The first word of our parasha, re’eh, is conjugated in an imperative form, meaning that it is a command to do, to pay attention to, and “to see to” all the instructions God is setting forth. Moshe does not just present Israel with a choice between blessings and curses. Moshe actually opens with a prophetic blessing to the Jewish people.

We who desire his righteousness to live through us will always be willing to lend a helping hand to any and all in need. Out of our surrender renewal is birthed; out of our renewal transformation occurs. It is out of this transformation that our heart-felt worship wafts through the heavens to the throne room and our service is blessed.

A modern reader may have difficulty accepting the prodigious acts that accompanied the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt. But perhaps more challenging, given our culture’s commitment to the equality of all people, is the idea that God would choose one people in particular. 

Tisha B’Av begins this coming Saturday night, and marks one of the most tragic days on the Jewish calendar. Numerous atrocities have befallen the Jewish people on this date (or just around it) throughout the last 3,000 years, the pinnacles being the destruction of both the first and second Temples.

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

Midrash Rabbah 21.12 attributes to the daughters of Zelophehad the role of judges of the law, even in Moses’ presence, for as the Lord says, they “speak what is right” (Num 27:6). That is quite startling!

The voice from the flames declared: “I am the God of your forefathers, the God of Avraham, the God of Yitzhak, and the God of Ya’akov.” And then, this voice—the voice of Hashem—said something astonishing: “I have seen the plight of my people, and I am sending you.”

Parashat Chukat is one of the most enigmatic portions in the entire Torah. It seems to flow with contradiction: it begins with a mysterious ordinance, introduces a miraculous yet perplexing deliverance, and ends in what feels like a strange and tragic justice. Midrash teaches us that hidden within these paradoxes are holy lessons, if we’re willing to live with the mystery.

When Moses was confronted and accused by Korah and his clan, he didn't hastily defend himself or his position; he didn't explain himself. Rather, “When Moses heard this, he fell on his face.”

When has the world not been trembling somewhere? Perhaps what Scripture is really telling us is that our so-called “last days” may stretch on for generations. The question is not when the end will come, but how we are meant to live in such a time.