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 Lech Lecha: Hearing the Call of Good over Evil

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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

Parshat Matot-Masei: Israel and Diaspora Jews — One Family?

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Can one truly love Israel from afar? Do Israeli and Diaspora Jews still see themselves as one family? Parshat Matot-Masei speaks directly to these questions.

As Bnei Yisrael prepare to enter the land, a moment of crisis arises: Reuven, Gad, and half of Menashe request to settle east of the Jordan for its rich grazing land. Their request seems practical, yet Moshe responds sharply: “Shall your brothers go to war while you stay here?” It becomes clear that he fears a repeat of the meraglim story and worries these tribes will weaken national resolve. Additionally, when the tribes make this request, they prioritize their cattle before their children. Rashi explains that Moshe subtly rebukes them by reversing the order of their words, teaching that children must always come first. As Rabbi Sacks observed, Jewish communities have endured throughout history by “putting children and their education first.”

In essence, Moshe sets two conditions for living outside the land: they must fight alongside their brothers and foster a strong and positive Jewish identity. The tribes agree, demonstrating unity and commitment. This narrative reminds us that love for Israel carries responsibility—solidarity, support, and a shared destiny.

As I write to you from the U.S., I wonder if, after nearly two years of war and Israel’s remarkable resilience, perhaps it is time to ask what we can do for our Diaspora family. This week, I witnessed a local shul conducting a terror drill and met with communal leaders who expressed both unwavering support for Israel and deep concern over the rise in antisemitism and anti-Zionism. The American Jewish community is fighting a battle too—not only for Israel’s reputation but for its own spiritual survival and sense of security. It was a powerful reminder: we are one people, one family. Now, perhaps more than ever, is the moment to stand with them, as they have stood with us. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Acharei Mot-Kedoshim: How to Be Holy

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“Be holy!” So begins Parshat Kedoshim (of this week’s double parsha): “Because I, God, am holy.” What does it mean to cultivate holiness—in our lives and in the world?

Rashi understands “Be holy” as a call to separate from forbidden sexual relationships, linking it to the previous parsha, Acharei Mot, which details these prohibitions. For Rashi, holiness means setting boundaries in relationships and abstaining from what is forbidden. The Ramban, however, offers a different interpretation. After listing specific prohibitions, the Torah calls on us to elevate even permissible behavior. One can technically keep the law and still act in a base or gluttonous way—a naval b’reshut haTorah. According to the Ramban, holiness requires moderation, intentionality, and moral refinement—not just avoiding sin, but rising above it.

While both commentators read “Be holy” in relation to what comes before, we can also understand it in light of what follows: a list of interpersonal mitzvot. The Midrash Sifra teaches that this section was read aloud to the entire nation during hakhel, because it contains the core values of the Torah. After laws centered on the Mishkan and the kohanim, the Torah introduces a transformative idea: kedusha is not limited to sacred spaces or select individuals—it is accessible to everyone. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks zt”l called this “the radical democratisation of holiness.” By showing compassion for the vulnerable, and by infusing our daily interactions with care and justice, we bring holiness into the world. How are we to be holy? “Because I, God, am holy.” We are called to reflect the divine image within us.

One final idea comes from Rav Aharon Lichtenstein zt”l, whose 10th yahrzeit was recently marked. He taught that “a Jew is also commanded to aspire.” In this light, “Be holy” becomes a call to transcend the letter of the law—to keep striving upward in moral and spiritual growth. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Mishpatim: Between Cruelty and Compassion

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Children – dependent, vulnerable, defenseless – are the litmus test of our humanity. -Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks 

Parshat Mishpatim teaches what real compassion looks like. It highlights that cruelty, especially toward children, is a mark of unfathomable evil, whereas prioritizing and educating children in moral values is the greatest statement of hope for the future. 

The Torah commands us not to oppress the ger, the widow, or the orphan—the most vulnerable members of the biblical world: “If you mistreat them, as soon as they cry out to Me, I will hear their outcry.” The double language—aneh ta’aneh, tza’ok yitzak, shamoa eshma—underscores that just as the victim feels their pain deeply, God hears and responds with urgency.

Rabbi Sacks looked to the Shoah to contrast unimaginable evil with extraordinary humanity toward children. Janusz Korczak, a Polish-Jewish doctor and educator, exemplified moral courage and compassion when he refused to abandon the orphans in his care, even as they were sent to their deaths.

In Judaism, cruelty toward children is especially heinous because they embody our hope and future. Talmud Sotah teaches that after Israel crossed the Yam Suf, the infants were among the first to sing to God, recognizing His miracles. To the sages, children symbolize pure faith, goodness, and unshakable hope. That is why when we remember the redemption from Egypt, they are at the heart of our collective memory and moral responsibility.

Ariel and Kfir Bibas symbolize the stark contrast between their society and ours: theirs is steeped in cruelty, while we are rooted in compassion, faith, and hope. May we honor all the children we have lost by securing and shaping a country and future worthy of the next generation. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson 

Parshat Beshallach: How Song Can Move Us Forward

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“When the soul longs to break free of the gravitational pull of the earth, it modulates into song.” – Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

“Az Yashir,” the Song at the Sea, is a song of faith, victory, and gratitude. To the Sages, it was more than a response to one historical moment—it became the template for Hallel and inspired Jewish song throughout history. What makes it so unique?

Sung in the middle of Parshat Beshallach, the song is framed by Bnei Yisrael’s wavering faith—they take leaps toward God yet fall back into doubt and fear. Dr. Aviva Zornberg highlights this through a linguistic back and forth in the biblical text: va-yar/va-yire’u— meaning to see or to fear.

Their physical journey mirrors this struggle. God leads them on a longer route as they leave Egypt. According to the Mekhilta, this was to prevent their wanting to turn back to Egypt, a sentiment they express soon after, as they find themselves closed in between the Egyptians and the sea. God’s command, “Tell the Israelites to move forward,” highlights their reluctance. Even after the sea splits, Shemot Rabbah describes them hesitating on the muddy ground of the sea floor. 

In this context, Az Yashir is a song of transformation, turning fear into forward movement. Susan Cain writes about the transcendent power of song and calls this bittersweet creativity—which “has the power to look pain in the eye, and to decide to turn it into something better.” In Israel too, we have seen many talented musicians channel the bitter along with the sweet to transform the sorrow, loss and fears of the Jewish nation into hope and pride. In the words of Hanan Ben Ari’s Moledet: “(I’ll) sing an old song. We will stay faithful, forever. We will never break, neither in peace nor in trial, neither in sweet (times) nor bitter.” Az Yashir is the model for songs that continues to carry us forward. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Lech-lecha: from Avarham to Us

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Why was Avraham chosen? We hear nothing about his faith or righteousness before God calls out to him “Lech lecha.” However, the biblical commentaries develop a fuller picture of Avraham’s moral clarity and spiritual strength, teaching us a valuable lesson about standing strong in our faith and devotion to Israel today.   

There are many descriptions from the midrash to Rambam about how Avraham discovered and embraced monotheism and became the father of the Jewish people. Bereshit Rabbah teaches: Avraham wandered from place to place and saw a palace in flames. He said, “how can it be that this palace has no leader?!” The owner of the castle (God) peered out and said, “I am the master of this palace (this world).” Here, Avraham’s faith came about through questioning, through not being able to make sense of the world. As Rabbi Sacks zt”l wrote: “What moved Abraham was not philosophical harmony but moral discord. 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 suggests a meaning which particularly resonates today: The entire world was on one side and he was on the other side [ever]. We will continue to speak the truth even when it goes against popular world opinion.

Perhaps the reason God chose Avraham was because of his response 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. 

Avraham models faith despite disorder and evil in the world, moral clarity even while in the minority, and strength of commitment to Israel – that is why he was chosen and inspires us to hear the call of “Lech lecha…” Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Bereshit: Between Darkness and Light

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Why does the Torah begin by distinguishing between darkness and light? The commentaries see this contrast as fundamental to parshat Bereshit and derive timeless resonance from this imagery.

In all other acts of creation, the Torah does not describe what existed before. Only here does the Torah tell us that there was “tohu va-vohu,” the world was desolate and void, covered in darkness. Rashi explains that a person would have been astonished by its emptiness. All this contrasts with the creation of light. The Netivot Shalom explains that light is Godliness, while “tohu va-vohu” is confusion and a world empty of values. Moreover, the midrash teaches that God hid away some of the light of creation for future generations, so that when they encounter darkness and evil, they can seek out God, and plead, “let there be light.”

“Let there be light,” are the first words spoken by God in the Torah. The Lubavitcher Rebbe explains that there is a two-stage formula for human creativity: first setting and stating a goal: “let there be light,” and then taking steps to achieve it: “and there was light.” The midrashic hidden light then awaits human action and partnership, which makes the world a better place and increases God’s light in the world. Rabbi Sacks adds a third stage in – “And God saw that it was good” – when we can see the good in others and help them discover their light and creativity.

There is too much darkness in our world. Antisemitism, terrorism and hatred, hostages underground, and so much pain and loss. May the “tohu va-vohu” be replaced by “let there be light,” the light of creativity and redemption, for the hostages, for the wounded and grieving, for Am Yisrael and all who seek the light. Shabbat Shalom🌔🇮🇱 -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Balak: Jewish, Zionist and Alone?

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Are the Jewish people destined to be isolated and demonized? Has having our own country only exacerbated Antisemitism and Anti-Zionism in the world? One verse in parshat Balak speaks directly to this issue: Can a particularistic Jewish identity coexist with a universalistic relationship with the world?

Bilaam, a non-Jewish prophet, is sent by Balak, king of Moab to curse the Jewish people. Yet, as the Talmud teaches, God turned his attempted curses into blessings. Bilaam, looking down on Bnei Yisrael, says they are “a people that dwells alone; not reckoned among the nations.” This hardly sounds like a blessing. In many ways it encapsulates the repeated struggle of the Jewish people throughout history to preserve their identity, resist assimilation and avoid persecution amongst the nations.

Most commentaries, however, regard this as a blessing for the Jewish people. Rashi teaches that it refers to the future when Israel will dwell safely in our land and not be punished like the other nations. The Malbim and Netziv, writing in Europe post-Enlightenment and amid experiences of Antisemitism, interpreted this verse within their historical context. When Jews are confident in their identity – they dwell in peace. When they assimilate – they are not worthy of being counted. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks provides a transformative reading of this verse: The blessing is for Jews to dwell “apart” – meaning our strength is in our distinctive experience and values. Yet, it is dangerous to remain alone. Through retaining our distinctiveness, we can and should have a positive impact on the other nations: “By being what only we are, we contribute to humanity what only we can give.”

Today, this verse also highlights the delicate balance Israel needs to maintain in the larger world. We need to work with our allies and take their concerns seriously and seek out those who wish to bless us. At the same time, we also need to remain strong and true to our identity and mission as the people of Israel. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson

Parshat Beshallach: Seeking Emunah

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In parshat Beshallach Pharaoh finally “lets the people go.” Yet, instead of feeling elation, the people of Israel waver. They take leaps of faith toward God and then fall back and express doubt and fear. What can their wavering teach us about emunah (faith) today?

Given Bnei Yisrael’s fragility, God leads them on a long route to avoid war. The Mekhilta explains that by taking the nearer route they may have tried to return to Egypt. This is exactly their sentiment as they find themselves closed in between “Egypt” and the sea. Yet, their fear abates when they see God’s miracles and the sea parts for them. Talmud Sotah adds to the story of wavering faith when it depicts the heads of the tribes arguing over who will jump into the sea first, until Benjamin jumps in. Another version teaches that each tribe refused to jump in, until Nachshon ben Aminadav (Judah) took the initiative. Dr. Aviva Zornberg points out a linguistic back and forth throughout the narrative – va-yar/va-yire’u – to see and to fear, from the same Hebrew root. The antidote to their fear of Egypt is to see God’s wonders and to see Egypt disappear. 

After the splitting of the sea, the people fear only God and have emunah. Yet, almost immediately, their faith wavers repeatedly, as they cry out for water, then bread and question “Is Hashem among us or not?” Next, they face war with Amalek. But here, the people display courage and faith. As they fight, Moshe stands on a hill and holds up his hands. When he weakens, Aaron and Hur help him and his arms remain steady – “vayehi yadav emunah.” Rashi teaches that the word emunah is used here because his hands held up toward heaven inspired faithfulness in the people.

To quote Rabbi Sacks z”l: “A small people that, in the face of difficulty, continues to look up will win great victories and achieve great things.”

The parsha acknowledges that people’s emunah fluctuates during difficult periods. Simultaneously, it urges us to look around and find sources of strength and inspiration – in the commitment of our soldiers, the unity of our people and in our connection to God. Shabbat Shalom -Karen Miller Jackson