Interestingly, the ayin, the last letter of the Hebrew word “Hear,” is written large in the Torah scroll, as is the daled, the last letter of the Hebrew word for “One.” Different readings of the combined letters ayin and daled may reveal why this is so.

The letters ayin-daled can be read ed, which means “to bear witness.” In reading the “Hear O Israel,” one is in effect testifying that God exists (Baal Haturim).

This is reminiscent of the time when Jacob and Esau make a peace treaty near a mound of stones called gal’ed, literally a mound (gal) of testimony (ed; Genesis 31:46–48).

Alternatively, the letters ayin-daled can be read ad, which means “until.” In other words, no matter one’s belief in God, it can never be perfect, never absolutely absolute. One can come until the Lord but never quite reach Him.

This is similar to the text describing repentance – “and you shall return until [ad] the Lord your God,” as no one can ever return fully to God (Deuteronomy 30:2).

Finally, the letters ayin-daled can be read od, meaning “still.” This perhaps accentuates that, against all odds, Jews throughout history in the darkest of times still declared belief in God.

This is similar to the use of the word od when Joseph reveals himself to his brothers, asking, “Ha’od avi chai?” (Is my father still alive? Genesis 45:3). In amazement, Joseph rhetorically asks, Having endured so much, is my father still alive?

These three ideas deserve mention during the Shabbat when Parashat Va’etchanan is read, the first of the seven weeks leading up to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. After all, the High Holidays are days when we serve as witnesses and proclaim the rulership of God, creator of the world; when we seek to repent while knowing that we will never fully realize repentance; and when we recognize that, no matter how far we’ve strayed, no matter the setbacks, we will overcome – our relationship with God remains close, reaching higher and higher.

We believe in God, and God believes in us.

Candle lighting

Va’etchanan parsha

August 16th at 7:37 p.m.

Note the similarities in language. In Deuteronomy, God tells the Jews not to antagonize the children of Esau, “For I shall not give you of their land, even the right to set foot [kaf ] there” (Deuteronomy 2:5).

In Genesis, just before meeting Esau, Jacob (our third patriarch) wrestles with a mysterious stranger and is struck in the hollow (kaf ) of his thigh (Genesis 32:26). The use of the uncommon term kaf in both places challenges the reader to explore similarities between these episodes. For example, just because Jacob was injured in his kaf as he prepares to meet Esau does not mean that his descendants can retaliate and encroach (kaf ) on Edom’s territory.

Note, too, that here in Deuteronomy, the children of Esau are frightened as the Israelites draw near. As the Torah states: “The Lord said to me…command the people, saying, ‘You are passing through the boundary of your brothers, the children of Esau, who dwell in Seir; they will fear you’” (Deuteronomy 2:4). In Genesis, however, it is Jacob who fears meeting Esau. In the words of the Torah, “Jacob became very frightened” (Genesis 32:8). Patterns in the Torah constantly reappear. Here, a reverse parallel comes to light as Edom fears Israel.

Other similarities stir the reader to recognize that in certain ways, events in Deuteronomy can be viewed as a corrective to elements of the Genesis narrative.

Consider the example of the Israelites asking the Edomites for permission to travel through their land and purchase food (Deuteronomy 2:6). This moment serves as a reversal of the Genesis story when Esau returns from the field, tired, and asks Jacob for food (Genesis 25:29–34).

Note as well that according to some commentaries, the narrative in Deuteronomy repeats the story of the Israelites asking the Edomites for permission to travel through the land. The Edomites, descendants of Esau, refuse (Numbers 20:14–21; Deuteronomy 2:2–8). Their rejection responds to the story in Genesis, where Jacob rejects Esau’s overtures to travel with him to Seir (Genesis 33:12–17).

Thus, events in Deuteronomy can be viewed as a tikkun (repair) for what unfolded in Genesis. A real appreciation of feeling the pain of another only comes when one feels that very pain. Perhaps Am Yisrael, the children of Jacob, had to learn this lesson before entering the land of Israel.

Candle lighting:

Devarim parsha

August 9th at 7:43 p.m.

Rashi, quoting the Midrash, suggests it illustrates God’s love for His people. “It can be compared to a king whose son was ill and whom he took to a distant place to cure. As…they returned, the king would recount to the lad all the experiences they went through… ‘here we slept, here we had a cool resting place, here you had a headache’” (Midrash Tanchuma). Just as a parent cares endlessly for a child, so did God lovingly carry His children through the most difficult moments in our travels through the desert.

Sforno sees the mentioning of these places as revealing the Jewish People’s love for God. In his words: “He [Moses, as per God’s instructions] wrote down…the details of their journeys, because it involved leaving for a new destination without any previous notice, which was very trying.” Similarly, Jeremiah recalls God’s expression of love for Israel, who, despite all odds, followed Him into the wilderness. In Jeremiah’s words: “I accounted to your favor the devotion of your youth, your love as a bride – how you followed Me into the wilderness, in a land not sown” (Jeremiah 2:2).

Considering that the Israelites were just days before entering Israel brings another approach to mind. When taking any major step in life, it is a good idea to carefully reevaluate one’s past. The listing of each resting place reminded the nation of these moments. It allowed for serious individual and national reflection and accountability. No doubt some of these places evoked memories of rebellion and even betrayal of God. Rather than avoid such memories, we should remember them with the goal of learning from those mistakes.

Also, bearing in mind that Am Yisrael was assuredly overwhelmed with enthusiasm, believing that the liberation of the Land of Israel would come in an instant, we needed to be reminded that accomplishments come in small steps, much like the Jews’ incremental travel through the desert.

Thus, the Torah elaborates for an entire chapter on our journey. It teaches invaluable lessons for life: the importance of self-reckoning, the importance of changing misfortune into fortune, and the importance of realizing that lasting improvement occurs gradually rather than instantaneously.

Candle lighting:

Matot-Masei parsha

August 2nd at 7:48 p.m.

Robert Alter notes that the language of the narratives intersects. In describing Pharaoh’s fears, the Torah says he “came to dread [va’yakutzu] the children of Israel” (Exodus 1:12). So too, Moab, the nation Balak led, “dreaded [va’yakatz] the children of Israel” (Numbers 22:3).

The similarities continue, as Pharaoh says to his nation, “Behold, the nation of the children of Israel is much too numerous and mighty for us [rav v’atzum mi’menu].” (Exodus 1:9) Similarly, Balak says, “Behold, the nation that came out of Egypt…are too mighty for me [atzum hu mi’meni]” (Numbers 22:5–6).

In addition, both leaders rely on sorcerers – in the case of Pharaoh, the chartumim (magicians); in the case of Balak, the heathen prophet Balaam – to achieve their horrific goal.

And in Balaam’s prophecies, he speaks of “God, Who took them [the Jews] out of Egypt” (23:22, 24:8). Invoking the Exodus underscores the connection between the narratives.

Now, of course, the Exodus story tells of the first generation that left Egypt. The Balak story happens after that generation had died in the desert. It involves the second generation as they prepare to enter the land of Israel.

Bearing this chronology in mind, Rabbi Nathaniel Helfgot writes that “for the new generation to be able to enter the land they must first go through parallel experiences of the forefathers, picking up the thread and completing the mission, not allowing the plan to go off kilter as had happened 38 years before” (Mikra and Meaning).

Indeed, there is one great difference between these narratives. Pharaoh enslaves the Jewish People while Balak does not succeed in his mission. As the Sefat Emet, quoted by Rabbi Helfgot, writes, “Just as there is a mitzvah to remember/mention the Exodus every day, so, too, one is bidden to remember/mention the kindness that God did for us in thwarting the plot of Bil’am the wicked” (ibid.).

Every generation faces challenges reminiscent, and yet different, from prior generations. The convergence and divergence of the Balak and Egypt stories indicate that even as the threats are similar, they are not all identical – and the outcomes sometimes differ.

Candle lighting:

Balak parsha

July 19th at 7:55 p.m.

• When he breaks up a fight between Jews while still in Egypt, one turns to him and says, “Who made you a ruler and judge over us?” (Exodus 2:14).

• When it appears to the people that Moses descends from Sinai a bit late, they rebel and build the golden calf (Exodus 32:1).

• When Korach and his cohorts challenge Moses’s rule, the attacks culminate. In their words, “You take too much upon yourself” (Numbers 16:3).

Moses is brutally criticized despite all the good he does:

• In the Egypt incident, he is challenged a day after he raises a voice of moral conscience by courageously stopping the Egyptian who attacked a Jew.

• In the golden calf incident, he is challenged after becoming a leader of leaders by heroically taking his people out of Egypt and shepherding them to Sinai, where they hear the voice of God.

• In the Korach incident, he is challenged after the story of the spies, wherein he expressed unconditional love for his people by telling God that He must not destroy all of Israel for the sin of a relatively few rebels (Numbers 14:13–19). Moses makes a similar plea in the Korach episode (Numbers 16:20–22).

Other figures in Tanach were similarly challenged despite all they did for their people. King David, who defended the Jews against Goliath and the Philistines, and who liberated and united Jerusalem, suffers rebellion from within, first from his son Avshalom and then from Sheva ben Bichri (II Samuel 13, 20).

And after all Mordechai did to join Esther in saving his brethren, the Megillah concludes by telling us that Mordechai was ratzuy l’rov echav (favored by the majority of his brethren; Esther 10:3). In other words, a large minority opposed him.

Truthfully, strong leaders inevitably incur the wrath of some. A wise man taught me this lesson. On the day I left my first pulpit in St. Louis, he approached me and said, “Rabbi, I bless you that you should have many enemies.” I looked at him, startled. “We’ve been close; why such a harsh blessing?”

“My words are meant as a berachah,” he responded. “Remember, if you do nothing, you have no enemies. A sign that you’re doing, that you’re accomplishing, is that you have enemies.”

No one was more loved than Moses. And yet, even Moses had his detractors. That’s the price of strong leadership. As Rabbi Israel Salanter said: “A rabbi who is loved by everyone is not a rabbi, and a rabbi who is disliked by everyone is not a mensch.”

Candle lighting:

Korach parsha

July 5th at 7:59 p.m.

Throughout the Book of Numbers, the narrative reveals a pattern of events that parallels what occurred when the Jews left Egypt. To wit:

• The Jews begin to murmur that they do not have meat to eat (Numbers 11:4). This corresponds to the longing of the Jews “for the fleshpots” in Egypt, resulting in the giving of the manna (Exodus 16:3).

• After the Jews complain that they lack water, Moses hits the rock instead of speaking to it, and water comes forth (Numbers 20:3–13). So too in the Exodus story did Moses hit the rock after the Jews militated for water (Exodus 17:1–7).

So similar are the stories in these two narratives that the Bechor Shor insists that the water stories are one and the same, positing that the latter is a more detailed account of the former.

But a closer look reveals an interesting pattern. In each of the narratives, the consequences escalate in their seriousness in the Book of Numbers.

• Unlike the manna story in Exodus, the request for meat in the Book of Numbers resulted in the Lord “smit[ing] the people with a very great plague” (Numbers 11:33).

• Only after Moses hits the rock in the Book of Numbers is he given the severe punishment of not being allowed to enter Israel (Numbers 20:12).

As it relates to Parashat Shelach, only after the spy incident – not after the episode of the golden calf – does God decree that the generation that left Egypt must die in the desert (Numbers 14:29).

Why are the consequences greater in the Book of Numbers, when the transgressions seem so similar?

First, the events in the Book of Exodus occur either prior to Sinai or, in the case of the golden calf, prior to the construction of the Tabernacle. With the Sinaitic teachings and the Tabernacle in place, the Jews should have known better than to falter again.

Second, to err once is forgivable and even sometimes understandable. The same transgression committed again deserves to be treated much more harshly.

So the patterns of the narratives may be similar, but the message is clear: God understands that we will fall. But we ought to take the lessons we learn from our mistakes and improve. God always gives us opportunities to repent. And yet, we are given just so many chances to make the same mistake before the penalties intensify.

Candle lighting:

Shelach parsha

June 28th at 7:59 p.m.

Nachmanides believes that this is certainly possible because, at the riverside, the Jews who were slaves of the Egyptian fishermen would be given some fish, probably the small fish that had no value in the Egyptians’ eyes. Ibn Ezra reflects this line of reasoning but adds that the term chinam should not be taken literally – it should be understood to mean “inexpensive.” They received fish at bargain basement prices.

Rashi offers another answer from the Midrash. “Chinam,” says Rashi, means “free of mitzvot [commandments]” (Sifrei 87). In Egypt, without the commandments, the Jews felt unencumbered, free. After the giving of the Torah at Sinai, with all of its prohibitive laws, the Jews felt restricted by the commandments. This seems to make sense. Freedom and limitation are antithetical. If, for example, I’m not allowed to eat a particular food, my options are severely narrowed, and I am no longer feeling “chinam” or free.

But the Jews in the desert misunderstood the commandments. The mitzvot, even the laws that seem most restrictive, can often teach self-discipline, and self-discipline is a passageway to freedom.

To become a great pianist, for example, one needs the self-discipline to practice endlessly, thereby becoming free to roam the keyboard with grace and ease. So too with dance, with sports, and yes, with learning. Vigorously pushing oneself to put in hours makes one free to navigate and understand even the most difficult text.

We commonly associate freedom with the ability to do whatever we want, whenever we want. But freedom is not only the right to say yes; it is the ability to say no. If I cannot push away a particular food, my physical urges may have unbridled freedom, but my mind is enslaved. What appears to be a clear green light can sometimes turn out to be the greatest of burdens.

The opposite is also true. What appears to be a burden can often lead to unlimited freedom.

A story illustrates this point. When God first created the world, the birds were formed without wings. They complained to God: “We’re small and feel overpowered by the larger animals.” God responded: “Have patience, you’ll see.” In time, God gave the birds wings. The complaining intensified. “It’s worse than ever! Until now, we were all small, but still quick enough to elude the animals of prey. Now we have these appendages by our sides and we feel weighed down.” God gently took the birds and taught them how to fly high and then higher. They were able to reach above the clouds and escape all threats from their animal adversaries.

The mitzvot are like wings. When not understood fully, they can make us feel stifled and weighed down. Yet when studied and internalized, they give us new ways of looking at the world and at ourselves. They teach us self-discipline and meaning. With these gifts, we can fly high and far. We become free – chinam.

Candle lighting:

Behaalotecha parsha

June 21st at 7:58 p.m.

Of course, being a Kohen is inherent. You’re either born a Kohen or not. But in the portion of Naso, the Torah discusses the laws of the nazir, who can be viewed as assuming similar responsibilities to a Kohen (Numbers 6:1–21).

For example, much like a Kohen, the nazir is not permitted to have any contact with the dead. Additionally, as there are restrictions on a Kohen’s alcohol intake while serving in the Temple, a nazir is enjoined from drinking wine. And, much as a high priest is restricted from doing with his hair as he wishes (i.e., he may not dishevel it), a nazir is forbidden to cut his hair (Leviticus 10:9; 21:1, 2, 10, 11).

Life in many ways is the sum total of our being in a particular place at a particular time. Judaism defines three corresponding categories of holiness, sometimes emanating from God and sometimes initiated by humans:

• Kedushat gavra (holiness of person). There is a person, a Kohen, whose holiness is endowed by God. There is also the holiness of the person that emerges from the self – like a nazir who decides to assume priestly responsibilities.

• Kedushat makom (holiness of place). There is a place, the Holy Temple (and for that matter, all of Jerusalem), that is holy because its sanctity comes from God, from the Shechinah itself. As the Shechinah is eternal, so the Temple’s holiness lasts forever (Maimonides, Yad, Laws of Beit Habechira, 6:16). Yet there are other places whose holiness stems from human input, such as the holiness of a synagogue. It is as holy as we make it.

• Kedushat zeman (holiness of time). There is a holy day, the Shabbat, made holy by God, irrespective of human contribution. And there is the holiness of the holidays, whose dates are declared by humans (by the Jewish court).

The challenge is to make all of life holy: for every day to become like Shabbat, for all places to become holy, and for every person to become priestly. Unlike in our satirical rabbinic anecdote, doing so doesn’t cost anything. Instead, it requires a commitment to reach spiritually high, to reach for kedushah.

Candle lighting:

Naso parsha

June 14th at 7:56 p.m.

Originally, the eldest son in each family was designated to serve in the Temple. After the eldest in the family faltered by participating in the sin of the golden calf, the Temple work was transferred to the tribe of Levi, who were not involved in the sin. The Torah required the redeeming of each firstborn at that time for five coins. But if the redemption already occurred, why is it repeated for firstborn sons to this day?

In Egypt, the firstborn functioned as priests. In this way, every Egyptian family was connected to the Egyptian system of belief. The Egyptian firstborn were killed in Egypt, as they were the religious “visionaries” most responsible for enslaving the Jews.

Once they were killed and the Jewish firstborn saved, the Jewish firstborn were similarly designated to dedicate their lives to religious service (Exodus 13:15). This was done not only in recognition of having miraculously escaped the slaying of the Egyptian firstborn but also as a means of binding each Jewish family to the Holy Temple.

From this perspective, it can be suggested that the ceremony today of redeeming the firstborn reminds families that there was a time when one of their own was connected directly to the Temple service. Such a reminder, it is hoped, will result in a commitment by the entire family to a life of spiritual and religious striving.

During the pidyon haben, the Kohen (Jewish priest) asks the parents of the child if they prefer to keep the child or to pay coins for the redemption. As a Kohen, I always wondered what would occur if the parents decided to keep the money rather than take their child. Jewish law insists that regardless of the response, the child remains with his family (Kiddushin 29a; Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh De’ah 305:15). If the end result is the same, why is this question posed in the first place?

When the Kohen asks, “What do you prefer, the money or the child?” what he is really asking is, “What is your value system? Is it solely based on money, or does it have at its core the essence of the child?” With the response to this rhetorical question, the family reaffirms that spiritual and ethical values are the highest priority in raising a child.

Note that if one of the child’s grandfathers is a Kohen or Levi, he is not redeemed. It would be unnecessary, as even today, the Kohen and Levi are, to some degree, involved in public Jewish ritual life. They are, if you will, already in God’s service.

Thus, pidyon haben is an educational tool to remind families celebrating a firstborn son to identify Jewishly and walk with God throughout their days.

Candle lighting:

Bamidbar parsha

June 7th at 7:53 p.m.

The phrase “you shall uphold him” is generally understood as preventative. In the words of Rashi, based on the Midrash, “Do not let him sink so that it will be hard for him to recover, but strengthen him the moment his hand fails. To what may this be compared? To the burden on a donkey’s back. While it is still on the donkey, one person can seize it and set it straight. But once it has fallen to the ground, five people cannot lift it up” (Torat Kohanim).

Indeed, according to Maimonides, “You shall uphold him” is the source of the highest of the eight levels of charity. He writes, “The greatest level, higher than all the rest, is to fortify a fellow Jew and give him a gift or loan, form with him a partnership, or find him work until he is strong enough so that he does not need to ask others [for sustenance]” (Gifts to the Poor 10:7).

The preventative approach can be expanded to relate to other aspects of life. Eat well and exercise to prevent a heart attack, which could involve dangerous, life-threatening surgery. Invest prudently to prevent bankruptcy, from which there may be no path to recovery. Solve small disagreements with one’s spouse, children, siblings, parents, and extended family rather than letting them fester and forever rupture the relationship.

As rational as this advice may be, it is sometimes not that simple. Sometimes a person needs to hit rock bottom before seeking help. Sometimes salvation only comes when all seems lost.

Perhaps these models coexist: the latter focuses on the person in need. For that individual, maybe complete failure is the necessary prerequisite to begin anew. The former, however, relates to the person providing assistance. His or her obligation is to step in and “uphold him” – immediately, much before the fall.

Even if the receiver rejects help and needs to hit bottom before turning matters around, “you shall uphold him” still applies, mandating that we all be sensitively present while never overbearing, aiding the beleaguered to slowly stand and climb back up.

Candle lighting:

Behar parsha

May 24th at 7:47 p.m.