Shemot: The Birthplace of the Jewish People?

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“In the Land of Israel the Jewish people arose.” Ben-Gurion read these words as he declared the establishment of the State of Israel. Yet Parshat Shemot suggests that the Jewish people were, in fact, born in Egypt. Exploring this seeming contradiction offers insight into how Jewish identity and peoplehood have been defined, then and now.

Shemot is filled with moments of identity discovered, tested, and affirmed. The midwives fear God rather than Pharaoh when commanded to kill Hebrew male infants. Moshe begins life as a Hebrew baby rescued from the Nile, grows up as an Egyptian in Pharaoh’s palace, and only later confronts his true identity when he witnesses the abuse of a Hebrew slave. His sense of dislocation is captured when he names his son Gershom, explaining that he was “a stranger in a foreign land.” Significantly, this parsha marks the first time the Jews are called “Am Bnei Yisrael” in Tanakh – ironically by the tyrannical Pharaoh. As with today’s “October 8th Jews,” Jewish identity is often sharpened in the face of antisemitism. 

Modern thinkers help explain why Egypt was such a formative birthplace. Nechama Leibowitz teaches that moving from slavery to redemption served an educational purpose, shaping a people committed to mitzvot and to compassion for the vulnerable. Leon Kass suggests that a nation forged through oppression would be especially receptive to faith in God and morally sensitive about how to use power. Jewish identity, from the outset, was shaped in contrast to ancient Egypt.

The Jewish people were indeed born in Egypt – for good reason. Yet only later, through brit Sinai and settlement in the Land of Israel, did they fully assume their national identity. Together, these stages teach that a complete Jewish identity binds peoplehood, moral responsibility, and an enduring connection and commitment to Israel. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Vayechi: Israel-Diaspora Relations

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Parshat Vayechi opens and closes with moving deathbed scenes of Yaakov and Yosef, each making final requests regarding their burial. The contrasts between these moments offer a lens for envisioning ideal Israel-Diaspora relations.

Yaakov makes his request to be buried with his forefathers in Canaan twice – first to Yosef and then to his other sons. To Yosef, who has lived in Egypt for some time, he pleads, “Please do not bury me in Egypt,” and requires him to swear an oath ensuring that he will not be buried there, even temporarily. In contrast, he simply instructs his other sons to bury him in the Cave of Machpelah. Yosef, however, is prepared to be buried temporarily in Egypt, asking his brothers only to promise that his bones will be taken to the Land of Israel when the nation is redeemed at the time of the Exodus.

Why was it so essential for Yaakov to be buried immediately in Israel, while Yosef accepted a delay? The Lubavitcher Rebbe explains that Yaakov’s burial in Israel was vital as a symbol of hope and connection for Bnei Yisrael in exile. As Talmud Berakhot teaches, “A prisoner cannot redeem himself from prison.” The people of Israel held on to the image of Yaakov in Israel as a reminder of their ultimate destiny. At the same time, Yosef’s presence in Egypt was necessary; he served as a protector and sustainer of the people in both life and death during their time in galut.

This dynamic offers a template for Israel-Diaspora relations today. As the situation in Israel has stabilized, at least for now, Jewish communities in chutz la’aretz, like Yosef, have a vital role to play in this historic moment – projecting a proud, confident Jewish identity both to fellow Jews and to the broader world. Yet, this is not their final destination. At the same time, we in Israel, like Yaakov, should strive to serve as a source of support, hope and aspiration to strengthen our brothers and sisters and draw them closer to their homeland. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Vayigash: Resolving Family Discord

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Vayigash teaches us how to resolve deep discord. For more than twenty years, Yehuda and Yosef represent a family torn apart by conflict, resentment, and estrangement. They remain divided until this moment, when reconciliation finally becomes possible. Yehuda now steps into his role as a leader, and Yosef rises above the pain of the past to act with grace. Their story of family rupture and repair offers a powerful model for our larger family – the people of Israel. 

Yehuda takes the first step and approaches his brother: “Vayigash Yehuda.” This is a pivotal moment in the story. At their lowest point, the brothers “could not speak peaceably” with Yosef; Rashi describes their disdain as having moved on from feelings of brotherhood. Yet here, Yehuda – still unaware that Yosef is his brother – pleads with him to honor the promise made to their father and to protect the youngest brother, Binyamin.

Yehuda’s  willingness to draw close, to speak honestly, and to take responsibility is what ultimately touches Yosef’s heart and bridges the divide. Yehuda models what moral leadership looks like.

At the same time, Yosef rises above potential resentment and reveals himself to his brothers with grace. As Nechama Leibowitz notes, Yosef’s choice of language reflects his inner transformation. First he emphasizes that his brothers sold him into slavery. Yet, soon after he reframes the story using the language of shlichut, recognizing God’s larger plan in bringing him to Egypt to save his family and, ultimately, his people.

The Jewish people need both of these voices today: leaders who take responsibility, like Yehuda, and individuals who, like Yosef, are able to rise above resentments and focus on the larger picture, asking what constructive role each of us can play now for Am Yisrael. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Miketz: An End to the Darkness

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The contrast between the beauty of Jews celebrating the first night of Hanukkah on Bondi Beach and the horrific acts that followed compels us to ask: how do we respond to such darkness?

Joseph, too, in Parshat Miketz, is immersed in darkness – thrown into a pit, brought down to Egypt, and forgotten in prison for two long years. Yet the Rabbis teach that it is precisely at this moment, when all hope seems lost, that God “puts an end (ketz) to the darkness.” The Torah draws a linguistic link between the end of Joseph’s imprisonment – miketz – and Pharaoh’s awakening from his dream – vayikatz Pharaoh. That awakening creates the opening through which Joseph, interpreter of dreams, can emerge from confinement. Recognizing the hand of God at work, Joseph publicly acknowledges this when Pharaoh asks him to interpret the dreams, and he declares that it is God who will provide the interpretation through him.

The timing of this parsha is significant. Parshat Miketz often coincides with Hanukkah, which celebrates the Jewish people’s triumph over the darkness of assimilation and antisemitism. It is for this reason that the Hanukkah lights are placed outside the home or by the window, visible in the public sphere. Joseph and Hanukkah share a central theme: the courage to express faith publicly – faith in God and in the future of the Jewish people.

In the modern era, the men and women of Chabad have embodied this ideal fully, around the world. The Lubavitcher Rebbe pioneered public menorah lightings, from the White House in 1974 to global ceremonies broadcast by satellite in 1990. Like Joseph and the Hasmoneans before them, they stood tall in their faith and made it visible to the world. That is precisely what Rabbi Schlanger and the Australian Jewish community were doing on Bondi Beach – bringing light into public space – before darkness struck. In their memory, our response must be the same: to strengthen our faith, stand firmly in who we are, and continue bringing light into the world. Shabbat Shalom and Hanukkah Sameach -Karen Miller Jackson 

Vayishlach: Responding to Antisemitism

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A number of commentaries understand Yaacov’s encounter with the ish in Parshat Vayishlach as symbolizing the Jewish people’s struggles with their adversaries throughout history. If so, what guidance might this episode offer us in confronting today’s vehement strain of antisemitism?

Already before their birth, God tells Rivka that Yaacov and Esav are the founders of two nations. Midrashic tradition identifies Esav/Edom with Rome, and later commentators link him with Christianity. Thus, when Yaacov wrestles with the ish, the midrash interprets this figure as Esav’s guardian angel—a representative of the forces that would oppose Israel throughout the ages. Ramban famously describes this conflict as a remez l’dorot—a hint to the ongoing struggles between the children of Yaacov and the children of Esav until Yaacov ultimately prevails. These interpretations reflect the historical experiences of commentators who lived under oppression at the hands of their own “Esav.”

But today, with our own homeland and army, we stand in a new chapter of Jewish history—one that invites renewed interpretation and application of this story. When the ish blesses Yaacov with a new name, Yisrael, the commentaries highlight its significance. Rashi explains that this name embodies serarah, meaning noble leadership and moral strength. Yaacov, associated with concealment and vulnerability, becomes Yisrael: forthright, resilient, confident, and unafraid to stand tall in the world.

We, too, are living through a moment of struggle, facing a resurgence of antisemitism and anti-Zionism. Yet, strengthened by a return to our land and sovereignty, we face these challenges not from a place of insecurity or uncertainty, but as Yisrael—anchored in identity, purpose, and pride. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Vayetze: On Sacred Spaces

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The word makom (place) appears repeatedly at the start of Parshat Vayetze as Jacob sets out on his journey: “He came upon the place (ba-makom)…” What is this place? Its very ambiguity becomes a key to understanding Judaism’s vision of sacred space, from Jacob’s world to our own.

Rashi identifies the makom with the site of the Binding of Isaac—“Abraham looked up and saw the place (ha-makom) from afar”—later known as Mount Moriah, where the Temple would later be built. In Devarim, the Mishkan is likewise called the makom. The midrash therefore associates Jacob’s encounter with Jerusalem. 

Yet there is a tension: Jacob renames the site Beit-El, formerly Luz—seemingly far from Jerusalem. Commentators struggle to reconcile this. A striking midrash offers a creative resolution: The ladder connecting heaven and earth in Jacob’s dream was actually the mechanism that allowed Jacob to be physically in one location while spiritually linked to the Temple Mount: “The ladder stood in Beersheba, and the middle of its slope reached opposite the Temple.” 

This preserves the centrality of the holiness of Jerusalem while teaching one may direct heart and prayer toward it from afar. Moreover, Ha-makom becomes one of the rabbinic names for God. When we study Torah, do justice, live by Jewish values and pray facing Jerusalem, says the midrash, any space can draw sanctity from Ha-makom. This is also the meaning of makom today. Synagogues in New York and London that hosted events which support and celebrate Israel—and faced protest for doing so—were embracing Jacob’s legacy. What the critics fail to grasp is that Jewish sacred spaces, wherever they stand, are inseparable from the pull of Jerusalem. The heart of Israel beats within every synagogue and community that turns toward Ha-makom. That is Jacob’s legacy, and it remains our mission today. Shabbat Shalom – Karen Miller Jackson

Toldot: Promoting Truth

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What is meant by the verse in Micah, “Give truth to Jacob”? The commentaries discuss this question in Parshat Toldot, where the themes of truth and deception are front and center. The question feels especially urgent today, as we—the children of Yaacov—struggle to make truth heard and to dispel the deceptive narratives told about Israel.

The Torah describes Yaacov as “a plain (tam) man, dwelling in tents,” which Rashi contrasts with Esav, who regularly misled his father about his true character. This is striking, given that it is Yaacov who appears to act deceptively. He acquires the birthright at Esav’s moment of weakness, and later follows Rivka’s plan to disguise himself before Yitzchak. When Yitzchak, who is going blind, asks him directly who he is, Yaacov answers, “I am Esav, your firstborn.” Yitzchak later tells Esau that his brother came with mirma—cunning—and took the blessing. Still, Rashi works to preserve Yaacov’s integrity. He repunctuates the verse so that Yaacov is not technically lying: “I am [bringing you food]; Esav is your firstborn,” and defines mirma as cleverness rather than deceit.

Other commentaries take a different approach: even if the blessing was truly destined for Yaacov, the way he received it carried consequences. In one midrashic tradition, Rachel deceives Yaacov on his wedding night to spare Leah’s shame and reminds him that he once deceived his own father, measure for measure. And when Esav cries out “a great and bitter cry,” Bereshit Rabbah says that this is echoed generations later when Mordechai cries out in Shushan under Haman’s decree to wipe out the Jewish people.

Yaacov was a man of truth. When he acted with duplicity it was to ensure the future of the Jewish people, yet there were long-term consequences. Today, when the world so readily absorbs falsehoods about our people, we renew our mission to “give truth to Yaacov”—to stand for the integrity and truth of the Jewish people. Shabbat Shalom and chodesh tov!🇮🇱 -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Chayei Sarah: Finding our “Wells”

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Parshat Chayei Sarah opens with the passing of Sarah. This loss, following the akedah, must have left Yitzchak feeling drained and broken. Perhaps this helps explain his passivity in finding a wife. The question, then, is how Yitzchak found the strength to rebuild and move forward.

Significantly, many key moments in Yitzchak’s life unfold at a be’er — a well. In the first scene, Yitzchak is absent, but his proxy Eliezer travels to Aram Naharayim in search of a wife for him. Eliezer stops at the be’er ha-mayim, where the women draw water, and there he prays for divine guidance and encounters Rivka. The midrash notes that wells are meeting places of biblical couples, symbolizing new beginnings, healing, and hope.

Later, when Rivka journeys to Abraham’s home, she meets Yitzchak as he is coming from Be’er Lachai Ro’i — the place where Hagar, after being banished, prayed to God and found sustenance. The midrash teaches that Yitzchak was there to bring back Hagar (aka Keturah) to Abraham after Sarah’s death. Once again, the well represents restoration and renewal.

Wells appear again when Yitzchak re-digs the wells of Abraham that had been stopped up by the Philistines. The Sefat Emet interprets these wells as symbols of spiritual life — channels of divine blessing that the avot brought into the world. In reopening them, Yitzchak becomes a model of spiritual resilience, drawing strength from his parents’ legacy and renewing it for future generations.

Israel is thankfully emerging from a time of loss, exhaustion, and uncertainty. It is time for us, too, to uncover our own “wells” — sources of faith, strength, and hope — to find renewal, healing, and resilience once more. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Vayera: Politics of Hope and New York

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After a campaign that, on the surface, seemed to champion care for the weak but in reality carried strong undercurrents of hatred and anger—particularly toward Israel—Parshat Vayera offers an urgent moral wake-up call for New York’s future.

The Torah juxtaposes the stories of Abraham and Lot, inviting us to compare them. Abraham, recovering from his brit milah in the heat of the day, waits eagerly to welcome guests into his tent. After performing the mitzvah of hachnasat orchim, he escorts his visitors toward Sodom. Soon after, Lot sits at the city gate and also welcomes guests — a behavior he learned from living in Abraham’s home, the midrash teaches.

Yet the differences are striking. Lot’s guests are met by the violent hostility of Sodom’s people, a society built on selfishness and cruelty. Even within Lot’s home, according to the midrash, kindness is divided. When he offers his guests salt, his wife scoffs: “Must you bring this bad habit from Abraham’s house?” In contrast to the shared compassion of Abraham and Sarah, Sodom represents a fractured society — one that turns generosity into weakness and hatred toward the stranger into a civic value.

Pirkei Avot teaches that a Sodom-like character trait is the attitude of “mine is mine, and yours is yours.” On the surface, this may sound fair and balanced, but in truth it reflects a society built on indifference and “othering,” devoid of collective responsibility. The midrash captures this moral decay through the story of Lot’s daughter, who is punished simply for feeding a poor man. This was Lot’s world—a society of pretense and cruelty—whereas Abraham was chosen by God for embodying tzedaka and mishpat, compassion and justice. 

Rabbi Sacks zt”l, whose fifth yahrzeit falls this week, called this an ideology of “altruistic evil” — hatred justified in the name of virtue. He warned against the politics of anger and urged instead a politics of hope. May hope, truth, and moral strength triumph over anger in the days ahead. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Lech Lecha: Hearing the Call of Good over Evil

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We hear nothing about Avraham’s faith or righteousness before God calls to him, “Lech lecha.” So why was he chosen? The midrashim fill in the story, portraying Avraham’s moral clarity and spiritual courage, yet the pshat itself offers a quieter but powerful lesson—about standing up with faith and conviction for Jews and Israel today.

Bereshit Rabbah teaches that Avraham once saw a palace in flames and cried out, “How can it be that this palace has no leader?” God replied, “I am the master of this palace.” Avraham’s faith was born through questioning, through refusing to accept a world that made no moral sense. As Rabbi Sacks zt”l wrote: “For Abraham, faith began in cognitive dissonance. There is only one way of resolving this dissonance: by protesting evil and fighting it… It is as if God were saying to Abraham: I need you to help Me to put out the flames.”

Avraham’s distinctiveness may also be alluded to when he is later called “ha-ivri,” which means “the Hebrew” or “from the other side.” One midrashic opinion explains: “The entire world stood on one side, and he on the other.” This image feels especially relevant today, reminding us to speak truth and uphold moral clarity even when it defies popular opinion.

Perhaps the plainest reason God chose Avraham was because he responded to God’s call “Lech lecha…” Avraham answers the call fully even though it involves uncertainty and sacrifice. This too, is the story of the Jewish people and their love and commitment to Israel through the ages. As the world watches the elections in New York this coming week, we can learn from Avraham about the power of each individual to stand up and voice moral clarity about good and evil. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson