Parashat Tazria-Metzora

Words for Shabbat - A community blog for this week's parashah

Parashat Tazria-Metzora

Between proximity and distance

 
By Dr. Esti Doron
 

The parshiyot (Torah portions) of Tazria-Metzora deal with the laws of ritual impurity and purity, as well as various afflictions that befall a person: in their home, their garments, and their skin.

 

Already at the beginning of the portion, we encounter the laws of Niddah related to childbirth: the difference between the birth of a son and the birth of a daughter in terms of days of impurity and purification and the waiting period for marital relations. When a son is born, one counts seven days of impurity and another thirty-three. When a daughter is born, one counts fourteen days of impurity and another sixty-six before purification.

 

Precisely at the moment of creating new life, at the moment of deep physical intimacy, separation also appears. It is as if the Torah seeks to remind us that intimacy is not a given continuum, but a delicate movement of coming closer and moving away, of longing and renewal. In this context, I found it appropriate to include Rabbi Elhanan Nir's poem "After Birth," which deals with longing for a woman and for marital relations.

 

After childbirth/ Elhanan Nir

For months

And I don't know how to tell you

As is understood according to Halakha, etc.

But just so you know

It's already been months.

And all my bones shall say

But they don't know how, according to Halakha, to tell you

That we have a new baby, thank God.,

I am not saying that I

No

Waiting for you and so on.'

 

Subsequently, the affliction moves into the realm of plagues: spots on the walls of the house, blemishes on clothes, and finally, plagues on human skin. The plagues on the house and clothing are sometimes treated with external means: cleaning, removal, and even destruction, but when the plague appears on human skin, it already carries a deeper significance.

 

The Sages linked leprosy to evil speech; to the damage of relationships between people. One who banishes his fellow from the camp with his words finds himself banished from the camp. The isolation becomes "a measure for a measure": the person sits alone, outside the camp, and reflects. But this isolation is not just punishment. It is also a pause. A space where one can recognize that something has gone out of balance and begin to re-evaluate. 

 

The word "quarantine" itself evokes a heavy, almost suffocating feeling in me, and one can't help but remember the period of Corona, when we all experienced, each in our own way, this distance. I especially remember the Passover Seder night when we were forced to sit by ourselves (or hold the Seder on Zoom) and couldn't visit or host. I remember bringing my elderly mother holiday supplies and leaving them for her by the door, for fear I might infect her with Corona, as I used to go out and also work with other people in the office. I will not forget the moment I lit holiday candles and simply cried, knowing my mother was sitting alone in her home, not celebrating Seder, even though she could have because she had all the supplies, and going to bed early so as not to feel the absence of the holiday. Quarantine is a harsh punishment, not only physical but also psychological and existential.


And the question that arises before me in light of our parsha is not just why isolation is required – but what happens after it, how do we return? How do we come back to the community, to contact, to communality, after we have been “outside the camp”? And does the community truly know how to welcome back, or does it continue to see in the person the contagion he once had... I would like to offer another angle to look at isolation. Not just as a punishment, but as an opportunity to admit weakness, to admit that something has happened to me, that I am not precise, that I need a pause. To take a time out, to observe, to recalculate the route.

 

In days when it seems we are all a bit “leprous,” a bit wounded, a bit imperfect, carrying with us the traces of such a complex period – isolation also contains a quiet call to turn inward. And perhaps here, the beginning of the portion connects to its end: as in the laws of intimacy after childbirth, both there and here, the path back to closeness is not immediate. It requires time, a process, and sometimes even a ritual: immersion in water, a marked transition, a moment of recognition. True closeness, it seems, is not just being together, but knowing how to traverse the distance and return from it. Perhaps we can take a dual message from the Tazria-Metzora portions: we must learn to pause, to listen, to make room for what has been fractured, but no less importantly, to be a community that knows how to welcome people back with grace. A community that not only guards its boundaries but also knows how to heal. I hope we will be that community.

Shabbat Shalom!

 

Picture of ד"ר אסתי דורון

Dr. Esti Doron

Esti Doron is a Doctor of Education who specializes in teacher training, evaluation of educational projects, and fostering educational leadership. She is married, a mother of three, and a loving grandmother to two grandchildren.

Parashat Shemini

Words for Shabbat - A community blog for this week's parashah

Parashat Shemini

Between Responsibility and Guilt – Leadership in Times of Crisis

 
By Ronen Koehler
 

Parashat Shemini opens at a moment of climax: the eighth day of the inauguration of the Mishkan. After seven days of preparation, fire appears from heaven and validates human work. This is a moment of connection between heaven and earth, between human initiative and divine approval. But precisely within this moment of climax, a great rupture occurs: Nadav and Avihu "take initiative" and offer 'strange fire, which He had not commanded them," and they die by fire that came forth from the Lord. The sharp transition from spiritual elation to disaster shakes the reader, but it also sharpens a fundamental principle: where there is holiness, there are also boundaries; and a leader bears heavy responsibility, not only for the role and its limits, but for the entire public, because they represent the entire public.

At the beginning of the parsha, we encounter Aaron at a pivotal moment: his entry into the role of High Priest. However, instead of enthusiasm or confidence, the Torah hints at hesitation: "Draw near to the altar" - Moses has to call him, to urge him on. The Sages describe Aaron as one who was "ashamed and afraid to approach." Why? This can be understood on several levels:

Awe: The direct encounter with the Divine Presence evokes a natural trembling; the memory of the sin of the Golden Calf – Aaron carries within him a deep sense of guilt and asks himself if he is worthy of being the one to atone for the people; and also the psychological transition from being "number 2," a partner and advisor to Moses (but without public responsibility), to the status of the official leader, the "High Priest.".

And there is also another dimension here: true leadership begins with recognizing the depth of responsibility. Aaron understands that the role is not just an honor but a heavy mission towards the people. He is the one who must stand between the people and God, atone, represent, and bear. Here Moses intervenes and tells him: "This is why you were chosen!" Not because you are perfect, but because you are willing to bear responsibility.

And opposite Aharon, the balanced and calculated (some would say hesitant), stand his sons Nadav and Avihu – the galloping horses. The second generation that takes on leadership sometimes without understanding its true cost. They are the sons of a High Priest, full of passion for serving God. But it is precisely this passion that leads them to transgression: 'strange fire which He had not commanded them." Our Sages offer various explanations: drinking wine, pride, independent ruling. But the common denominator is clear: action without sufficient responsibility to the framework and the community. They acted out of a desire to draw closer, perhaps even to intensify the spiritual experience. But they did not ask the central question a leader must ask: What is the meaning of my action for the system? For the people? What is the purpose of our leadership? They saw themselves at the center, not the role.

When a leader conflates their social role with their personal considerations, they damage public trust, the stability of the system, and trust in leadership itself. We see in the State of Israel the terrible price we pay when leaders misunderstand their responsibility to the whole and mix their personal interests with it. This, of course, happens in the Israeli government, but unfortunately, it also happens a lot in the IDF and other places based on leadership. Commanders and managers absolve themselves of responsibility by claiming "they are not to blame." Blame requires proof. Responsibility is inherent in the definition of leadership. When we demand a state commission of inquiry, we are demanding that our leaders allow other people to examine their performance and responsibility in order to learn and fix things, not necessarily to punish.

But, at the moment of crisis, Moses reveals himself as a complete leader.

He not only interprets the event, nor only manages it. He understands he is responsible for the entire nation: for the understanding of the event, for preserving trust in the system, for the continued proper functioning of the Tabernacle, and for maintaining Aaron's position as leader. Moses does not look for culprits; he does not ask "Who is to blame," but rather asks "What is needed now to hold the public together.".

And this is a critical point:

True leadership is not just about inner truth, but also about public influence. A leader must ask: Do my actions strengthen the public or undermine it? Do they create stability or chaos?

In summary, three main challenges arise from the case:

  1. Aaron's Hesitation to Lead: Am I worthy? Am I capable of bearing the responsibility towards the public?
  2. The temptation for Aaron's descendants to innovate without limits: The desire to influence, to innovate, but without considering the broader consequences.
  3. Moshe's ability to bear systemic responsibility for holding people, the system, and the public accountable, especially in times of crisis.

Leaders always operate under pressure, criticism, and a constant desire to show initiative. But the affair reminds us of a simple, uncomfortable truth:

Leadership is not a privilege – it is a responsibility to the public.

This responsibility requires:

Consider every action not only by intention but also by expected results.

To understand that an initiative that is not coordinated or controlled can damage public trust.

To know how to distinguish between guilt and responsibility: not to get stuck searching for culprits, but to move forward to conscious choice and correction.

And remember that every decision is examined not only at the moment but also by its impact on the entire social fabric.

Responsibility is a choice to act in a way that serves the greater good, even at personal cost.

True initiative is not just the courage to act—but the wisdom to understand when and how to act.

Today's leadership requires balancing humility with initiative, boundaries with freedom, and most importantly, remembering:

The leader does not act for himself. He carries an entire public on his shoulders.

Leadership is both a resource and a journey.

Shabbat Shalom!

Picture of רונן קלר

Ronen Koehler

Social activist, Chairman of the Israeli Prayer House, Lt. Col. (Res.), Organizational Consultant, and father of 3 from Tel Aviv

Shabbat Chol HaMoed Pesach

Words for Shabbat - A community blog for this week's parashah

Shabbat Chol HaMoed Pesach

On the connection between the Song of Songs and Passover

 
From Esteban Gottfried
 

On Shabbat Chol HaMoed Pesach, it is customary to read the Song of Songs. The connection is less obvious than the Book of Esther on Purim, and the custom is relatively recent – (it first appeared in the Vitry Machzor (Rabbeinu Simcha, a student of Rashi) – mid-12th century) – nevertheless, let us focus on this connection.

 

Among all the books of the Bible, Song of Songs is perhaps the most surprising. A book in which it is not at all clear if there is a single word about God. A book over which the Sages argued whether it sanctifies the hands – meaning, whether it is holy enough to be included in the Holy Scriptures. And Rabbi Akiva, who ruled as law that it is, not only said yes, but added a statement that admits no ambiguity:

"All Scripture is holy, but the Song of Songs is the holiest of the holy." (Mishnah Yadayim 3:5)

 

Not just holy – but holy of holies. The highest level. And not only that, but they used to recite it specifically on Passover, on the Seder night, on the festival of redemption. So why the Song of Songs on Passover?

 

The most common reason is simple: "Because most of its verses allude to the Exodus from Egypt." Thus writes the "Haggadah Beit Levi." Rashi and Midrash Rabbah open almost every verse in the song and find in it a hint to the journey in the desert, to the faith of Israel, to the giving of the Torah.

 

And there is, of course, another, deeper reason, concerning the relationship itself between God and the people of Israel. The Sages viewed the three pilgrimage festivals as three stages of marriage: Passover - the time of "engagement" and "betrothal," when the enslaved people suddenly went out into the desert "after" their beloved. Shavuot - the giving of the Torah, the official "betrothal": "We accepted upon ourselves to live according to one ketubah." Sukkot - the chuppah, the entry into shared life under one canopy.

 

And if so – the Song of Songs, the love song between David and his wife, is also the love song between the Holy One, blessed be He, and the Congregation of Israel. And Passover is the moment when this love began. What could be more fitting than reading this love song at a moment of beginnings? "Remember your youthful love, your marital love, your following me in the wilderness, in a land not sown..." (Jeremiah 2:2)

 

But beyond the commonly accepted metaphorical reading, I want to dwell on one verse from the book, which serves as an additional key:

"The voice of my beloved! Look, he comes, leaping over the mountains, bounding over the hills."
(Song of Songs 2:8)

 

The Midrash interprets this verse as a hint to the redemption: The redeemer does not arrive slowly, does not climb a ladder step by step. He skips. He leaps. He arrives all at once. And Rashi, on a closer verse, explains: "He runs and comes to redeem us, as if overcoming the high mountains so they will not hinder him."

 

And I believe there is a major innovation here. We are accustomed to thinking of change as a process. Of redemption as a gradual progression. Of correction as something built slowly, patiently, step by step. And that is true at times. But the Song of Songs teaches us that there is another kind of change: a change that leaps. That skips. That comes from a place we did not expect, and at a speed we did not believe possible. The Exodus itself is a living illustration of this. Two hundred and ten years of slavery. Generation after generation. And then—"On this very day they went out." Rashi writes on this verse: "The Scripture did not delay even for the blink of an eye." When the moment comes—it comes in an instant.

 

We are celebrating this Passover during a heavy year. War follows war, with casualties, wounded, worn-out, worried, and tired people. Corrupt leadership that divides the people, legislates laws to empower itself, and this week a law that truly discriminates between blood and blood, turning a blind eye to lawbreakers, and the list goes on. The pain is not over. And there are moments when it's hard to believe that things can be different, that the situation can change, that the other side of this pain is near.

 

And therefore, specifically Song of Songs, and specifically this verse, are a gift. Because the verse doesn't say, "After a long and grueling process, after you complete all the stages, your beloved will arrive." It says, "The voice of my beloved! Behold, he comes." Behold. He. Comes. Present tense, a sense of closeness, a sense of suddenness. The mountains that are leaped over – they don't disappear. They are still there. The hills don't crumble. The difficulty doesn't deny itself. But leaping over them is possible. The change doesn't have to go through every mountain and every hill – it can surmount them. Times change. Often surprisingly. By skipping stages, by "leaping over the hills." Of all the blessings I received for the holiday, the one that most struck me was a very short blessing from our friend Steve Stolman from New York, who will be celebrating his 95th birthday in a few weeks, and has already been through many things in life. 

 

Stay Safe. Stay Strong. Have Faith. Times Will Change. You are not alone. Have a Good Passover

 

Times will change. This does not mean not to advance the change and sit with folded hands, but rather to believe that the pendulum of life, and also of the lives of nations, "leaps over the mountains and climbs the hills.".

 

And I wanted to share another simple thought: "Shir HaShirim" – which can also be read as "a song to songs," a song that sanctifies poetry itself. Music is one of the most ancient tools people have to cultivate hope within themselves. Not through argument, not through sight, not through explanation – but through melody. Rabbi Nachman of Breslov said there is no remedy for sadness like joy, and no tool for joy like a melody. And throughout our history – in exile, in bondage, in hardship – we sang. We sang because the melody reaches places words cannot.

 

And in this sense,.

 

The Song of Songs opens with a question: "Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth." A direct, personal, touching plea. The Knesset of Israel turns to her beloved and says: Come. Here I am. I am here.

 

This Passover, we too can stand with this plea. Not out of perfection, not out of confidence that everything is already okay – but out of the belief that the beloved is leaping over the mountains toward us, that change can come suddenly, and that the melody we will sing tonight invites him to come. "The voice of my beloved, behold, here he comes."

 

Shabbat Shalom and happy holidays.

Picture of אסטבן גוטפריד

Esteban Gottfried

Rabbi and CEO of Beit Tefillah Israeli, and one of its founders. Lives in Tel Aviv, married to Ruthi and father to Maya and Tobi.

Parashat Tzav

Words for Shabbat - A community blog for this week's parashah

Parashat Tzav

Between the Eternal Fire and the Eternal Lamp

 
By Rivi Dror
 

The Book of Leviticus, which we began reading last week, is also known as "The Law of the Priests." The book deals with the service of the Tabernacle: the activities, duties, and roles of the priests, as well as the concept of holiness and the role of the Jewish people as a holy nation.


In last week’s parashah, Vayikra, we read about the types of sacrifices an individual could offer; whereas in this week’s parashah, Tzav, we encounter the laws governing the priests" service in the Tabernacle and their daily duties. The morning in the Tabernacle begins with the cleansing of the altar of all the remains of the sacrifices that were burned on it during the night. One priest is chosen to remove the "trumat ha-dashan,” a small portion of the burnt remains, and place them at the foot of the altar, on the eastern side, facing the rising sun. Afterward, the priests clean the rest of the ashes and carry them outside the camp, to a pure place.


Right from the very first task of the day, a dual movement becomes apparent: there is manure that is brought in—and manure that is removed. There are aspects of the past that we choose to keep close, as a memento and a reminder, and there are aspects of the past that we must clear away to make room for a new beginning. The addition of fertilizer and the removal of fertilizer point to an inner tension: every day is part of a chain of days, of tradition, of generations; and at the same time, it is also a new day, seeking to begin "with a clean slate," with renewed strength and will.


After the grain offering has been prepared, the wood is arranged on the altar, and the fire is kindled in preparation for the morning burnt offering. A fire burns constantly on the altar:


“A fire shall be kept burning on the altar—it shall not go out.” (Leviticus 6:6) On the day the Tabernacle was dedicated, fire came down from heaven and took hold of the altar before the eyes of the people. From that moment on, the fire on the altar is a continuation of that revelation, but the responsibility for it passes to humanity. For even a fire of divine origin requires hands to tend it, to feed it, and to ensure it does not go out. Therefore, there are always glowing embers in the corner of the altar—a fire that must burn constantly.


The eternal flame is a fire of action. It cooks, transforms, and consumes matter. It is part of daily life, of physical, repetitive work—the kind that can sometimes become an automatic habit.
Precisely for this reason, kindling the fire on the altar every day requires the priest to remain fully present in his actions—not merely to perform them, but also to pay attention to what is happening. When an action is performed out of habit, without paying attention, it does not merely take place; it also accumulates.


Every fire leaves behind ashes; every action leaves behind debris. This debris is not merely waste. The act of clearing away the debris teaches us that there are things from the past worth preserving and keeping close by, as a reminder. Clearing away the debris reminds us that not everything is meant to be kept; there are also things to be discarded, to make way for a new beginning.


To tell them apart, you need light.
As we gaze upon the eternal flame, we are reminded of the eternal lamp described in the parashah Tetzaveh in the Book of Exodus.
"And you shall commandthe Israelites, and they shall bring to you pure, crushed olive oil for the light, to keep the lamp burning continually" (Exodus 27:20). As part of the preparation of the Tabernacle, the people are commanded to bring pure olive oil to "keep the lamp burning continually." The eternal lamp burns inside the Tent of Meeting, within. It is the westernmost lamp among the branches of the menorah. The priests must ensure that it never goes out, and every evening the other lamps of the menorah are lit from this one. What is the connection between the eternal fire and the eternal lamp? Why must both burn constantly?


The eternal flame is at work in the world, transforming it. It sets a process in motion—but also leaves a remnant behind.
The fertilizer reminds us that life is not just about what we do, but also about what remains with us from those actions.
And the eternal flame—the light that burns within—allows us to return to what remains, to find meaning in it, and to carry on even when the path is not entirely clear.
The light of the eternal flame is a light that does not burn out, but rather accompanies us.

 

In these days when reality itself is ablaze, and our daily routines are repeatedly shattered, it seems as though fire is all around us. We need a light to illuminate our choice: what from these days will remain with us, and how we will carry what remains. That same light will also enable us to see the good in people, what still functions and is good in our reality, and the light of faith. It is important to know that if the eternal flame goes out, it is rekindled only from the eternal flame itself.


Perhaps we can learn from this that even the gentlest light sometimes needs a spark that comes from action, from the world, from encounters with others. "We are with you, you are not alone"—this is not merely a slogan we shouted to the mothers of the kidnapped, but it continues to be spoken and cried out at other demonstrations where the public seeks to support and empower those whose voices are not heard enough.


May we know how to keep the fire burning: to act, to participate, to be part of it; and may we also know how to tend the candle: to shine, to see, to discern; and may we know, anew each day, what to take from the ashes and what to let go of—and may we have the strength for all of this.


Shabbat Shalom!

Picture of ריבי דרור

Rivi Dror

Rivi is a rabbi in the Israeli House of Prayer community, lives in Pardes Hanna, and is the mother of two daughters. .

Parashat Vayikra

Words for Shabbat - A community blog for this week's parashah

Parashat Vayikra

Leviticus - Thoughts on Sacrifice

 
By Rani Jaeger
 

And the LORD called to Moses and spoke to him from the tent of meeting, saying:
Speak to the children of Israel, and say to them: When any of you bring an offering to the Lord, you shall bring your offering of livestock: of cattle and of sheep.
The Lord called to Moses and spoke to him from the tent of meeting, saying,

 

As a rabbi preparing boys and girls for their bar mitzvah, the Book of Leviticus presents an immense challenge for writing a sermon. The reason is simple: from the first portion and throughout the entire book, entire chapters are dedicated to the laws of sacrifices – among the most difficult subjects for contemporary Jews to grapple with, and a Jewish practice that has not been observed for nearly two thousand years since the destruction of the Temple.


The question of what to do with entire portions of the Torah that are read and have no (and perhaps it's good they have no...) connection to reality – let's set that aside for another discussion. But if ritual sacrifice is not part of our lives – the word "korban," in its many meanings, is very much present!


Prof. Moshe Halbertal, known to many of us and from whom I had the privilege to study, dedicated an entire book (in English) to the concept of the sacrifice. In several interviews conducted around the book's publication, Halbertal presented the findings of his research regarding the 'biography" of the word: "The first meaning of the word "korban' is the biblical meaning, and it is - 'korban,' in the sense of 'to bring near',' its parallel being the mincha (offering). Just as one "brings near" a korban, one "places" a mincha. The korban is a gift, but it is a gift whose transfer from the giver's hand to the receiver's hand is not guaranteed. Therefore, you only "bring near," because you don't know if the korban will be accepted or not.


The second meaning is 'victim' – the victim of rape, the victim of murder. It's an interesting question what connects these two meanings. I think it's related to the fact that the biblical sacrifice is a sacrifice with innocence. The animal must be pure, innocent, in order to be sacrificed. The modern Hebrew sacrifice is also innocent. But this is a very late meaning, which only begins to appear at the beginning of the 20th century; when Jews were massacred in pogroms in the Middle Ages, they were not called 'sacrifices'...


The third meaning, which is also very late in Hebrew, is the meaning of 'to sacrifice for': 'I sacrificed for my children,' for example, or 'I sacrificed my life for a certain cause.'" In interviews with him, Halbertal warns that in our time – within the concept of sacrifice lies also a dangerous mechanism of reversing affinity, meaning, a situation where the value does not justify the sacrifice, but rather the sacrifice sanctifies the value; instead of sacrificing for something holy, the act of sacrifice itself makes the goal holy and immune to criticism.


This process can create a "license" for violence, where the aggressor perceives themselves as a victim and thereby frees themselves from the shackles of conscience. From this perspective, even the binding of Isaac can be seen not only as a story of faith but as a moment where the victim of conscience turns the sacrificer into a captive within the cycle of power and aggression of his faith.


I find Habertas's analysis illuminating: identifying the three layers of the concept of "sacrifice" – the ritual act, the innocent victim, and the altruistic sacrifice – allows us to re-examine the rituals and values that shape our lives. The transition from "sacrificing to…" to "sacrificing…" is the junction where it is determined whether sacrifice is a path to closeness and connection, or if it is a tool to justify power and violence.
This understanding is especially crucial for us today, as we seek to establish a Jewish and Israeli identity that does not sink into an all-permissive victim consciousness, but rather one that aspires to action characterized by responsibility and morality. This is how the Hebrew language and the portion have brought us back to a concept that is not only not confined to the distant past, but the opposite: the concept at the heart of the portion clearly presents us with the sharpness of the choice before us and the magnitude of the challenge in shaping our lives. This may be the great call of "Vayikra.".


Shabbat Shalom!

Picture of רני יגר

Rani Jaeger

Rabbi Dr. Rani Jaeger, co-founder and co-rabbi at Beit Tefila Israeli, directs the Ritual Center and is a research fellow at the Shalom Hartman Institute. He is a father of four and a new grandfather.

Parashat Vayakhel-Pekudei

Words for Shabbat - A community blog for this week's parashah

Parashat Vayakhel-Pekudei

The Tent of Meeting as the perfection of peace

 
By Rebecca Bakalash
 

The parashah 'Vayakhel' begins with the words:
"And Moses gathered the All the congregation of the children of Israel, and said unto them, These are the words which the Lord hath commanded, that ye should do them' (Exodus 35:1), and later it is said again, "And Moses said unto the children of Israel, Build ye unto me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them" (Exodus 25:42). All The congregation of the children of Israel, as it is written (Leviticus 4).
The word All She plays a leading role in the story, teaching us that the entire community of Israel, men and women alike, took part in building the Tabernacle. Everyone contributed, and everyone worked on the project.


These words are written on the afternoon of Purim. Last night we read the Book of Esther, in which Esther also asks
From Mordechai, "Go gather the All The Jews who are in Shushan.".

commandments The audience and the gathering, emphasizing Everything In both cases, during the inauguration of the Tabernacle and in times of trouble and distress, we are taught about the importance of unity and cohesion and the danger of division and fragmentation. "And Haman said to King Ahasuerus, "There is a certain people scattered and dispersed among the peoples in all the provinces of your kingdom. Haman the Agagite, of the seed of Amalek, points out the The separation As a sign that he would be able to defeat Mordechai and his people.


Even in the description of the Tabernacle, the Tent of Meeting, after the detailed description of all the various materials and the multitude of parts and tools, their descriptions and measurements, the text returns and mentions twice the cohesion and completeness of all the parts.
.(The Tabernacle. "To connect the tent to be one" (Luke 19 ). "And the tabernacle was one"(Luke 13).


The Tabernacle vessels symbolize the union of opposites. to unite The United:
A special commandment was given regarding the menorah of the Tabernacle: "He shall make the menorah of pure gold" (37:17). "Three branches of the menorah shall be on one side, and three branches of the menorah shall be on the other side" (37:18). "Its stems, its bowls, its knobs, and its flowers shall be of one piece with it" (37:17). "It shall be made of pure gold, hammered work" (Exodus 37:22).


The union of opposites is also reflected in the priestly garments, particularly the sash and the ephod. They are made of shatnez, a mixture of wool and linen, with special permission from the Torah, during Temple service.

The unification of opposites also characterizes the breastplate. Twelve stones, each stone unique "And the stones shall be according to the names of the children of Israel: twelve according to their names, engraved like the engravings of a signet, each according to his name, for the twelve tribes" (Leviticus 39:14). All twelve stones, symbolizing the twelve tribes, are united on the square of the breastplate.
The symbolic meaning of the union of opposites in the breastplate and staffs, the rods of the menorah, in the national context, is an expression of unity with Israel in all its diversity and colors.


"This is the essence of perfect peace.
Strive for peace
Between two extremes.". 
Rabbi Nachman of Breslov
Abbreviation of Likutei Moharan, letter A.


The parashah "Vayakhel" opens with the first commandment, "Six days you shall do work, but on the seventh day you shall have a holy sabbath" (Leviticus 24:31). After this first commandment, there is a transition back to the work of building the Tabernacle, a kind of parallel between the six days of God's creation of the universe, the six days of work, and the work of building the Tabernacle.

 

The words "and God finished" and "work" appear at the end of God's creation of the world."And he finished God finished His work on the seventh day (Genesis 2:2), and with the completion of the Tabernacle, "And he finished Moses completed the work" (Exodus 33). Both works end with a blessing, "And God blessed them" (Genesis 1:28), "And God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it" (Genesis 2:3). In the portion of Hakhel, upon completion of the Tabernacle, 'And Moses saw all the work, and behold, they had done it as the Lord had commanded, and Moses blessed them' (Exodus 39:43).
According to the Sages, the blessing included a special prayer that the Shechina would dwell in their work and that the Tabernacle would be stable and permanent.

 

The founding physicist, Isaac Newton, saw in the Temple an accurate physical model of the universe and the heliocentric solar system. In his view, the structure of the Temple contained the dimensions of the universe and was built with divine inspiration.
The parts of the temple conceal ancient wisdom about the structure of the cosmos. The altar in the center represents the sun, and the entire temple reflects divine order and physical harmony, what Newton called 'the divine plan.'.
This concept also applies to the structure of the Tabernacle and its vessels, which were built according to the instructions of the "divine plan,' 'as He showed you on the mountain" (Exodus 27:8), a divine instruction to Moses to build the Tabernacle and its vessels exactly according to the pattern presented to him on Mount Sinai.

 

The Haftarah for the portion of Hakhel deals with the construction of the Temple vessels in parallel to the construction of the Tabernacle in the portion. It describes in detail the construction of the Temple pillars, until 'and they finished the work of the pillars' (I Kings 7:22). These are the pillars "Yakin," the right pillar, and 'Boaz,' the left pillar. The pillars 'Yakin' and 'Boaz' are the 'foundation pillars' of the Temple and of the existence of the Jewish people.

 

And if we are wise,
All The people,
To establish (from the word "prepare") unity,
"The Lord will give strength (from the word bo-az) to His people,
May God bless His people.
Peace be with you.".
(Psalms 29:11)

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By Rebecca Bakalash

"The helper opposite" Reuven "The helper opposite me," mother of three and happy grandmother of seven. Doctor of Intertextual Art and Visual Culture.

Parashat Ki Tissa

Words for Shabbat - A community blog for this week's parashah

Parashat Ki Tissa

What happens when the leader disappears?

 
By Meir Tzohar
 

The "Because you will carry" It is one of the most dramatic in the Torah, ranging from spiritual exaltation to the depths of the sin of the golden calf. The order of events is not chronological (the census takes place only a year later in the Book of Numbers).

The parashah opens with a census, conducted by means of a uniform contribution of half a shekel, which will be used to build the Tabernacle. It then details some of the Tabernacle's vessels and appoints craftsmen to carry out the work. Further details on the commandments of Shabbat complete the opening of the parashah (with the linking of the commandments of Shabbat to the construction of the Tabernacle serving as the traditional interpretation for the formulation of the list of 39 types of work prohibited on Shabbat). 

The main part of the passage deals with "The sin of the golden calf" – the original sin of Israeli/Jewish culture for thousands of years. Moses delays on the mountain for 40 days. The people, under pressure and anxiety, demand a replacement for Aaron. Aaron creates the The Golden Calf. God informs Moses of the sin and wants to destroy the people. Moses prays for the people, but when he comes down and sees the dancing around the calf, he Breaks the tablets of the covenant. Moses punishes the sinners with the help of the Levites, who pass through the camp and kill 3,000 people. Afterward, Moses climbs the mountain again to ask for forgiveness. He asks God, "Please show me your glory." In response, God reveals to him the The Thirteen Attributes of Mercy , the main prayer for asking forgiveness to this day.

 

Moses carves new stone tablets. After another 40 days, he comes down with The second tablets. Due to his immense closeness to God, Moses' face is glowing The light was so strong that he had to put a veil over his face when he spoke to the people (statues of Moses with horns throughout Europe originate from a faulty translation). 

 

From "We will do and we will hear" to "The sin of the golden calf"

The connection between "We will do and we will hear" and the sin of the golden calf seems, at first glance, to be a complete contradiction. How could a people that had reached a spiritual state of self-nullification ("We will do" before "We will hear") crash and burn within forty days into idolatry of a golden calf? However, when we look at the psychological sequence of events, we can see in the sin of the golden calf Direct continuation The extremism of "we will do and we will hear," and an ancient expression of FOMO, the fear of missing out.

"We will do and we will hear" – spiritual ecstasy without preparation

The mass cry"We will do and we will hear." expresses a state of ecstasy. The Israelites gave up intellectual understanding and critical thinking ("we will hear") in favor of total commitment ("we will do"). It is a moment of spiritual "high" in which the boundaries between man and his beliefs become blurred, and man loses control.

 

The challenge:  Peak moments pass quickly. As soon as Moses ascended the mountain and the fog took over, the people were left in a vacuum of faith. Without the "hearing"—that is, without deep understanding, critical thinking, a gradual process, and tools to contain the spiritual experience in everyday life—enthusiasm quickly turns to anxiety. When Moses was "late" in coming down, the emptiness turned to fear, and the people sought a security blanket.

 

The sin of the golden calf FOMO   collective

FOMO is the fear that something important is happening and we are not part of it, or that the source of our security/happiness has disappeared and we have been left behind. After 40 days, the people develop a "film" of anxieties and fears:

The fear of losing the leader: "For this is Moses the man... we did not know what had become of him." The people are afraid that their connection with God has been severed and that they are "missing out" on the opportunity to continue the experience of Sinai.

The need for "here and now"":  FOMO requires quick solutions. The calf was not an attempt to rebel against God, but an attempt moor The same in substance. The people need "a God who will go before us"—a God who can be seen with the eyes, who is available and immediate, who does not require waiting in the fog.

Social pressure: As on social media, the anxiety surrounding the sin of the golden calf feeds on itself. "And the people gathered around Aaron" – this is a movement stemming from social pressure and mass anxiety that "everyone knows something I don't know" about Moses' disappearance.

 

Dealing with the FOMO – Building a "safe place" for anxiety

 

The sin of the golden calf teaches us that we cannot live only by "we will do and we will hear," by moments of peak emotion and blind faith, without building everyday tools. The calf is "Shortcut" To achieve a sense of "divinity" without going through the work, the waiting, and the uncertainty. The Tabernacle is a correction – Unlike the calf, which was created in a moment of outburst and anxiety, the Tabernacle was built with detail, painstaking work, and planning. It teaches that the way to deal with spiritual FOMO is not by chasing instant gratification, but by creating a routine of sacred work.

 

The second tablets Moshe's sculptures reinforce the motif of Sisyphean labor versus religious and spiritual ecstasy. The most significant difference between the panels is their origin. The first panels were """The work of God is the letter, and the letter is the work of God.""". They represent a gift from heaven, a total experience that requires no human effort—like the initial "We will do and we will hear." In contrast, in the second set of tablets, God commands Moses""" Carve two stone tablets like the first ones.""" . Here, Moses is the one who must carve the stone, and God "only" writes on them. 

 

The first boards were like a perfect "story," everything looked amazing and effortless—  "We will do and we will hear.". The second tablets are a correction—they teach that holiness requires Hard work and genuine involvement. We cannot rely solely on divine ecstasy; we must carve out the tools ourselves so that we do not fall apart in every moment of anxiety and difficulty.

 

In the Midrash Exodus Rabbah, it is recounted that Moses regretted breaking the first tablets, but the Holy One, blessed be He, comforted him, saying, "Do not regret the first ones, for they contained only the Ten Commandments, but in the second tablets I give you more than that." Halakhot, Midrash, and Aggadah"Here too, the Midrash teaches that it was precisely the breaking and repairing that gave rise to a new depth – theOral Torah. FOMO seeks the quick answer, but the second boards represent the longer, more interpretive, and richer path that develops alongside the individual. 

 

The Gemara in Bava Batra (14b) notes that both the complete tablets and the broken tablets were placed inside the Ark. """broken slabs """Asher Shiber Moshe. From this we can learn that profound correction does not ignore situations of brokenness. Correction does not mean ignoring failure, but rather making room for brokenness. Brokenness reminds us that even failures (such as the sin of the golden calf) have value. Failure is part of the story. The attempt to be "perfect" (as in the first tablets) is what causes anxiety and leads to brokenness. Accepting brokenness allows us to cope and grow. 

Summary

The sin of the golden calf is the story of a people who rose too quickly and too high in "We will do and we will hear.", and were unable to cope when their leader disappeared. The fear of being left alone in the fog without a tangible God drove them to create a glittering substitute in the form of the golden calf. And so today, we too must remember that it is precisely in moments of uncertainty, crisis, and difficulty, when we feel that we are "missing out" or being left behind, that the wise thing to do is not to run after shiny, fast-moving "golden calves," but to patiently build up inner strength that will carry us even when the fog covers the mountain.

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Meir Tzohar

Meir Tzohar - eternal student... Vered's other half, father to three grown children and grandfather to four amazing grandchildren and Polymath...

Parashat Tetzaveh

Words for Shabbat - A community blog for this week's parashah

Parashat Tetzaveh

On brotherhood, mission, and giving space

The relationship between Moses and Aaron was completely different from the dramatic stories of brothers in the Book of Genesis, which are characterized by rivalry, murder, arrogance, a struggle for primogeniture, the sale of a brother, revenge, and reconciliation.

Moses and Aaron were not just brothers. They were a team. Their goal was to lead the Israelites from slavery to freedom. Although God chose Moses to lead the people, he needed Aaron to stand by his side and help him convey the message. To do so, the synergy and cooperation between them had to be perfect. And for many years, it was. Moses and Aaron worked together as a team.

Then came the breaking point, or the change that took place in the cohesive team. In this week's Torah portion, Tetzaveh, we begin to see a separation between the two – while Aaron and his sons are invited to continue serving God through the priesthood, Moses' children are left without a specific leadership role in this new phase of the Israelites' lives. Moses does not yet know it, but he is not expected to lead the people as they enter the Land of Israel. In contrast, Aaron and his descendants will continue to be a spiritual pillar of the Jewish people from this point onward. This change is even reflected in the text itself in a literary gesture – Moses' name is not mentioned even once in the parashah.

Nevertheless, Moses' presence is still felt, albeit in a new and different way. Moses is asked to supervise the preparation of the magnificent priestly garments. This demand is further emphasized when God commands Moses to elevate his brothers and nephews to their new status. Unlike the other tasks that Moses delegated to the craftsmen, this transition is presented as a commandment that God gives to Moses himself – 'and you" – and which only he can fulfill.

When God commands Moses to bring Aaron and his sons before Him to serve as priests and ordain them to their new role, Aaron is repeatedly referred to as 'your brother," reminding us that their brotherhood and partnership was the "trademark" of their relationship for many years.

I felt a twinge in my heart. What did Moses think when he anointed his brother and nephews to the priesthood? Or rather, what did he feel? Was he able to fulfill his role as a loyal brother and rejoice for his brother, Aaron, who had finally been recognized as a leader in his own right? Did jealousy pierce his heart, even for a moment, or a sense of loss, when he realized that his brother Aaron, who until then had been his supportive partner, would now leave him and enter a new phase of sacred service, while he would not?

I want to believe that Moses, in his great wisdom, embraced change and understood that their many years of working together as a team had prepared them precisely for this moment. As a prophet, teacher, and leader, it was surely clear to Moses that he needed Aaron and his support in his early years, when he first took on the role of leader, and that now the time had come for Aaron and his sons to forge a new path for themselves. This brief episode in our parashah sheds new light on Moses and his leadership, teaching us that sometimes it is the simple ability to make room for others that demonstrates our true leadership and our capacity for teamwork.

On a personal note, I recently accompanied my sister, who is 20 years older than me, who is hospitalized due to a health crisis. It was a challenging situation for me that stirred up mixed feelings, because in the past there had been a lot of tension between us over the issue of "firstborn status," and we hadn't really managed to have a dialogue about our differences. .

Difficulty can separate, but it can also unite.

Many families are destroyed and torn apart by inheritance and will disputes and are unable to maintain family unity.

How do you build family resilience? How do you strengthen relationships of openness, mutual respect, and mutual support within the family? This is a challenge that every family faces, and it is also a challenge that each of us faces in the choices we make based on our beliefs, values, and, above all, the understanding that even if you invest, you will not always receive a return or gratitude.

Sometimes we discover leadership in small ways, like Moses, based on our values: for the sake of the goal, for the sake of building, for the sake of family, and we must accept the meaning from our actions without expecting anything in return.

Finally, I would like to recommend a moving film called "Moving Mountains" (in English, DJ Mehmet).

which describes, among other things, the relationship between two brothers who live in a village in northern Macedonia and have lost their mother.

And so they comfort each other: "Mom said that when things get tough, it's better to be together."

Shabbat Shalom!

 

Acknowledgements:
I drew on an article by Dr. Julie Lieber of the Lindenbaum Midrasha, whose words aptly captured and expressed my thoughts.

 

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Ruthie Shapira

Group facilitator, literature teacher, personal coach. Mom to three grown kids and a fun grandma to two sweet granddaughters. Addicted to stories. Loves traveling.

Parashat Terumah

Words for Shabbat - A community blog for this week's parashah

Parashat Terumah

Among them: Where does holiness reside?

The Torah portion Terumah opens with the commandment: "And they shall take for Me an offering from every man whose heart moves him... and they shall make Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among them." God asks the Israelites to build Him a home. According to Rashi and many commentators, this commandment came chronologically after the sin of the golden calf – after the tablets were broken, after trust was shattered. It is precisely then, in a state of brokenness, that the commandment to build something together comes. And the question that preoccupies me today is: How do you build something together when everyone wants a different "dwelling place"? When each camp sees "holiness" in a different place?

 

Two points from the episode

The passage offers two key points that may help us think about this question: The first point: "among them" – not "within it." God does not say, "I will dwell within it" – within the structure. He says, "I will dwell among them" – among the people. Holiness is not found in the physical structure, in the institution, in the Holy Ark itself. It is found in the connection between the people who build it together. 

 

This is an important point: the temple may be perfect in its details—in gold and silver, in blue and purple—but if it does not live within the people, if the connection between them is broken, then the holiness disappears.

The second point: "From every man whose heart prompts him to give." The Tabernacle was built solely from voluntary donations. No taxes were imposed, no coercion, no obligation. "Whose heart prompts him" – those whose hearts move them to give.

And what is exciting is that everyone contributes. The rich give gold, the less wealthy give silver, and those who do not have much give copper or cloth. There is no hierarchy of contributions—everyone builds the shared tabernacle.

 

The Tabernacle and the Sabbath – Two Sides of the Same Coin

This year, we are studying "Shabbat of Freedom" at Beit Tefilah – an attempt to chart a new Israeli path for Shabbat. Not a Shabbat of legal coercion, nor a Shabbat that becomes just another day of shopping and consumption, but a Shabbat as a space of true freedom – freedom to pause, to return to ourselves, to be with family and community. There is a deep connection between the Tabernacle and Shabbat. If Shabbat is "sanctuary in time," then the Tabernacle is "sanctuary in place." Both require the same thing: free choice. The Tabernacle was built out of generosity – not because someone forced the people to do so, but because their hearts "spoke." And the Sabbath, as we try to rethink it, must be built from the same place: not because someone forces me to, but because I want to be a part of it. This is "freedom for something" and not just "freedom from something" – as we are learning these days: true freedom is not just freedom from chores, but the free choice to give meaning to our shared space.

 

And today – where are we??

When I think about Israel today, I see a society that is struggling to find its holiness. Where is our "tabernacle"? Is it in the Knesset? In the Supreme Court? In the army? In the synagogue? Each camp points to a different place and says, "This is our holiness." And there are heated debates surrounding the most basic questions.

 

The Draft Law – Who Contributes to the Common Tabernacle? Do All Contribute, or Only Some of the People?

 

Separation of powers – what is "holy" and what is "most holy"? Who guards the boundaries between them?

 

The upcoming elections – each camp offers a different "Tabernacle," a different vision for the country, for society, for the future. And there is a crisis of confidence in institutions, in leadership, and sometimes even in each other.

 

So what do we do??

I don't know the answer. I'm not sure there is a simple answer. But the starting point is to remember two things. 

 

First, holiness is "within" – in the connection between people, not in the institution itself. Perhaps instead of focusing only on institutions – which Knesset? Which court? Which army? – we should ask where we truly meet? Where do we feel that we have something in common?

 

Sometimes it's not in the Knesset or in court. Sometimes it's at the Shabbat table, on a family trip, in a small community, in a conversation with a friend who thinks differently from you but with whom you can still talk. Maybe that's where holiness resides. Second, the Tabernacle was built when the heart "speaks." Not by coercion. Not by saying, "You must serve," "You must observe Shabbat," "You must agree with me." But with a simple question: What do you want to contribute? What does your heart motivate you to give to our shared home? Because only when everyone contributes willingly—rich and poor, religious and secular, right and left—only then can we build something that is truly shared.

 

Last

There is something else beautiful about this parashah. Inside the Tabernacle, on the Ark, there are two cherubim. The Sages say that the cherubim face each other when Israel does God's will, and turn away when they do not. 

 

There is a profound lesson here – even when there is a barrier (the curtain separating the Holy Place from the Holy of Holies), even when there are differences, it is possible and necessary to reach out to one another. Not to turn away. 

 

I don't know how to build today's shared sanctuary. But the starting point is to remember that the temple was not built "within" – within a single perfect structure – but "among" – within the context of our relationships with one another. Perhaps today's sanctuary is not a specific law or a single institution, but rather new norms of behavior that we build together – listening, respect, the ability to hear the other even when we disagree with them. Our sanctuary can be the place where we take responsibility for one another, not out of coercion but out of choice.

 

And the question everyone should ask themselves is not "What should they give?", but "What do I want to contribute? What motivates me to give?"

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Willy Siegel

He is a grandfather to two Swedish grandchildren and currently resides in the Netherlands, from where he participates in Beit Tefilah Israeli studies and writes Torah commentaries reflecting on the situation in Israel, where he was educated, served, and worked.

Parashat Mishpatim

Words for Shabbat - A community blog for this week's parashah

Parashat Mishpatim

Is the Book of Exodus our moral and cultural foundation?

 
By Ofra Palmer Granot
 

The situation is as follows: The Israelites stand at the foot of the smoking Mount Sinai. God has already delivered the Ten Commandments through a spectacular and frightening display of visions. The people see the voices, hear the shofar, and move fearfully, standing at a distance and asking for Moses to mediate.


Here begins the parashah Mishpatim: God opens and says to Moses: "And these are the judgments which you shall set before them." A long and varied list of laws and commandments unfolds before us: laws concerning slaves, a person who causes harm – bodily injury, an ox that causes harm – bodily injury, financial damage, and dozens of other laws. I can picture the majesty of the Israelites in ancient times, yet at the same time, I feel as if I have entered a law school classroom or a courtroom.

 

To what extent are these laws and commandments, concepts and expressions relevant to our times? Let's start with language. Expressions such as: underground thief, sabbatical arrangements, three pilgrimages, harvest festival, harvest festival, pierce his ear with an awl, do not cook a kid in its mother's milk, and also – an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth... and so on and so forth. These are common expressions in modern Hebrew, and we still use them today.

 

And what about the laws themselves? The laws concerning slaves, their ownership and freedom, for example: "When you buy a Hebrew slave, he shall serve six years. And on the seventh day, he shall go out free. (Exodus 21:2) At first glance, slavery seems irrelevant to our times. But in fact, slavery ended in the United States only 160 years ago, its consequences still reverberate today, and human trafficking is still a real and problematic phenomenon. In general, if we broaden our view from "slave' to "employee," we can agree that the issue of the relationship between powerful employers and powerless employees is still very relevant today. What about the rulings on the issues raised? Here, the situation is more complex. Let's look at a few examples: What will be your punishment if your ox gores another person? What is your responsibility? "And if an ox gores a man or a woman and they die..." (Exodus 21:8). A bit excessive today, right? So let's adapt the situation to our times: What is your responsibility if your dog bites and injures another person? Or another question: What is your responsibility if your dog is known to be aggressive and has injured or killed a person? According to the Mishpatim section, you must be very careful and take responsibility.... And if the ox gored yesterday or the day before, and its owner was warned but did not guard it, And if a man or woman is killed, the ox shall be stoned, and its owner shall also be put to death. (Exodus 21:9). Would you sign this sentence?


Another example: What would happen if someone got hurt because you dug a hole and didn't cover it up? And if a man opens a pit Or if a man digs a pit and does not cover it, and an ox or a donkey falls into it, The owner of the pit shall pay; he shall give money, and the ox or donkey shall be restored to him; and he that is slain shall be his. (Exodus 21:33-34). Is this law relevant today? In your opinion, if there is a hole in the sidewalk that has not been repaired, is the municipality responsible for compensating you for the damage if you are injured? If so, in this parashah we are exposed to a long list of laws and judgments dealing with issues of
Responsibility, guilt, intent. Many of the ideas are still relevant today and even serve as a foundation.
Moral for us.


However, given the severity of the sentences, I suggest that anyone considering living according to these rules under a halachic state should think again! The rulings of today's courts, even when they pursue justice, offer more humane and compassionate solutions and responses than those offered in ancient times. In light of the many rulings that mandate death, I would certainly not want to live in a society that operates according to the letter of the Torah, in a state governed by Jewish law. We must remain vigilant.

 

Finally, what about the issues of morality and social justice raised in the parashah Mishpatim? Similar to a person's responsibility as a result of negligence, issues of morality and social justice are also relevant to our private and public lives today. I invite you to take a special look at the collection of verses that, in my opinion, form the moral foundation of our people. A moral foundation that I hope we have not forgotten, that we must not forget, that we must fight for: justice for the poor, not lying, not taking bribes, knowing the soul of the stranger in our land."Do not pervert justice in the judgment of your poor. Keep away from false accusations, and do not put to death the innocent and righteous, for I will not justify the wicked.
And you shall not take a bribe, for a bribe blinds the discerning and perverts the words of the righteous. And you shall not oppress a stranger, for you know the heart of the stranger,you were strangers in the land of Egypt. (Exodus 23:6-8)

 

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Ofra Palmer Granot

Preserver of Jewish culture. Volunteer coordinator at the Tel Aviv-Jaffa Museum.