Shabbat Weekly Dvar Torah

Sometimes it is helpful to focus in on the details— this is true in life and in learning Torah. When we pay close attention, we can find deep meaning in the subtleties of a smile or in noticing the filigreed pattern of a leaf’s veins jus as we can find profound meaning or beauty in one verse — or even letter — of Torah. For each detail is a fractal, or at least a portion, of a larger reality and truth. Through paying attention to details we can connect to beauty and to meaning. However, there are also times in which it is helpful to step back and take in the big picture. From afar, we can take a broad perspective in which beauty and meaning emerges through the melting away of detail.

A few weeks ago, riding the subway in New York City, I spotted a woman reading a book titled, “The Courage to Be Disliked.” I reached for my gold hostage-tag necklace and found myself repeating: “the courage to be disliked.” Then I tried a different variation: “the courage to be despised.” In recent years, Jews across the West (especially those visibly connected to Israel) have felt a rising tide of hostility. Legal protections remain in place, and allies have not entirely disappeared. But the climate has shifted — and we need to prepare. Not just politically or strategically, but emotionally and spiritually. We must find the courage to accept that we may be disliked, even despised, for our Jewish commitments. Not by strangers in distant corners of the world, but in the very spaces that once felt like home.

Few figures in the Torah are as perplexing as Korach. Unlike Pharaoh, Balak or Amalek, Korach was not an external enemy seeking to destroy the Jewish people. He was one of their own. A Levite of distinguished lineage, he belonged to one of the most prominent families in Israel. He lived in the generation that witnessed the Exodus from Egypt, stood at Mount Sinai and experienced Divine revelation firsthand. Yet despite all this, Korach launched one of the most destructive rebellions in Jewish history. On the surface, his challenge seemed noble enough: “For all the congregation are holy, and the Lord is among them. Why do you exalt yourselves over the assembly of the Lord?" (Numbers 16:3). At first glance, Korach sounds almost democratic. He speaks in the language of equality and inclusion. Why should Moses and Aaron hold positions of authority? Why shouldn’t leadership be shared more broadly?

In the 1950s, a psychologist named Solomon Asch ran one of the most unsettling experiments in social science. Asch brought subjects into a room with other individuals seemingly just like them. The group was shown two cards – one with a single line, one with three lines of different lengths – and asked which line matched. The answer was obvious. A child could see it. But Asch had actually filled the room with actors. And the actors, who always answered first, unanimously chose the same wrong line. And then it was the real subject’s turn to choose.

This rich Torah portion Beha’alotecha incorporates diverse precepts within Judaism and thus offers many perspectives on how to lead a meaningful life. In it, we see that God leads the Jewish people in multiple ways: through the use of natural wonders, by establishing the Torah as a guide, and by teaching the importance of respectful behavior toward others. These modalities represent three of the myriad ways to find meaning in life and to develop a personal connection with community and the divine presence. Throughout the parsha, the Jews are physically led by the Ark of the Covenant, which held the tablets of the Ten Commandments and would travel in front of them. In this way, both literally and figuratively, the Torah served as the people’s guide in the desert. In our lives as well, the Torah can serve as a guide through the challenges we face.

Lately, I've been having these strange moments. I'll be reading, or teaching, or cooking—and a quiet thought creeps in: Will AI replace me? It's not always a dark thought. Sometimes it's simple curiosity. But beneath it lies a deeper question many of us are asking. In a world of looming superintelligence and advanced robotics: What makes me irreplaceable? It's unsettling to imagine that many of the qualities we take pride in — intelligence, creativity, even productivity — might one day be performed better and faster by machines. But alongside those flickers of unease, I've been having another kind of moment — moments of clarity and grounding. Moments that feel utterly, defiantly human. This past Shavuot, I was lying in a hammock beneath the trees when my five-year-old climbed into my arms. We nestled into one of our "cuddle sessions." I wasn't just hugging her — I was trying to make her feel, deep in her little body, that she is loved. For being her. For being mine.

On Shavuot Jews around the world will spend the night learning - remembering and reliving - the experience of receiving the Torah on Har Sinai. Interestingly there is a much more common occurrence in our lives, the public Torah reading, which happens each week on Mondays, Thursday and Shabbat which also serves to reenact that central national experience of revelation. By examining some of the technical laws surrounding the Torah reading we can gain insight into the meta – ideas the Rabbis wanted to create with this fundamental ritual. The minimum required structure to perform a public Torah reading is that ten verses must be read in total and there should be three aliyot, in which a minimum of three verses are read in each. The facts of these laws are very confusing at first glance. Did the Rabbis not know basic math? If one requires three aliyot of three verses why not rule that the minimum total required is nine verses and not ten? However, when one unpacks the reasons behind these laws a deeper idea emerges.

In Ancient Rome, life revolved around the Coliseum. In New York City, the cultural capital of America, all roads lead to Times Square. And in London, Buckingham Palace stands as the heart of the city. These central monuments reveal the core values of each society — spectacle, commerce, and monarchy respectively. So, what lies at the center of the Jewish Nation? In the opening of the book of Numbers, God instructs the Israelites to arrange themselves by tribe, giving each its assigned position, distinctive flag, and marching formation. But perhaps most significantly, these tribal designations all revolve around a single focal point: "The Israelites shall camp each man with his standard, under the banners of their ancestral house; they shall encamp, surrounding the Tent of Meeting." (Numbers / Bamidbar 2:2)