Shabbat Weekly Dvar Torah

In the immediate aftermath of the horrors of October 7, there was a fleeting sense among many of us that a swift, decisive, and clear victory might be within reach. But nearly two years later — despite the remarkable achievements of the IDF and perhaps even because of them — that initial hope has given way to a deep and widespread sense of exhaustion. This fatigue has seeped into nearly every corner of Israeli society. The ongoing anguish over the hostages, the mounting toll of casualties, the refusal of the Haredi community to share in the burden of national defense, and the constant disruption of daily life have left a nation frayed and disoriented. Worse still, we find ourselves divided — politically, ideologically, even spiritually — on how to move forward.

There’s a certain kind of person who simply cannot handle other people being free. Not because they oppose freedom, of course. Heavens, no! They'll say things like: "I'm all for justice!" or "I believe in equality!" — as long as you don’t outshine them … Once you start living a little too out loud? Suddenly they’re quoting scripture, calling security, and suggesting it’s “not the right time.” Welcome to Parshat Korach, where the Torah introduces us to a man who would have absolutely crushed it on Instagram Reels.

Like so many of you, I’ve been feeling it all for a week — terror, awe, dread, gratitude. I have been glued to my screen, stunned by the audacity and precision of the IDF, the IAF, and the Mossad. Who are these people? I kept asking. How do they dare? Then came messages from friends and family in Israel under fire. Exhausted, anxious, heartbroken. Yet still — steady. Determined. United. One phrase kept running through my mind: We are living in Biblical times. There’s something ancient and electric in the air. Even the name of this war — Am KeLavi, “A Nation/ People Like a Lion” — is drawn straight from the Torah (Bemidbar/ Numbers 23:24).

The truth is that we are all heading to unhappy endings. If we take a step back and consider the big picture, we are all going to die. If we take an even bigger step and consider where humanity is heading, things don’t look good. The authors of the Torah didn’t have our scientific knowledge, but they were intimately aware that life steers us away from happy endings. Instead of offering definitive happily-ever-afters, the Torah shows us an ongoing push and pull between connection and disconnection. When the people of Israel arrive in Egypt at the end of the book of Genesis, it seems that they have a promising future with a friendly pharaoh. But then the Israelite population kept growing, and a “pharaoh who did not know” them rose to power.

The priestly blessing found in this week’s parashah, Naso, is one that has been an important part of our people’s story for three millennia. In the days when the Temple stood in Jerusalem, the priests offered this blessing on behalf of G-d to the people. This tradition continues today in many congregations, where those who are descendants of the Kohanim, the high priests, ascend the bimah and bless the congregation. This blessing is also recited under the chuppah, when children are welcomed into the covenant and named, and it is the prayer bestowed upon children by their parents at Shabbat and holy days. The three benedictions of this prayer are simple and yet incredibly powerful. The words ring in our ears as we consider the many special moments when we’ve heard them. I recently came across a story that spoke of the extreme importance and power of these words.

As we step into the month of June — Pride Month — the Jewish calendar hands us Parshat Bamidbar, the first Torah portion in the Book of Numbers. And yes, it opens with… a census. It’s the spiritual equivalent of a divine Excel spreadsheet: rows, columns, names, tribes, tallies. Not exactly the kind of Torah portion that screams, “Celebrate queerness!” And yet — Bamidbar may be exactly what we need this month. Because buried within its orderly accounting is a message that’s anything but bureaucratic. Rashi, our ever-astute medieval commentator, tells us that God commanded the census not for logistics, but for love.

This week’s double Torah portion, Behar–Bechukotai, closes out the book of Leviticus with what can only be described as a spiritual mic drop — or maybe more accurately, a Torah-powered origin story. Because what we get here isn’t just a list of laws. It’s a blueprint for building a society powered not by force, but by faith. Not by conquest, but by conscience. And most importantly — by the superpower we’ve relied on for generations: learning. In Parshat Behar, we encounter Shmita — the mitzvah to let the land rest every seven years. No planting. No harvesting. No business as usual. Just stop. Trust. Recharge. It’s the Torah’s version of powering down in order to power up.

I can’t keep most plants alive, but somehow my orchids thrive. Fragile yet resilient, they bloom when I least expect it. On one of the darkest days of the last year, I returned home shaken by the loss of eight Israeli soldiers in Gaza to find that an orchid I thought was long dead had flowered. During the shiva for my daughter’s closest friend, also killed in Gaza, another bloomed despite having shed its flowers only a month earlier. On the day following the attacks of October 7th, I sat dazed and disoriented in my garden watching a bee gather pollen from a flower.