Vayetze: On Sacred Spaces

The word makom (place) appears repeatedly at the start of Parshat Vayetze as Jacob sets out on his journey: “He came upon the place (ba-makom)…” What is this place? Its very ambiguity becomes a key to understanding Judaism’s vision of sacred space, from Jacob’s world to our own.

Rashi identifies the makom with the site of the Binding of Isaac—“Abraham looked up and saw the place (ha-makom) from afar”—later known as Mount Moriah, where the Temple would later be built. In Devarim, the Mishkan is likewise called the makom. The midrash therefore associates Jacob’s encounter with Jerusalem. 

Yet there is a tension: Jacob renames the site Beit-El, formerly Luz—seemingly far from Jerusalem. Commentators struggle to reconcile this. A striking midrash offers a creative resolution: The ladder connecting heaven and earth in Jacob’s dream was actually the mechanism that allowed Jacob to be physically in one location while spiritually linked to the Temple Mount: “The ladder stood in Beersheba, and the middle of its slope reached opposite the Temple.” 

This preserves the centrality of the holiness of Jerusalem while teaching one may direct heart and prayer toward it from afar. Moreover, Ha-makom becomes one of the rabbinic names for God. When we study Torah, do justice, live by Jewish values and pray facing Jerusalem, says the midrash, any space can draw sanctity from Ha-makom. This is also the meaning of makom today. Synagogues in New York and London that hosted events which support and celebrate Israel—and faced protest for doing so—were embracing Jacob’s legacy. What the critics fail to grasp is that Jewish sacred spaces, wherever they stand, are inseparable from the pull of Jerusalem. The heart of Israel beats within every synagogue and community that turns toward Ha-makom. That is Jacob’s legacy, and it remains our mission today. Shabbat Shalom – Karen Miller Jackson


Parshat Vayera: Politics of Hope and New York

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 Lech Lecha: Hearing the Call of Good over Evil

We hear nothing about Avraham’s faith or righteousness before God calls to him, “Lech lecha.” So why was he chosen? The midrashim fill in the story, portraying Avraham’s moral clarity and spiritual courage, yet the pshat itself offers a quieter but powerful lesson—about standing up with faith and conviction for Jews and Israel today.

Bereshit Rabbah teaches that Avraham once saw a palace in flames and cried out, “How can it be that this palace has no leader?” God replied, “I am the master of this palace.” Avraham’s faith was born through questioning, through refusing to accept a world that made no moral sense. As Rabbi Sacks zt”l wrote: “For Abraham, faith began in cognitive dissonance. There is only one way of resolving this dissonance: by protesting evil and fighting it… It is as if God were saying to Abraham: I need you to help Me to put out the flames.”

Avraham’s distinctiveness may also be alluded to when he is later called “ha-ivri,” which means “the Hebrew” or “from the other side.” One midrashic opinion explains: “The entire world stood on one side, and he on the other.” This image feels especially relevant today, reminding us to speak truth and uphold moral clarity even when it defies popular opinion.

Perhaps the plainest reason God chose Avraham was because he responded to God’s call “Lech lecha…” Avraham answers the call fully even though it involves uncertainty and sacrifice. This too, is the story of the Jewish people and their love and commitment to Israel through the ages. As the world watches the elections in New York this coming week, we can learn from Avraham about the power of each individual to stand up and voice moral clarity about good and evil. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson