Balak: The Power to Bless

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Love versus hate. Blessing versus curse. These opposing themes lie at the heart of Parshat Balak.

The Midrash notes striking parallels between the characters of Balaam and Avraham. Both display remarkable zrizut – eagerness and determination in their mission. In the story of the Akeidah, Avraham rises early and saddles his own donkey to fulfill God’s command. Balaam likewise rises early and sets out with enthusiasm to carry out Balak’s request to curse the people of Israel.

The Midrash points out that both men had servants who could have saddled their donkeys for them. Yet Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai explains that in Avraham’s case, “love upends the social order,” while in Balaam’s case, “hate upends the social order.” Powerful emotions move people to act beyond what is expected of them.

Similarly, Pirkei Avot teaches that one may choose to be a disciple of Balaam, possessing an “evil eye,” or a disciple of Avraham, possessing a “good eye.” Balaam sought to curse an entire nation he did not know, while Avraham consistently sought opportunities to bless others. Accordingly, the Talmud teaches that at first God alone bestowed blessings, until that power was entrusted to Avraham and his descendants. Every day we face the same choice: to view the world with suspicion and resentment, or with generosity and blessing. Perhaps this is why we begin our morning prayers with Balaam’s curse-turned-blessing, “Mah Tovu,” reminding us of the perspective we aspire to cultivate.

At a time of rising hatred – between Jews and fellow Jews, through antisemitism, and in political movements fueled by anger and division – the message of this parsha feels especially urgent. Each of us must choose whether to follow the path of Balaam or Avraham. By becoming people who bless rather than curse, we can help bring more love, dignity, and blessing into the world. 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

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