Parshat Vayikra: A Call to Achdut

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What is the call of “Vayikra” for the Jewish people today?

Numerous commentaries explain that parshat Vayikra is a direct continuation of Shemot, which ended with Moshe outside the Mishkan. Even Moshe, the greatest prophet of all time, could not enter the holiest place at all times. Vayikra teaches that when an individual was impure, they too could not enter the Mikdash. Human experiences of holiness have a rhythm of ebbs and flows, highs and lows. Similarly, Rabbi S.R. Hirsch teaches that the root of the word “korban” is “k.r.v,” meaning to come close. The korbanot in the time of the Mikdash (and today, our tefillot) are a way to draw closer to Hashem, highlighting that one cannot stay in a continuous state of holiness. We are human beings, not angels.

Perhaps Rashi alludes to this in interpreting “Vayikra” as an expression of God’s affection (hibba) for Moshe and an invitation to draw closer to holiness and hear God’s words. Rashi relates this to the call of angels in Isaiah—which we say in the kedusha of the Amidah—“And one called (ve-karah) out to the other, holy, holy, holy…” In entering the Ohel Moed, Moshe becomes angel-like. In standing with feet together and saying kedusha, we strive to be holy like angels (whose feet were like a straight foot). However, we can’t stay this way permanently.

Regarding the position of feet in prayer, Rav Kook writes that our feet are for both walking and standing. When we walk, legs apart, we advance and grow in Torah knowledge. When standing with feet together in prayer, we solidify ourselves through unity (achdut).

There is also a rhythm within the Jewish nation. There are times when we, as a people, can debate constructively and move in different directions, at different paces. And then there are times when we need to pause in order to solidify, to draw closer in holiness, and to focus on achdut. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Pekudei: Unity with Diversity

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Parshat Pekudei is the parsha of hitachdut—the bringing together of the parts of the Mishkan. It serves as a model for unity alongside diversity within the Jewish people today.

The Mishkan was the ultimate joint project. Betzalel was its chief architect, Moshe raised it up, and the entire endeavor was commanded by God. Yet, the parsha attributes its completion to Bnei Yisrael: “Thus was completed all the work…The Israelites did so; just as the LORD had commanded Moses, so they did.” Nechama Leibowitz notes that Bnei Yisrael did not physically craft the Mishkan—the artisans did—so why do they receive credit?

The Or Ha-Hayyim explains that since Betzalel was their chosen representative, they shared in the merit of his achievement. Moreover, the command to build the Mishkan was given to the entire nation. Just as the 13 raw materials were distinct yet interdependent in forming the Mishkan, so too, every Jew was bound together in a shared purpose. The Mishkan reminds us that we are one people, despite our differences.

Similarly, the Lubavitcher Rebbe sees the raising of the Mishkan as a lesson in the balance between individuality and collective identity within Am Yisrael. The Mishkan’s holiness emerged only when all its individual pieces were assembled. Likewise, each Jew must recognize their place within the klal—their unique contributions gain meaning when rooted in collective unity.The Mishkan’s message is clear: Every Jew has a role to play in building and strengthening the nation. Bnei Yisrael’s joint building of the Mishkan is a call to Jews today to remember that our diversity can thrive only when based on a foundation of standing and working together. Chazak chazak ve’nitchazek. Shabbat Shalom – Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Vayakhel: Leadership from the Bottom Up

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One of the defining features of the Mishkan’s construction, as described in Parshat Vayakhel, is the collective participation of the entire nation. While Betzalel was appointed by God as chief architect, the contributions of the people were essential. Two midrashic insights into this dynamic between leadership and the people resonate deeply with Israeli society today.

First, after Bnei Yisrael—particularly the women—generously donated materials, the tribal chieftains (nesi’im) brought onyx stones. Rashi, citing Bamidbar Rabbah, questions why they gave last instead of leading. The midrash explains that they were offended they had not been asked first and waited to see what was needed, only to find that the people had already given beyond expectations. Left with little to contribute, they brought onyx stones. Learning from this, they were the first to donate at the altar’s dedication in Bamidbar. This teaches that when leaders falter, the people can rise to the occasion and ultimately inspire their leaders to follow. 

A second model of leadership emerges from the midrash on Moshe’s role in constructing the Mishkan. At the end of Shemot, the Torah states that all the components of the Mishkan were brought to Moshe, and “the Mishkan was raised.” The midrash, noting that it would be impossible for one person alone to lift it, teaches that the Divine spirit rested upon Moshe, enabling the Mishkan to be assembled. Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein points out that while many skilled craftsmen contributed, none could see the full picture of the Mishkan. Moshe, who had not personally contributed materials, played a different yet critical role—humbly uniting the collective efforts of the people into a completed whole.

The Mishkan teaches that true leadership is one which unites the whole nation and that sometimes it is the people who ultimately lead the way. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Ki Tissa & Purim: Modern Day Esthers

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As we enter Shabbat Ki Tissa, which coincides with Purim, a common theme emerges: finding faith in moments of crisis and ensuring its message endures l’dorot, for generations to come.

The sin of the Golden Calf stands as one of Am Yisrael’s greatest failings, to the point that God initially intends to destroy them. Moshe pleads for their salvation, even offering to be erased from the Torah. The Sages teach that its effects linger in every generation: “There is no generation that does not bear an ounce of the sin of the Golden Calf.” Many commentaries see the Mishkan as a tikkun (atonement) – particularly through the donation of gold, transforming the very substance of their downfall into a means of holiness. Yet, the lasting message is clear: do not lose faith so swiftly when Moshe and God’s presence seem out of reach.

Similarly, according to the Talmud, Esther had to persuade the Sages to record her story for future generations (kitvuni l’dorot). While they hesitated, she understood the ongoing relevance of Megillat Esther: a model of faith when the face of God seems hidden. Perhaps for this reason, the laws of Megillah reading are so stringent. Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi teaches that the obligation to read it twice—once at night and once in the day—is derived from the verse in Psalms: “O my God, I call by day but You do not answer; and at night, and there is no respite for me.” Reading the Megillah serves as an antidote to the natural feeling of divine abandonment. It is a written reminder for every generation of God’s hidden presence, even in the darkest times.

Today, returned hostages who have shared stories of bravery and faith, despite overwhelming despair, serve as a modern manifestation of kitvuni l’dorot. Like Esther, they remind us of the power of faith, even when redemption seems distant. Purim Sameach and Shabbat Shalom🎭🇮🇱-Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Terumah: On Bees and National Responsibility

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Parshat Terumah’s description of the building of the Mishkan—a holy sanctuary built through the collective effort of the Jewish people—offers a powerful model for the relationship between Jews and the State of Israel today.

The word terumah (contribution) appears three times at the beginning of the parsha. Rashi explains that these refer to three distinct donations: two which were “chova” (required) and given equally by everyone, known as the machatzit hashekel, and one which was “nedava” (voluntary), giving as much as their “heart inspires” them. What emerges is two kinds of giving: the first ensures giving at a national scale while upholding the equal and noteworthy value of each individual offering, while the second embraces individual diversity and personal devotion. Rav Amital, based on the Maharal, taught that this combination is necessary within Jewish life, a balance between first, “chova” (required commitment) and then, “nedava” (voluntary dedication). 

Similarly, The Lubavitcher Rebbe interprets the different materials of the Mishkan as representing the diversity of the Jewish people, with different levels of Torah commitment and religious practice. The Mishkan only works if it includes everyone. The Mishkan was a great unifier, including even those who think or practice differently. 

These ideas were reinforced for me during a recent visit to a bee farm, where I observed how bees work together as a community, each fulfilling a unique role to sustain both their hive and the environment. A thriving society depends on the ability of all its members to contribute and collaborate in shaping their shared home. Just as every individual played a role in constructing the Mishkan, every Jew who seeks to live in or be connected to Israeli society must find their place in shaping and sustaining the State of Israel as both a spiritual and national home. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson 

Parshat Mishpatim: Between Cruelty and Compassion

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Children – dependent, vulnerable, defenseless – are the litmus test of our humanity. -Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks 

Parshat Mishpatim teaches what real compassion looks like. It highlights that cruelty, especially toward children, is a mark of unfathomable evil, whereas prioritizing and educating children in moral values is the greatest statement of hope for the future. 

The Torah commands us not to oppress the ger, the widow, or the orphan—the most vulnerable members of the biblical world: “If you mistreat them, as soon as they cry out to Me, I will hear their outcry.” The double language—aneh ta’aneh, tza’ok yitzak, shamoa eshma—underscores that just as the victim feels their pain deeply, God hears and responds with urgency.

Rabbi Sacks looked to the Shoah to contrast unimaginable evil with extraordinary humanity toward children. Janusz Korczak, a Polish-Jewish doctor and educator, exemplified moral courage and compassion when he refused to abandon the orphans in his care, even as they were sent to their deaths.

In Judaism, cruelty toward children is especially heinous because they embody our hope and future. Talmud Sotah teaches that after Israel crossed the Yam Suf, the infants were among the first to sing to God, recognizing His miracles. To the sages, children symbolize pure faith, goodness, and unshakable hope. That is why when we remember the redemption from Egypt, they are at the heart of our collective memory and moral responsibility.

Ariel and Kfir Bibas symbolize the stark contrast between their society and ours: theirs is steeped in cruelty, while we are rooted in compassion, faith, and hope. May we honor all the children we have lost by securing and shaping a country and future worthy of the next generation. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson 

Parshat Yitro: Embracing the Yitros of Today

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How striking that the parsha describing God’s covenant with Israel at Sinai—a defining moment for Jewish nationhood—is named after someone outside the nation: Yitro. This highlights a timeless lesson on Jewish identity, antisemitism, and the importance of recognizing true allies.

The parsha begins after Amalek wages war on a vulnerable Israel as they journey through the desert. It then recounts how Yitro, Moshe’s father-in-law, travels from Midian to meet Moshe at the mountain of God after hearing about “what God had done for Israel.” Following this, Israel encamps at Har Sinai for Matan Torah. The commentaries see deep connections between these events.

The midrash Mekhilta contains a debate focusing on the ambiguity of what Yitro heard. R’ Yehoshua says that he heard about the victory over Amalek, seeing the contrast between Amalek’s hostility and God’s protection of Israel. R’ Elazar Hamodai, however, teaches that Yitro heard about the wonders of Matan Torah, which would mean the Torah tells these events out of chronological order. If Yitro arrived after Matan Torah, why is his arrival placed between Amalek and Matan Torah? Ibn Ezra explains that this juxtaposition teaches us that when recalling the hate-attack by Amalek, we should also remember that we, the Jewish nation, have genuine friends and admirers, like Yitro. 

Both interpretations contain a message for contemporary times. First, antisemitism should not define Jewish identity; rather, it should be built on positive Jewish values, with Matan Torah as its foundation. Second, while we must call out and confront antisemitism, we should not let it distort our perception of the world. Just as the Torah reminds us of Yitro’s support, we too must recognize and embrace the Yitros of our time—those who stand with the Jewish people. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Beshallach: How Song Can Move Us Forward

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“When the soul longs to break free of the gravitational pull of the earth, it modulates into song.” – Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

“Az Yashir,” the Song at the Sea, is a song of faith, victory, and gratitude. To the Sages, it was more than a response to one historical moment—it became the template for Hallel and inspired Jewish song throughout history. What makes it so unique?

Sung in the middle of Parshat Beshallach, the song is framed by Bnei Yisrael’s wavering faith—they take leaps toward God yet fall back into doubt and fear. Dr. Aviva Zornberg highlights this through a linguistic back and forth in the biblical text: va-yar/va-yire’u— meaning to see or to fear.

Their physical journey mirrors this struggle. God leads them on a longer route as they leave Egypt. According to the Mekhilta, this was to prevent their wanting to turn back to Egypt, a sentiment they express soon after, as they find themselves closed in between the Egyptians and the sea. God’s command, “Tell the Israelites to move forward,” highlights their reluctance. Even after the sea splits, Shemot Rabbah describes them hesitating on the muddy ground of the sea floor. 

In this context, Az Yashir is a song of transformation, turning fear into forward movement. Susan Cain writes about the transcendent power of song and calls this bittersweet creativity—which “has the power to look pain in the eye, and to decide to turn it into something better.” In Israel too, we have seen many talented musicians channel the bitter along with the sweet to transform the sorrow, loss and fears of the Jewish nation into hope and pride. In the words of Hanan Ben Ari’s Moledet: “(I’ll) sing an old song. We will stay faithful, forever. We will never break, neither in peace nor in trial, neither in sweet (times) nor bitter.” Az Yashir is the model for songs that continues to carry us forward. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Bo: Experiencing Redemption

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The Exodus story is more than a historical account of liberation from slavery in Egypt. It serves as an enduring model of transformation—from oppression to survival and ultimately to thriving in every generation. This process begins in parshat Bo, by empowering the people of Israel to embrace their identity and destiny as a nation.

Before their liberation, Bnei Yisrael were given a few mitzvot, including Kiddush HaChodesh (sanctifying the new moon). The Torah emphasizes that this mitzvah is for you—addressed to all of Israel. This command to take ownership of time was a powerful message to an enslaved people with no control over their own lives and time. As the midrash teaches, God was declaring that from now on, they would establish Jewish time—a key step toward Torah observance.

Another mitzvah given in Egypt was the korban Pesach. Bnei Yisrael were commanded to take the animal and prepare it four days before the sacrifice. The Mekhilta explains that this was because they had no merits, remaining in a state of spiritual “nakedness,” as Ezekiel describes: “You were still naked and bare.” By actively participating in this ritual, they took their first steps toward redemption.

Beginning with these mitzvot reinforces that the Exodus was not just a one-time liberation but an enduring model of ge’ula (redemption). It teaches that true freedom is not only freedom from oppression but also freedom for a life of holiness and purpose. The recent images and stories of our hostages returning home—marked by their unimaginable courage and deep commitment to Am Yisrael—reflect this ongoing story of redemption. May they find strength, healing, and the ability to thrive. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

(Photo of released hostage Agam Berger and her unbelievable faith and strength)

Parshat Va’era and Yuval Raphael

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What common message emerges from Yuval Raphael’s story and the Exodus?

Parshat Va’era begins with the declaration: “I am God…and I will remember My covenant with My people.” This is followed by the ten plagues,  transforming Bnei Yisrael’s circumstances and revealing the hand of God to them and Pharaoh. Before this, the Israelites endured slavery and suffering in Egypt, for which the Torah provides no explicit reason. Commentators offer differing perspectives on this.

During the “covenant between the pieces” in Bereshit, God tells Avraham about the future enslavement and redemption of his descendants. Nechama Leibowitz notes that while their descent to Egypt was certain, the children of Jacob had a choice about how they would live when in Egypt. They chose to settle deeply there, as reflected in the term “va-ye’ahazu bah” (they procured property). Therefore, some interpreters suggest their suffering was a consequence of neglecting their traditions and destiny.

Others view the experience not as punitive but instead as a source of educational and developmental lessons. The Torah frequently commands empathy for the stranger, rooted in our memory of being strangers in Egypt. Leon Kass writes that this internalization of the experience of suffering is transformed into a core value of our national identity—compassion for the vulnerable. The Ha’amek Davar views the Egyptian experience as refining and strengthening the national character of Israel, building our resilience for future challenges.

Yuval Raphael, a Nova survivor, endured unimaginable trauma. Yet, like so many Jews in history, she found hope and strength, transforming tragedy into a source of purpose. This resilience reflects the enduring Jewish ability to turn suffering, from Egypt through today, into growth and hope. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

  • photo from Jerusalem Post