Shabbat Weekly Dvar Torah

This week’s Torah portion, Behar-Bechukotai, is the origin of the call to “Proclaim liberty throughout the land.” (Leviticus 25:10). As an American, I read those words and think of the Liberty Bell, on which they are inscribed. But in context, this verse is part of a set of mitzvot about land use, distribution of resources and the importance of sacred rest. One of those mitzvot is the requirement of the shmita year, a Shabbat for the land every seventh year in which fields are allowed to lie fallow and all debts are forgiven.

As many of you know, and some of you have been privileged to experience, the March of the Living is an extraordinary and transformative experience. This year’s 2026 March returned last week… Ten years ago, I was in Poland and Israel on Miami’s Leo Martin March of the Living. The trip fell precisely during Parashat Kedoshim (Be Holy), our Torah portion last week, and Parashat Emor (Say… to the Israelites), our Torah portion this week. I'll share two remarkable stories with you (among so many others that take place during this remarkable program).

Years ago, Nina Yarus introduced me to the study of Mussar; I had never heard of it, and I had been a rabbi for at least 15 years already! When I mentioned Mussar to my Orthodox husband, he rolled his eyes. Apparently, in the Orthodox world it’s often used by teachers to lay on the guilt, or parents to give textual support for their parental disapproval. Most of the Mussar texts were written in pre-modern times and in very medieval language and style – probably why so few liberal Jews even know about it, let alone study it.

You know how sometimes during a conversation you start to zoom out because the topic fails to grab your attention? That’s kind of what this week’s parshios, Tazria and Metzora, do. They begin a lengthy discussion about laws of spiritual impurity before going on to cover the incredibly exciting topic of tzara’as (skin disease), the metzor (the one suffering it), and their laws of purification. Can’t wait, huh? But, before we go there, the Torah reminds us about the need to perform a Bris on an eight-day old male which, quite frankly, seems out of place. True, the parsha starts off talking about birth, but there are other more relevant places for the mitzvah of Bris, which is why commentators try to learn something from it.

This past Tuesday was my Hebrew birthday, the 20th of Nissan, which I have always remembered for two reasons. First, because it is the sixth day of Pesach, the day our tradition teaches that the Israelites crossed the Red Sea. And second, because growing up it meant suffering through those truly terrible dry potato starch Passover birthday cakes. Thank God for celiacs and gluten-free trends; Passover desserts have gotten much better. But the sixth day of Pesach has come to mean something deeper to me as well. It is the moment when the Israelites stand trapped between the sea ahead and the Egyptian army behind them. After all the miracles and the hasty escape, they are suddenly out of options. I imagine the desperation they must have felt, and I find myself returning to the line from Warsan Shire’s haunting poem, Home: “no one puts their children in a boat unless the water is safer than the land.”

Early this week, terrorists set fire to four Hatzalah ambulances in London. Hatzalah – the volunteer Jewish emergency service built on the principle that when someone is dying, minutes matter. I made the mistake of spending too long on X reading reactions. Tweet after tweet questioned why Jews should have their own ambulance service at all. The Jewish community’s response was swift: these ambulances are funded by Jews and run by Jewish volunteers, but they serve everyone. I couldn’t stop thinking about that response. Not because it was wrong – I am genuinely proud of what Hatzalah does. But because of what it assumed: that Jewish particularity requires a universal alibi. Would arson be any more justified if these ambulances served Jews? Would anyone demand this of a Black mutual aid society? A church food pantry? An Asian community health clinic?

In Israel today, there are sounds we have come to know all too well — the sharp, jarring alerts, followed by the rising and falling wail of sirens that send us rushing to safe rooms and bomb shelters. These sounds rupture the rhythm of daily life, filling the air with urgency, fear, and vulnerability. They remind us, again and again, that the danger is real, that our security is not to be taken for granted, and that we are still engaged in the struggle for continued existence in our land. Against this backdrop, Parashat Vayikra introduces us to a radically different kind of sound…

I used to think that Parashat Vayakhel had “interesting material” and “boring material” in it. The “interesting material” is Moshe / Moses bringing the Israelites together and telling them to make an offering to G!D based upon how their heart is moved to do so. Following that, Moshe / Moses continues by asking those who are skilled to come and make all the objects that G!D has commanded regarding the Mishkan / Tabernacle, the place where the Divine Presence will dwell. So the whole community of Israelites brings and makes objects for the Mishkan / Tabernacle — blue, purple and crimson yarns or tanned dolphin skins or gifts of copper or spun goat’s hair…