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.

Chukat: Sources of Well-being

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Parshat Chukat reminds us to care not only for our own well-being, but also for those around us. It highlights how easily we take precious relationships and sources of support for granted.

The parsha begins with Miriam’s death and Bnei Yisrael crying out for water. The Tosefta Sotah explains that a be’er accompanied and sustained Israel throughout their forty years in the desert in Miriam’s merit. After she died, the well disappeared and later returned in Moshe’s merit. This midrashic tradition highlights how easy it is to overlook the gifts and people who sustain us. Often, only a crisis reveals how much we depend on them for our physical and emotional well-being.

The Ramban suggests that the well which returns may actually be a new one, rather than Miriam’s original well. There are numerous elements which support this position. For the first time the people themselves sing for the water: “Az yashir Yisrael.” Also, unlike at the splitting of the sea, where they sang alongside Moshe and Miriam, here they sing independently. This be’er represents a generation becoming more mature, empowered, and responsible for its own future.

Miriam remains a model of caring for ourselves and one another. She is repeatedly associated with water and the preservation of life: watching over her baby brother Moshe at the Nile and leading the women in songs of praise at Yam Suf, demonstrating faith in God’s salvation even when the future was unclear. Centuries later, the Beit Yosef records a tradition that Miriam’s well reappears on Motzaei Shabbat and brings healing to those who drink from it. Miriam’s well disappears and then reappears, symbolizing sustenance, renewal, and refuah.

May all those who are in need of healing find their sources of strength, renewal, and recovery. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Korach: Toxic Alliances

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At first glance, Korach’s rebellion appears to be a cohesive protest movement. But a closer look at its participants uncovers a coalition bound more by opposition than by a shared vision – a timely lesson about causes and the alliances they attract.

The Torah introduces Korach’s followers: “And Korach took… together with Datan and Aviram… descendants of Reuven.” Who were Datan and Aviram, and what was their connection to Korach and his cause? Rashi explains that the camps of Levi and Reuven were situated next to one another. Hence, “Woe to the wicked, woe to his neighbor.” Proximity led these groups, each harboring grievances, to influence one another and join forces. Yet, as Ha’amek Davar notes, they were not motivated by the same concerns. Korach sought leadership, driven by an aspiration that may have been misguided but was not entirely self-serving. Datan and Aviram, by contrast, were habitual dissenters who attached themselves to any cause that fueled resentment and division.

The Midrash identifies Datan and Aviram as recurring antagonists throughout the wilderness journey. They were the Hebrews who informed on Moshe after he killed the Egyptian, those who defied God’s command by leaving manna overnight, those who spread panic at the Sea, and those who helped inflame the people’s rebellion after the spies’ report. More than an exercise in identifying biblical characters, the Midrash offers a portrait of a particular type of person – one whose defining characteristic is opposition itself.

The story of Datan and Aviram challenges us to think carefully about the people and movements with whom we align ourselves. Shared interests or common enemies can create unlikely alliances, but not all partnerships are wise. “Woe to the wicked, woe to his neighbor” – The people with whom we choose to stand ultimately shape not only our causes, but ourselves. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Shelach: Lessons on Leadership

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“A leader is a dealer in hope.” – Napoleon 

What was the failing of the meraglim in Parshat Shelach? Reading this story alongside another account of spies in the haftorah suggests that, at its core, it was a failure of leadership.

The Midrash Tanhuma interprets the words “Shelach lecha” (“Send for yourself”) to mean that the spies were sent as a concession to Bnei Yisrael’s lack of faith. This is, in fact, how the episode is retold in Sefer Devarim. God had promised that the people would successfully inherit the Land, but they harbored doubts. Moshe sends leaders, each identified by name, underscoring his status as a leader of his tribe. Rashi notes that the spies are initially described as anashim, connoting distinction and worthiness. Ramban explains that God instructed Moshe to send the strongest leaders, hoping they would inspire confidence and strengthen the nation’s faith in God’s promise. Instead, the opposite occurred. Ten of the twelve returned and spread fear throughout the camp. Their pessimism infected the people with doubt and helplessness.

This stands in sharp contrast to Joshua chapter 2, where Joshua also sends spies to scout the Land. Here, however, no names are mentioned. Radak explains that the mission was conducted in secret, hidden from the nation. The purpose of the mission also differs. In Shelach, the repeated use of the word latur suggests a political and national mission: to explore and affirm the land God had promised them. In Joshua, the spies are sent leragel—to gather military intelligence and determine the best strategy for conquering Jericho.

Contrasting these two stories highlights one of the most important qualities of leadership: the ability to provide a compelling vision and inspire hope. Great leaders help their people see not only what is, but what can be. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson 

Beha’alotcha: One Menorah for One People

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The menorah – described in Parshat Beha’alotecha*– has been a central symbol of Judaism from the Temple in ancient times to the Knesset in modern Israel. What has made the menorah such an enduring symbol of the Jewish people?

The commentaries raise several questions that illuminate this idea. First, why is the making of the menorah described here again after it has already appeared twice before? Second, why must the three branches on each side turn inward toward the central light?

The Torah describes the menorah as mikshah – fashioned, according to Rashi, from a single hammered piece of gold. The Midrash offers another layer of meaning: Moshe found the menorah extraordinarily difficult (nitkasheh) to create. No matter how many times God showed him the design, he was unable to reproduce it, until God miraculously completed it through fire. Perhaps the Torah’s repeated descriptions allude to this challenge. The menorah thus symbolizes a Divine ideal: many parts joined together in a single sacred whole.

The lighting of the menorah reinforces this message. Aaron is commanded to kindle the lamps so that the three branches on each side face the central light. Rashi explains that this teaches there is ultimately one true source of light in the world – God. Sforno offers another interpretation: the branches represent different kinds of Jews. Though some stand further to the right and others to the left, all remain part of the same menorah and all turn toward the center – a shared commitment and collective mission.

This election season in Israel feels especially consequential. The menorah offers a powerful image for both our leaders and society: despite our differences, we must continue to prioritize our shared commitment to our people, our tradition, and our land. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

*For the next few weeks I’ll be following the Torah reading schedule in Israel.

Naso and Ruth: Modesty & Destiny

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In a world that has increasingly lost a sense of boundaries and values in sexual relationships, Parshat Naso and Megillat Ruth offer an important framework for dignity, protection, and empowerment.

In Parshat Naso we encounter the Sotah. Chazal understood that the woman had entered into yichud (seclusion) with another man after having been warned by her husband, and a ritual involving holy water would reveal whether adultery had occurred. Although the Sotah ritual itself was discontinued by Talmudic times, the laws of yichud – prohibiting seclusion with a non-immediate family member of the opposite sex – remain relevant. The Talmud teaches that the concept of yichud was expanded by King David following the tragic rape of his daughter Tamar by her half-brother. Seen in this light, these laws can be understood as safeguards designed to protect human dignity and help prevent abuse.

In the Megilla, Ruth begins as a vulnerable outsider but ultimately emerges as a figure of remarkable strength and empowerment. The Midrash praises her modesty while working in Boaz’s fields. Later, when she approaches a sleeping Boaz at the threshing floor, she acts with restraint, courage, and sensitivity. Ruth becomes a model for the possibility of transformation, regardless of one’s origins. She serves as a tikkun for the sexual promiscuity associated with Moav and for the incestuous relationship from which Moav emerged. Yet Ruth is not passive; when necessary, she takes initiative and embraces her spiritual destiny as a Jewish woman and future mother of royalty.

The Sotah laws highlight the protective value of yichud, while Megillat Ruth presents a vision in which modesty and agency work together, empowering individuals to shape their personal and national destiny. (Dedicated to the memory of the victims of sexual violence on October 7). Shabbat Shalom & Chag sameach! -Karen Miller Jackson

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