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

Parshat Noah: Windows & The World

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Why does God command Noah to build a “tzohar” (opening) on the ark? The tevah was meant to enclose and protect those inside so they could survive the flood. What purpose, then, would an opening serve? The interpretations of the tzohar provide a model for how we might view our own homes and places of prayer today.

The word tzohar appears only once in Tanach, making it difficult to define. Rashi, citing midrash, offers two explanations: (1) a window, or (2) a precious stone that emitted light. Both explain how Noah and his family—confined in the ark for a year—had light and could distinguish between day and night. Yet the difference is telling: a stone brings light inward but offers no view outward, while a window lets light in and allows one to look out and connect with the world beyond. Hizkuni identifies this tzohar as the very window through which Noah sent the raven, a moment marking his first reconnection with the outside world. 

Windows also carry symbolic meaning in our prayer spaces and homes. Talmud Berachot, based on Daniel, teaches that one should pray in a bayit with windows—a law later codified in halakha. Some rishonim explain that natural light or a view of the heavens enhances kavanah (concentration). Rav Kook adds that a person who has the most heartfelt  prayers, but is disconnected from the outside world is not achieving the full purpose of tefilla. By davening in a room with a view of the outside, a person will be inspired to positively influence and do good in the world s/he inhabits. 

Like Noah’s tevah, our homes and shuls are a space to protect and nurture ourselves, to build up our faith and inner light. Yet if we never look outward, our spiritual lives remain incomplete. The window reminds us that faith is not only about shelter, but about shining light into the world beyond. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Bereshit: Faith and Gratitude

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“Each and every blade of grass has a special song of its own.” – Naomi Shemer, based on Rebbe Nachman of Breslav

In the midst of the creation narrative, before humankind even enters the scene, parshat Bereishit offers a lesson about the power of faith and gratitude, one we have witnessed so vividly in each and every hostage who, thank God, has returned home. 

In the retelling of creation in Bereishit, chapter 2, just before Adam is formed, the Torah states: “When no shrub of the field was yet on earth and no grasses of the field had yet sprouted, because God had not sent rain upon the earth and there were no human beings to till the soil.” Why did God withhold the rain? And why are two reasons given for why the vegetation had not grown? Rashi connects these two explanations: God withheld the rain because there were not yet human beings who could be makir tov (to appreciate the rain). Only once Adam sensed the world’s need for sustenance did he pray for rain, and it was that prayer that brought the grasses and trees to life.

Rashi’s insight highlights several key ideas. First, Adam prays not only for himself, but for the sake of the world. Second, tefilla cultivates within us the capacity to be makir tov — to feel and express gratitude to God and to others for the good we receive. Finally, the world itself reached its completion — the grasses only began to grow — when Adam prayed. Our very sustenance, and the flourishing of the world, depend on our tefillot.

This message finds powerful expression in the chatufim, who have shown almost superhuman strength, faith, and gratitude. With radiant smiles, wrapped in Israeli flags, and in their renewed embrace of mitzvot like tefillin and tefilla. Their example is not only a source of inspiration but also a wellspring of strength — one that will help us recreate, renew, and heal Israeli society. Shabbat Shalom – Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Ha’azinu & Sukkot: Strength from Former Hostages

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The poetic parsha of Ha’azinu, which we will read just before Sukkot, reminds us of the blessings God has bestowed upon the people of Israel throughout history. By recalling both our failures and our faith, Ha’azinu becomes a verbal act of hakarat hatov, gratitude for all the good God has granted us.

The Midrash Sifrei teaches that this song encompasses the past, present, and future of the Jewish people. Ramban adds that it is both our testimony about God’s benevolence to us and God’s testimony about Israel—that even when we stray, God will forgive and return to us.

The mitzvah of sitting in the sukkah carries a similar message. The Torah commands us to dwell in sukkot “so that future generations will know that I caused the Israelites to dwell in booths” after the Exodus (Vayikra 23). Yet the Torah never describes these sukkot explicitly, leading to a rabbinic debate about whether they were physical booths, or the ananei hakavod—the Clouds of Glory—symbolizing divine protection. Whether they were actual shelters or the miraculous clouds, the sukkah teaches that it is precisely in moments of fragility and uncertainty that we are reminded to rely on God’s care.

We have also learned this lesson from many former hostages—may the remaining ones come home soon. In his book, Eli Sharabi describes how, at his most vulnerable, in the dark, cramped, airless tunnels of Gaza, he drew strength from the words of Kiddush and Shema. Ha’azinu and the sukkah together remind us that as we emerge from this month of chagim, when we feel most attuned to God’s presence, we can strive to hold on to these reminders of faith and protection throughout the year ahead. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Vayelech: Embracing Knesset Yisrael

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Parshat Vayelech presents the mitzvah of hakhel (assembly), when the entire Jewish people gathered during Sukkot at the end of the shemita year to hear the Torah read aloud. While this mitzvah could only be fully observed when the Mikdash stood, the commentaries emphasize that its essence carries enduring relevance.

The Torah commands that all participate in hakhel: men, women, and children. Rashi explains that men came to learn, women (who were then less educated) to hear, and young children to give “s’char” (reward) to their parents who brought them. Regardless of one’s level of knowledge, the Torah reading would touch the heart of each person in some way. Rambam explains that whether a person was exceptionally learned or couldn’t understand the words, everyone stood and listened together recalling the giving of Torah at Sinai. Hakhel was inclusive of all, no matter one’s level of understanding, knowledge and commitment. 

The Kli Yakar draws a parallel between hakhel and Yom Kippur: “The essence of hakhel is repentance.” Just as the Ten Days of Repentance focus on the individual, hakhel represents the collective dimension—a rare opportunity for communal teshuva, for the entire people to return together. Rav Soloveitchik similarly observes that Yom Kippur contains both dimensions: the shorter, personal vidui (confession) is followed by the longer, more powerful, communal one. Both are necessary, but the power of the collective confession lies in its voice as Knesset Yisrael—binding us not only to our present community but also to Jews across generations and to the entirety of Israel.

May we be blessed this year to experience the strength of hakhel and the embrace of Knesset Yisrael. May we find ways to deepen our unity and draw closer to the whole Jewish people. Shabbat Shalom and Gmar Chatima Tova – Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Nitzavim: The Call of Jewish Peoplehood

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We usually think of teshuva (repentance or return) as applying to individuals. Yet Parshat Nitzavim teaches us about another layer—one especially resonant at this moment in Jewish history—national teshuva.

The Ramban derives the mitzvah of teshuva from our parsha, traditionally read on the Shabbat before Rosh Hashana. The Hebrew root sh.u.v is repeated seven times in this section, characterizing teshuva as an ongoing process. It encompasses both the individual aspect: “You will return to your God…” and the collective dimension: “God will return and gather you from all the nations…” What, then, does national teshuva look like?

Rav Kook teaches that the Jewish people’s return to the Land of Israel is the foundation of the greatest teshuva. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, building on the Ramban, described teshuva as a “double homecoming”—physically to the land and spiritually to God. Perhaps, too, there is a dimension of spiritual return to the Jewish people themselves: a reawakening of responsibility, solidarity, and shared destiny. As Rabbi Sacks asked, can we hear “the divine call (‘Where are you?’) within the events that happen to us, whether individually as personal fate or collectively as Jewish history”?

The prophet Hosea offers further insight into national teshuva when he calls on Israel to return to God. The core of teshuva is through words: “Take words with you and return to God… Instead of bulls, we will pay [with offering of] our lips.”(14:3) National teshuva is achieved through words of prayer and in using language that fosters healing and repair. 

Especially now, amid today’s challenges and uncertainties, the call to teshuva resounds on both the individual and national level. How can each of us respond—through prayer, action, and words—in a way which strengthens Israel, the Jewish people, and the wider world? Shabbat Shalom & Shana Tova🇮🇱🍎🍯-Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Ki Tavo: Today

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“Never leave that till tomorrow which you can do today.” — Benjamin Franklin

Parshat Ki Tavo, in its list of blessings and curses, repeatedly emphasizes the word ha-yom (“today” or “this day”). Why such stress on the present moment?

Rashi, commenting on the verse “The Lord your God commands you this day to observe these laws…”, explains that mitzvot should feel new each day, as though we are receiving them afresh at Sinai. The Chafetz Chaim offers another perspective: ha-yom, the emphasis on today, reminds us not to take our days for granted. Additionally, he teaches that real growth comes not through lofty, overwhelming long-term goals, but through small, achievable steps we commit to today.

This theme of ha-yom also runs through the Rosh Hashana liturgy: “Today is the birthday of the world… today all creatures stand in judgment.” The Netivot Shalom links this emphasis on ha-yom to hitchadshut (renewal)– teaching that Rosh Hashana, the day of creation according to Rabbi Eliezer, carries unique potential for new beginnings in our relationship with God and with one another. Similarly, in the haftarah of Rosh Hashana, ha-yom marks the day Hannah’s prayers for a child were finally answered—a reminder that each new day holds the possibility of hope and change.

This week, in Israel and in the U.S., we have seen too many precious lives cut short through terrorism and hatred. Ha-yom—so central in our parsha and on the day of judgment—calls us to treasure what we have, to believe in the power of prayer for what we yearn for, and to begin today the work of building a safer, kinder, and more humane world. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Ki Tetze: Preventing Strife in Society

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“When you go out to war…” These opening words of the parsha are sobering to read as we approach the two-year mark of this war. Even more striking is their placement at the beginning of Parshat Ki Tetze, where they serve as a stark reminder of the toll war exacts—not only on individual soldiers but also on the wider society back home.

The parsha begins with the law of the eshet yefat to’ar, the foreign woman taken captive, whom a soldier may desire during wartime. While the Torah permits him to bring her home, it imposes strict conditions: she must be given a month to mourn her family, and afterwards he must either marry her or set her free. For its time, this law was revolutionary, significantly limiting the abuse of women in wartime. After this, the parsha shifts to matters of family and society.

It is striking that Ki Tetze begins here, after the laws of war were already given in Shoftim. Why is this law brought in this week’s parsha, and what message does its placement convey?

Some commentaries find a thematic link between the eshet yefat to’ar and the laws that follow. The midrash Tanhuma, noting its juxtaposition with the laws of polygamy and the rebellious son, teaches: “one sin leads to another sin.” In other words, a relationship born solely of physical desire will inevitably lead to family strife and ultimately catastrophe.

But there is another lesson here as well. War—even when necessary, even when far from home—carries deep consequences: for the enemy, for the soldiers who risk their lives, and for the nation they fight to defend. The Torah places this law at the head of the parsha precisely before the societal laws that follow, reminding us that responsibility extends beyond the battlefield. We must be vigilant, too, in preventing conflict within our homes and communities, and in preserving our nation as one family. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

* photo of car burnt in Jerusalem from TOI