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

Shemot: Pinning Our Hope on Am Yisrael

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Reading parshat Shemot, with its emphasis on names and identity, during this momentous week, offers both solace and hope. 

The Ramban calls the book of Shemot “The Book of Redemption.” Even before the oppression begins, the keys to redemption are already present. The opening verse repeats the names of the children of Jacob who went down to Egypt, even though these names were already listed at the end of Bereishit. Rashi explains that God lists them again to “show how dear they were to God — like the stars, which God brings out and in by number and name.” This highlights the balance the Jewish people must maintain between their individual and collective identities, even when they do not always align. Rav Amital zt”l, a survivor of the Shoah, writes that being part of Am Yisrael means balancing the “number” — our collective purpose — with the “name” — our unique individual identity and beliefs.

Yet, the story continues with an increase in number but not in name. While the children of Israel proliferate greatly in number, their individual names are absent. They are referred to as “midwives,” “a man from the house of Levi,” “daughter of Levi,” and “daughter of Pharaoh.” Biblical interpreters see this shift between named and nameless figures as a reflection of the strengthening or weakening of Jewish identity in exile. A powerful midrash teaches that one of the main reasons Bnei Yisrael were ultimately redeemed from Egypt was that they preserved their Hebrew names. This act of remembering — holding fast to our names, values, and aspirations — has been a cornerstone of Jewish survival and resilience.

The coming weeks will be filled with emotional reflections on both numbers and names. “Ve’eileh Shemot” reminds us to honor the names of the individual heroes we have lost as we try to move forward, into what we pray will be a time of redemption for the Jewish nation. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Vayigash: National Unity

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Vayigash is the parsha of achdut (Jewish unity). How can we preserve some of the achdut we have seen in Israeli society over the past year and how can we further foster a shared national vision, despite our differences? The approach of Yehuda toward Yosef provides some insight.

“Then Yehuda approached him [Yosef]…” This was a pivotal moment in the story of Yaacov’s sons. At their lowest point, the brothers could not speak peaceably with Yosef. Rashi describes their disdain as having “moved on from all feelings of brotherhood.” However, in Parshat Vayigash, Yehuda—still unaware that Yosef is his brother—pleads with Yosef at length on behalf of Binyamin, determined to fulfill the promise he made to his father.

Bereshit Rabbah likens this encounter to a well with good, cold water at the bottom, which is out of reach until someone ties rope to rope and draws from it and drinks. So too, Yehuda approached Yosef with many words until he found the ones which touched Yosef’s heart. The physical approach, along with words, communication, are the keys to bridging deep divides. 

The haftorah too, contains a vision for Jewish unity, particularly for modern Israel. Yechezkel is told by God to take two sticks and write on one the name Yosef (Ephraim and the tribes of Yisrael) and the other Yehuda and then, “Bring them close to each other, so that they become one stick.” Rav Kook quoted this prophecy in his eulogy for Theodor Herzl and refers to the secular Zionist movement as the “footsteps of the messiah son of Yosef.”

Rav Kook exemplified the ability to approach and draw closer to parts of Israeli society that thought and lived differently. How can we follow in the footsteps of Yehuda, Yechezkel, and Rav Kook to bridge divides and foster deeper unity? Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Vayeshev: Prayers for the Return of the Hostages

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The name of this week’s parsha, Vayeshev, underscores the delicate balance between seeking tranquility and the risk of falling into complacency. After a life filled with challenges—fleeing Esav, enduring Lavan’s deceit, and the trauma of Dina’s kidnapping—Yaakov settles in Canaan. The midrash elaborates that he hoped for “shalva,” tranquility, a wish we can easily understand.

Yet Chazal critique this desire. Rashi, citing the midrash, comments: “Yaakov wished to live at ease, but the ordeal of Yosef sprang upon him.” God’s response, as portrayed in the midrash, is striking: “The peace of the world-to-come awaits tzadikim, yet they also want tranquility in this world?!” This connects Yaakov’s longing for rest with the subsequent turmoil—his sons’ jealousy, Yosef’s sale, and Yaakov’s grief. What was wrong with Yaacov’s request? Must tzadikim always be in motion, never settled?

A contrasting perspective is seen in the laws of Hanukkah. The Shulchan Aruch cites the custom for women to refrain from work during the lighting of Hanukkah candles. The Magen Avraham explains that this pause reflects their role in the Hanukkah miracle. Here, rest is valued—a moment to reflect, give thanks, and draw inspiration from the candles.

Perhaps this is the difference: Yaacov wanted prolonged tranquility with no end. But endless repose is not the way to live out one’s life. We never fully “retire.” In contrast, women pause on Hanukkah temporarily, at a designated time. Periodic rest and reflection provide the opportunity to recharge ourselves, to renew our creativity, energy and purpose in life.

This Shabbat, let us not be complacent. Just as the Hanukkah candles inspire us to pause and draw strength, let us channel our prayers and unity toward a modern-day miracle—the safe and swift return of the hostages. Shabbat Shalom and Hanukkah Sameach! 🇮🇱🕎- Karen Miller Jackson