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 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 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 Shemini: Humility and Hope

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Reading Parshat Shemini after Yom Hashoah and before Yom Hazikaron and Yom Ha’atzmaut feels especially resonant this year. Aaron emerges as a model of leadership rooted in humility and responsibility, and finds the courage to live with hope despite deep grief.

The parsha opens with God commanding Aaron and the people to bring offerings—including a calf (egel). Midrash Tanchuma explains this was an atonement for the sin of the Golden Calf, in which Aaron played a significant role. Yet Moshe must tell Aaron a second time to draw near and bring the offering. Rashi notes that Aaron was ashamed and afraid, and only with Moshe’s encouragement did he step forward to atone for himself and the people. It is precisely Aaron’s humility, especially after his earlier failing, that enables him to lead the people toward forgiveness.

Aaron provides another lesson in leadership when, tragically, on the eighth day of the inauguration of the Mishkan, his sons Nadav and Avihu offer a “foreign fire” and are instantly killed by God. Their sin is not entirely clear. The Sages suggest various interpretations of what they did wrong: sacrificing a korban which was not commanded, teaching Torah in front of their teacher Moshe, entering the sanctuary naked, performing their duties while drunk, refusing to marry or have children. In the midrash, Nadav and Avihu are portrayed as irresponsible and full of hubris. In contrast, Aaron responds to their death with silent grief, yet finds the strength to carry on. As Moshe instructs him to forgo the usual mourning rituals, Aaron continues his service as Kohen Gadol.

Aaron, like many survivors and the heroes we have witnessed this year, is a model for leaders and all of Am Yisrael—to have humility before God and others, and, despite the grief, to find the strength to continue and to live. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Va’era and Yuval Raphael

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What common message emerges from Yuval Raphael’s story and the Exodus?

Parshat Va’era begins with the declaration: “I am God…and I will remember My covenant with My people.” This is followed by the ten plagues,  transforming Bnei Yisrael’s circumstances and revealing the hand of God to them and Pharaoh. Before this, the Israelites endured slavery and suffering in Egypt, for which the Torah provides no explicit reason. Commentators offer differing perspectives on this.

During the “covenant between the pieces” in Bereshit, God tells Avraham about the future enslavement and redemption of his descendants. Nechama Leibowitz notes that while their descent to Egypt was certain, the children of Jacob had a choice about how they would live when in Egypt. They chose to settle deeply there, as reflected in the term “va-ye’ahazu bah” (they procured property). Therefore, some interpreters suggest their suffering was a consequence of neglecting their traditions and destiny.

Others view the experience not as punitive but instead as a source of educational and developmental lessons. The Torah frequently commands empathy for the stranger, rooted in our memory of being strangers in Egypt. Leon Kass writes that this internalization of the experience of suffering is transformed into a core value of our national identity—compassion for the vulnerable. The Ha’amek Davar views the Egyptian experience as refining and strengthening the national character of Israel, building our resilience for future challenges.

Yuval Raphael, a Nova survivor, endured unimaginable trauma. Yet, like so many Jews in history, she found hope and strength, transforming tragedy into a source of purpose. This resilience reflects the enduring Jewish ability to turn suffering, from Egypt through today, into growth and hope. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

  • photo from Jerusalem Post

Shemot: Pinning Our Hope on Am Yisrael

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Reading parshat Shemot, with its emphasis on names and identity, during this momentous week, offers both solace and hope. 

The Ramban calls the book of Shemot “The Book of Redemption.” Even before the oppression begins, the keys to redemption are already present. The opening verse repeats the names of the children of Jacob who went down to Egypt, even though these names were already listed at the end of Bereishit. Rashi explains that God lists them again to “show how dear they were to God — like the stars, which God brings out and in by number and name.” This highlights the balance the Jewish people must maintain between their individual and collective identities, even when they do not always align. Rav Amital zt”l, a survivor of the Shoah, writes that being part of Am Yisrael means balancing the “number” — our collective purpose — with the “name” — our unique individual identity and beliefs.

Yet, the story continues with an increase in number but not in name. While the children of Israel proliferate greatly in number, their individual names are absent. They are referred to as “midwives,” “a man from the house of Levi,” “daughter of Levi,” and “daughter of Pharaoh.” Biblical interpreters see this shift between named and nameless figures as a reflection of the strengthening or weakening of Jewish identity in exile. A powerful midrash teaches that one of the main reasons Bnei Yisrael were ultimately redeemed from Egypt was that they preserved their Hebrew names. This act of remembering — holding fast to our names, values, and aspirations — has been a cornerstone of Jewish survival and resilience.

The coming weeks will be filled with emotional reflections on both numbers and names. “Ve’eileh Shemot” reminds us to honor the names of the individual heroes we have lost as we try to move forward, into what we pray will be a time of redemption for the Jewish nation. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Vayera: Remaining Hopeful

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In Parshat Vayera, amidst the backdrop of sinfulness and destruction, Avraham stands out as a beacon of optimism and faith in human goodness. The interpretation of this story sends a strong message to his descendents about the power of prayer and not giving up hope.

Avaraham eagerly welcomes visitors (angels) and receives God’s blessing and promise that he will have a child with Sarah and become a great nation. As Avraham sees his guests off, the Torah shifts to the situation in Sodom, underscoring the stark contrast between the kindness of Avraham and the cruelty of Sodom. Yet, before Sodom’s destruction, God chooses to share His intentions with Avraham, asking, “Shall I hide from Avraham what I am about to do?” Why does God need to inform Avraham of His intentions? Similarly, a few verses later, just before Avraham pleads with God, hoping that there were a few righteous people left in the city, we hear: “Abraham remained standing before the Lord.” Bereshit Rabbah teaches that actually, it was God who waited for Avraham, inviting him to intercede. However, the Scribes revised the verse to appear less irreverent. Both these verses imply that God encouraged Avraham to protest and pray, despite the seeming hopelessness and dire state of Sodom.

A similar idea is seen in a midrashic story about King Hezekiah in Talmud Berakhot. Hezekiah prays despite Jeremiah’s prophecy that he will soon die, asserting, “I have received a tradition from the house of my father’s father: Even if a sharp sword rests upon a person’s neck, he should not prevent himself from praying.” Hezekiah prays and holds onto hope, even in the bleakest and most hopeless of times. 

Amidst our war-weariness, the rise of antisemitism across the West, and the long wait for the return of the hostages, we can draw strength from Avraham and Hezekiah, who teach us never to give up hope. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Toldot: Hope

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Parshat Toldot opens with the heartbreaking yet hopeful scene of Yitzchak praying that he and Rivka will be blessed with children. Rivka, like Sarah before her, is akarrah, and it takes 20 years until she conceives. Many commentaries understand that Rivka, already proven to be one who takes action, was praying as well. How did they remain committed and hopeful for so long, in the face of such adversity?

Several unique elements may provide some guidance. The Torah depicts Yitzchak praying “l’nochach ishto,” in the presence of his wife. Rashi explains that they were equally devoted to their tefillot. Each stood in one corner, but together in the same room, highlighting the strength of their connection. Radak adds that Yitzchak looked at Rivka while praying and drew strength from her.

Also, the word used for Yitzchak’s tefillot is noteworthy. In fact, the same word is used twice –ויעתר- he entreats God and God responds to his plea. This mirroring of language highlights that Yitzchak’s (and by extension Rivka’s) tefillot were heard and answered. The Talmud interprets the word ויעתר based on the Talmudic word for pitchfork — עתר. Just as a pitchfork overturns grain from place to place, so does tefilla of tzaddikim change God’s decree from cruelty to mercy.

Today, in addition to grappling with issues such as infertility or health challenges, people are contending with loneliness and a yearning to see and hug loved ones. Yitzchak and Rivka teach us how to respond to such challenges — remain hopeful, be persistent, support each other, and focus on tefilla. Shabbat Shalom.