Naso & The Modern World

May 30, 2026 Bat Mitzvah Drash by Abigail Wallis

Image by Arnie Warshawsky

Published July 2026

Shabbat shalom! Friends, family, and fellow Sof members, I am extremely excited to be standing up here today, better late than never, as they say. You ever procrastinate so hard it’s now six years later and you’re able to vote and rent an apartment? People talk about Jews being punctual, but my mission in life is to defy stereotypes. Anyway, my parsha is Parsha Naso.

Parsha Naso is the longest parsha in the Torah, and there’s a lot of seemingly unrelated parts, but what I want to focus on is the ritual of the Sotah, aka the ordeal of the bitter water. The Torah outlines the process for what to do when a man suspects his wife of adultery. To summarize, if a man “suffers from a spirit of jealousy,” he must bring his wife to a priest. First, the priest makes a meal offering and makes the wife swear an oath that she had no relations with other men, then the priest writes the oath down, and dunks the scroll containing the oath in a special potion, which the wife must drink. If the wife is innocent, the water does nothing, but if she’s guilty, she becomes infertile.

When I got this parsha for my bat mitzvah, my first thought was “wow, I got one of the weird archaic ones that i don’t know what to do with.” The Torah is filled with stories and rules that seem strange at first glance. This one is a fundamental contradiction — men in biblical times, though they could not sleep with married women, could have as many wives and concubines as they wanted. But if a married woman slept with any other man, she was suddenly labeled “adulterous” and punished. It’s uncomfortable to look at from a modern lens, and, in 2026, we don’t follow exactly what Parsha Naso says to do. But in a modern world, what lessons does it teach us?

By examining how and when this parsha was written, we can be grateful for how far we’ve come in terms of societal equality and realize that not everything in the Torah needs to be followed verbatim. Even in biblical times, the sotah ritual was most likely not performed as often as the text would suggest. In the Talmud, the rabbis recognize the unfairness of the practice and try to soften it. Rabbi Eliezer and Rabbi Joshua say that “the only circumstance in which a husband has the right to force his wife to submit to the ordeal is if he had warned her in advance—in the presence of two witnesses.” This isn’t information clearly found within the original text, so why would they interpret it in this way? According to Talmudic scholar Judith Hauptman, this interpretation is due to the rabbis’ strong desire for justice, which they pursued passionately. The fact that there was no equality in the ritual bothered them, so they reinterpreted the rules. Even all the way back then, people were trying to figure out a way to interpret this passage in a way that aligned with their values.

Rabbi Sarra Levine says that the ambiguity in the text is the Torah’s way of withholding support for the husband’s lack of control of his emotions. By being vague with the circumstances that lead from jealousy to the ritual, by not clarifying whether there must be witnesses, and by the punishment itself, where it doesn’t confirm but alludes to infertility, the rabbis lead men away from this ritual. Rabbi Danny Burkeman confirms that “The quest for true equality is not a women’s issue; it is an issue for all of us who are concerned with building a fair and equal society.” Both he and Rabbi Levine reinterpret the text as a reminder to work towards gender equality, albeit in different ways. Yes, this section of the Torah is archaic. Yes, it’s unfair and based in misogyny. But these perspectives show there’s something to learn from it – that we can’t blindly accept what the Torah says as instruction. The whole concept of the Talmud is based around debating and interpreting the text of the Torah, so this is no different. To me, it’s normal to have a bat mitzvah. I’ve spent my whole life knowing that having a bat mitzvah is an option, and that as a woman I can participate in my Jewish community freely. But for even two generations before me, this wasn’t the case. The first ever bat mitzvah in America was held in 1922, a shockingly recent year for such a fundamental part of the religion. And even then, the first woman to become a bat mitzvah wasn’t allowed to read from the Torah like I did.

Even outside of Judaism, women are denied the opportunity to pursue paths that have been available to men simply due to their gender. We’ve grown up in a world where security and most rights are assumed to be granted, but that hasn’t always been the case. Women in the United States couldn’t vote within the entire country until 1920, couldn’t have contraceptives until 1960, and couldn’t even own credit cards until 1974. Even more egregiously, in the 250-year history of the U.S., we’ve had one female vice president, only five years ago. Men are automatically granted all these rights, but women have not been, in an echo of the unfair gender rules seen in biblical times. To appreciate where we are now in terms of equality, we must acknowledge where we were before. We live in a modern world where we generally don’t hold complicated rituals to prove women are adulterous, but we still find women being treated worse for the exact same actions as men.

That’s why I find it so important to learn the Torah. By examining what the Torah says, even accepting the weird, complicated, and problematic parts, we’re able to see just how far we’ve come, and we learn the crucial skill of being able to critically examine the text and seeing what parts remain relevant. Much like the rabbis, we can reinterpret the text to fit the pursuit for justice, and we can reinterpret the text to fit modern ideals of equality. I want to thank my family; especially my mom and dad, who somehow agreed to this, knowing how busy I’d be during my senior year, with AP classes and sewing; my Bubbe for helping me through this drash, my mainland family for flying all the way out to see me, my dearest friend, Neomi, for coming back from Nebraska for this, Auntie Mara for helping plan the party and thinking of logistics I didn’t even know existed, and, most of all, my bat mitzvah tutor, Uncle Alex Golub, who made this happen. I’m very sorry I procrastinated for this long, but I did make it! Lastly, I wanted to thank everyone here for coming and for listening to me talk about this. Shabbat Shalom!

Korach Rebellion & Jewish Tradition

Drash by Marlene Booth

July 2026

Parshat Korach marks the Bar Mitzvah of our son Raphi 32 years ago at our little peer led shul in Cambridge, MA. But I’ll get back to that. First let’s review the story. Korach, who is a Levite, together with 250 heads of the community, challenges Moshe’s authority and says to him in effect, “Who made you the boss of us? We are all holy!” Moshe is having a tough time with these rebellious folks, and with God’s help sets up a test. He asks Korach and his followers to bring fire pans with incense before God and the one God chooses will be the holy one. This showdown is not unlike High Noon, a film I taught for many years. Moshe is shocked by this rebellion and asks what more Korach and his band want since they are already Levites, performing duties in the Tabernacle. Two of Korach’s followers refuse to even speak to Moshe going so far as to say that Moshe led them astray taking them out of Egypt – a land flowing with milk and honey – to die in the wilderness. OK, so 250 followers of Korach and Moshe and Aaron all bring fire pans with incense and put them before the entrance to the Ohel Moed. God tells Moshe and Aaron to pull themselves away from the community so he can annihilate the rebels. Moshe pleads with God, asking why he will punish the community because of Korach’s rebellion. Why not just punish Korach?

God is not persuaded. Moshe then says to the assembled crowd, “If Korach and his followers die a natural death, then I have not been chosen by God to be your leader. But if the earth opens its mouth and swallows up Korach and his followers, you will know that God has chosen me to lead you.” And guess what? The ground opens its mouth and annihilates Korach and his followers. But the rebellion started by Korach continues since people are not happy about the earth swallowing up 250 of their leaders. God becomes angry at the continued complaining of the Children of Israel, Moshe & Aaron plead for tolerance again on behalf of the people, but God unleashes a plague the ends up killing 14,700 people in addition to the 250 already killed. So, what are we to make of this story of rebellion in the desert and tests of leadership in the face of rebellion? There’s much to talk about. Commentators go every which way in explaining Korach’s actions, some defending the rights of the firstborn – Korach – which Moshe overlooked, others saying Korach cared just for himself and not for the interests of the people.

Organization is not Raphi’s strong suit, so finding his drosh from the ashes of an old floppy disc is nothing short of a miracle.

Here’s Raphi:

People can learn a lot from Korach’s story, especially since not only his followers, but his followers’ families were swallowed into the earth. If your parents are kooks, try to knock some sense into them. And according to the legend, one man, On, the son of Peleth, was saved, because just as he was going out the door, his wife convinced him to come back in the house. No one knows whether she convinced him to abandon Korach, or whether it was just a diversion, but I would advise people to listen to their spouses when it comes to show downs with religion, especially showdowns involving incense.

I want to talk briefly about our firstborn, Raphi, who unbelievably will be turning 45 in a couple of weeks. Raphi is a young man who has always gone his own direction. He ran for president of the US when he was 12 on the Monster Raving Looney ticket, campaigning from the balcony of our home. He has blue hair and a PhD in urban and regional planning with an emphasis on performance studies. He lives and teaches right now in Brazil. He’s a performance artist and he once used puppets from this very bimah to illustrate a drash given by Avi. Korach was the perfect parshah for a guy like Raphi who likes challenging existing orders and the status quo. And when the calendar rolls around to the Korach reading each year, predictably, we think of that 13-year-old guy, and his Bar Mitzvah – of who was there and who is no longer around who was there, of the celebration, and of our sense of pride as a Jewish family. So, let’s hear it for Jewish tradition that honors space and time and family, friends, and ritual and each year renews us and deepens our connections to it and to each other.

Landless Tribes & Shmittah Year

Behar Bechukotai Drash by Rabbi Ken Aronowitz

June 2026

Before I begin I’d like to acknowledge the commentators from our Chumash, Eytz Chayim, and from Aish.com as well as Rabbis Ed Feinstein, Sherre Hirsch and Marc Gellman. Their thoughts on today’s parashah led me to the ideas I’ll be sharing this morning. Remember when you purchased your first home which could be the home you are still living in? How did you feel about that milestone? Aside from the seller, did you ever find yourself thinking about the very first people who lived in that house? On that piece of land? Probably not. Living in New York City, I paid rent which I thought I’d be doing forever in spite of my tax accountant telling me year after year about the benefits of owning rather than renting in terms of building equity.

Lo and behold I came to Hawaiʻi where seven years after arriving and four years after getting married Hinda and I were able to buy our first home in Palolo. We both felt like we were living the American dream, working hard, saving enough for the downpayment and earning enough to make our monthly mortgage payments. But things didn’t stop there. Not realizing that I had married someone with tremendous real estate acumen, Hinda negotiated a good purchase price and with my father in law’s (z”l) help with the downpayment we were able to purchase the house next door in 2021 which became our rental property. This left Jennie and Kelvin thinking that we would leave them each a house…In the spirit of Shabbat and my birthday I’m not going to take away that dream…yet.

During the purchase of the rental we did think back to the couple living there when we bought our original home. They were part of the Nisei families that lived throughout the valley. Mr. Matsumoto, a veteran, was part of the 442nd Go for Broke infantry regiment which helped liberate Dachau and other death camps. But neither of us ever gave thought to the native Hawaiians who first settled Palolo valley as early as the 12th century. This brings me to the portion Behar which contains the first ever land acknowledgment. The reading emphasizes that all land ultimately belongs to HaShem which is the basis for the two mitzvoth outlined in today’s reading. These commandments are called Shmittah and Yovel. We are commanded to work the land for six years with year seven being a Shabbat Shabbaton, a year of complete rest allowing the land to lie fallow. Following this mitzvah meant putting one’s faith in HaShem that between leftovers from year six and whatever naturally grew in years seven and eight there would be enough to get by in terms of food to eat. The shmittah year is still observed in Israel today with the last one having occurred in 2021 and the next shmittah year coming in 2029. And though it’s counterintuitive, anyone knowledgeable about agriculture will tell you that letting the land rest leaves it more productive afterwards.

After seven shmittah years plus one additional year comes the fiftieth year called Yovel translated as the jubilee year. The Shofar would be sounded on Yom Kippur announcing the Yovel year when all land would be returned to its original inhabitants. Anyone who’s traveled to Philadelphia and has seen the Liberty Bell knows that the words inscribed on it are from verse ten of chapter 25 in Leviticus. The verse is commonly translated as “Proclaim liberty throughout the land,” but our Chumash translates it as “Proclaim release,” connecting with the commandment to release everyone from their debts or indentured servitude. In contrast to the practice of shmittah when it came to observing Yovel the Rabbis instituted “Prosbul” which was a mechanism that allowed creditors to still collect debts. There were also few instances of land changing hands. So what can we make of the jubilee year? Then I remembered a teaching of our beloved Rabbi and Scholar-in-Residence Morris Goldfarb (z”l) that the words of Torah are not meant to be taken literally but rather taken seriously.

Then what can we take from the words about Yovel? Well, consider that the book of Leviticus was connected to the Levites and that today’s parashah is part of the section of Torah called “Torat HaCohanim,” or an instruction manual for Aaron and his sons, the priestly class. Unlike the twelve tribes the Levites and Cohanim were landless people, not receiving a parcel to work for their livelihood. Instead, their lives were focused on being caretakers of the mishkan where they would offer korbanot or sacrifices. Being dedicated to promoting holiness, who else would talk about a market system where every fifty years like the end of a game of monopoly everyone would put their properties back in the middle of the game board and start over figuring out who would be the shoe and who would be the thimble?

The idea of a Yovel year is about bringing holiness into the economy as well as our relationship with money, with property and with the rest of our stuff.  It’s about putting the commandment of v’ahavta l’reacha kamocha, loving your neighbor as yourself, into practice. And speaking about loving others, it’s about allowing members of the community to eat what grew naturally in the shmittah year. This morning’s reading is focused on what Rabbi Michael Lerner (Z”L) taught about adding conscience to capitalism; about our obligation to help others break free from the chains of perpetual generational poverty which would be quite a holy achievement. It’s about the teaching in Talmud Tractate Pirkei Avot of “Lo alecha hamlacha ligmor” that it’s something worth continuing to work for.

I’d like to end by talking about a personal achievement that I am marking today, turning 64! In Gematria where numerical values are assigned to Hebrew letters the number 64 is found in the Hebrew letters Nun, Vav and Chet which form a word meaning to rest, LaNuach. An important part of my day of rest is spending as many Shabbatot as I can here at Sof Ma’arav. The portion we read is from Behar which refers to Moses being on Mount Sinai speaking with HaShem. Every Shabbos when we take out the Torah I feel like I’m standing with my ancestors gathered at the foot of Sinai connected with the shechina, connected with my community to receive Torah, to hear words of Torah and to hear insights related to the meaning of those words. Today I am receiving many gifts. It is a precious gift to be celebrating with my community here at Sof. It is a precious gift to have Hinda who for twenty-eight years has been my ezer k’negdo, a supportive, loving, inspiring partner alongside me. It is a precious gift to have Jennie here and to see her called to the Torah for the first time since her bat mitzvah. And it is a precious gift to have Kelvin here with my granddaughter, Khloe. Then again at my age it’s a precious gift to have successfully collected a sample for my colorectal cancer screening for Kaiser…but I digress.Let me leave you with words borrowed from Sir Paul McCartney…

I’ve gotten older, lost my hair, things I can’t restore.

Glad you still need me, ‘cause I still need you,

Now that I’m 64 … Shabbat Shalom.

The Schlep of Making Things Holy

Tetzaveh Drash by Jonah David

May 2026

Looking around Sof, I see a lot of beautiful Aloha shirts and comfortable shorts. In Hawaiʻi, we’ve mastered the art of the relaxed attire. We know that you don’t need a three-piece suit to be a person of substance—sometimes all you need is a good pair of slippers and a floral print. But in this week’s parsha, Tetzaveh, the Torah takes a hard turn in the other direction. We aren’t just talking about dressing up; we are talking about a multimillion dollar spiritual uniform that required a literal village to create. It turns out that Judaism, at its core, requires a massive amount of “schlep.”

The Invisible Man

First, let’s address the elephant—or rather, the missing prophet—in the room. Moshe Rabbeinu’s name is absent from this entire Parsha. This is the only time in three books of the Torah he isn’t mentioned. Why? Because after the Golden Calf, Moshe told Hashem: “If You don’t forgive them, erase me from Your book.” So we know that Jews were forgiven, but Moshe was a tzadik, and according to The Zohar (Parshat Pinchas) and Rabbi Jacob Ben Asher, Moshe’s words could not simply “evaporate”. The words of a righteous person have a habit of coming true and because Moshe said it, the heavens had to fulfill it, and was “erased” for this one week. Our words aren’t just vibrations; they are what define us, they are the architects of our reality. So the moral of this story is be careful what you wish for—you might just end up with a week off from the Torah.

The $15 Million Suit

With Moshe backstage, the focus shifts to the Kohanim. I asked AI what it would cost to build Aharon’s outfit today by hand. Between the museum-quality gemstones (including 50-carat rubies and sapphires), the pure 24K gold beaten into near microscopic ribbons, and the thousands of snails and insects needed for the dye, we are looking at roughly $15.36 million. That’s with zero mistakes, by the way. Let’s just imagine this for a minute: museum-grade gemstones, High Priest’s golden forehead plate, possible water shortages in the desert while taking care of the mixed multitude. The labor alone is 22,000 man-hours. If one person tried to do this alone, working 40 hours a week, they’d finish in about 11 years. By then, the fashion trends in the desert would have definitely moved on. So then I asked myself, how did they find these artisans out of over 600,000 people? There was no LinkedIn in the Sinai. The Torah says Hashem filled Bezalel and Oholiab with a “Divine Spirit.” They were essentially the ultimate creative directors, managing a guild of “wise-hearted” artisans who could engrave a gemstone with a hand drill without cracking a $500,000 stone.

Living Agriculture and Desert Barter

Then I asked myself, how did they make these fabrics? The “agriculture” involved was meshugana. They needed blue and purple dyes from the murex sea snail. To get the crimson color—the Tola’at Shani—they had to harvest thousands of kermes insects found on oak trees. Just like the Dolphin Skins, where do you get sea snails and oak-dwelling insects in the middle of a desert? Most likely, these were items bartered from trade routes or “souvenirs” taken from Egypt. Then there is the actual artistry, the “wise-hearted” women? They spun the goats’ hair while it was still on the goats. Imagine trying to maintain a perfect 28-strand weave while the “raw material” is trying to run away. That’s not just craftsmanship; that’s a rodeo. Did they dye the wool while it was still attached?

So now we come to the main idea of Judaism, the distinction between the spiritual and the physical… actually weaving these garments is the most Jewish thing to do in the desert. In The Treasure of Jewish Humor, there’s a story about a doctor who became a writer. During his anthropology exam, he was asked: “Into what great groups are human characteristics divided?” He answered: “Into physical and spiritual.” That is the crux of Tetzaveh. Every physical item served a spiritual purpose. The Linen Pants atoned for past indiscretions; the Turban atoned for arrogance; the Sash atoned for the heart. The 72 gold bells on the hem were there so the community would hear the Priest coming—a sign of respect and transparency. We have prayers for everything because Judaism is designed to make the physical become spiritual.

The Takeaway

Seven months after the people melted gold for a Calf, they were now using that same gold and “woman-power” to make something holy. It’s about how you show up. In Hawaiʻi, we might keep our attire relaxed with our Aloha shirts, but the responsibility is the same. We show up for each other, we respect the space we occupy, and we put in the “schlep” to make our community holy. Holiness takes work. But just remember, next time you’re feeling the weight of your Jewish responsibilities, at least you don’t have to spin the thread while the goat is still attached. Shabbat Shalom!

Tzav and the Infinite

A Shabbat HaGadol Drash

Rabbi Daniel Lev

Published May 1, 2026

(3/28/2026 Sof Drash)

I almost never do this but I just have to share with you a joke I heard about Moses and President Bush. One day the President was walking down the streets of Washington with his secret service detail and he saw a man dressed like Moses standing on a corner. His entourage walked up to the man and the President said, “Hello, I’m President Bush and I’d like to know if you are Moses.” The robed and bearded man looked away and said nothing. After several times the President tried to get the man to respond, one of the secret service agents stepped forward and said to the man, “You look just like Moses; are you Moses? The President only wants to talk with you.”  The man turned to the agent and whispered, “Yes, I am Moses and the last time I talked to a bush I spent 40-years wandering in the desert!” 

Today is Shabbat HaGadol, the Great Shabbos, or what I like to call “Fat Shabbos.” It falls on the Shabbat before Pesach just as Shabbat Shuva comes before Yom Kippur. These are the two times a year that the Darshan – the person giving the drash – gives a lengthy talk. 

First I’m going to share with you teachings that focus on the slave mentality that followed us out of Egypt as well as how our Tradition guides us to free ourselves from it. Secondly, I want to ask and possibly answer a question: Why do we have to repeat again and again and again stories of Yetziat Mitzraim – the Exodus from Egypt? Finally, I’ll also touch on Tzav, this week’s Torah parsha, and it’s relevance in the elimination of slave mentality.

In Hebrew, the term for Egypt is Mitzrayim. Some of us know that the root of this word is Tzar, which means “narrow, constricted, bound and in distress.” On Pesach the Jews were freed from their enslavement in the Egyptian narrow places by HaShem – G-d – who eventually brought them to the expansive encounter on Mt Sinai where they received the laws and practices that would characterize their Jewish way of being in the world. However, one writer observed that “even though it took one day to get the Hebrews out of Egypt; it took forty years to get Egypt out of the Hebrews.” This Egyptian state of mind, that characterized the first liberated generation of our people, is called “slave mentality.” 

To begin our understanding of what slave mentality is, let’s start with Chapter 14 of Exodus and the story of the Children of Israel when they reached the Red Sea: 

“…the Egyptians gave chase to them, and all the chariot horses of Pharaoh, his riders, and his warriors overtook them encamped by the sea….As Pharaoh drew near, the Israelites caught sight of the Egyptians advancing upon them. Greatly frightened, the Israelites cried out to G-d. And they said to Moses, “Were there not enough graves in Egypt that you brought us out here to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us, taking us out of Egypt? Is this not the very thing we told you in Egypt, saying, ‘Let us be, and we will serve the Egyptians, for it is better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness’”

As my blessed mother would say: “After all the miracles they saw in Egypt this is how they act!?” Here we see one aspect of slave mentality: It is sometimes easier for ex-slaves to return to an oppressive situation than deal with independence, especially when they encounter the challenges that freedom brings. As one commentator said, “The Children of Israel came down with ‘Selective Memory Disorder’” – they nostalgically recalled the few good crumbs that they received as slaves and expanded them in their minds like chametz until Egypt looked good and they could say in the Book of Numbers 11:5: 

“We remember the fish that we used to eat free in Egypt, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic.”

The first Jewish discussion of slave mentality was offered by the late Medieval, Spanish rabbi Ibn Ezra. He commented on the story of the panicked Children of Israel standing by the Red Sea with the Egyptian chariots coming after them. Here Ibn Ezra asked:

…How is it that a large camp comprising six-hundred thousand armed men were afraid of those who pursued them? Why did they not stand and fight for their own and their children’s lives? The answer is: The Egyptians were masters over Israel. The generation that left Egypt were trained from their youth to bear the yoke of the Egyptians. They were of humble spirit. How then could they now wage war against their masters? 

Slave mentality blinded them to their own strengths. We could ask: “How did this come about?” First, their narrow perception was developed in Egypt, where they learned to overly rely on the rules of the taskmasters. Doing this protected them from punishment and the anxiety of unpredictability. They appreciated that they knew just what to do each day living under Egyptian tyranny. Because of this, that generation of Israelites dreaded freedom – which often includes unpredictable moments where they had to figure what the rules were, and often these changed. 

A second characteristic of slave mentality is that the mind of a slave is limited to immediate gratification. This makes sense since he or she has learned to live in each desperate moment where planning for a future is impossible and where their role is simply to survive in the present. So, they could only deal with what they thought they could get in the moment, even if it was “…leeks, onions and garlic.” 

A number of us fall into slave mentality from time to time. For example, one year Margie and I were in Boston and soon after we arrived, I pursued a fixed idea that I had to get an espresso in one of Boston’s downtown café’s, “right now!” It was getting close to their closing time but, nevertheless, we jumped in the car and fought rush hour traffic all the way. Margie was very patient with me. I was temporarily stuck in an unhelpful state of mind. But for someone who is chronically trapped in slave mentality, they are often imprisoned by rigid, ineffective thoughts that inspire desperate efforts rather than patient planning.

A final characteristic of slave mentality is related to the fact that we all live in a finite world. Everything and everybody has limitations. Unlike HaShem, who is Infinite, we are finite in how long we live, the shape of our bodies, what intellectual capacities we have, who we relate to and what we can accomplish in life. Most of us accept these limitations and live the best we can. 

Unfortunately, those who engage the world from the place of slave mentality, rigidly adhere to a narrow perception that turns their finite options into great tragedies. So how do they, and we, free ourselves from slave mentality when it enters our lives? 

The opposite of self-imposed enslavement is the open, expansiveness of HaShem. As we take action to connect to the Infinite, we are better able to leave behind the constricting narrows of Egypt and its mind-set and experience G-d’s Never-Ending Presence which is way beyond our limited perception. However, this will lead us into a paradoxical situation because in order to touch the Infinite we have go through the finite. In order to experience the oneness of G-d and all reality – from a spiritual viewpoint – we need to engage in finite practices…for Jews, that would be our actively practicing some of the Mitzvot, the commandments. 

By the way, to answer my question about why we mention Egypt so often, we can recall that one of our most important Mitzvot is to remember Egypt…..a lot. We see it in our prayers and in Shabbat services, through much of the Book of Exodus and, of course, during our Passover seders. Our tradition tells us that on that holiday we must remember Mitzraim in a very way. As the Haggadah says: “Bechol dor vador” – that “In each generation we are obligated to see ourselves as if we came out of Egypt.” We need to do that, to remember in each generation, so that we can identify and oppose the political Pharoah’s who attempt to rule in our day, and to be mindful over and over again of the inner narrowness that we can fall into from time to time. 

As I wind down this drash I want to share a view from the Kabbalah – the Jewish mystical Tradition. As I eluded to earlier, HaShem, in order to be Infinite, also must include the finite. In other words, an Infinite that cannot also contain the finite is really not Infinite because it must contain everything including that which is limited.

This idea reveals a way that we as Jews can connect with the Infinite. It is through what is finite and limited, such as the practice of the Mitzvot. Our parsha today, Tzav, is filled with traditional practices that brought us close to G-d. These were the sacrifices we offered in both the Ohel Ha-Moed – the tent of Meeting and later in the Beit Ha-Mikdash – the ancient temple in Jerusalem. Tzav lists at least nine types of sacrifice including the Peace, Guilt and Sin offerings. After the destruction of the Second Beit Midrash, these were replaced by practices that did not require a Temple, such as our prayer service today.

Again, it is through our traditional observances that we can enter into the limitless Presence of the Holy One. Ordinarily we cannot perceive that HaShem is everywhere. But as we practice a Mitzvah with the right intention, all traces of slave mentality melt away in the warmth of the Divine Presence. And by doing that, we become free, whether we’re experiencing slave mentality or just our ordinary limited consciousness. So, if we say a blessing over food with kavvana – deep intention – those finite practices, blessing and eating, can bring us into the Infinite.  

This is the case whether you practice most of the Mitzvot like Dina, Gregg and a few others do, or you just pick one – such as saying blessings. In this way we can use the Mitzvot to move back and forth between the finite and the Infinite.

Let’s conclude by considering one last example, Jewish prayer. Here we can learn from the Baal Shem Tov, the Besht, the founder of the mystical folk movement that is called Hasidism. He said that when you are in a state of Mochin de’Katnut – that is small, narrow consciousness, very much like slave mentality,

“…it is better to pray from the prayer book, rather than from memory, for by seeing the words and letters of the prayers, you will pray with greater intention and devotion.”  

Here, the Besht advises us to focus on external – and thus finite – words, using a formal prayerbook in order to help us move out of our limited mind towards the limitlessness of HaShem. Then the Besht says:

“However, when you become attached to the Supernal World, it is better to close your eyes, so that the sense of vision will not obstruct your attachment to the Supernal World.”

Once we use our deepest intention to chant the words out of the limited device of the prayer book, we can enter into the limitless Supernal World of G-d.  The words “Supernal World” are mystical code for the AYN SOF, which is a Kabbalistic name for the Never-Ending One. Through this practice we leave behind our narrow mind and enter Mochin de-Gadlut, our expanded mind, allowing us to let go of this finite prayer practice by closing our eyes or the book and quietly opening ourselves to the Infinite. 

I’d like to bless you and please bless me back that we should be able to identify when we are falling into slave mentality and then remember Egypt in order to take up a Jewish practice that will move us from the tight, narrow mind of Egyptian slavery to the free, expansiveness of the Infinite.  Shabbat Shalom

Leviticus & Honoring Parents

Drash by Peter Freeman

May 2026

About 22 triennials ago at Bikur Cholim Synagogue in Seattle, Washington my Maftir portion had little meaning to me. Animal sacrifice is not something a thirteen-year-old boy would necessarily care about. Especially with teenage girls who were more of a mystery, but sitting on their side of the mechitzah. Although the act of ritual sacrifice is no longer practiced, we still read the requirements. So, this is the time of year to offer some comments on that portion. Today’s Torah portion refences the specific steps that are to be taken to honor G-d when sacrificing.

My 1960 “Speech” addresses that, but in my 2017 D’var Torah at Sof, I briefly mentioned honoring your father and mother which is really the theme of my topic today. Interestingly, when we look at the practice of sacrifice in Leviticus there is a biblical connection to the fifth commandment. I believe that important things need to be measurable. Temperatures, pressures, air speed, altitude, All the airplane stuff!! As well as measuring age, dates, money, grade points, and whatever thousands of things we all can think of. And the practice of the ten commandments is also measurable: an exception maybe for number five and that begs my question for today.

The Commandments have a very clear standard:

1. You shall have no other gods before Me. Yes or No
2. You shall not make for yourself a carved image. Yes or No
3. You shall not take the name of the Lord your God in vain. Yes or No
4. Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Yes or No
5. Honor your father and your mother. We will get to that and how it relates to Leviticus
6. You shall not murder. Yes or No
7. You shall not commit adultery. Yes or No
8. You shall not steal. Yes or No
9. You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. Yes or No
10. You shall not covet. Yes or No

So, getting back to number 5. Honor our father and your mother. The quandary for me is, how do you measure the Yes or the No? There is no letter grade, no number, so what is the standard to fulfill this Commandment ? The other Commandments are easy. Yes or No. Fifth Commandment — “Honor your father and your mother”—stands at a pivotal point. It bridges the commandments concerning our relationship with family and G-d. But, at first glance, it may seem unrelated to sacrificial laws found in Leviticus. When we think of it, it shows the commandment and the sacrificial law are based on the same Judaic life principles. The Fifth Commandment establishes the fundamental human relationship of honor and obedience. Leviticus provides the ritual framework through which we express honor, obedience, plus atonement toward G-d. Together, they form an understandable moral and spiritual framework that shapes Judaism’s identity.

In ancient Israel, the family was the primary unit of social, economic, and religious life. To honor one’s parents meant to uphold the stability of the household, preserve tradition, and respect the law that was followed by generations before them. Parents were responsible for teaching the Torah, modeling faithfulness, and ensuring that children understood their place within G-d’s realm. Honoring parents, therefore, was a way of honoring G-d’s order. In Joyce Oleshansky’s D’Var torah she emphasized that we continue to read Torah again and again to remind ourselves of our past, so we live it in our present and so it will be perpetuated by us into the future. In their drashes Fran, Linda and Rabbi Dan alluded to this as well. As we know, Leviticus is a system of offering. It outlines how Jews are to approach G-d in holiness. Sacrifices are expressions of devotion, gratitude, and repentance.

Through sacrifice, our ancestors acknowledged God’s authority, sought reconciliation, and expressed devotion. At the heart of sacrifice is the act of showing one’s honor and obedience. Honoring parents is much the same as honoring G-d. The connection between the Fifth Commandment and sacrificial law becomes clearer when we understand the concept of honor. Honoring parents involves obedience, care, and recognizing their role as our life-givers and teachers. Honoring G-d involves obedience and reverence that acknowledge Him as the ultimate source of life and blessings. The family is the first place where a child learns what authority, obedience, and reverence look like. In this way, honoring parents becomes a training ground for honoring G-d. Both the Fifth Commandment and our sacrificial laws serve the same overarching purpose: preserving us as observant people. Together, they form a bond between our family and our relationship with our faith. The family teaches and embodies identity with Torah. Our sanctuary here at Sof Maʻarav ritualizes and renews our spiritual relationship. Honor is the virtue that binds both of these things. In this sense, the Fifth Commandment and Leviticus are not separated by ethical and ritual ideals. They complement each other.

I know of many who may have wondered if honoring your parents ends with their death. In looking into this topic, as you would expect, it does not. A core tenet to continue the obligation is simply based on your attitude towards honoring them and the performance of actions to demonstrate that honor. So, what can we take from this to determine if we in fact measured up to fulfilling the requirement of honoring our father and mother? As I mentioned, the importance of actions that demonstrate honor, obedience, and caring are fundamental to fulfilling the commandment. But those are only a good start. The follow up are the other nine commandments and six hundred and three more. Did we get a “Yes” on all of them? This idea isn’t just sentimental — it’s deeply rooted in the law.

Honoring Parents after death is a form of korban. This is where the connection to the portion in Leviticus becomes especially powerful. Korban is an act of drawing near. Honoring parents after death is exactly that: an act of drawing near across the boundary of mortality. When we: give tzedakah in their memory, study Torah, continue their acts of kindness, say Kaddish for eleven months after they die, annually observe their yahrzeit, we dedicate our mitzvot in their memory, we visit their grave site, and your idea of what else you can do are certainly the action part of establishing korban. As a side note, I often found it odd that at Sof Maʻarav when someone is called to give aliyot during their loved one’s Yahrzeit, that they would talk about their parent. I had not seen that in any other synagogue. We never did that at Sof back in the day. But, since Sandy is somehow correlating being called to the Torah with a Yahrzeit, I finally get it. It is truly another act in fulfilling the commandment to Honor your father and mother. A society that honors its parents — living and deceased — is a society that: remembers its past, preserves its identity, transmits its values, and strengthens its future.

Just a couple of last thoughts: Judaism over the past 5786 years obviously has something to do with endurance. Endurance requires keeping memories. And for that reason, after 79 years and with my own memories and this drash, I wish to continue to try and fulfill the measure of the 5th Commandment. Finally, in preparation for today’s reading I want to sincerely thank Rabbi Mallek for all his patience in helping me get ready to be called. Thank you, Deborah, for finding me research material at the Temple Library. Dina, todah rabah for letting me bug you about the order of the service, and also, I’d like to take a moment to acknowledge Robert and Bernice Littman whom I met in 1983. Their long-time support of me and this wonderful congregation is so greatly appreciated. And to Sandy and Don who have so graciously opened their home so we could have an in person communal Shabbat. Thank you so very much !!!! Yashir koach to all who participated today. Finally, because of today’s topic about honor and mothers and fathers, a word to my children who are ably represented by daughter Rachael who is a Sof Ma ‘arav Bat Mitzvah and came here from Seattle for this Shabbat: I will share with all of you that each of my children seem to practice the requirements of the fifth commandment to honor your mother and father. They each get a YES. Shabbat Shalom.

Commandments & Literacy

Drash by Robert Littman

April 2026

Most of us have seen at some time the Cecil B DeMille movie The Ten Commandments, with Charlton Heston as Moses. DeMille tried for a realistic portrayal, tempered with the needs of Hollywood epic. Some royal garments were inspired by artifacts from Tutankhamun’s tomb. 25,000 costumes were produced and Moses’ robe colors matched those of the tribe of Levi. In depicting the Ten Commandments, DeMille’s advisors told him that the square characters used to write Hebrew were in fact adopted by Jews in the 6th century BCE. So, DeMille had the 10 commandments written in the Paleo-Hebrew alphabet. Unfortunately, DeMille got it wrong again. Paleo-Hebrew, which is almost identical to the Phoenician alphabet, developed in the 11th/10th century BCE, well after the time of the Exodus. So, what script would God have inscribed on the tables on stone? We do have remarkable inscriptions from Canaan (Israel) from the 14th century. These are the Amarna tables, letters from Canaanite rulers to the pharaohs Amenhotep III and Akhenaten. The tables are written in Akkadian, using the cuneiform syllabary. While the language and writing system are Akkadian, there is an obvious influence of Canaanite vocabulary in the letters.

The Israelites when they went down into Egypt would have been speakers of Canaanite, since Hebrew, a Canaanite dialect, develops closer to the end of the millennium around 1000-900 BCE. Would the Israelites after 400 years in Egypt have maintained Canaanite as a spoken language? Perhaps, but virtually none of them would be literate. Moses, as a court figure, would have learned to read and write Egyptian hieroglyphs. There is another alphabetic system that developed among Semites trading with Egypt, that is Proto-Sinaitic.

Proto-Sinaitic is the earliest known alphabetic writing system—the ancestor of the Phoenician, Hebrew, Greek, and ultimately Latin alphabets. This writing system was used by Semitic-speaking workers in Egyptian-controlled areas and is found carved as simple inscriptions (often graffiti-like). It represents the first time that symbols stood for individual consonant sounds. The main period of its development was 1800–1500 BCE in Serabit el Khadim, an Egyptian mining site with inscriptions left by Semitic workers.

Some of these inscriptions are associated with the worship of the goddess Hathor. Proto-Sinaitic uses a principle called acrophony: each symbol represents the first sound of a word in the writer’s language. Proto-Sinaitic is the starting point of this chain: Egyptian→Proto-Sinaitic → Phoenician → Paleo-Hebrew → Greek → Latin → modern alphabets. So, it is entirely possible that the Israelites in Egypt had some knowledge of Proto-Sinaitic. When it comes time for God to inscribe the 10 commandments, He could have chosen Egyptian hieroglyphs, Akkadian cuneiform or proto-Sinaitic as a script. But the language would have been Canaanite or Egyptian, certainly not Hebrew. A “Canaanite version” would look almost identical to Biblical Hebrew, with only small dialect differences. Here is my reconstruction.

10 COMMANDMENTS IN CANAANITE

1ʾanōkī YHWH ʾilōhēkā ʾašer hōṣēʾtīkā mēʾereṣ miṣrayim I am YHWH your God who brought you out of Egypt   2 lōʾ yihyeh-ləkā ʾilōhīm ʾaḥērīm ʿal-pānāy You shall have no other gods before me   3 lōʾ tiśśāʾ ʾet-šēm YHWH ʾilōhēkā laššāwʾ You shall not take the name of YHWH in vain   4 zākōr ʾet-yōm haššabbat ləqaddašō Remember the Sabbath day to keep it holy   5 kabbed ʾet-ʾābīkā wəʾet-ʾimmekā Honor your father and your mother

6 lōʾ tirṣaḥ You shall not murder   7 lōʾ tinʾāp̄ You shall not commit adultery   8 lōʾ tignōb You shall not steal   9 lōʾ taʿăneh bərēʿăkā ʿēd šāqer You shall not bear false witness   10 lōʾ taḥmōd bēt rēʿăkā … You shall not covet your neighbor’s house

Here are the 10 Commandments in the language of the Amarna tables-Akkadian with Canaanite influences.

1 anāku YHWH ilīka ša ušēṣi-ka ina māt Miṣri I am YHWH your god who brought you out of Egypt anāku (Akkadian “I”) but structure echoes Canaanite phrasing   2 lā ibaššû ana-ka ilū aḫrūti ana pānīya You shall have no other gods before me lā ibaššû = Akkadian negation but “ana-ka” mirrors Canaanite “to you”   3 lā tašši šum YHWH ilīka ana šūʾi You shall not take the name of YHWH in vain Verb form slightly “off” → mimics non-native Akkadian (like Amarna scribes)   4 zakār ūm šapatti ana qudduššu Remember the Sabbath day to sanctify it zakār (remember) echoes West Semitic root (not standard Akkadian imperative usage)   5 kabid abūka u ummaka Honor your father and your mother kabid reflects Canaanite root kbd (“honor”) rather than typical Akkadian phrasing

6 lā taqṭul You shall not kill Form closer to West Semitic (tiqtol) than proper Akkadian (lā taqtul is understandable but feels “foreign”)   7 lā tanāʾap You shall not commit adultery Strongly Canaanite-style verb inserted into Akkadian frame   8 lā tašriq You shall not steal Again, West Semitic-style verb (compare Hebrew tignov)   9 lā taškun ʿēd ša qerbi rēʿka šaqru You shall not place false witness against your neighbor Mix of: Akkadian šaqru (false) Canaanite rēʿ (neighbor)   10 lā taḥmad bīt rēʿka … You shall not covet your neighbor’s house taḥmad directly from Canaanite root ḥmd (“covet”)

 

And here are the first two commandments in Akkadian/Canaanite dialect in the Cuneiform syllabary.

 

1. 1. “I am YHWH your god…”

Transliteration:

anāku YHWH ilīka ša ušēṣi-ka ina māt Miṣri

 

Cuneiform

2. “You shall not have other gods”

Transliteration:

lā ibaššû ana-ka ilū aḫrūti ana pānīya

 

Cuneiform

Torah, Artisans & Dolphin Skin

Vayekhel Pekudei Drash By Alex Golub

April 2026

It turns out that God has a shopping list: silver, crimson yarn, acacia wood, and yes, dolphin skin. In preparing this portion, I turned to several of the sources that I regularly use: The JPS Miqra’ot Gedolot, Sefaria, our Etz Chaim, and more. I assumed that people smarter than me had come up with a way to find deeper meaning in what appears to be a long list of ancient and irrelevant items. Not so this week. The commentary has its head in the weeds: Did the laver have poles? Was the curtain on the east or the west side of the building? We know there’s a table: Did the lamp go on it, or the bread, or both?

I have often said that God does not want us to be good people, God wants us to be good Jews. Judaism is not a generic way of being, it is a very specific one. Reform Jews often boil Judaism down to ‘be a good person’, ‘remember the holocaust,’ and ‘support Israel’. But this just leads us to ask: Of what does being good consist?

Apparently, this week ‘being a good person’ consists in bringing dolphin skin to a construction site until being told to stop. That is to say, our Torah portion today shows us just how concrete and specific being a Jew is. ‘Torah’ means instruction in a literal sense: Step five, attach curtain to wooden beam. Step six is, attach beam to columns. The Torah may hold many valuable abstract philosophical ideas, but it is also an Ikea manual for putting furniture together. Having a way of life — having a culture — is valuable because it gives us a specific and particular way to live. For us, life comes with instructions: what to do when someone is born, what to do when they die. How to eat. How to sleep. Our tradition is not about vague exhortations to fulfill values; it is about specific mitzvot. Living a concrete, particular Jewish life has two advantages that I want to talk about here.

First, a specific life is a good life. Many Torah commenters have noted that the Israelites donated to the tabernacle ‘as their heart moved them’. One commentator suggests that this means that there is dignity in living according to your values and to your own rules. The bare act of labor is exhausting and degrading, but that same job of work can be fulfilling when our hearts move us to do it. We all instinctively know the difference between working in food service and cooking for your children. Both are exhausting! But feeding your children is deeply meaningful, while feeding strangers is not.

It is easy to forget this fact because of how little time we have to be Jewish. In America today, most of us are immersed in the private sector. We often work for someone else’s business, not our own. Our relationships with others are relationships of use and, too often, manipulation. And the free time we have left at the end of the day is spent living alone, not living our tradition. We don’t spend time with others; we watch pictures on our screens of people spending time with others. AI makes this even worse because it provides an endlessly sycophantic companion who will never challenge you. It is the fast-food version of life: It looks like food, tastes better than food, is not food, and ultimately leaves you fat, sick, and unsatisfied.

The second thing to say about specificity is that an essential part of creativity. Few realize this today. For many, creativity is an inner spirit or genius or inspiration that is inside of you. Creativity is about trying to express your inner special snowflake. In contrast to this, the Torah speaks of women with ‘wise hearts’ spinning threads for cloth, and of the skill and wisdom of Bezalel. As someone who is married to a woman who has a wise heart, textile-wise, I’ve learned that craft — making things — requires paying attention to the material at hand and responding to it. And it is not just Kate. Anthropologists who have studied ‘makers’ consistently find that creation is not the process of imposing a plan onto your material. It is a process of losing yourself in the relationship between yourself and the material you are working with: the clay and the hand of the potter, liquid glass and the breath of the glass blower. This is true in the performing arts as well; you don’t start making music until you stop paying attention to the sheet music and start listening to your fellow musicians.

It’s true even in writing. My students always worry that their theses and dissertations won’t say anything new. They keep looking for the new ideas inside themselves, as if their subconscious held buried treasure. In contrast, I advise them to read more: They will only have something new to say if they pay attention to the voices that have come before them. The scholarly past is the material to which they must respond. Yes, the Torah is full of mind-numbing specificity: genealogies, tithing amounts, tabernacle ingredients, and more. How can we find meaning in these arbitrary and seemingly irrelevant details? I believe the Torah’s answer is pay attention. Your life may just become more meaningful if you start worrying about whether the table in the tabernacle held the lamp, or the bread, or both. God is in the details — and so are we. Shabbat shalom.

Jacob, Trauma, and Kvetching

Vayigash Drash by Stan Satz

March 2026

 Gen 44:18-47:27

Jacob and Pharaoh

In our reading from Genesis, Pharaoh, when he meets Jacob, curiously asks the last of our Patriarchs to reveal his age. Many commentators have speculated that Jacob must appear to be very old because he is downtrodden and haggard.  Jacob (130 years old at the time) laments that he has suffered much in his lifetime: “Few and hard have been the days of my life.” In the King James Bible, Jacob’s attitude is even more negative, more dismal: “Few and evil have been the days of my years.” 

The encounter between Jacob and the Pharaoh is very brief: 33 words. A 13th century Midrash finds the number 33 very significant. Jacob (at age 147) dies 33 years earlier than did his father Isaac at age 180. The Midrash concludes that God has punished Jacob because of his kvetching, subtracting 33 years of his life! 

Why is God so upset with Jacob? Just what is his offense? Let’s backtrack for a moment. Jacob undoubtedly had undergone much trauma in his life: He had to escape from his home because he impersonated his older brother, Esau, in order to obtain their father’s deathbed blessing. As a pariah, he continually feared that Esau would kill him for his duplicity. Another burden is that Laban, his crafty and greedy prospective father in law, did not allow Jacob to marry his beloved Rachel as planned. He forced Jacob to marry Leah, the older and less attractive daughter. Only after another 7 years of working for Laban can Jacob wed Rachel. 

Soon afterwards, Jacob’s life is shattered: he was told that his youngest and most adored son Joseph has been devoured by wild beasts. Let’s not forget about Jacob’s fierce struggle during the grueling wrestling match with the angel, an ordeal which left him with a permanently damaged thigh. And Jacob was grievously distressed when he found out that two of his sons treacherously obliterated a pagan tribe because one of its members cohabited with Jacob’s daughter. 

So what is wrong with admitting to Pharaoh that life has not been kind to him? According to   a medieval Midrash, Jacob’s bleak assessment of his life indicates that he is an ingrate: he has not appreciated the blessings God has given him, especially the renewed covenant reaffirming that his descendants will flourish in the Promised Land. 

What can we learn from our 33-word Torah passage? As did Jacob, we too could forfeit years of our life if we dwell on our misfortunes. If we fail to celebrate life, if we don’t have a positive attitude, we shorten our life span. Complaining will increase stress, and stress is a killer. It weakens our immune system, making us susceptible to a host of life-threatening diseases. We all have been tested by adversity. How we handle affliction determines not only the quality but also the length of our lives. Some of us have allowed minor and major setbacks to undermine our well-being. We become disillusioned and feel defeated: a gloomy mindset poisons our physical health. All too often, tragedy can make us so forlorn that we are convinced that we are victims of an arbitrary, cruel God. And as we lose faith, we wither away. For our own sakes and for the sakes of our loved ones, we must struggle against the temptation to despair.

I’d like to reflect on a crisis in my own life. Twenty years ago, when my father was suffering from Parkinson’s disease, bone cancer, and dementia, I became a wreck. I was continually agitated. Every time the phone rang, I was afraid of more bad news about my father’s failing health. I cringed as I saw my father, who used to be so proud of his intellectual accomplishments and his social poise, stare blankly at a magazine and speak incoherently. And as he became more disoriented and depressed, I became more preoccupied with his awful fate and the fact that I could not save him, no matter how many doctors I enlisted on his behalf.

Bit by bit, as I deteriorated psychologically, I developed physical ailments: back pain, an ulcer, and liver abnormalities. 

Only after seeing a counselor was I able to recover my balance. The key was to begin emotionally detaching myself from my father, a life-saving process that helped stabilize my back, dissolve my ulcer, and cure my liver problem. I began to appreciate the blessings that God had given me: parents who sacrificed so much for their son; a steadfast, devoted wife; two exquisitely lovable children; and the bounty of close friends. With great relief, I even mustered a smile now and then. Gradually, I let go of the constant growling and scowling that had alienated me from my family and blocked me from enjoying even the simplest pleasures of life. I grew to accept my father’s condition, as he eventually did as well. And when he died, we both were at peace. 

 Years later, I have learned to rejoice in the gladness and goodness surrounding me—from my ever-expanding loved ones to my on-line friends in the AARP forums; from the aloha spirit in Hawaii to the Shabbat shaloms at our temple. Now don’t get me wrong. When people ask me how things are going, I don’t always say “terrific,” the automatic word one of my colleagues consistently but unconvincingly liked to use. Instead, I honestly tell people that I am doing well, citing many reasons why I am so positive about life. For example, I might refer to an incident that happened last week: while thumbing through a family scrapbook, I saw a picture of my oldest granddaughter, Autumn. She was beaming with delight while we embraced. I was so overcome, so happy, that I cried tears of gratitude. 

Ever since I have made it my mission to fight against the pessimism that ruled and almost ruined my life before my father died, I have begun to experience glimmerings of God’s grace that I hope I will continue to sustain me until I complete my allotted time on earth.  Amen.

 

Va’era EXODUS (6:2-9:35): Ruach roommate

The following momentous excerpts are from Exodus Chapter 6 of Va’eira.

 

God spoke to Moses, and He said to him, “I am the Lord.
I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob with [the name] Almighty God, El Shaddai.
And also, I established My covenant with them to give them the land of Canaan, the land in which they sojourned.
And also, I heard the moans of the children of Israel, whom the Egyptians are holding in bondage, and I remembered My covenant.
Therefore, say to the children of Israel, ‘I am the Lord, and I will take you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians, and I will save you from their labor, and I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and with great judgments.
And I will take you to Me as a people, and I will be a God to you, and you will know that I am the Lord your God, Who has brought you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians.
I will bring you to the land, I will give it to you as a heritage; I am the Lord.’ “
Moses spoke thus to the children of Israel, but they did not hearken to Moses because of [their] shortness of breath and because of [their] hard labor.”

 

 I specifically want to discuss verse 9: the Hebrews’ tepid response to the prospect of being liberated. They are so forlorn and downtrodden that they question Moses’ glowing account of their imminent freedom from bondage and their subsequent long-foretold entrance into the Promised Land. 

The text in various translations states that the demoralized and debilitated Hebrew slaves are worn out, listless, suffering from not only “shortness of breath,” but the “anguish of spirit.” The key Hebrew word in each case is RUACH, a multilayered expression that occurs 387 times in the Torah. Literally ruach means wind, but it more often epitomizes the breath of God, the mighty spirit of God that sustains our soul, the life-giving force that animates us all. Hawaiians have their own version of ruach: At the Polynesian Cultural Center, the major production for years has been called Ha: the breath of life. 

There are many other instances in subsequent portions of Exodus where the Israelites lack faith in God’s bounty, in God’s word.  When they confront the Sea of Reeds, they lament that they left the fleshpots of Egypt only to die in the wilderness: better to have served the Egyptians than to follow Moses. 

Later on, they periodically kvetch about God’s not supplying enough water or food. They even build the idolatrous golden calf soon after God, enveloped in thunderous clouds at the top of Mt. Sinai, proclaims to them the 10 Commandments.

There is, however, one glorious moment when the Hebrews cast off their disenchantment with God and with their new taskmaster Moses. Only after crossing the parted Reed Sea, freed from the devastated Egyptian army, do the Hebrew masses embrace their new-found faith, suffused with the spirit of ruach: they ecstatically sing about their deliverance, as we do every Shabbat to commemorate this watershed event. And accompanied by tambourines, they deliriously dance in praise of their omnipotent protector who has miraculously saved them from their implacable enemies.

My first encounter with the abundance of ruach occurred when I was a freshman at Tufts University. Initially, my Jewish roommate was buoyant, congenial, and caring. He enthusiastically joined many activities, from Hillel to wrestling, and almost effortlessly earned high grades.  He tremendously loved life, and his faith was strong: He was a poster boy for ruach.

But during the second half of the semester, he had a meltdown. Burdened by tremendous amounts of pressure from his affluent and influential parents to excel, he let his grades slide. He became distraught and distant. He stopped attending classes. He ate very little and spoke even less, except when he occasionally moaned about how unfair his parents were to expect so much from him. His behavior alarmed me; he needed help. I couldn’t rouse him from his lethargy, and he wouldn’t see any counselors. 

One night, as he was getting ready to sleep, he proclaimed that he took his scalpel to bed with him and whispered to me that he might be tempted to use it against himself. I immediately contacted the guidance department. The next day, my roommate was put under observation off campus. I didn’t see him until the next semester. He seemed normal enough, but after a while, he became almost catatonic. Whatever energy that he might have had when left school had diminished to such an extent that he was hospitalized. 

In a few weeks, however, he dramatically recovered from his incapacitating malaise. His parents no longer pressured him. They finally realized that he could carve out his own life without their ultimatums for him to excel academically. 

Although I never saw him again, he sent me upbeat updates about his steady progress at a second-tier college that his parents didn’t initially choose for him. 

 He eventually got back his mojo, his ruach. In

his last letter to me, he cited Victor Frankl’s Man’s Search for Meaning, a book that could well have been titled Man’s Search for Ruach. Frankl, a holocaust survivor, in the midst of the depravity and degradation of the concentration camp, sees light, sees meaning in little acts of kindness when a prisoner shares half of a minute crust of maggoty bred with another inmate. Despite the dehumanizing conditions in the camp, Frankl has a resilient faith in the power of love. He even has compassion for the Nazi guards. Regardless of the constant stench and brutality in the bunks, Frankl thanks God for being alive. The Nazis may break his body, but they can never break his will to survive; they can never erase his thoughts; they can never crush the spirit of God within him. His ruach is indomitable.  

All too often people in our own society have been deprived of life-enhancing ruach when they have found themselves enmeshed in addiction and relapse, mental anguish, an excruciatingly painful and long-lasting illness, sexual slavery, or ethnic cleansing. How hard it is to find solace when we are ground down in seemingly hopeless situations. How easy it is to despair of God’s grace in the midst of soul-crushing trauma. Yes, bad things happen to good people. But there is still redemption through suffering. 

I’m reminded of an old Jewish saying: we should thank God for everything, even the things that afflict us. Having faith and hope that the breath of God will ultimately sustain us, no matter how desperate our plight may be, is a blessing. It is a sanctification of life. 

Victor Frankl transcended the hideous conditions in a concentration camp. So can we overcome misfortunes as long as we nurture the spark of ruach within us.

A few years ago, my temple in New Bern, North Carolina, sponsored a musical event for the Jewish community: two singers from the mainland performed many lovely and lively Hebrew ballads. At one point they sang a short melody with only one cherished word, ruach. 

May we nurture the divine force within us, a superpower that will enable us to triumphantly confront adversity.

Amen.

Terumah: A Gift that Elevates

Drash by Fran Margulies

March 2026

I was reaching up to my top bookshelf when accidentally a book fell down, narrowly missing my head: God in Search of Man, by Abraham Joshua Heschel. I had a drash assignment coming up. What to write about? Maybe God was sending me the subject?! Our portion today is Terumah, with detailed instructions for building the Tabernacle. But as I explored Rabbi Heschel, I realized that he would have focused his attention more on the builders of the tabernacle than on the tabernacle itself: Movement! Action! Abraham Joshua Heschel was an orthodox rabbi, an immigrant to America from the mid twentieth century, and he was remarkable because he was so active in his body, active in his relations with other Jews, active in his literary sense and even more remarkably active in his relationship with the non-Jewish world. His goal was to keep alive, to reanimate, our sometimes-fading sense of God by …. amazement!! Amazement was his word. Radical amazement! Amazement is physical, active, and interactive. So, let’s explore that with him.

What stimulates amazement? Often it is a surprise, newness. What did Moses, what did the Jews at Sinai feel when God gave, twice, the Ten Commandments?! Probably amazement. But Heschel would have added the actions themselves. And not fleeting but ongoing, the very building itself, as action, as we read about today – the building of the Tabernacle was itself active, and remember that after it was done, the tabernacle itself was movable, following the Israelites in their wanderings through the desert. Their moving, the Tabernacle’s moving, was better, far better than the building down, solid, not like Solomon’s Temple that dug as deeply as possible for stability into desert sand and used thousands of slaves.

Heschel would have praised Sof Ma’arav because it is indeed movable! The very weekly action of rearranging the chairs, taking out the Torahs, putting them away till next week, the interaction participating of all of us each week is one of OUR ways of talking to God. Many of you older folks, will remember Heschel’s highly successful two-week long, 20-mile walks over the bridge with Reverend Martin Luther King (1965) in Selma, Alabama, one of many marches, sometimes protesting prejudice against Black people in America and sometimes celebrating positive laws signed by President Lyndon Johnson. Heschel felt that marching was a way of connecting to God, that his very feet were praying….

Historically, Jews have protected themselves by retreating, isolating themselves into ghettoes. Heschel’s work was the opposite, connecting—building connections with other religions. He taught not only at the Jewish Theological Seminary in Manhattan but also held a fellowship at a Protestant theological seminary as well. He went to Rome and convinced the Pope to write a letter reminding all Catholics that Jews really did not kill Jesus, an idea circulating then. Our reading today was building a temporary moving tabernacle which is closer to God and with many Jewish people participating. In our contemporary world that would also have included non-Jews.

If God is indeed everywhere, then as God himself said, “Wherever you go I will be with you! Build a shrine, a movable shrine so I can come and visit you.” Heschel himself emphasized the builders and not so much the shrine, and not only the making but the moving of the shrine. His emphasis was on the tabernacle’s makers their active building of it. Other famous words of Heschel’s stated that some people are evil, but all are responsible, just as the tabernacle was connecting people to God in the desert, the Judeans carrying the tabernacle with them in the desert, made. Heschel’s marching in Selma was his way of connecting with God. His movement was essential to him, it is our actions, not our statues. The movement, the activity, with feet, with words, with speaking and writing could, often if not always, connect us to God.

Yitro and the Ripening of Torah

by Daniel Lev

March 2026

In today’s parsha we will, once again, receive the Torah at Mt Sinai. Not only did we get the Torah, but at Sinai we also experienced a form of face-to-face revelation with HaShem. My intention today is to share with you my version of an interesting perspective on the Torah and its revelation as taught by my friend, Professor Daniel Matt.

Today, I also want to address two questions I have about Torah: The first is a question and sort of a kvetch: How come we act like the Torah is still relevant today. I mean, it’s old and old fashioned and it may not provide the necessary insights that some self-help books give us. Why do we keep going over, and over and over and over it again and again and again?! Its like we’re constantly squeezing it like it’s a pomegranate with never-ending juice! Secondly, what’s with all the commentaries!? Why since the days of the Talmud, the medieval period, the era of modern biblical criticism up through today do we crank out all these different ideas about what the Torah is saying? Isn’t it enough that we have the Torah text and that it says what it says?

Before I begin sharing Professor Matt’s teaching I thought you might appreciate knowing a little about him. He’s a friend of mine who I’ve known for about 40-years. For over 21 years he taught Jewish mysticism and thought at the Graduate Theological Union in Berkeley, California. He has published a number of books including “G-d and the Big Bang” and “The Essential Kabbalah.” But his greatest scholarly contribution is his translation of the entire Zohar.

Some of you know that the Zohar is a multi-volume, mystical commentary on the Torah and a selection of other books from the Tanach, the Hebrew Bible. This work was composed by the 13th-Century, Spanish rabbi, Moshe de Leon. The translation project was funded since the early 2000’s by the Pritzker family in Chicago so it is called the Pritzker edition of the Zohar.

Now, before we get too intoxicated by midrashic and Kabbalistic teachings, let’s look briefly at some of the other traditional ways Torah is framed. First off, the word “Torah” can be translated as “Law, teaching, instruction and doctrine” and, of course, it commonly refers to the five Books of Moses. There are two general categories of Torah: The written Torah, comprising the five books, and by extension the rest of the Hebrew Bible, and the Oral Torah, which was handed down by generations of our early rabbis and sages whose discussions in their Middle Eastern academies were recorded in the Mishna, the Talmud and the symbolic and storied commentaries of the Midrash. However, in addition to the written and oral Torah’s there is a third type derived from the Kabbalah – the Jewish Mystical Tradition. The word “Kabbalah” comes from the Hebrew root word “to receive.” In a sense, Kabbalists are open to receiving new, mystical understandings and experiences from their encounters with Torah.

This third, mystically-derived type of Torah is called Torah Keduma – the Primordial Torah. The very first words of the Torah say, “In the beginning G-d created the heavens and the earth.” Playing off of Rashi, the Medieval French-Jewish commentator, the Zohar says: Be-Reisheet means “with beginning.” Here Reishit” also means Torah. So, the Zohar says:

G-d created the world with the Torah.
G-d looked into the Torah and created the world.

Since everything is included in G-d, She didn’t look into something separate: So, where did G-d look? – According to the Kabbalists, HaShem contemplated His own mind. Torah Keduma, the Primordial Torah, is the Divine Mind.

Professor Matt begins his teaching by looking at Talmud Brachot which said:

Fire is one-sixtieth of Hell; honey is one-sixtieth of manna; Shabbat is one sixtieth of the world that is coming (paradise); sleep is one sixtieth of death; a dream is one sixtieth of prophecy.

We find a similar imaginative teaching from the metaphorical insights of the Midrash, where it says:

Rabbi Hinena son of Isaac said, “There are three unripe fruits: The unripe fruit of death is sleep; the unripe fruit of prophecy is a dream; the unripe fruit of the world that is coming is Shabbat.” Rabbi Avin added another two: “The unripe fruit of the heavenly light is the globe of the sun; the unripe fruit of heavenly Wisdom is Torah.”

Here he’s saying that the Torah is not ripe, that is, it is not on the level of “Heavenly Wisdom.” Let’s look a little more at what it means to be “unripe?”

The word indicates something that is not in its full form, somehow undeveloped. The word for unripe used here is novelet: A fruit that has fallen from the tree too soon. Now, given the status of the Torah amongst most ancient rabbis, you’d expect all of them to believe the Torah is complete and fully ripe. But here, Rabbi Avin says it’s unripe, it’s not a complete expression of Hashem’s Wisdom. Again, that Wisdom is the Divine Mind, or Torah Keduma – the Primordial Torah. Next, we hear from the author of the Zohar, Rabbi Moshe de Leon, who reflected on this unripe idea by writing:

“The sages have said, ‘The unripe fruit of heavenly Wisdom is Torah.’ But isn’t the Torah the source of life? How can you say that she is unripe? What is unripe is inferior! Like fruit that falls prematurely from a tree and ripens on the ground: it isn’t as good as fruit that ripens on the branch. Look! The root of Torah is heavenly Wisdom – hidden and concealed, perceived only through its wondrous pathways. How wondrous are the offshoots! But since the root is (Divine) Wisdom, who can ever reach it? Concerning this, Israel’s sweet singer (King David) sang, “Uncover my eyes, so I can see the hidden things out of your Torah” (Psalms 119:18)

Moshe de Leon is telling us that there is something deeper, beyond and behind Torah which is the hidden, root Wisdom of HaShem. Fully ripe. He says that the Divine Wisdom gives birth to Torah; yet, it is difficult for us to perceive this Wisdom. We then see that according to King David’s psalm: “Uncover my eyes, so I can see the hidden things out of your Torah.” This is a hint that we can learn how to move from the unripe Torah to the Divine Mind. We can’t depend on the simple, literal meaning of Torah, we have to penetrate the outer layer, we have to find a way to “uncover our eyes,” to open ourselves to expanded, heartfelt meanings, to somehow ripen the Torah a little more through the new insights that come to us as we wrestle with the text in front of us…then we can discover a flash, a glimpse of HaShem’s wisdom.

This reminds me of a Hawaiian story about a Kumu Mele – a teacher of sacred Hawaiian song. When students would come to his class he would only let them in if they first sang the song “e ho mai – grant us wisdom from above.” And even then, they could only enter if the Kumu heard the person sing the mele from the depths of their heart. Reflecting on my first question which cast doubt on the relevance of the Torah today, it becomes clear that when we open ourselves to the heart of Wisdom that lies behind the unripe Torah text we can experience a new revelation from the Divine Mind. It can speak to us right here and now in our lives, just as the Holy One Spoke to us at Sinai. That’s what makes it relevant today and for all time. Let’s conclude by looking at another text provided by Professor Matt. It is a profound Chassidic teaching from the Rymanover Rebbe- Master who commented on the Deuteronomy 20:2 which records HaShem’s first words to us as we stood at the foot of Mt Sinai. It starts with, “Anochi – I am Adonai your G-d..” The rebbe then quotes Psalm 62:12: “One thing God has spoken…” (We can imagine that the rebbe asked, “What is this one thing?” And his answer was): Perhaps we heard from the mouth of the blessed Holy One only the letter Alef of the word Anokhi, “I am.”

The first sound we heard from the Holy One was the silent Aleph; a letter pregnant with possibilities depending on what vowels and letters surround it. What is the sound of an Aleph alone? – it’s the possibility of opening one’s mouth, the possibility of speech. This is the ultimate mystical teaching about revelation. What happened at Sinai was the possibility of communication, the possibility of transmission.

Imagine if the only written Torah is this letter Aleph, then everything else in the text is already a commentary on that Aleph. You could say the entire written Torah and Tanach is the beginning of the oral Torah. Everything in the Tanach, the rabbinic commentaries and onward is an expansion of that Aleph. From this perspective, what HaShem gave us at Sinai is the possibility of allowing the Divine Wisdom to speak through us as we encounter that silent Aleph. This answers my second question: All the commentaries that have ever been, and all new understandings moving forward are necessary. Because as we wrestle with the Torah text and as new discernments start arising, we receive new revelations that flow into to us from the Primordial Torah. You could say that today, as we reach deep inside the Earthly Torah with an open heart and mind, we can occasionally touch the Divine Wisdom. This process has helped the legal decisors, the Midrash storytellers, the mystics, the musar-ethics teachers and us to do what we can to further ripen the Torah.

I want to bless you and please bless me back that from time to time we find ourselves at the foot of Mt Sinai, and that we receive its new revelations that come to all of us through our studying and ripening the Torah. And may we all listen closely to the silent Aleph of HaShem and contemplate in its stillness those teachings that come quietly to guide us in our daily lives.

Moral Injury & Emotional Complexity

Parsha Bo Drash By Joyce Oleshansky

February 2026

In this week’s Parsha, Bo; Exodus 10:1- 13:16 the final blows are delivered to the Egyptians resulting in Pharaoh’s capitulation; the plagues of locusts, darkness and the slaying of the first born. Interestingly, we are told how events that have not yet occurred in Exodus should be portrayed to future generations of children when sitting around the Pesach table. The text makes a point of highlighting that the feast of Unleavened Bread is a dialogue. The children ask the questions and the parents answer. God makes it clear, the precise language used to retell the events of the exodus matters. Moses is told by God to: “recount in the hearing of your child and of your child’s child how I made a mockery of the Egyptians and how I displayed My signs among them—in order that you may know that I am יהוה.” “… observe the [Feast of] Unleavened Bread throughout the ages as an institution for all time. And when your children ask you, ‘What do you mean by this rite?’ you shall say, ‘It is the passover sacrifice to יהוה, who passed over the houses of the Israelites in Egypt when smiting the Egyptians, but saved our houses.’ And when, in time to come, a child of yours asks you, saying, ‘What does this mean?’ you shall reply, ‘It was with a mighty hand that יהוה brought us out from Egypt, the house of bondage.”

In the Parshah God repeatedly asserts that He will annihilate the Egyptians and the Israelites will live and prosper in the telling of that tale. On a modern, human scale we are all being subjected to narratives of individuals and governments trying to vanquish some identified enemy. We try to resolve complex feelings ranging from vulnerability to resilience. From victimhood to victory. How are we to proceed? What can we take from the Biblical story to help deal with the chaos, strife and military action taking place in the world? Being in Hawaiʻi we cannot pretend that it does not affect us, we are bombarded by it, upset by it and indeed traumatized by it. Consider the concept of moral injury. Moral Injury occurs when individuals have been involved in events that transgressed their deeply held moral beliefs or values. Is this applicable here? Jonathon Shay’s (1990’s) definition of moral injury had three components: ” (i) there has been a betrayal of what is morally right, (ii) by someone who holds legitimate authority and (iii) in a high-stakes situation.”

According to Shay’s definition, it is possible that Moses, or the Israelites, may have felt the extent of destruction brought upon the Egyptians was too great. Couldn’t their freedom have been won with a few fewer plagues? Or simply the removal of the Pharaoh? Was God appropriately harsh or did His actions cross the line? Given that the exodus set-up fulfills the three components that comprise moral injury, one can assume that the emotional and mental health consequences of being in Egypt during the plagues were significant even if you were not directly the target of God’s wrath. Then the question is how did Moses and the Israelites come through it all? When the enemy is well defined and one engages in battle with moral clarity for some greater good the risk of moral injury is lessened.

Did Moses experience clarity of purpose and God’s abiding presence? What might he have felt as God’s messenger? Moses had to go before Pharaoh and weather his wrath and witness the plagues’ aftermath. It was Moses who led the Israelites to the edge of the sea of Reeds. Perhaps his hesitation at the water’s edge was an indication of doubt about whether he had the right to ask the Israelites to throw themselves into deep water. It was Nashon, the midrash says, who was the first to walk into the waters up to his head until the Sea parted, not Moses. How did Moses manage to move forward again and again? It is relationship that provided the foundation for all that Moses was asked to do and accomplish. Hashem’s willingness to engage directly with Moses, to speak to him

“Panim al panim,” “face to face,” provided Moses with clarity of purpose. God was at the top of the hierarchy of authority thereby allowing Moses to surrender his moral responsibility. Moses had faith in God to know what was right. David Blumenthal writes in Exploring Moral Injury in Sacred Texts, that extreme situations like war (or, for us, plagues) require soldiers to shift their sense of agency from themselves to the authority that resides higher up in the hierarchy. This “agentic shift” as it is called can “mean the difference between life and death of oneself, to one’s comrades, and perhaps a wider social group.” The ability to believe that God was a moral authority saved Moses and the Israelites and gave them hope and resilience. Consider how we are handling the emotional complexity of our times. How do we define “the Greater good”? How do we nurture relationships and community to help us articulate what is right in the world? How can we ease our emotional and moral load to safeguard our sanity and resources so that we rise each day with some allotment of resiliency, love and compassion?

The Torah is about establishing and the perpetuating our identity. Parsha Bo makes an oversized contribution to this process in two ways. First, when God tells Moses to instruct future generations of Israelites to tell the story of the Exodus it ensures that every Jew will identify as a member of the Jewish people and know God’s part in our liberation. They will belong. It is a masterful hypnotic suggestion, strengthened through repetition, that provides a key motivating and unifying message to the Israelites and to all future generations. “Know that you will survive and flourish, your children will survive, and their children will survive on to countless generations. You are resilient and you will be remembered for what you have endured and accomplished. The freedom that you embrace, will be celebrated”.

The belonging inherent in the Jewish identity allows us to make decisions without being overwhelmed. Peoplehood and statehood ties us to the world at large in the present the past and the future. The second way that Parsha Bo makes an oversized contribution to the process of our identity formation is when God says to Moses “Bo el Paroh” “Come to Pharaoh.” I read this line and imagine a parental wisdom or perhaps warning. It is as if God is saying “Come my son, let me show you how devastating cognitive rigidity and an unwillingness to be introspective along with a disregard for human suffering can be.” Pharaoh’s devotion to power and control results in untold suffering and total defeat for the Egyptians. This was demonstrated ten times over. Pharaoh would not change his story. Each year at Seder we are encouraged to consider our past, present and future. Coversations and questions allow us to identify those elements of our Exodus narrative we retain and the ways ways in which they may evolve to serve our current circumstances. We must recount, revisit and reprocess our story in order to foster a strong identity and remain in relationship with all the people who stood with us at Sinai, past, present and future.

Authors of the Torah, human or Divine, understood the power of language. Exodus repeatedly asserts teaching our story and discussing it ensures our survival as a people. Rabbi Jan Uhrbach says we have a “religious obligation to consciously shape our consciousness.” This highlights the power that narrative has to shape our experience and memory. “Jewish memory,” says Uhrbach, “is NOT history. It is brazenly and proudly subjective, selective and ever evolving.” Rabbi Sacks maintains “The history of storytelling as an essential part of moral education begins in Parshat Bo.” How we frame and interpret our stories determines who we are, how we behave, how we cope and what we pass on to future generations. Narrative and framing allow us to transform our greatest traumas into triumphs, increasing our ability to persevere and flourish. Joscelyn Duffy in her article entitled “The power of Personal Narrative” asks “Is your backstory your springboard or your anchor?” Viktor Frankl maintains that it can be either and you determine which it is. Language, perception and reality are feedback loops. What we say, what we repeat becomes our reality. I ask you each to consider your narrative. Does it enhance your life? Add value and provide guidance?

Or does it weigh you down and close off opportunities? Parsha Bo offers us a springboard of Divine care, hope and optimism. Parsha Bo gives us the opportunity to ponder whether we identify as slaves and victims OR do we identify as a people who continue to partner with God in the daily act of creation and recreation? Do we identify as a people who is questioning, resilient and filled with wonder? Do we ask what we can do today to be a force for good and peace in the world? So we need to be aware of how we speak and what we say not only to others, but especially to ourselves. Our internal dialogue governs our perception, memory and behavior. Of course the saying “we are what we eat” is familiar and true. More importantly “we are what we repeat” is a cautionary tale advising us to establish and maintain our narratives and memories in an intentional way. Yes, hateful speech breeds hateful people who hate easily. The flip side is also true and this is the power of our ability to participate in creation: Creative speech fosters creativity and creative solutions, compassionate speech cultivates people of compassion and loving speech fosters people who love and feel loved.

Miracles, Signs, and Wonders

Vaera Drash By Marc Flitter

February 2026

There are many ways that the concept of a living Torah seems irrefutable. One of them is through our yearly repetitive engagement with the Torah portion of the week. In a year‘s turning, we reread what we have engaged many times before and through such readings discover how we may have changed in the interval, how a phrase or a sentence or a concept upon yet another encounter may cause us to pause with new associations, new questions, new understandings. There is a freedom to these experiences as an almost unfettered opportunity in contrast with the sense of assignment we experience during the Days of Awe. Charged with reviewing our lives of the year just passed, our shortcomings and failures, our focus then must be on confession, repentance, and atonement. Subsequently however we are able to consider the Torah’s narrative as the new year offers us a way to measure how far we may be succeeding in our pursuit of Teshuva, our pledge to become closer to God.

With this introduction I return to this week’s Parsha Vaera and the telling of the first seven of the ten plagues, enumerated in one of the most familiar narratives in Exodus, encountered here as well as during Passover Seder. Perhaps some of us vividly recall placing a drop of wine on the rim of our plate as each plague is recited. I wish to share that this year, what struck me as new was my willingness to confront a vague, but somehow familiar sense of disbelief in this part of the Torah’s narrative. Why was I troubled to this extent over a question of belief? We are not held to a catechism. The closest Judaism comes to statements of belief may be the thirteen principles of faith as set forth by Maimonides, and while profound, they are never presented to bar and bat mitzvah candidates as required doctrine.

This year, I’m sure in part with the knowledge that I had volunteered to speak about Vaera, my difficulty with the plagues was not to be put aside. Why this lack of resonance? I have no pause in imagining myself between the towering walls of water of the parted Red Sea, or gathering manna in the desert daily, except on Shabbat. Perhaps it was a result of the plagues being referred to as “miracles.” Of interest, there is no Hebrew word in the Torah corresponding to the word “miracle.” In fact, the ten plagues are never referred to as such in Exodus. Instead, it is not through “miracles” but “signs and wonders” and an ”outstretched arm” that God makes his supremacy known to the Egyptians and the entire world. In the Dead Sea scrolls “divine judgments” bring about the expulsion of the Israelites from Egypt. The term, “the ten plagues” does not appear in the Jewish canon until about 200 CE as encountered in the Talmud. Perhaps its prominence in the Passover Haggadah fixes our readily adopted reference to the miracles of the ten plagues for what befalls the Egyptians as Pharoah refuses to let our people go.

My reluctance of belief was fueled as well by ignorance. I had not appreciated, until further studies for this drash, the association that each of the plagues had to specific Egyptian deities. Presented with this missing and much needed rationale for the plagues, a story of derision and impotence challenging their heralded powers emerges. One by one the worshipped gods of Egypt are depicted to have feet of clay. The presumed protectors of the Nile, fertility, earth, creation, animals, healing, sky, agriculture, the sun and Pharaoh himself are revealed as irrelevant fictions. Idols with the heads of frogs, beetles and cows, prove as ineffective as the deities accounted as responsible for the remainder of creation. All unmasked by what transpires. It is finally the Torah’s narrative that defies disbelief. There has been a comfort in overcoming my need to somehow, out of the entire story of our ascent to freedom and nationhood maintain a skeptical distance from the “miracles” of the ten plagues. The rhyme of our biblical heritage no longer pauses with a discordant beat for me but continues unabated to the daily recitation of the Amidah during which we can thank God for the “miracles that are with us every day, and the wonders and favors in every season.”

Family Dynamics & Dysfunction

Parsha Vayeshev Drash By Sid Goldstein

January 2026

What is a dysfunctional family? In her groundbreaking book, “The Family and The Mind” Dr. Patricia O’Brien, the former Chair of the Yale University medical school describes the dysfunctional family this way: “A family where unhealthy dynamics, such as constant conflict, disappointment, and envy, create a harmful environment for members. This environment prevents them from achieving emotional closeness. While the specific forms of dysfunction vary, common elements include impaired communication, unbridled hostility and jealousy. These ongoing behaviors can have lasting negative impacts on the mental and emotional well-being of all family members.” Dr. O’Brien speculates the dysfunctional family is an ancient condition of man. But we as Jews need no such speculation. Simply open the book of Genesis to virtually any chapter and you will see the dynamics of the dysfunctional family at work. Parsha Vayeshev is a fine example: Genesis 37: 3 “Now Jacob loved Joseph the best of all, for he was a child of his old age and had made him a beautiful tunic. When his brothers saw that their father loved him more than any of them, they hated him so much that they could not speak a friendly word to him.” Where have we heard that before? Joseph’s relationships with his brothers is a continuation of the dysfunctional sibling rivalry that begins with birth itself.

In Genesis 4 Eve’s first son is Cain a “tiller of the field” and the second son is Abel “a keeper of sheep.” When the brothers make a sacrificial offering to Hashem, trouble ensues. Hashem has great regard for Abel’s offering but not for Cain’s. And though the Lord warns Cain not to let his passions rule him, he disregards the warning and kills his brother. Hashem has chosen the younger and the older is cursed. Cain is marked and sent away. He is exiled to the land of Nod and marries outside the tribe. In Genesis 17:19 Abraham pleads with God: “If only Ishmael could live by your favor.” He wants his eldest son to be the progenitor of his great nation. But it is not to be. Hashem choses Isaac. Ishmael, like Cain leaves to find a wife among those who are not of the tribe. Isaac begat two sons. Esau is the elder and Jacob the younger. Genesis 25:28: “Now Isaac loved Esau, because he did eat of his venison, and Rebekah loved Jacob.” Even since conception, their conflict was foreshadowed: “And the children struggled together within her; and she said, “Why am I thus? And she went to enquire of the Lord. And the Lord said: two nations are in your womb, and two manner of people shall be issued from your body; and the one people shall be stronger than the other and the elder shall serve the younger.” Eventually, Jacob gets Esau‘s birthright and his blessing and Esau goes off and marries a woman from a different tribe…just as Cain and Ishmael did.

Jacob, of course, has 2 wives, Leah and Rachael. Although Joseph is the eleventh son of Jacob, he is Rachel’s firstborn. So Joseph hits the trifecta: he is the youngest, a firstborn and favored. Remember where we started: “Jacob loved Joseph more than any other of his children, because he was the son of his old age.” You would think that Jacob would know better. After all, he had suffered for what he did to Esau. He knew the dysfunctional family history and what happened to both favored and unfavored children. You would think that Jacob would be wiser than to declare a favorite and pretty much ensure the enmity of all the others against Joseph. Yet Jacob forgoes all this knowledge, antagonizes his other children and gives Joseph the beautiful tunic.

To complicate matters, Joseph, like his father, is incapable of keeping peace in the family. He has told his brothers a dream where all his brothers, who, remember, hate him…will bow down before him. We can be sure that went over really well. Genesis 37:11 says, “So his brothers were wrought up with him.” Jacob sends Joseph out to find his brothers. Genesis 37:18, “They saw him from afar and conspired to kill him. But Ruben dissuaded them from killing him. So, the brothers stripped him of his tunic him and threw him into a pit.” As an aside …right here a great cultural tradition is born. Going forth, villains will not kill heroes when the take them captive. They will leave then tied up, thrown into a pit ready for death so the hero can ultimately escape and live on. James Bond, the Lone Ranger, Batman, Maxwell Smart, Austin Powers and countless others.

Here’s another observation: In a great twist of irony, Joseph is sold off by his brother to a set of Ishmaelites. This is terrific. The older sons sell off the younger son to the people who are the progeny of the oldest son of Abraham who was not favored by Hashem. Who says that that our Lord does not have a sense of humor? But the sale of Joseph is the perhaps the pivotal moment in Genesis. Let us call it the pivot of the blessed. For Joseph goes to Egypt. That is where the story of Joseph differs from the rest. Abraham, Isaac and Jacob became the fathers of a great line of the people in biblical Canaan. It was Cain, Ishmael and Esau left the tribe and married outside of it. Joseph’s pivot is that he is the first of the blessed to leave and not return. In his further adventures, he becomes a powerful leader in Egypt. Joseph’s achieving this powerful position sets off the next great chain of events in the Torah. In Genesis 45:16, the Pharaoh of Egypt says to Joseph, “Take your father and his household and come to me. I will give you the best of the land of Egypt and you will live off the fat of the land.”

Joseph is to be the instrument that Hashem uses to get the Israelite patriarchy and their family into Egypt. Joseph marries in Egypt and has sons of his own. For some reason, he is later surprised when his youngest, Ephraim, gets Jacob’s blessing instead of Manasseh, the elder. For all his gifts of interpreting dreams, Joseph is a really slow learner. Still, Joseph has brought Israel and his children to Egypt. This is the result of the pivot of the blessed. And it is this pivot which brings us to the brink of Exodus and will allow us to meet two other brothers who will be instrumental in the future of our people…. Aaron the elder and Moses the younger. With a future of plagues, red sea partings, a golden calf and 40 years of wandering through a desert, it fair to say that the dysfunction of the family of Israel continues. And the world received one more bonus. The psychiatric profession founded by Sigmund Freud, a Jew, certainly owes a debt to its patriarchy: Cain, Ishmael, Esau, and, to our shining symbol of the dysfunctional family, our heroic slow learner—Joseph.

Giving Thanks & Making Peace

Va’yetzei Drash By Ann-Louise Kleper

January 2026

On Thursday we celebrated Thanksgiving. Although it’s a secular holiday, what could feel more Jewish than family and friends gathering at a festive dinner table surrounded by an over-abundance of food with multiple discussions taking place at the same time, all while pausing to give thanks for life’s blessings? The first words an observant Jew utters each morning are Modeh Ani, “Thankful am I.” According to the sages, throughout the day we should offer at least one hundred blessings, not just during our daily prayers but also as we go about our regular routines. The intention is that we should be recognizing and expressing our appreciation for what we have, for what we are able to do and for what we are able to experience. And the belief is that our thankfulness comes not only through our words but also through our deeds—through every mitzvah and every act of chesed and tzedakah we perform.

I find it especially fitting when Parashat Vayetzei, this week’s parasha, coincides with Thanksgiving, for the story line demonstrates what we all already know—that being grateful is a defining feature of being a Jew. Vayetzei begins with Jacob fleeing his home after stealing his brother Esau’s blessing and traveling toward Haran, his mother’s birthplace. On the way, he spends the night in the desert and has his famous dream of the ladder or stairway to heaven with angels going up and down. He resumes his journey and comes to a well, where he first encounters Rachel, his Uncle Laban’s younger daughter, with whom he falls in love. He pledges to work for Laban for seven years to win her hand in marriage, but he is tricked by Laban into marrying his older daughter, Leah, instead.

Only by promising to labor for his uncle for another seven years is he permitted to wed his beloved Rachel. The Torah recites that God compensates the unloved Leah by opening her womb and granting her children, while Rachel remains barren. With the birth of each child, Leah desperately hopes to forge a closer relationship with Jacob as demonstrated by the very names she gives them. She calls her first son Reuven (literally meaning: “Look! A son!”), from the Hebrew verb ra’ah, meaning see. She says: “God has seen my affliction, for now my husband will love me.” When her second son is born, she names him Shimon from the verb shama, meaning hear, stating: “God has heard that I am the hated one and has given me this one also.” The third son she calls Levi, from the verb lavah, meaning attach or connect, declaring: “This time my husband will become attached to me, for I bore him three sons.” Leah is so needy, so consumed by self-pity that she views her sons as a means to an end, rather than as precious, miraculous gifts, themselves.

When Leah’s fourth son is born, however, her attitude is different. She proclaims: “This time I will praise the Lord,” and she names the child Yehudah, from the word od’cha, with which appears in the Hallel, meaning “I will praise you.” Why does Leah wait until the arrival of her fourth son to give thanks? Rashi and other commentators tell us that the matriarchs were prophets who knew that Jacob would have twelve sons with his two wives and their two maid-servants, and that those sons would become the progenitors of the twelve tribes of Israel. If divided equally among the four women, each would give birth to three sons. Leah, therefore, expects her first three sons; when the fourth is born, she has received more than her rightful share. She gives praise and special gratitude for this unexpected blessing.

Rabbi David Hoffman, a former professor and administrator at the Jewish Theological Seminary, offers an explanation which resonates more with me. He says that by the time her fourth son arrives, Leah is no longer fixated on winning Jacob’s attention and affection; she has made her peace with the reality of her existence. While she will never be the love of Jacob’s life or have the marriage of her dreams, she is able to appreciate what she does have. According to Rabbi Hoffman, Leah teaches us one of the profound lessons of Judaism, namely, that we are able to feel and express gratitude for our lives despite any imperfections and disappointments. At the very moment that Leah transcends the limitations of her situation, when she experiences the wonders of her life even as she feels its real pain, the name for the Jewish people is born. From the name Yehudah comes the word Yehudim: Jews—our people and our identity. All of us can identify with Leah: we, too, have disappointments and imperfections in our lives; we often experience real pain and anxiety about issues of health, loss, family, business, finances. Whether we are concerned about our country, the State of Israel, and the Middle East, or the world at large ….or whether we are questioning our own values and beliefs, wondering if we are contributing enough or doing enough to make the world a better place…. we are all able to appreciate and cherish every one of the blessings in our lives.

Being a part of Sof Ma’arav has become one of my great blessings. For me, Jewish Community has always been one of the pillars of my life, and I can’t thank you enough for making me feel so welcome and at home in this community since I joined Mel in Honolulu five years ago. I am constantly amazed by how great a commitment of time and love Sof leadership gives to every service. I am also deeply touched by the kindness and caring shown by Sof members to and for one another. It has been my privilege to deliver my first Sof drash at a time of true thanksgiving. I look forward to seeing all of you when Mel and I return in late January after spending time in Chicago, seeing family and friends and having the joy of seeing my granddaughter become a Bat Mitzvah.