Parshat Bereshit: Valuing LIfe

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Parshat Bereshit introduces the idea that all humankind was created b’tzelem Elokim, in the image of God. Ancient and modern interpreters alike view this as a foundational concept about the value of life. 

Rabbi Akiva is cited in Pirkei Avot as teaching that “beloved is the person created in God’s image.” The awareness that we are created in God’s image is a reminder of God’s love for humankind. In another midrash Hillel Hazaken cites this concept as the halakhic source for the mitzvah to care for our physical bodies as he was on his way to wash at the bathhouse. Yet another midrash explains that when we “shame” others, we are in fact shaming the likeness of God. So, the midrashic conception of tzelem Elokim ranges from the imperative to physically care for our bodies, to acting humanely and with love toward others. In other sources, creativity and procreation are seen as enhancing the divine image, while murder is the ultimate diminishing of tzelem Elokim in this world.  

Two contemporary rabbis and great thinkers expand on these ideas. Rabbi Yitz Greenberg defines tzelem Elokim as meaning that humans are created with infinite value, equality and uniqueness which should be used to enhance human relationships and improve the world. Rabbi Yuval Cherlow writes that the concept of the Divine image is the basis for all interpersonal mitzvot, and also teaches us to relate to the physical body and pleasure positively, within the framework of Jewish law. 

Now in particular, as we grapple with loss and with loved ones struggling with emotional well-being, “tzelem Elokim” reminds us of the preciousness of every life and the duty to protect and save lives. May we all find ways to see the tzelem Elokim in ourselves and others. Shabbat Shalom.

Creation of Adam by Michelangelo

Healthy Sexuality

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Parshat Ki Tetze opens with a disturbing law: when a Jewish man goes to war and desires a foreign woman among the captives, he may take her home on the condition that he waits one month during which her beauty is neglected and must then marry or free her. When seen in its biblical milieu and through the eyes of the midrashic rabbis, this law teaches us a lesson about healthy approaches to sexuality and the necessity of consent, and is particularly relevant for Israeli society this week.

The Torah emphasizes the soldier’s physical desire: He takes her based solely on her physical appearance: he “sees” her, “desires” her. She is known as “eshet yefat to’ar,” a beautiful woman. The woman has no voice or choice. The Torah’s concession to human weakness in allowing this woman to be taken would be unthinkable today and would be deemed a war crime. However, in the context of antiquity, the idea of putting constraints on victorious soldiers was revolutionary and significantly limited wartime rape. The midrash further discourages this behavior. Noting the incongruous placement of this law next to a law regarding polygamy and then the rebelious son (ben sorer u-moreh), the midrash teaches, “one sin leads to another sin.” Meaning, taking the eshet yefat to’ar into one’s house will cause conflict and a catastrophic breakdown of family relationships. It might be permitted, but it is toxic for everyone involved.

The Torah and the midrash were beacons of morality in a world where a female captive had no rights, which thank G-d is no longer the case. They remind us that sexual relations without consent has disastrous effects, and healthy sexuality goes beyond mere physical attraction.

Terumah: On Haredim Drafting into the IDF

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“Ask not what your country can do for you – ask what you can do for your country.” -John F. Kennedy

Parshat Terumah emphasizes the act of giving in the command to build the Mishkan. At first glance, the Torah seems ambiguous about this expectation. It instructs, “Take for Me an offering (terumah),” implying obligation, yet immediately adds, “From every person whose heart moves them,” suggesting voluntarism. Was the giving required, or freely chosen? This tension offers a model for one of the touchstone issues confronting Israeli society today: who should be contributing to the defense of Medinat Yisrael?

Rashi resolves the contradiction by explaining that there were three distinct contributions. Two were chovah – fixed, obligatory donations given equally by all through the machatzit ha-shekel – and one was nedavah, a voluntary gift offered according to the generosity of the heart. Participation was not optional; what varied was how each person gave. Everyone had a share in building the Mishkan.

The Lubavitcher Rebbe likewise understood the Mishkan’s diverse materials as representing the full spectrum of the Jewish people – different backgrounds and levels of observance, yet all indispensable. The Mishkan was not the project of a single group, but a collective achievement.

This vision offers a compelling model for the State of Israel. Troubling images from recent days urge us to rediscover our common bond as a society, to strive for what Rabbi Jonathan Sacks called a nation built on a covenant of “We” – a society built on belonging and mutual responsibility. Like the Mishkan, especially in these challenging days, the strength of the State of Israel depends on the willingness of all its people to see themselves as builders of a common home. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Mishpatim & Shekalim: On Rebuilding A Nation

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This year’s Super Bowl halftime show – or more precisely, “shows” – has been interpreted as yet another warning sign about the state of American society. And America is not alone. Many Western countries are grappling with a fraying sense of togetherness and shared moral purpose. What makes for a strong and good society? The convergence of Parshat Mishpatim and Shabbat Shekalim offers insight.

After the dramatic revelation at Sinai, where each individual entered into a covenant with God, Mishpatim turns to a seemingly mundane list of civil, criminal, humanitarian, and religious laws. Laws of slavery (revolutionary for their time), prohibitions against murder and theft, protections for the vulnerable, and commandments about holidays and shemitah together form the infrastructure of a just society. Commentators search for thematic order – some see a progression beginning with the strictest laws, others an expansion of the Ten Commandments. Yet even without a clear structure, the message is powerful: lofty visions require detailed systems of justice and responsibility. As Rabbi Sacks wrote, “[parshat] Yitro contains the vision, but God is in the details.”

This Shabbat is also Shabbat Shekalim, when we read of the half-shekel donation required of every individual for the Mishkan. Each person’s equal contribution built and sustained this shared sacred space. It offers a metaphor for society itself: nations are built – and rebuilt – through collective responsibility and common purpose.

Israeli society, too, is experiencing strain and rupture. No nation is immune to internal tension. Yet what sustains a people is not the absence of disagreement, but the presence of shared covenant and collective responsibility. Before we fragment further, let us remember: strong societies endure when they renew a common purpose and commit, together, to building toward it. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Yitro: Choseness – A Double-Edged Legacy

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“The Jewish people have the honor of being hated.” – Bret Stephens

The unique mission bestowed upon the Jewish people in Parshat Yitro has also been a persistent source of antisemitism throughout history, especially today.

Before the giving of the Ten Commandments, God instructs Moshe to tell the people that if they remain faithful to the covenant, they will be an am segula – a chosen people. Though “the entire earth is Mine,” God declares, Israel is to become a “kingdom of priests and a holy nation.” How have biblical interpreters understood the idea of chosenness? And what does it demand of the Jewish people – and of the State of Israel – today?

Some commentaries adopt a particularistic approach. Rashi, writing in the shadow of the Crusades, explains that while God is sovereign over all humanity, the Jewish people are God’s most precious possession, likened to a treasured jewel. Yet midrashic tradition adds an important universal dimension: the Torah was offered to all nations; Israel was simply the one that accepted it. Other biblical interpreters emphasize responsibility over privilege. Sforno and Rabbi S.R. Hirsch understand the phrase “kingdom of priests” as a mission: the Jewish people are meant to serve as God’s shlichim (representatives) in the world – modeling monotheism, Torah and holiness.

Chosenness is a double-edged legacy: it has aroused resentment, yet inspired extraordinary contributions to humanity. This tension continues today around the State of Israel. In the face of demonization and hostility, Israel’s calling is not to be distracted by its critics, but to live as a holy nation – a start-up nation not only in technology, but in every arena that sanctifies God’s name in the world. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Beshallach: A Shabbat of Song

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Shabbat Shira is the special Shabbat on which we read Az Yashir in Parshat Beshalach, celebrating one of the greatest miracles – the splitting of the Sea. How fitting that this Shabbat follows the recovery of Ran Gvili, marking the complete return of all the hostages to our borders. The midrashim on Shirat HaYam call upon us to recognize the miracles woven through all we have experienced.

The verse, “This is my God (zeh Eli) and I will glorify Him,” is interpreted as the peak of revelation for the Jewish people. Rashi comments that the word “this” means the people pointed to God’s glory. He further cites a striking midrash: “A maidservant at the Sea saw what even the prophets never saw.” In that moment, every individual, regardless of status, recognized the manifest presence of God.

Yet while some only arrive at faith after such overwhelming revelation, others sustain faith and hope long before the miracle occurs. Another midrashic tradition highlights the unique spiritual courage of women in recognizing God amid hardship. The Talmud teaches that it was in the merit of the righteous women that the Jewish people were redeemed from Egypt. Defying Pharaoh’s brutal decrees, these women continued to bring life into the world. They gave birth in the fields, trusting that God would protect their children. Miracles accompanied them: angels were sent to clean and nurse the infants. As a reward for their courage and faith, their children were the first to recognize God at the Sea and proclaim, “zeh Eli.”

This week, it feels as though we have all crossed our own Yam Suf. Whatever lies ahead, this moment calls for reflection – for gratitude for the incredible bravery and sacrifice, for the extraordinary miracles we have witnessed, and for a song of redemption sung by the entire Jewish people. Shabbat Shalom – Karen Miller Jackson

Bo: Living Memory

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What is the difference between history and memory? The command to remember the Exodus in Parshat Bo teaches that Jewish memory is not passive recollection, but active internalization – shaping our identity and ensuring the Jewish future.

Shemot chapter 12 opens with the divine command to prepare for Pesach Mitzrayim: the Israelites are instructed to take and guard the korban Pesach, a lamb designated for sacrifice. Yet, even before they carry out this command, God tells them why this day will matter forever: “For on this very day I brought your ranks out of the land of Egypt; you shall observe this day throughout the ages…for all time.” The people have not yet experienced redemption, yet they are already commanded to commemorate it. Even before leaving Egypt, they are asked to imagine themselves as a free people, already shaped by the meaning of their experiences.

In chapter 13, after the command of the Pesach offering is fulfilled, the focus shifts to the transmission of this memory. The Jewish people, in every generation, are instructed to remember the Exodus by telling it to their children. Yet, the Torah uses strikingly personal language: “It is because of that which the Lord did for me when I came forth out of Egypt.” Each Jew – past, present, and future – tells this story in the first person. The word “me” demands that each generation ask: What does this story mean now? How does it shape who I am and how I live?

Today too, we are living in historic times for Israel. The Exodus teaches us how to turn our living memory into responsibility. By telling our children both our biblical story of freedom and our modern story of national independence and rebuilding, we shape a confident Jewish and Zionist identity rooted in responsibility for the future of our people and our land. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Va’era: The Ayatollah’s Hardened Heart

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This week, many are wondering: what will be the fate of one of the world’s longest-reigning dictators? Will pressure from within and without finally bring about his downfall? And most troubling of all – how can he continue to act with such cruelty toward his own people? We find some perspective on these questions in Parshat Va’era, through the behavior of the Bible’s first despot, Pharaoh.

Moshe confronts Pharaoh and famously demands, in God’s name, “Let My people go.” Pharaoh refuses, again and again, before ultimately releasing the Israelites. Yet the story raises a theological question. Before Moshe’s second encounter with Pharaoh, God declares explicitly: “I will harden Pharaoh’s heart.” At what point, then, does Pharaoh lose his free will? And why does God prolong his punishment? 

The midrash teaches that Pharaoh retained free will during the first five plagues. He was given repeated opportunities to repent, yet remained intransigent. Only after these refusals does the Torah state that God hardened his heart, denying Pharaoh the possibility of teshuva. The Sages point to a subtle shift in language: during the first plagues – “Pharaoh’s heart stiffened”; after that – “God hardened Pharaoh’s heart.” 

Rambam, in Hilchot Teshuva, explains that Pharaoh did not lose free will lightly. He forfeited it through his own actions. Pharaoh’s sins – the abuse and enslavement of an entire people – were so serious that God removed his capacity to change. The loss of free will was not the cause of his wickedness, but its consequence.

Pharaoh is not a puppet controlled by God, but a tyrant trapped by his own choices. As Rabbi Sacks writes: “In the end, tyrants bring about their own destruction, whereas those with willpower, courage, and the willingness to go against the consensus acquire a monumental freedom.” So may it be – soon. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

photo via https://www.timesofisrael.com/why-the-massive-iran-protests-havent-toppled-its-clerical-establishment/

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