt was advancing after them. They were terrified, and the Children of Israel cried out to Hashem” (Exod 14:10).

The Israelites found themselves trapped between the sea and the might of Pharaoh’s army. Their immediate response was fear, despair, and even bitterness toward Moshe: “Was it because there were no graves in Egypt that you brought us to the desert to die?” (Exod 14:11).

Moshe responds to this complaint: “Do not be afraid. Stand firm and you will see the deliverance Hashem will bring you today. . . . Hashem will fight for you; you need only to be still” (Exod 14:13-14).

But Hashem does not merely call for stillness—He calls for action: “Then Hashem said to Moshe, 'Why do you cry out to Me? Tell the Israelites to go forward'" (Exod 14:15).

Rabbinic commentary in the Midrash (Mechilta d'Rabbi Yishmael on 14:15) suggests that this was not merely about walking into the water but about taking a leap of faith. The Talmud (Sotah 37a) tells us of Nachshon ben Aminadav, who stepped into the sea before it parted, demonstrating faith in motion.

My birthday is this week. As my family asked me for gift ideas, I found myself browsing the internet for inspiration. While looking at hats, I came across one with a stylized font that, at first glance, seemed to say “Dope Dealer.” It startled me, prompting a closer look. To my surprise, I realized it actually said, “Hope Dealer,” created by a company that supports those overcoming addiction.

That phrase resonated deeply with me. In these turbulent times, filled with uncertainty and despair, I reflected on the idea that we, as followers of Hashem and disciples of Yeshua, are called to be Hope Dealers—not just to have hope, but to actively share it. Hope is not something we passively receive; it is something we must distribute generously. Just as Hashem called Israel to step forward in faith at the Red Sea, we are called to step forward and be bearers of light, demonstrating through our words and deeds that redemption is always near. In a world thirsting for reassurance, let us become vessels of divine hope, spreading it wherever we go.

This imperative of hope is illustrated through three powerful events in Israel’s history: the Song of the Sea, God's command to erect memorial stones, and the revelation at the Burning Bush.

After the miraculous crossing, Israel bursts into song:

Then Moshe and the Israelites sang this song to Hashem: “I will sing to Hashem, for He is highly exalted. Both horse and driver He has hurled into the sea.” (Exod 15:1)

This moment is not just about celebration but about prophecy. The Midrash (Shemot Rabbah 23:11) teaches that just as Hashem redeemed Israel then, He will redeem them in the Messianic Age. This song is a foretaste of the greater redemption in Yeshua, of whom it is written:

And they sang a new song, saying: “You are worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals, because You were slain, and with Your blood, You purchased for God persons from every tribe and language and people and nation.” (Rev 5:9)

Just as Israel’s song was a declaration of freedom, so too is the song of the redeemed in the Messianic Age. The victory of Hashem is not just for the past—it is for today and for eternity.

God revealed His name as YHVH to Moshe at the Burning Bush. This is often translated as “I am Who I am.” The Talmud (Berachot 9b) offers another interpretation: “I am with you in this trouble and will be with you in future troubles.” His name embodies both a present and future assurance.

God also instructed Israel to erect memorial stones. For example, after crossing the Yarden River, they erected a pile of stones as “a memorial to the people of Israel forever” (Josh 4:6-7).

Similarly, today, we may experience dire straits, but as Hope Dealers, it is our role to recall past acts of deliverance and recognize them as signposts of future redemption. God’s demonstrated emunah (faithfulness) is the source of our hope. As Hope Dealers, it is imperative that we sing the songs of redemption, point to the memorial stones, and proclaim Hashem’s enduring name.

Parashat Beshalach is a call not only to hope but to become Hope Dealers. It reminds us that:

• God is our deliverer, parting the seas before us.

• Faith requires action, stepping forward in trust.

• We are called to sing the song of redemption, even in the wilderness.

• We must actively share hope with those around us, bringing light into the darkness.

As we face the trials of our time—whether personal, communal, or global—let us remember the words of the Lord through Isaiah:

“Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are Mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you.” (Isa 43:1-2)

Our Messiah has already won the ultimate victory and promises that he will be with us to the very end of the age. This promise sustains us, reminding us that we do not walk alone, but as vessels of divine hope, carrying His presence wherever we go.

Today, as we face a renewed onslaught on civil rights and human dignity, it is imperative that we become God's Hope Dealers—standing as beacons of hope and agents of divine justice in the world.

May we sing the Song of Redemption, reminding others that Hashem is with us through every trial.

May we point to the multitude of memorial stones stacked up throughout our lives and the lives of others, for each stone is a testament to God's faithfulness, a reminder of past victories, and a beacon of future deliverance.

May we constantly remind others that God's name literally means that He will be with us in all our trials.

And in doing so, we will truly become God's Hope Dealers!

Shabbat Shalom.

Reading Renewal Forward

Parashat Bo, Exodus 10:1–13:16

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

Let’s talk about renewal. There’s something powerful about starting fresh—about moving forward, not just physically, but spiritually. It’s about embracing change and becoming more of who we’re meant to be as Israel, the people of the God of Israel. To do so, we need to break free from a bad habit: reading backward and, as a result, living backward. The historical church has often reduced the experience of Israel to nothing more than a warmup act for the coming of Yeshua. While they have rightly concluded that Yeshua continues Israel’s story and purpose, they often overlook the fact that he does so in partnership with the rest of B’nai Yaakov.

This week’s parasha, Bo, continues the story of redemption and renewal as God not only prepares but enacts Israel’s Exodus from Egypt.  In last week’s parasha, Va’era, God shared something profound with Moses. He said, “I will take you as my people, and I will be your God. Then you shall know that I am the Lord your God, who brings you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians” (Exod 6:7). This promise is about so much more than just escaping Egypt. It’s about creating a real, deep relationship. God wasn’t just pulling the Israelites out of physical slavery—he was inviting them into a new way of life, a new understanding of who he is and who they are in him.

When we reflect on this, we realize that it’s not just a historical event. It speaks into our lives today. The Israelites were being delivered, yes, but they were also being invited into something bigger. God’s purpose wasn’t just freedom from Egypt; it was to reveal his power, his presence, and his authority in a way that would change everything—not just for Israel, but for the whole world. But the covenant starts with Israel and will not continue without Israel.

One thing I love about this passage is how Moses emphasizes that the journey ahead is for everyone. “With our youngsters, with our elders shall we go; with our sons and daughters, with our flock and our cattle shall we go” (Exod 6:9). The whole community, from the youngest to the oldest, is invited into this new chapter. One commentator points out that no celebration is complete without children. It’s a beautiful reminder that the next generation plays a vital role in what God is doing. Another commentator notes that even the elderly, who might feel past their prime, are included because they, too, are rejuvenated by the promise of freedom. It’s an all-encompassing, inclusive journey.

As we dive deeper into this story, we realize that God’s deliverance wasn’t just about freeing people from physical oppression. It was about making his name known, declaring his power and greatness. In Exodus 9:16, God says, “But indeed for this purpose I have raised you up, so that I might show you my power, and that my name may be declared in all the earth.” This wasn’t just about Israel’s personal freedom; it was about the whole world knowing that there’s a God who reigns, who is active, and who has authority over everything—yet is also faithful to fulfill his promises. Prior to calling Moses into service, the Torah tells us that God “remembered the covenant with the patriarchs” (Exod 2:24). Therefore, the liberation through Moses is part of the natural progression of the patriarchal covenant.

That leads us to today. There’s a lot of talk, especially among younger generations, about needing something real, something bold. Rabbi Niles Elliot Goldstein, in his book Gonzo Judaism, talks about how many in his generation feel disconnected from the way Judaism has been practiced, yet they’re still hungry for spiritual truth. He says, “We don’t need to be treated with kid gloves—we need to be agitated. Our generation calls for a Judaism that is bold, confrontational, and smack in your face. We want to be pushed. And we want to push back” (p. 125). Honestly, I think that sentiment is true across the board. We may want a faith that’s nice and comfortable, but we need a faith that challenges us, that pushes us to grow, and that makes us confront the deep urges in our lives.

This is exactly what God was calling Israel to—something bold, something life-changing. When they were brought out of Egypt, it wasn’t just to escape hardship; it was about embracing a new identity, declaring that God is King, that his name matters, and that they—along with the whole world—are meant to live with that truth at the core of everything. The God of Israel is the God over the world.

This brings me to something Franz Rosenzweig, a 20th century Jewish theologian, stated in a 1945 commentary on Zionism: “The Jewish individual needs nothing but readiness.” Are we ready for what God will do next? Are we ready for the changes he wants to make in us, for the way he wants to transform our lives? Are we ready to embrace a renewal that may look different from what we’re used to?

I think this is the challenge we face today—whether we’re young or old, whether we’re new to faith or have been walking this road for years: Are we ready to embrace what God has for us next? Are we open to the bold, radical, and transformative ways he might want to work in us?

So, as we think about all of this, let’s ask ourselves: What’s God calling us to right now? How can we be a part of this larger story—one that’s not just about us but about the whole world knowing who God is? And are we ready to step into that story with everything we’ve got?

This brings us back to the concept of reading forward, of living forward. Yeshua came to deliver us from the grip of death, to bring us individually and corporately before the throne of grace and mercy. But he also asks us to pick up our crosses and follow him (Matt 16:24). While this may not feel like a quintessentially Jewish ideal, it is consistent with the historical Jewish experience and calling. I like to say that Yeshua did not come instead of us; rather, he came ahead of us.

Let’s think about it together and see what happens next.

Thanks for reflecting on this with me today. Let’s be ready for the renewal God has in store.

I Have Put My Words in Your Mouth

Parashat Va’era, Exodus 6:2 - 9:35

Rachel Wolf, Congregation Beth Messiah, Cincinnati

Now therefore, go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall say. (Exodus 4:12)

Then the Lord said to Moses, “Go in to Pharaoh and say to him, ‘Thus says the Lord, Let my people go, that they may serve me.’” (Exodus 8:1)

I have put my words in your mouth
    and covered you in the shadow of my hand,
to plant the heavens
    and lay the foundations of the earth,
    and say to Zion, ‘You are my people.’ (Isaiah 51:16)

This week’s portion, Va’era (“I appeared”), dramatically documents the series of confrontations between Pharaoh and Moses and Aaron, as well as the first seven plagues. Moses knew the heart of Pharaoh and doubted the success of God’s plan (6:12), but God had commanded him to speak these words – God had put these words in his mouth – “Let my people go that they may serve me.”

As we shall see, in Exodus 6 Moses is told to deliver the “good news” – God’s message of deliverance – to the enslaved Israelites. Moses is told to say to Zion: “You are my people!”  In doing so, Moses is “planting the heavens and laying the foundations of the earth” (Isa 51:16).

The Purpose and Meaning of the Exodus from Egypt

At the end of last week’s portion, when all the Israelites turn against him, Moses says to God, “I told you this wouldn’t work!” (5:22-23). But God remains unperturbed. He explains to Moses (Ex. 6:1-8) that it is all part of the plan. God makes two points regarding this plan:

1. Fulfillment of the Covenant

The plan of God at this point in history is to restart the action toward the fulfillment of God’s covenant with the sons of Jacob: “Go to the Land I will show you!.” We know this because God explains the plan to Moses by reviewing the history of the covenant, mentioning each of the fathers by name. He does not say: “this is about freedom” or “this is a metaphor for coming out of sin into the atonement in Jesus.” He summarizes his talk with Moses: “And I will bring you into the land that I swore to give to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob as an Inheritance” (6:8). This inheritance is not merely for land. It is an essential stage in God’s eternal plan to set up his “tent,” to actually dwell with us on the earth – on Har Tzion, Jerusalem.

2. Gotta Serve Somebody – First Stop: Sinai

God’s words that he puts in Moses’ mouth are: Let my people go to serve me in the wilderness – not “so that they can be free.” They are to serve the true God; they are not to serve the gods of the Egyptians.

Concerning Freedom and Servitude

The Israelites are God’s people! They are not to serve another! In fulfilling the eternal covenant, the Israelites need to know who they are and whom they serve.  Human beings, especially in the West after the Enlightenment, have cultivated the illusion that something called “freedom” is the elixir for happiness. This is not completely wrong. We need freedom. But, while we are created with free will and the ability to choose, especially to choose our actions, there are also invisible forces that bend each of us toward serving one of the sides in the raging war for sovereignty over the earth.

The Shema, when seen in context, is stating that Hashem is the only true God, and that Israel must serve only their God. There are lots of other gods, including men who make themselves into gods, but Israel must serve only the true God who calls himself by their name.

But the great paradox is this: to serve God takes freedom! In the scriptures you will always come up against a paradox if you study deeply enough, because God’s ways are higher than our ways. A paradox is something that is intuitively true, even though it may fail to follow strict rules of logic. The enemy of our souls enslaves us, often against our will. But we need freedom of spirit and will to serve the living God. Gifted individuals throughout history have been able to muster their freedom of spirit even under the harshest slavery. These include the likes of Viktor Frankl during the Holocaust and Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn in the Gulag. But most people can utterly lose hope in these “hopeless” situations.

The Inability to Hear Good News and to Choose

We need at least a degree of freedom in our spirit to be able to serve the living God. When we are forced into bitter slavery to another god, whether Pharaoh or any other man or program, it can become difficult to muster the strength to make choices. The ability to choose takes a freedom of spirit that allows for even a small degree of hope. When hope is gone, the human spirit gives up and, often, can no longer choose to serve the living God.

This is what happened to the Israelites as we read in our parasha. God commands Moses to deliver this message to the Israelites: 

“And I will bring you into the land which I swore to give to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob . . . as a heritage: I am the Lord.” So Moses spoke thus to the children of Israel; but they could not heed Moses, because of anguish of spirit and cruel bondage. (6:9)

They had no hope left. They were thoroughly heartbroken. Egypt had taken not only their outer freedom, but also their freedom of spirit, their hope.

How does all this relate to our Messianic Jewish Vision and mission in the 21st century?

I have put my words in your mouth
    and covered you in the shadow of my hand,
to plant the heavens
    and lay the foundations of the earth,
    and say to Zion, “You are my people.” (Isaiah 51:16)

We are called to be a part of fulfilling the purpose of creation by reawakening the Jewish people, by believing and proclaiming God’s words: “You are My People!” “Behold, your God reigns”

Speak support and encouragement.

Bring freedom of Spirit and hope to awaken the ability of our people to serve the Living God.

Joseph (who in many ways prophetically represents the Messiah) sent away all of the Egyptians when he knew it was time to reveal himself to his brothers. This was a heart-to-heart meeting between him and his brothers.

It is not for us to convince, but we are called to facilitate, and perhaps hasten, this special (Joseph-like) reunion between Yeshua and his family! Our mission is to counter the Enemy’s plan to deeply plant “anguish of heart” into the Jewish people in order to sap the strength of their soul, so that they can’t believe the good news of God’s promised salvation from our enemies: “You are My People!” “Your God Reigns!”

Many Jewish people today are too realistic and “modern” to believe the old stories about the Holy God coming to earth to set things right and to actually dwell with us, reigning from Mt. Zion!

Yeshua, the Revealer of the Father

But somehow, Yeshua, like Joseph, reveals the reality of the spiritual realm and the faithfulness of God’s words through our own prophets. 

In the New Testament, Luke records the seminal prophecy of Zechariah, Yochanan’s father. If you read the text as the apostles understood it, you will see a deep connection between Zechariah’s words and the words of the prophets of Israel. You will also see the clear connection between Yeshua’s mission and the archetypal events of the Exodus. Look especially at Luke 1:72-74: “To grant that we, being delivered from the hand of our enemies, might serve him without fear.” 

Now his (Yohanan’s) father Zachariah was filled with the Holy Spirit, and prophesied saying,

Blessed is the Lord God of Israel, for he has visited and redeemed His people.

And has raised up a horn of salvation for us in the house of his servant David,

As He spoke by the mouth of His holy prophets long ago,

That we should be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us. 

[cf. Psalm 106:10]

To perform the mercy promised to our fathers, and to remember his holy covenant,

The oath which he swore to our father Abraham:

To grant that we, being delivered from the hand of our enemies, might serve him without fear,

In holiness and righteousness before him all the days of our life. (Luke 1:67-75)

If we, today, speak the words of the Prophets with grounded faith and deep compassion, these words will “plant the heavens and lay foundations on the earth,” as we assure the Jewish community of Hashem’s faithfulness: “You are my people!”