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.

Bamidbar: Truthful and Redemptive Counting

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The Book of Bamidbar is also called by the rabbis Chumash HaPekudim – the “Book of Numbers” – because it contains two lengthy censuses of Bnei Yisrael. Yet throughout Tanach, counting people is sometimes viewed positively and at other times as a sin. What determines whether counting is an act of blessing or of transgression?

Parshat Bamidbar opens with God commanding Moshe to count the men of military age, preparing the nation to enter the Land of Israel. Rashi comments: “Because of God’s love for Israel, He counts them often…” This stands in sharp contrast to when King David counts the people. The book of Divrei Hayamim states that God was displeased with his counting. What was the difference?

In Bamidbar God commands the counting, whereas later, David initiates it. Moreover, Sforno explains that in Bamidbar they were counted “with names,” emphasizing each individual and his unique contribution to the nation. Thinking of people as numbers is dangerous, as we know too well from Jewish history. One final insight comes from Ramban, who notes a striking linguistic difference. In Bamidbar, the Torah uses the root פקד, which can also imply remembrance or redemption; in David’s census, the verb is ספר, simply “to count.” Counting, Ramban suggests, should be done rarely – only when necessary, and only for constructive, redemptive purposes.

This week, once again, we heard false “counts” used to demonize Israel – alongside less publicized evidence-based reports of the atrocities of October 7. May the world’s countings be truthful, and may they always serve purposes of justice and redemption. Shabbat Shalom🇮🇱 -Karen Miller Jackson

Behar-Bechukotai

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Parshat Behar-Bechukotai emphasizes the strong and unbreakable bond between the Jewish people, God and the land of Israel. One key word is a reminder that even with Israel’s imperfections, we need to convey our commitment to Zionism with pride and confidence.

Vayikra 26 contains the wondrous blessings and the harsh curses which will come our way if we don’t follow God’s laws. The blessings include prosperity, military strength, security and peace in our land and feeling God’s presence among us. The curses are long and harsh and culminate with a distancing of the Jewish people from God and our land. One image repeats itself throughout the blessings – to walk, specifically to walk upright: “If you walk in my laws, you will be blessed, and God will “walk among you.” The brachot conclude with the declaration that God broke the yoke of our enslavement in Egypt and enabled us to “walk upright.” Why this emphasis on walking upright?

The word for upright – komemiyut – is from the root k.u.m – to get up! The Targum Onkelos translates it as freedom. Rashi says it means to stand upright. Rashbam writes, “when the yoke is removed, he can hold his head high.” Sometimes in order to hold our heads high, we need to be reminded of the long walk of our history, the dangers of bowing our heads and not standing up tall and proud of who we are. 

We pray daily for God to take us komemiyut l’artzenu, upright to our land. In modern Hebrew komemiyut means sovereignty and it appears in the first line of Israel’s declaration of Independence. Particularly now, may we all find ways – wherever we are – to be blessed with the strength to “walk upright” in our Jewish and Zionist identity. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Emor: Exposure to Violence

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“Hate is contagious… Ultimately hate is both destructive and self-destructive.” – Elie Wiesel

It is difficult not to feel shaken by the hate and violence we have been exposed to this past week. Fittingly, Parshat Emor offers a framework for understanding the contagious nature of hate – and the responsibility it places on us to respond with introspection and accountability.

At the end of the parsha, we encounter the story of the megadef, the blasphemer. The son of an Egyptian man and an Israelite woman becomes embroiled in a conflict, and in a moment of anger, pronounces God’s Name in a curse. Chazal viewed this sin as so severe that they refer to it euphemistically as birkat Hashem – “blessing God” – suggesting that even referring to blasphemy carries spiritual danger. The Rambam teaches that one who hears it must perform kriya, an act of mourning, underscoring the gravity of this destructive speech. The Torah thus frames such verbal violence in the public sphere as deeply consequential – akin to physical violence.

One striking feature of this narrative is that all who heard the blasphemy place their hands upon the megadef before his punishment. The Ha’amek Davar explains this as a form of collective reckoning – an acknowledgment that exposure leaves a mark. Even those who did not initiate the act must recognize its impact.

Recent acts of violence – whether politically charged attacks in Washington, expressions of hatred in Golders Green, or the senseless brutality against an innocent young Ethiopian Israeli on Yom HaAtzmaut – remind us how fractured our world can be. Hate does not remain contained; it spreads and corrodes. Our response must be to counter it – with dignity, responsibility, and a commitment to repair. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Acharei Mot-Kedoshim: True Holiness

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The book of Vayikra teaches about holiness – of place, through the Mishkan, and of time, through Shabbat and the festivals. Parshat Acharei Mot-Kedoshim introduces another powerful dimension: kedusha is accessible to every person. How?

The command “Kedoshim tihiyu” (“You shall be holy”) is followed by interpersonal mitzvot, teaching that holiness is achieved through how we relate to others. Rabbi Akiva famously taught that “love your neighbor as yourself” is the overarching principle of the Torah.

It is no coincidence that this teaching is associated with Rabbi Akiva, whose life underscored its importance. The Talmud explains that the mourning customs of sefirat ha’omer commemorate the deaths of his 24,000 students, who failed to treat one another with respect. The Midrash adds that they viewed each other with begrudgingness (ayin tzara). Rabbinic stories reflect how deeply Rabbi Akiva internalized the value of treating others with dignity. In the story of the ostracism of his teacher, Rabbi Eliezer, it is Rabbi Akiva alone who is able to visit him and gently convey the painful news. Moreover, the parsha contains a mitzvah to rebuke others (tochecha). On this, the Sifra cites Rabbi Tarfon, who says that among the Sages, only Rabbi Akiva truly knew how to receive rebuke with love, while others could not.

Each individual has the power to choose: to foster love rather than hate, to refuse to stand idly by in the face of bloodshed, and to treat others with dignity and respect. These ideals feel especially urgent today, as hate speech, violence, and distorted notions of altruism spread throughout the Western world. May we merit to internalize these values as Rabbi Akiva did, and make them the essence of a Torah life. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Tazria-Metzora: Repairing our Home and Homeland

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There is an unusual phenomenon described in Parshat Tazria–Metzora: a plague of tzara’at affecting one’s home. According to the Talmud, this never actually occurred, and was recorded in the Torah so that we might gain merit through its study. Yet if a plague on an individual home was meant to teach a lesson, perhaps – especially as we mark Yom Ha’atzmaut this week – it carries a deeper, metaphorical message for our national home: Israel.

Unlike other forms of tzara’at, which appear on the skin, hair, or clothing, the Torah introduces tzara’at habayit in a striking way: “When you enter the land… and I inflict an eruptive plague upon a house in the land you possess.” Why is this phenomenon limited to homes in the Land of Israel, and what purpose does it serve?

The Rambam understands it as part of a progression tied to lashon ha׳ra: first the house is affected as a warning; if unheeded, the affliction spreads to clothing and ultimately to the body. The Midrash offers a different perspective, linking it to stinginess and a failure to recognize that our blessings come from God. The Ramban adds that this occurs only in Israel because of its heightened sanctity – where a higher moral and spiritual standard is expected.

Rabbi Sacks wrote about society as a “home” – a space in which people of different faiths and identities can maintain their distinctiveness while building a shared sense of belonging: integration without assimilation. Zionist thinkers, too, have long described Israel as the home of the Jewish people. What follows is that we, as a nation, must remain attentive to the warning signs – the cracks in the walls – that remind us of the privilege of living in a sovereign homeland. And with that privilege comes responsibility: to speak about this home with care, and to treat one another with dignity within it. Shabbat Shalom and Chag Atzmaut Sameach!🇮🇱 -Karen Miller Jackson

Shemini: The Day After?

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This week, Israelis (other than those up north) were asked to shift almost overnight – from 39 days of war marked by sirens, running to shelters, and sleepless nights – to a return to routine: work, school, and, hopefully, a full night’s sleep. How do we understand this “day after” in light of all we have just been through? Parshat Shemini offers a meaningful framework.

After seven days of miluim, preparing for the inauguration of the Mishkan, Aharon and his sons are called on the eighth day to bring offerings, and God’s Presence descends upon the Sanctuary. The commentaries ask: is this eighth day a continuation of the seven, or something entirely new? The number seven in Judaism represents the natural order, as in the story of creation, whereas eight points beyond it – to a higher level of holiness. The Kli Yakar understands this eighth day as wholly kodesh, distinct from the seven preparatory days that reflect the natural world. Even the opening word of the parsha – vayehi – echoes creation, suggesting a shift from chol to kodesh.

Yet the Lubavitcher Rebbe offers a reading that resonates deeply with our moment: the eighth day is not separate, but a completion of the seven days of human effort and dedication. So too with sefirat ha-omer – the Torah commands us to count fifty days, yet we actively count only forty-nine; the fiftieth day follows as a culmination of that process, sanctified by God.

We may not yet be finished counting the days of war. But Parshat Shemini reminds us that moments of kedusha do not stand alone, they grow out of what precedes them. If we carry forward what we have seen over the last 39 days – strength, pride, compassion, and faith – then this ongoing “fortieth day” can become not just a return to routine, but the beginning of something elevated and enduring. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Tzav and Pesach: Strength Through Thanks

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Can we find ways to express thankfulness even in the midst of war and uncertainty? Parshat Tzav and Pesach suggest that we can – and even more, that it can help sustain us.

Parshat Tzav describes the korban todah, brought after a person experiences a personal miracle – such as, according to the Talmud, recovery from illness, release from captivity, or safe passage through dangerous conditions like a desert or the sea. In its place, Chazal instituted birkat hagomel. Rav Kook explains that while we often grow indifferent to daily blessings, moments of crisis can awaken a renewed sense of appreciation. The act of giving thanks, whether through an offering or a prayer, can help cultivate that awareness within ourselves and those around us.

The Pesach story offers a similar insight into the power of gratitude, even amid uncertainty. The Mishna teaches that after recounting the Exodus, we are obligated to thank and praise God for the miracles performed for our ancestors and for us. The Talmud adds that the first recitation of Hallel took place after the miracle at Yam Suf. One way we relive the Exodus on seder night is through expressing hakarat ha-tov, following the example of Bnei Yisrael. Before reaching their destination, they paused to acknowledge the miracles they had experienced and sang out in gratitude to God. Their model suggests that recognizing the good need not wait for the journey’s end; it can accompany us along the way, shaping how we experience the present.

From siren to siren, through alternative Pesach plans and deep concern for those on the front lines, Tzav and Pesach remind us that gratitude is not reserved for after the crisis ends. It is a practice that sustains our strength, lifts our spirits, and anchors our faith even as our story is still unfolding. Shabbat Shalom and Chag Sameach -Karen Miller Jackson

Vayikra: The Call to Us

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The opening of parshat Vayikra – when God calls to Moshe and invites him into the Mishkan – offers a powerful perspective on, and deep appreciation for, the challenging yet historic time we are living through in Israel.

Although Sefer Vayikra begins a new book with seemingly different themes, the Ramban sees it as a direct continuation of Sefer Shemot. The final verses of Shemot describe a striking moment: “Moshe could not enter the Tent of Meeting, because the cloud had settled upon it and the Presence of the Lord filled the Tabernacle.” Moshe stands outside, unable to enter the very space he helped create. Yet the story does not end there. The opening words of Vayikra – “And the Lord called…” – complete that scene. Even the first letter, the vav hachibbur, signals continuity: what appears to be a new beginning is, in truth, part of an unfolding story. The Torah reminds us that even when we cannot immediately perceive the connections between moments, they are present, waiting to be uncovered.

Why, then, must Moshe wait to be called before entering the Mishkan? Perhaps the Torah is teaching that even Moshe, the greatest of prophets, does not presume access to holiness. Entry requires invitation, humility, and awareness. Sacred spaces – even those we help build – must never be taken for granted. This, too, contains a lesson for us. We live in an era in which the State of Israel exists, strong and vibrant, yet we must never take its existence for granted.

In these challenging times in Israel, it is not always easy to see how the events of recent years fit into a larger narrative. Vayikra – the call to us – reminds us that we are living through a significant chapter in the unfolding Jewish and Israeli story, and that, like Moshe, each of us is called upon not to take this historic moment for granted. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Vayakhel-Pikudei: Renewal and Repair

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Parshat Vayakhel–Pikudei coincides this year with Shabbat HaChodesh. Together, these readings highlight themes of renewal and repair.

The book of Shemot ends with a description of the kelim (vessels) used in the mishkan. The final object is the kiyor (basin), from which Moshe and Aaron are commanded to wash their hands and feet. This practice – referred to by the rabbis as “kedushat yadayim ve’raglayim,” sanctifying of hands and feet – was also done by kohanim each morning in Temple times as they prepared for their service. 

Some halachic authorities view this as the source of the mitzvah for all individuals to wash hands (netilat yadayim) every morning upon waking. Some of the holiness which was once only accessible by the kohanim in the mikdash, can be attained by all individuals, anywhere. This is also expressed by Talmud Berakhot which teaches that when a person washes hands and then prays, it is as though s/he has built an altar and made an offering to God. The small, physical ritual of washing hands daily can influence our inner state of being. The Kitzur Shulchan Aruch explains that each morning we are considered like a “new creation.” Every day carries fresh potential for holiness, renewal, and repair.

Similarly, the mitzvah to sanctify the new moon of Nisan—read on Shabbat HaChodesh—expresses this same possibility. “This month shall be for you…” The Mei HaShiloach explains: “The power of the month will be for you—that you should be able to renew yourselves in Torah and in action.” Many commentaries note the linguistic connection between chodesh (month) and hitchadshut (renewal), pointing to the Jewish people’s enduring capacity to begin again.

The gradual renewal of the moon’s light and handwashing at the beginning of each new day highlights that small steps – individually, communally and nationally – have the potential for renewal and repair. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Ki Tissa: Blessings in Plan B

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Parshat Ki Tissa tells the story of a paradigm shift in the relationship between God and the Jewish people. It also offers a lesson for human relationships: adapting and pivoting from plan A to plan B can become, rather than a limitation or disappointment, an opportunity for empowerment and deeper connection.

When God tells Moshe to descend and see that the nation has sinned by creating the Golden Calf, Moshe shatters the luchot at the foot of the mountain. The Torah emphasizes the divine nature of this first set of tablets, symbolizing God’s direct revelation and covenant with Israel. Yet God affirms Moshe’s action. After deciding to forgive the people, God commands Moshe to prepare a second set of luchot with the same words as the first that he shattered – “asher shibarta.” The Talmud reads this phrase with a play on words: yashar kochacha she-shibarta – well done for breaking them.

There are notable differences between the two sets of tablets. First, God tells Moshe to carve the second luchot “for yourself” – rather than God forming them entirely. The second set reflects a deeper partnership between God and human beings. Second, Haamek Davar explains that while the first tablets contained the hidden meaning of Torah, the second introduced the possibility of ongoing interpretation and innovation. The second luchot symbolize empowerment and creative engagement with Torah.

The re-giving of the luchot reflects the capacity to rebuild and renew our relationship with God. The Talmud teaches that the broken tablets were placed in the Ark alongside the new ones. Perhaps this was not only due to their sanctity, but to remind us that in human relationships too, plan B can hold its own blessings – and sometimes lead to even greater joy and deeper connection. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson
Dedicated to my daughter in honor of her upcoming plan B wedding🇮🇱🎉