Temple Beth Sholom of the South Shore

Chayei Sara פָּרָשַׁת חַיֵּי שָֹרָה

11/22/2024

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Some time in the mid-90s Bill Moyers hosted a ten-part series. The ads for the series read “Rape, fratricide, jealousy, temptation, fear, rage, murder . . . “

What was the series called? Genesis: A Living Conversation.

Moyers emphasized that our biblical heroes were, as we know, flawed, and that, in the words of God to Noach, “the heart of man is evil . . . from his youth.”  We spoke of some of these flaws in studying the Parshyot over the past weeks. But to focus on “rape, fratricide, jealousy, temptation, fear, rage, and murder” is to ignore another theme that really does frame our parsha reading today. That theme is LOVE. Specifically, the love between a husband and a wife.

Hayyei Sarah opens with word of Sarah’s death at age 127. Abraham has two initial responses: “And Abraham eulogized her and bewailed her.”  If you have lost a loved one, then you know exactly what this means and how it feels. We eulogize and we bewail. But eulogizing and bewailing are two very different activities. When we eulogize (the Hebrew word here is ‘hesped,’ we review a person’s life, we tell the story of that person—what did she value? How did she live? What would she want to be her legacy? When we weep, however, we do not plan or reason or even necessarily think. Weeping is a release of almost unbearable tension when one’s world seems to be crumbling. Weeping expresses in a primitive way the sense of loneliness and isolation that one feels when confronted with a significant loss. Everyone in the community could understand Abraham’s eulogy for Sarah, for they too had their relationships with her. But no one there could share his personal pain; that was his alone.

Sarah left her family and home to go off into the wilderness with a nomad who had little but promises to offer, and some Midrashists claim that Sarah came from royalty. If that is true, then how much more amazing is it that she left all that to be with an iconoclastic monotheist. Midrash also tells us that just as Abraham brought in thousands of male converts, so Sarah brought thousands of women into the Covenant. Just as Abram became Abraham, adding the letter “hey” to reference God’s name, so too Sarai became Sarah.

What does Abraham do next? As we know, when he arises from his mourning, he buys a plot of land in order to bury his wife. Some say that this act was the last of the ten tests that Abraham faced. Imagine having to face a test AFTER the Akada! In any case, Abraham is up to the task. He is more than willing to humble himself to do so. In fact, the Torah tells us twice that he “prostrates himself before the people of the land.” He insists on paying what the land is worth—400 shekels, he is told—so that he knows that the wife he has loved has a resting place that is truly hers and where she remains to this day.

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Genesis 18 gives us the story of three angels visiting Abraham. One of them says “I will return to you next year, and your wife Sarah will have a son.” Sarah overhears the conversation. She “laughs to herself, saying, ‘Now that I am withered, am I to have enjoyment – with my husband so old?’”

Gen 18:13. In the very next verse, God reports her laughter to Abraham. But he tells Abraham that when Sarah laughed, she said: "Shall l in truth bear a child, old as I am?"

This story is familiar to many. It establishes the line of Abraham as coming from a miracle by God. It resolves the dramatic tension in the story of how Abraham can still be the father of nations when he is already an aged man with only a son from a concubine, not by his wife, Sarah. But I want to focus on one detail of the story. Let’s look carefully at the last two quotations.

In verse 13, Sarah laughs at the idea of being a mother. She says “with my husband so old,” implying that Abraham is too old for sex. But when God reports this to Abraham, God doesn’t say that. He says she laughed at the impossibility, saying “old as I am.” God tells Abraham that Sarah laughed because she thought she was too old to conceive. Why did God change the story? Did God lie?
That’s the question.
Jewish tradition says that God acted this way to teach that peace in the home is more important than telling the truth. Why should God tell Abraham that Sarah thinks he is too old? That would embarrass him. Better to tell a little white lie. Peace in the home is a principal virtue, Shalom HaBayit. A little deviation from the truth is a small price to pay.

The Bible teaches that white lies are OK to maintain peace in the family.

The Talmud derives a stronger principle. The rabbis assert there is a strong prohibition against “hurting with words.” It prohibits embarrassing anyone in public, even if the words are true. The ancient rabbis noted that when someone is seriously shamed, the blood drains from their face. They equate this with murder, the shedding of blood, in its severity.

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Lech-Lecha פָּרָשַׁת לֶךְ־לְךָ

11/8/2024

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After their return to Canaan from Egypt, Avraham and Lot have acquired much material wealth and possessions, both in portable goods and possession of animals. At this time a quarrel breaks out among their shepherds, and this brings about the ultimate separation of uncle and nephew. The cause of the breakup in the family was clearly the possessions that they both acquired, and how to properly care for these assets. One could easily conclude that money once again causes family friction. This is common in our day, as it was common in ancient times as well. Possession of wealth easily creates friction among family members. There can even be a fracture in a mishpacha over worldly goods.

Avraham enters into a dialogue, pressing Hashem for assurance of Avraham’s future, and they enter into the Covenant of the Pieces. The Torah states at one point in the discussion between Hashem and Avraham (15:6) “he trusted in Hashem and He reckoned it to him as righteousness, tzedakah.”

Some commentators interpret this verse to indicate that with the assurance given to him by Hashem, Avraham considered it an act of righteousness and continued to give tzedakah as he did before as a wealthy individual who shares his assets with the less fortunate. In actuality we can see a break with the norm. When a person is amassing wealth and has no children, his and her attention can be focused on being a most giving, charitable individual. Without children, one can afford to be a major philanthropist.

With children, one is hesitant to part with great amounts of assets because one becomes concerned with the future financial stability of their growing family. Avraham had just received a verbal assurance from the Almighty that he will be blessed with children and grandchildren. That, in and of itself, could have altered his charity practices. The Torah is indicating to us that this was not true, even with this assurance which he believed wholeheartedly, Avraham would continue to be as charitable as he was all along because he felt that God’s gift to him would include the assets necessary to raise the children in financial security, and still enable him to be the philanthropist he had always been.

This week’s haftorah devotes much attention to Divine Providence and Hashem’s involvement in one’s personal life. The prophet Isaiah centers his discussion around our Patriarch Avraham and his war against the four mighty powers of his time. Isaiah says, “Who awakened the man from the east – He who declared righteousness with His every step? Who rendered dirt into sword, pounded straw into arrows?”

Our Sages (Sanhedrin 109a) explain that this passage contains the inside story of Avraham’s miraculous defeat of the four mighty kings. According to the Rabbis this passage reveals that Avraham’s mighty weapons were none other than dirt and straw. They interpret the passage to be saying that when Avraham threw handfuls of dirt at the enemy they were transformed into swords and when he sent pieces of straw they became piercing arrows.

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I know that we are all very familiar with parsha Noach—it’s part of every Bible coloring book, and you may have seen the movie, and once Diane and I had to carve a watermelon to make it into Noah’s ark for a birthday party. In other words, the story of Noah is VERY well known. Perhaps too well known. Because when something is that familiar, we tend to gloss over some things that might be worth a little more digging. There are some lines in Noach that I want to look at just for a few minutes to maybe convince you that there’s more here than the vivid picture of a large ark holding two of every animal.

These lines occur very early on in the parsha; in fact, they are part of the first aliya.

וַיַּ֧רְא אֱלֹהִ֛ים אֶת־הָאָ֖רֶץ וְהִנֵּ֣ה נִשְׁחָ֑תָה כִּֽי־הִשְׁחִ֧ית כָּל־בָּשָׂ֛ר אֶת־דַּרְכּ֖וֹ עַל־הָאָֽרֶץ:

And God saw the earth, and behold it had become corrupted, for all flesh had corrupted its way on the earth.

וַיֹּ֨אמֶר אֱלֹהִ֜ים לְנֹ֗חַ קֵ֤ץ כָּל־בָּשָׂר֙ בָּ֣א לְפָנַ֔י כִּי־מָֽלְאָ֥ה הָאָ֛רֶץ חָמָ֖ס מִפְּנֵיהֶ֑ם וְהִנְנִ֥י מַשְׁחִיתָ֖ם

And God said to Noah, "The end of all flesh has come before Me, for the earth has become full of violence because of them, and behold I am destroying them from the earth."

Notice that word ‘corrupted.’ NEESH CHATA. The word appears twice in the earlier verse, and HAMAS—violence, sound familiar?—appears in the second. Many scholars have asked what exactly was the sin of mankind that was so terrible that God had to destroy the entire earth. And no one is quite sure. ‘Corruption’ is a pretty general term, and even ‘violence’ isn’t exactly clear. Not everyone even agrees that the correct translation is violence. For example, the Jewish Publication Society of 1917 translates the passage as “the earth was filled with violence.” But in 1985, that same society translated it as “the earth was filled with lawlessness.” And some texts interpret ‘lawlessness’ to mean idolatry. Finally, the Chabad site as well as the Judaica Press translate HAMAS as “the earth became full of robbery,” which in my humble opinion, just doesn’t make it. But, even if we agree on the word ‘violence,’ we still don’t know what SORT OF violence. Violence, for example, can be psychological or physical. You can do violence to people, to animals, to property. Maybe this was a case of ‘all of the above.’

What is also interesting about this passage is that God has His own little play on words. When He states that he is going to destroy humankind, he uses the Hebrew “MASHCHEETAN,” which has the same root as the word translated as ‘corruption.’ REMEMBER: NEESHCHATA. So, in a sense, God is telling us that God is going to do to us what we have been doing to the earth and to each other. Our retribution.

One other interesting passage I want to highlight. And this is from the very first verse of the Parsha. We open with “this is the line of Noah.” Wouldn’t you expect that the parsha would then give us Noach’s genealogy? Wouldn’t you expect to read about the sons of Noach? But that is not what happens. The next line is “Noach was a righteous man.” Doesn’t that seem like a strange shift, to go from Noach’s lineage to describe his deeds, including how he walked with God? Rashi has a very interesting and famous explanation for this odd shift. Rashi claims that here the Torah is telling us that our “line” is not our children or grandchildren or great-grandchildren. Rather, our “line” is our deeds. That is, what we DO is what we leave behind. Our actions, our deeds, represent our legacy.

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Bereshit פָּרָשַׁת בְּרֵאשִׁית

10/25/2024

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Bereshit; We begin again!

But this time we begin the last third of our Parsha, which creates a different kind of challenge from last year’s reading which put us right in the middle of each narrative. Amazingly, when we begin this week’s Parsha, the universe has already been created. We have heaven and earth. We have living creatures. We even have “man” the first human being, even though we see the creation of that first human -ADAM- at the middle portion of the Parsha as well.

We read of that creation earlier in Bereshit:

“The Lord God formed man from the dust of the earth. He blew into his nostrils the breath of life, and man became a living being.”

Think about this for a moment. God is omnipotent, all powerful. That means that God could have created human beings out of anything. It also means that God could have created human beings out of NOTHING. Yet here we see that God chose to create us out of the “dust of the earth.” In some way, we could not have had more humble beginnings. Perhaps that’s the point- if we keep in our pocket the message that we are “nothing but dust,” it would be pretty hard to become arrogant and vain. We also can’t help but think of how we also return to dust when we die, dust to dust. Rashi tells us that this passage reminds us that we are all a combination of the earthly and the divine. This is a beautiful sentiment that we can keep in mind as we worry about our place in the universe. But, in addition, think about the fact that we are from the earth.

I know that most interpretations of Genesis focus on Adam’s POWER over the earth, including the animals. But the fact that we come from the earth perhaps also gives us not only power but also RESPONSIBILITY. Responsibility to treat the earth with care and respect. To think of the earth as our original home, our original state, and to think of ourselves in partnership with the planet. If we consider that perspective and focus less on our control, then perhaps we can learn to live more harmoniously with nature and the miracles around us.

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Sukkot סוּכּוֹת

10/18/2024

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Rabbi Yissacher Frand writes:

After Yaakov met Esav, they (at least partially) reconciled, and then they decided to go their separate ways. The pasuk says, “So Esav went back that day on his way toward Seir. Then Yaakov journeyed to Succos and built himself a house, and for his livestock he made shelters (Succos); therefore he called the name of the place Succos.” [Bereishis 33:16-17].

There are two problems with this pasuk. The first is that Yaakov only called the name of the place Succos after he got there (after he erected the shelters (Succos) for the livestock). Nevertheless, the pasuk says “he journeyed to Succos” as if that was the pre-existing name of the town. Of course, we can say that the pasuk is speaking in “prophetic future tense” — i.e., Yaakov journeyed to the place that in the future he would name Succos. However, it is strange to find it written that way.

The other question is that it seems that Yaakov named the town for a very insignificant fact — namely the structures he built for his cattle. Why is the town (apparently) named for the huts he made for his livestock?

The author of the sefer Milchemes Yehuda discusses these questions. He says that the pasuk is teaching that Succos is not merely a place on the map — it is a state of mind. The Torah is teaching that Yaakov Avinu is now entering the final stage of his life. Yaakov lived in his parents’ house for many years, during which time he sat and learned. Then he went to Yeshivas Shem V’Ever for another fourteen-year period where, again, he sat and learned. Then, as a fugitive running for his life, he left Eretz Yisrael— the Promised Land — and worked by Lavan for twenty years. He worked for one wife, then he worked for another wife, and then he needed to earn a bit of a livelihood for himself. This was all a prelude for the final stage of his life. Now, Yaakov is coming back to Eretz Yisrael. In today’s terminology, he is finally “settling down.”

Yaakov makes a decision. He said to himself, when I was by Lavan, I saw what is involved in earning a living. I saw how Lavan acts. I am now beginning “the rest of my life.”  I have seen enough of life to know that materialism (gashmiyus) and the struggle to make a living and all other mundane pursuits in this world can become a person’s raison d’etre — they can become the reason for a person’s existence. I do not want this to happen to me because I know that the only thing that counts in this world is spirituality (ruchniyus) and service of Hashem. All the rest is just peripheral. It may be necessary, but it is only a means to an end.

So therefore, when the pasuk says that Yaakov traveled to Succos, it is not referring to the name of that town. It is referring to this concept that a person must look at his pursuit of gashmiyus — the material things in life — houses, livelihood, cattle — as merely just travelling “to Succos.”  It is all temporary. A person cannot take it with him. All these acquisitions are not going to make a bit of difference after 120 years. They are all transitory.

They are like a Succah. When someone is out camping, he does not put up a house for his ten-day camping trip. People put up tents, because it is just a temporary situation. Yaakov traveled to Succos:  “Now I am starting my life — I have finished with Lavan, I have finished with Eisav – so now I am beginning. My mindset is to Succos.”  I called the name of the city I would live in “Temporary Huts” [Succos] because I am making a statement for myself and for my children that this entire world must be viewed in the context of a temporary dwelling — “Succos.”

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Parshat Ha’azinu פָּרָשַׁת הַאֲזִינוּ

10/4/2024

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In this week’s parsha, Ha’azinu, we see Moshe’s last words, and we also reach the moment of his death. God reminds him that he is not going to cross over into the Promised Land, but God also tells Moshe that he will allow him a look into that land. In fact, it’s pretty much the last lines of the parsha: “You may view the land from a distance, but you shall not enter it—the Land that I am giving to the Israelite people.”

I don’t know if that’s a blessing or a punishment—to see something that you’ve yearned for your whole life but can’t have. So, I’ll leave it to all of you to decide if God is being compassionate or being just a little bit more spiteful. And God also reminds Moshe of WHY he is not allowed to enter Eretz Israel—along with Aaron, God says, you “both broke faith with me among the Israelite people; at the waters of Meribath-Kadesh in the wilderness of Zin, by failing to uphold My sanctity among the Israelite people.”

I know many of us are bothered by what might seem like an extreme punishment. God is taking from Moshe what had been his very purpose for existence---to reach the Promised Land. How awful for Moshe that must have been! And it’s even more complicated—we know that the Israelites are hardly a perfect people. Yet they are allowed to enter, and Moshe—the awnav, the teacher, the leader—is not. Somehow it just doesn’t seem fair. And all over banging a rock!

I felt that way as well, and struggled with this part of the narrative. I mean, think about it: Cain KILLS HIS BROTHER, and he’s only sent into exile. Why would Moshe not be able to see the fruits of all of his labors? Of more than 40 years of sacrifices for those stiff-necked people? But then, I started to think about this in a different way. I kept thinking about a metaphor of the circle, of the idea that we are commanded to draw big circles, big circles that become the stories of our lives. Not little scribbles but circles so large that we can’t see the entire circle. Circles so large that we just see an arc.

That’s what Moshe did. He is, to use some of the words applied at times to Shimon Peres, a “magnificent failure.” On some level, it makes sense that he doesn’t enter the Land of Milk and Honey because life doesn’t work that way. Life is always—God willing—full of incomplete projects and unfinished tasks. Books not read, trips not taken, plans not completed, great great great grandchildren we’ll never meet. But that doesn’t mean that we have not accomplished great things in our lives. In fact, if we stop, if we are “complete,” then we have nothing to look forward to. If we stop moving, then we stop yearning, we stop striving for more. As Rabbi Josh told us last Habbas, there are times for Nitzavim, for us to stand stationary, and times for Vayelech, for us to propel ourselves forward.

Moshe DID accomplish his life’s mission—he led the Jewish people back to their homeland. He sees it from a distance, so he knows what they will likely experience. He has blessed Joshua, and given him responsibility for this next stage in Jewish history. So, in part, this is a narrative about passing on the baton to new leadership and to new generations. Every good leader needs a succession plan, and Moshe—with God’s help—has found one. But Ha’azinu, like everything else in the Torah, is also a more universal story, a story that speaks to all of us, not just leaders. Ha’azinu tells us that we can take pride in our accomplishments, take pride in living our life passionately and with principle, even if we pass from this earth with our missions incomplete. Let us pray that we can all be “magnificent failures.”

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Parshat Nitzavim-Vayeilech פָּרָשַׁת נִצָּבִים־וַיֵּלֶךְ

9/27/2024

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Moshe tells us that not only did the covenant with Hashem include all of those who stood at Sinai, but it extends to all descendants of those who experienced the Revelation at Sinai (29:14). This would indicate that the covenant was binding upon all future generations who were not even there. This poses an obvious logical problem. The Midrash indicates to us that all Jewish souls were present at the time of the beginning of the Torah, even those who had not been placed in physical bodies at that time.

Therefore, all of us were actually there because our souls were in existence back at that time. The covenant was established not with individuals but with the nation of Israel, and just as the nation of Israel is eternal, so, too, the covenantal relationship with the Almighty is eternal. Anybody who is part of the nation of Israel is part of Knesset Yisrael, which means that that individual is automatically included within the covenantal relationship. It is the eternality of the nation of Israel that in turn obligates every future Jewish soul who comes into this world to obey and adhere to the binding relationship with Hashem.

At the end of the first Aliyah, Moshe says: “The hidden things belong to Hashem our God, and the revealed things are for us and our descendants forever, to observe all the words of this Torah” (29:28). The Ktav Sofer noted that our Sages relate that there are two possible times for salvation: one which is hidden from us, and one which is revealed. Moshe was prophesying about the long and bitter exile which the Jewish people were destined to endure, the conclusion of which was not revealed to the prophets. This hidden fact is known only to Hashem.
However, there is another possible time of salvation and that one is revealed to us and our descendants. The time of that salvation is brought about by the nation of Israel observing all the words of the Torah. This is similar to the rabbinic interpretation of the words of Isaiah when we read recently in a haftorah that Hashem will redeem us; He will hasten it in its time. If we do nothing it will come in its proper time. If we observe Torah as a nation we will therefore enable God to hasten the time of redemption. One time of redemption is in our hands to create while the second time of redemption is in God’s hands alone.

Haftorah Nitzavim:

This haftorah is the last of the seven haftorahs of consolation spanning Tisha B’Av to Rosh Hashanah. The prophet Isaiah compares the salvation of Israel to the earth that gives forth its plants, the seeds of which disintegrate in the soil and then sprout, renewed and better than they were originally; for the new is generally better than the old. Moreover, from one seed emanates many kernels. So is it with Israel.

We have been in exile for thousands of years; we have been persecuted; and many have perished. Yet when redemption arrives, we will multiply to many times their former number and increase in greatness and in glory. Isaiah then compares us to a garden in which various seeds are sown, each one maturing in another season. So will Israel experience many benefits, one following the other.

These miracles will take place before all the nations.
The nations will witness them and recognize that God's benefits to Israel are greater than any benefits in the world.

When all this occurs, Jerusalem will rejoice with Hashem and so will all its people.

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Parshat Ki Tavo פָּרָשַׁת כִּי־תֵצֵא

9/20/2024

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his week’s parsha reading truly belongs in the month of Elul, just a few days before we begin these Days of Awe.

Parsha Ki Tavo is a wake-up call, a way to tell us that we must always remember how far we have come. We chose to abandon the rituals and practices of our neighbors, of those around us and those who came before us. We were slaves destined to be free, and we claimed not only that freedom but also a new idea, an idea different and radical. What was that idea? It was monotheism, the idea that there is one God and that God loves us and wants us to WALK IN HIS WAYS. Judaism is about the courage to make a claim for an idea as new and different as monotheism. Judaism tells us that what has always been is not how things must be, or should be. Judaism tells us that HABITS do not dictate our future. And that is true of the world and it is also true of us as individuals. We can always be better.

The message of Ki Tavo is that we are not static. Two sentences illustrate this point. One is a curse and the other is not. They appear in the parsha separated by about 43 verses. Here’s the earlier verse, the curse: YOU SHALL GROPE AT NOON AS A BLIND MAN GROPES IN THE DARK. Now I know that’s not as graphic as eating your own children, which is also in this parsha, but this curse is terrifying in its own way. First, it reminds us all of another moment in our history—of when we were in Egypt and Pharaoh refused to LET US GO. And so, God inflicted plagues on the Egyptians. We know about that last plague: the deaths of all the first-borns. What was the one before that? It was the plague of darkness. Our sages tell us that the plagues occurred from the least bad to the worst; if that’s true, then the ninth plague was the second-worst plague, and the only one worse was the deaths of children. So, we have to know that darkness is terrifying.

Think about the first human beings, and how they must have felt when the sun went down. Think about how WE feel when we lose power during a storm. We feel frightened and ALONE.

But, of course, the darkness here can also be metaphorical. The darkness here is the darkness of SIN, the darkness of willful ignorance, the darkness of a loss of community. In fact, the last part of that very verse ends with “you shall be abused and robbed, with none to give help.” Without that help, we face a kind of vulnerability and each of us becomes the enemy of the other. We have no neighbor. That is, without question, a powerful curse.

The second line is almost at the very end of the parsha. And it’s pretty typical that Parshiyot end on a positive, or at least a somewhat positive, note. This line occurs AFTER all the blessings and the curses, so we have to assume that it’s neither a blessing NOR a curse. Here’s the line: “Yet to this day the Lord has not given you a mind to understand or eyes to see or ears to hear.” There’s a negative there that makes this line a little hard to understand, so I’m going to rephrase it, to try to make it a little clearer.

What this line is saying is: “ON THIS DAY THE LORD HAS GIVEN YOU A MIND TO UNDERSTAND AND EYES TO SEE AND EARS TO HEAR.” HAYOM HAZEH. This day. A mind and eyes and ears. That’s all we need. On this day—and we can think of this as THAT day in time, the day that the Torah is referring to. But we can also think about this in terms of TODAY, of every day. Every day that we reaffirm our commitment to Judaism, that we reaffirm our commitment to living a righteous life. That is truly the antidote to the curse of blindness.

We now have not only EYES to see but also ears to hear and a mind to understand.
At the end of Ki Tavo, God is telling the Israelites, God is telling US: you are ready. You are ready to be a people, ready to grow up, break bad habits, and find your own way. God no doubt has hopes for us, hopes for HOW we will find that way; but there is no question that we are now on our own.

And that’s the message of Elul. As individuals and as a community, we are not only permitted to re-create ourselves, we are expected to do so. Now, most likely, at this point in our lives, we are probably not going to change the habits that we’ve had for so long. If you are suddenly angry, that tendency is not going to disappear. If you are inclined to be fearful, don’t expect that some prayers and some fasting will eliminate that inclination. But what these days CAN DO for us is to bring light to the darkness. What these days can do for us is to wake us up, to call us to account for ourselves.

Is this who I want to be?
How might I be different?
Whom have I wronged?

Reflecting on our lives over the past year, we know that in some ways we will continue to be the same people, even if we move to a different place or your children move away or you retire from your job or experience other changes.

Regardless of THOSE changes, we will probably continue to do many of the same things next year that we have done in the year now ending. But, in other ways, we need to be ready to shed aspects of ourselves that have hurt us and others, and be willing to take on new identities that will lift us and lift them. We have to feel ready and able to transform ourselves as dramatically as a group of slaves who made themselves over into Israelites.

Our history as Jews is one of choosing to be different, of embracing what appears to be so strange to other people—if you’ve ever tried to explain kashrut to anyone, you know exactly what I mean. We should all use these holidays to rethink who we are, and be ready to change in order to bring more hope, more life, more sanctity into this world, both for Jews and for non-Jews.

As Ki Tavo tells us, our capacity for personal transformation is our sacred inheritance and our sacred obligation. Let us resolve to think about the ways that we can honor that inheritance, and fulfill that obligation. AND LET US SAY AMEN.

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Toldot פָּרָשַׁת תּוֹלְדוֹת

Chayei Sara פָּרָשַׁת חַיֵּי שָֹרָה

Vayera פָּרָשַׁת וַיֵּרָא

Lech-Lecha פָּרָשַׁת לֶךְ־לְךָ

Noach פָּרָשַׁת נֹחַ

Bereshit פָּרָשַׁת בְּרֵאשִׁית

Sukkot סוּכּוֹת

Parshat Ha’azinu פָּרָשַׁת הַאֲזִינוּ

Parshat Nitzavim-Vayeilech פָּרָשַׁת נִצָּבִים־וַיֵּלֶךְ

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