Parshat Va’etchanan: Faith & Hope

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The unique status of the Shema prayer is not immediately apparent from its original context in Parshat Va’etchanan. Yet the interpretation of just two words helps explain why it has become such a cherished prayer and a powerful symbol of enduring hope.

There is a well-known tannaitic debate regarding the words “בְּשָׁכְבְּךָ וּבְקוּמֶךָ” (“when you lie down and when you get up”). Beit Shammai taught that one must literally lie down at night and stand up in the morning while saying Shema. Rabbi Tarfon once followed this opinion and endangered himself while traveling at night. In contrast, Beit Hillel interpreted these words as referring to the times of recitation: “at the time” when people typically lie down (evening) and rise (morning). The law is decided according to Beit Hillel, who understood the essence of Shema as framing our days and nights. This view rejects the idea that Shema should be a separate, isolated moment in the day; rather, it teaches that Shema embodies an enduring faith that flows through the everyday rhythms of our lives.

These same words also explain why the Oral Torah begins with the question: “From when does one recite the evening Shema?” Why begin with the nighttime Shema before the morning Shema? The primary proof-text for this order is again “when you lie down and when you get up.” The timing of Shema is not set by objective astronomical markers, but by the lived, daily rhythm of human beings. On a deeper level, this pattern mirrors the rhythm of Jewish history itself: holding fast to faith through the dark nights of persecution and exile, and then emerging into the light of independence and redemption.

With each passing day, amidst the hovering threats, the Shema remains a steady anchor of faith. We continue to pray that each new day will bring light and redemption—for the hostages, for our chayalim, and for all of Am Yisrael. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Devarim: Seeking Truth

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The book of Devarim opens in an unexpected way – with Moshe recounting one of Israel’s greatest failures: the sin of the meraglim. His retelling, however, differs significantly from the original narrative in Bamidbar and, at first glance, even seems to contradict it. Why tell it this way? Moshe’s words offer a powerful lesson for our world which is quick to call out faults and eager to embrace narratives that simplify or distort the truth.

In Devarim, it is not God who initiates the sending of scouts, but rather the nation. And it is not the spies—the tribal leaders—who spread criticism of the land, but the people. Rav Tamir Granot explains that Moshe chose to begin with this story, and to retell it in this way, because its lessons were most relevant for this second generation. Bamidbar emphasizes the failures of the leaders. Devarim emphasizes the people’s responsibility – teaching that a nation cannot simply blame its leadership; every individual bears a share of accountability.

The rabbis adopt a similar approach in retelling the story of the churban, commemorated on Tisha B’Av. Historical sources and the Talmud recount corrupt priests during the final years of the Second Temple, and the infamous story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza, along with the silence of the rabbis who witnessed it, contributed to the destruction of Jerusalem. Yet, the Sages ultimately teach that the Temple fell not because of leadership failures alone, but because of sinat chinam – pointless hatred among the people.

These retellings do not seek to manipulate or distort the truth. Instead, they model something rare and vital: the courage to confront failure honestly and learn from it. In an age when truth is often twisted and responsibility deflected, Moshe’s words call us to a higher standard – to speak with integrity, to take ownership of our actions, and to recognize that each of us can shape a more honest and hopeful future. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Matot-Masei: Israel and Diaspora Jews — One Family?

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Can one truly love Israel from afar? Do Israeli and Diaspora Jews still see themselves as one family? Parshat Matot-Masei speaks directly to these questions.

As Bnei Yisrael prepare to enter the land, a moment of crisis arises: Reuven, Gad, and half of Menashe request to settle east of the Jordan for its rich grazing land. Their request seems practical, yet Moshe responds sharply: “Shall your brothers go to war while you stay here?” It becomes clear that he fears a repeat of the meraglim story and worries these tribes will weaken national resolve. Additionally, when the tribes make this request, they prioritize their cattle before their children. Rashi explains that Moshe subtly rebukes them by reversing the order of their words, teaching that children must always come first. As Rabbi Sacks observed, Jewish communities have endured throughout history by “putting children and their education first.”

In essence, Moshe sets two conditions for living outside the land: they must fight alongside their brothers and foster a strong and positive Jewish identity. The tribes agree, demonstrating unity and commitment. This narrative reminds us that love for Israel carries responsibility—solidarity, support, and a shared destiny.

As I write to you from the U.S., I wonder if, after nearly two years of war and Israel’s remarkable resilience, perhaps it is time to ask what we can do for our Diaspora family. This week, I witnessed a local shul conducting a terror drill and met with communal leaders who expressed both unwavering support for Israel and deep concern over the rise in antisemitism and anti-Zionism. The American Jewish community is fighting a battle too—not only for Israel’s reputation but for its own spiritual survival and sense of security. It was a powerful reminder: we are one people, one family. Now, perhaps more than ever, is the moment to stand with them, as they have stood with us. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Pinchas: Israel Advocacy

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The daughters of Tzelofchad, featured in Parshat Pinchas, offer a powerful model for modern-day Israel advocacy and passionate Zionism.

Following the Torah’s description of how the Land of Israel would be apportioned, these five sisters boldly step forward, approaching Moshe with a groundbreaking request: to inherit a portion of the land in the absence of male heirs. Who were these women, and what fueled their deep attachment to the land?

The midrash reveals them as courageous, devoted lovers of Eretz Yisrael. The Torah emphasizes twice that they descend from the tribe of Menashe, and the second time it specifies, “Menashe the son of Yosef.” Rashi explains that this repetition links their love of the land to Yosef, who also cherished the land—chibev et ha’aretz—and insisted his bones be brought back to be buried there. Their passion was inherited. Further, in a Talmudic debate about their father’s identity, Rabbi Shimon identifies Tzelofchad as one of the ma’apilim—those who attempted to enter the land even after God had decreed otherwise. Though their act was misguided, it reflected an overwhelming love for the land—one that clearly lived on in his daughters.

Beyond their passionate Zionism, the daughters of Tzelofchad exemplify how to seek justice through constructive, respectful engagement. Bamidbar Rabbah presents them as a counterforce to the fear, cynicism, and rebellion that plagued their generation. When Moshe brings their case before God, the response is striking: “The daughters of Tzelofchad speak rightly.” Their words are affirmed by God.Bnot Tzelofchad remain a timeless inspiration. They teach us that it is not only what we say about Israel that matters—but how we say it. To speak up, and to speak well—for the sake of our people, our land, and our future. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Balak: A Nation of Lions and Lionesses

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“Am Kelavi Yakum”  -Bamidbar 23:24

This verse, a timeless symbol of Jewish perseverance, fittingly became the name of Israel’s war with Iran—in which we truly rose with pride and strength like a lion. Strikingly, in Parshat Balak, Bilaam employs the image of a lion twice, and Rashi offers two very different, yet equally resonant, interpretations.

On the words “Here is a people that rises like a lion,” Rashi comments: “When they rise from sleep in the morning, they show themselves strong as a lion to ‘snatch’ the mitzvot—tallit, Shema, and tefillin—with enthusiasm.” In the next chapter, on the verse “They crouch and lie down like a lion…?” Rashi, citing Targum Onkelos, offers a very different image: “They will be settled in their land in strength and might.” Why such contrasting interpretations?

The second Rashi feels especially resonant in our times. These lions of “strength and might” symbolize national sovereignty and military power. They are the lions and lionesses who have defended the State of Israel, astonishing the world with their resilience, ingenuity, and unwavering determination. Yet Rashi’s first interpretation is no less compelling. Rising each morning to “snatch” mitzvot reminds us that our national strength is rooted in the spiritual courage of generations past—Jews who risked everything just to lay tefillin, whisper Shema Yisrael, and cling to mitzvot with quiet resolve.

This dual image captures the essence of today’s lions and lionesses – heroes who rise each morning with purpose. We see them on the battlefield, in the skies, and behind computer screens. We see them in lone soldiers who leave everything behind to serve their people, in tireless advocates working for the release of the hostages, in the miluim wives holding their families together, and in those who, despite profound grief, wake each day committed to healing and strengthening Israeli society. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Chukat: Renewed Hope

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Parshat Chukat marks a transformational moment for Bnei Yisrael, as they begin to find their confidence and commitment as a nation—ready to live in and appreciate their promised land.

As Ibn Ezra notes, the parsha fast-forwards to the 40th year of desert wanderings, after the first generation has mostly passed away. A new generation has arisen, yet their words echo familiar complaints: “The soul of the people grew discouraged on the journey… Why did you make us leave Egypt to die in the wilderness? … We have come to loathe this miserable food.” They sound tired—and “hangry.” Rashi observes that, unlike other instances, the Torah does not explain the cause of their kotzer nefesh (discouragement). It was, he teaches, the journey itself that wore them down. But here, there is a crucial difference: their frustration stems from an impatient longing to finally enter the Land of Israel.

This pivotal shift is reflected in the continuation of the parsha. First, after complaining, the people quickly correct themselves and ask forgiveness. They stumble, but their faith is restored. Second, after the miraculous well disappears, the people don’t despair. Instead, they sing for water: “Az yashir Yisrael…” At the sea, they sang with Moshe and Miriam; now, they sing on their own. Third, they fight two battles—against Sichon and Og—relying less on miracles and more on their own courage and faith. The Ha’amek Davar writes that this parsha marks the beginning of Israel’s spiritual maturation: a move from dependence on overt miracles to experiencing God concealed through nature. 

After 637 days of war, many of us understandably feel a kind of kotzer nefesh—weariness and impatience. And yet, like the second generation in the wilderness, we too are discovering a reinvigorated sense of strength, unity, and commitment to our land and our people – a renewed source of hope. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Korach: The Battle for Truth

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The sin of Korach and his followers is ambiguous in the biblical text, leaving room for multiple interpretations. Yet when we read Parshat Korach today, one perspective stands out: their sin lay in their duplicity. It is a story that speaks directly to our world today, where the value of truth is increasingly under threat.

The Torah does not specify how Korach incited rebellion, but Rashi interprets the words “And Korach took” to mean he took others through persuasive and manipulative speech. According to the Midrash, Korach swayed followers with a fictional story about a widow exploited by Moshe and Aharon – misusing biblical verses and portraying them as corrupt leaders who demanded her last possessions. As Nechama Leibowitz notes, Korach’s choice of a widow is no accident. It is a calculated move to arouse the compassion and indignation of his audience. He crafts a narrative of victimhood, cloaked in the language of Torah.

Korach’s allies, Datan and Aviram, similarly distort the truth. “Is it not enough that you brought us out of a land flowing with milk and honey to kill us in the wilderness?” they ask—referring not to the Promised Land, but to Egypt. In the wake of the spies’ report, they exploit the people’s despair, twisting sacred words once used by God and Moshe to describe the Land of Israel. 

This is the essence of post-truth: misinformation that appeals to emotion while obscuring reality. We saw this just this week—in misleading headlines and political campaigns built on lies about Israel. The Talmud notes that the letters in שקר (falsehood) are close together in the Hebrew alphabet, while those in אמת (truth) are far apart—teaching that falsehood is easily found, but truth must be pursued with great effort. That is the enduring lesson of the Korach story: seek truth, and pursue it. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Shelach: Our Shlichut Today

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The story of the meraglim is among the Torah’s most consequential, resulting in a generation denied entry to the Land of Israel. Told in this week’s parsha, Shelach, and retold in Devarim, the two accounts highlight its lessons then—and what they still mean for us today.

Shelach emphasizes the role of leaders. The heads of tribes—important men—are listed by name, setting a high expectation for their mission. One word in Shelach captures their task: latur, to scout the land. In Devarim, there is much less emphasis on the spies themselves. Also, their mission is described instead with the words lachfor and leragel—to search out and to spy. Why the difference in language? The Malbim teaches that latur, in Shelach, implies seeking out goodness. God had already guaranteed that the land was good. At this critical moment, the leaders were expected to affirm that vision. Instead, ten of the twelve returned with words that spread fear and demoralization.

In Devarim, the responsibility shifts to the people. In this retelling, Moshe does not blame the spies. In fact, they are portrayed as speaking positively about the land. It is the nation who misinterprets their words and lacks the confidence to rise up and conquer. And it is not only the generation of the midbar who bear responsibility. Moshe addresses their children, on the verge of entering the land, in the present tense: “Then all of YOU came to me and said, ‘Let us send men ahead to reconnoiter the land for US…’” This highlights that every generation of Jews has a role to play in correcting the sin of the meraglim.

Today, as we witness the miracles and heroism unfolding in this historic moment for Israel, Parshat Shelach reminds us that we each have a shlichut—a mission—to fulfill. Leaders and nation alike are called to see the good, to strengthen one another, and to move forward with courage and faith into the future. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Beha’alotcha: “Let Your Enemies Be Scattered”

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Parshat Beha’alotcha marks a dramatic turning point in Bnei Yisrael’s journey through the desert. The commentaries find deep significance in this moment — not only within the biblical narrative, but for all time.

At the height of the nation’s preparations to enter the Land of Israel, we read: “When the Ark would journey, Moshe said, ‘Arise, God, and let Your enemies be scattered, and let those who hate You flee before You.’ And when it rested, he would say, ‘Return, God, to the myriad thousands of Israel.’” Immediately after these verses comes the troubling episode of the mitonenim — bitter complainers who sow unrest among the people. Notably, these two verses are bracketed by two inverted letter “nuns,” and Rabbi Yehuda HaNasi famously taught that this section constitutes “a book unto itself.”

The Ha’amek Davar sees this as the beginning of the generation’s spiritual decline. Despite witnessing the greatest divine providence, the mitonenim spark a cycle of criticism and complaint that ultimately leads to the sin of the spies — and the decree that this generation would not enter the Land. These two verses, then, become a symbolic dividing line: before and after. Before — hope, preparation, and purpose. After — a tragic unraveling of faith and commitment.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch offers a more hopeful reading. He suggests that these two verses are placed here because they capture the eternal rhythm of Jewish history: there will always be enemies and haters. But when we lead with the Aron Kodesh — when we are rooted in our identity, faith, and values — our adversaries are scattered, and we find our way back: back to God, to one another, and to our connection with the Land of Israel.

This, the parsha reminds us, remains our challenge today: to stay strong and faithful despite the haters from without and the voices of discord from within. Shabbat Shalom and Am Yisrael Chai -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Naso: A Jewish View on Virtue

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We live in an age that often encourages moral crusaders—individuals who publicly promote their “saintliness,” sometimes in ways that feel disingenuous. The discussion of the Nazir in Parshat Naso offers a thought-provoking perspective on this phenomenon and reveals a certain wariness toward overt displays of holiness.

The Nazir is a man or woman who takes a vow to abstain from all vineyard products, all forms of alcohol, and haircuts for a set period. The Torah describes the Nazir as “set apart for God” and “holy to God.” Yet it clearly does not promote this as a permanent lifestyle, as it provides specific guidelines for concluding the nezirut period, including the requirement to bring a korban.

The commentaries debate whether this form of asceticism is praiseworthy. The Ramban explains that the Nazir brings a korban because, after departing from a heightened state of holiness, atonement is required. The Rambam offers a more complex view. In Hilchot Nezirut, he states that if it is done properly the Nazir’s choice “delightful and praiseworthy,” yet in Hilchot Deot, he warns against extremes and argues one should not fully abstain from wine or meat. From this perspective, the Nazir brings a korban for deviating from the balanced path advocated by the Torah.

Rabbi Sacks explains this apparent contradiction by noting that saints—like the Nazir—seek personal perfection, which can be admirable but is often inward-focused. Judaism, he writes, “calls on us to live in the world, not to escape from it.” Holiness is found not in withdrawal, but in engagement.

In an age of virtue signaling and performative activism, the Nazir reminds us to be wary of those who champion moral causes more for image or trend than for genuine impact. True holiness, by contrast, lies in the quiet, consistent work of engaging with the world and its challenges with sincerity and moral integrity. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson