It sounds as though the Torah is promising us a destination. When you get there, when you finally arrive, when you have accomplished what you have been working toward.  Yet, when I read it, it sounds so final.  I’m not sure it is the wisest or healthiest thing to feel that our journey is totally complete.

I’m not sure any of us ever really arrives.

We spend so much of our lives thinking about arrival. When I finish this project. When I retire. When the kids are grown. When I lose the weight. When I finally have enough money. When I get through this difficult period. When things settle down.  Or, as we like to say in the rabbi/cantor world- “After the holidays. . . ” And then, somehow, we discover that there is always another destination.

Ki Tavo teaches us something important: life is not primarily about arriving. It is about the journey — and about knowing how to live while we are on it. The Torah portion begins with the Israelites bringing their first fruits to the Temple. And what are they told to do when they arrive? They are told to stop and give thanks.The first fruits are not merely an agricultural offering. They represent the recognition that we did not get here entirely by ourselves. We worked. We planted. We harvested. We persevered. But we also received blessings along the way.

And that is a wonderful lesson for the month of Elul, as we look toward the High Holy Days. We naturally spend this time looking ahead. What do I want to change? What do I want to accomplish? What kind of person do I want to become in the coming year?

Those are good questions. But perhaps we should also ask: What have I already been given? Where have I already come from? What blessings have I failed to notice because I was too busy trying to get somewhere else?

There is a tension here. We are supposed to keep moving. Life changes. The world changes. We change. If we stop learning, stop growing, stop adapting, we can easily find ourselves left behind. The Jewish tradition has always valued perseverance. Rabbi Tarfon famously said: “It is not your task to complete the work, but neither are you free to desist from it.” We cannot finish everything. We cannot solve every problem. We cannot accomplish every dream. But neither should we give up.

The danger, however, is that perseverance can become a treadmill.  We can become so obsessed with productivity that we forget to live. There is always another email, another meeting, another responsibility, another goal. We can become frenetic, convinced that there is never enough time and that we are never doing enough.

And that is why Shabbat is not optional.  Rest is part of the Jewish understanding of a healthy life. The Torah does not say that we are valuable because of how much we accomplish. Every week, Shabbat reminds us: Stop. Breathe. Put down your work. Eat with people you love. Pray. Laugh. Waste some time. T. S. Eliot wrote, “The time you enjoy wasting is not wasted time.” We need both sides of this wisdom: Be productive — but do not confuse productivity with purpose. Keep going — but do not forget to enjoy where you are.

Ki Tavo also contains one of the Torah’s greatest collections of blessings and curses. A small number of blessings and a large number of curse. Life, the Torah acknowledges, is not a straight line upward. There will be blessings. There will be setbacks. There will be moments when we wonder whether all our effort is worth it? Growth does not mean arriving at some perfect version of ourselves. Growth means evolving.  And perhaps that is what a growth mindset means in Jewish terms: I am not finished. I can still learn. I can still change. I can still become wiser, kinder, more patient, more generous, more courageous.

Maimonides teaches that the obligation to study Torah continues throughout our lives. We do not graduate from learning. There is no point at which Judaism says, “You know enough. You are done.” Think about Simchat Torah. We reach the very end of the Torah. We read the final words of Deuteronomy — and immediately begin Genesis again. We finish- and we start over.

Moses himself embodies this perspective.   He stood on the mountain and looked toward the Promised Land. He could see where his people were going, even though he knew he would never arrive there himself. Yet he continued to lead, teach, encourage and prepare them. He understood something profound- the destination does not have to be ours in order for the journey to have meaning.

So here we are, halfway through Elul.  A new year is approaching. We will ask ourselves what needs to change, what needs to be repaired, what kind of person we want to become. Let us also pause and acknowledge how far we have already come. Chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek — “Be strong, be strong, and let us strengthen one another.” We say those words when we complete a book of Torah. And then, immediately, we begin another book.

We celebrate where we have gotten — and then we look forward. That may be the deepest message of Ki Tavo: There is no final arrival. There is only the next step. So this year, let’s keep moving. Let’s continue learning and growing. Let’s persevere.  And, let’s also stop along the way. Give thanks for the harvest we have already gathered. Notice the people walking beside us. Take a Shabbat. Enjoy some “wasted” time. Celebrate how far we have come.

And then, with gratitude for the past and hope for the future, we can take the next step.  Because we never really get there. The goal is to become the person we are capable of becoming — one step, one blessing, one day at a time.

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Have you found this to be true?  Ironically it is sometimes easier to pray when life is difficult than to remember God when life is good. In this week’s Torah portion, Ekev, Moses prepares the Israelites for a future they have never known. They have spent forty years in the wilderness, where every meal depended upon manna from heaven, every drink of water was precious, and every day reminded them of their dependence on God. But now they are about to enter a land flowing with milk and honey, where homes, vineyards, and fields await them.

Moses is not worried that they will abandon God because of suffering. God worries that they will forget God because of success.

God says, “When you have eaten your fill and have built fine houses and live in them… when your silver and gold have increased… do not let your heart grow arrogant and forget Adonai your God” (Deuteronomy 8:10-11). He continues with words that are as relevant today as they were three thousand years ago: “Do not say to yourself, ‘My own power and the might of my own hand have won this wealth for me.'”

I think it’s true.  We move through life with no reflection when things are going well, and then disaster strikes and now we’re praying with all our hearts.

Success can dull our sense of wonder. Comfort can create the illusion that we are completely self-sufficient. We begin to believe that everything we have is solely the result of our intelligence, our hard work, or our planning.  We deserve it!

Certainly our effort matters. Judaism celebrates work, responsibility, and initiative. But Ekev reminds us that effort alone is never the whole story. None of us chooses the family into which we are born. We do not control our health, the opportunities that come our way, the talents with which we are blessed, the mentors who guide us, or the countless moments of grace that shape our lives. In the morning blessings of the Amidah we give thanks to God, who grants us wisdom.  We ARE responsible for the energy we put into learning.  We are NOT responsible for our innate capabilities.

Even our ability to wake up each morning and greet a new day is itself a gift.

Gratitude shifts our perspective from entitlement to appreciation. Instead of asking, “What am I owed?” we begin to ask, “How can I honor and use the blessings I have received?”

Perhaps that is why Birkat HaMazon, the blessing after meals, comes from this very portion? After we have eaten and are satisfied—precisely when we are least likely to think about our dependence—we are commanded to pause and give thanks. The Torah understands that gratitude is not merely a feeling; it is a spiritual practice.

There is nothing like a common enemy to unite people.  Many soldiers will report that their time in combat was the most meaningful experience of their lives.  The real danger is not the times of challenge but the times of comfort and prosperity.  We can begin to think that we are entitled to everything we enjoy and that those who are lacking just need to try harder.  This sense of injustice can fester and ultimately destroy society.

We live in a culture that constantly encourages us to focus on what we lack. There is always someone with a larger home, greater success, or more possessions. Yet happiness rarely comes from having more. More often, it comes from noticing what we already have: people who love us, moments of health, meaningful work, friendships, community, and the simple gift of another day.

So we need to remember.  Zachor.  Don’t forget.  How many times does the Torah remind us? 

I love how our Mishkan Tefilah siddur (p. 43) lists 6 things that the Torah says to remember daily.  The exodus from Egypt, and it tells us not to let ourselves become enslaved.  We remember the dastardly attack of the Amalekites and our need to guard against evil.  We remember standing at Sinai and renew our commitment to learning.  We remember the incident of the Golden Calf and the need to check our desires and tendency to idolatry.  We remember Korach’s rebellion against Moses and reflect on how we stumble over our own ego.  And, finally, we remember Shabbat and welcome its holiness into our lives.

The message of Ekev is not that success is dangerous. The message is that forgetting is dangerous. Forgetting the people who helped us. Forgetting the opportunities we were given. Forgetting that so much of life remains beyond our control. And ultimately, forgetting the Holy One of Blessing.

As we read parshat Ekev, may we  cultivate hearts that remain humble in times of abundance, generous with the gifts we have received, and grateful for blessings both great and small. In remembering the Source of our blessings, may we discover not only deeper faith, but also deeper joy.

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         Shema and V’ahavta.

         You know these prayers, right?  It might have been one of the very first prayers you ever learned.  Parents whisper it to their children at night, and it might be the last words said when life draws to a close.

         Yet how much attention have we really paid to the meaning of the words?  Since they occur IN the Torah, IN this week’s portion, it seemed an appropriate time to explore what we are saying when we recite the Shema.

         We are in the book of Deuteronomy, the final book of the Torah, in the parsha of Vaetchanan.  Vaetchanan.  The word means to beg or plead or beseech. Moses begs God, one more time, for the opportunity to enter the land of Israel.  The answer he receives is not the answer he was hoping for, yet he pulls himself together, reviews the 10 commandments and other civil regulations, and then, in chapter 6, these words-

Shema Yisrael, Adonai Elohenu Adonai Echad

         Followed by V’ahavta.  Here’s a contemporary translation; I believe it was written by Rabbi David Wolfe-Blank, alav ha-shalom-

And you shall love your Creator, dedicating to God

your heart, soul, and energy.

Let these teachings become a bond connecting

your heart to your Source.

Exemplify these teachings in your interactions

with your children.

Manifest them in all your actions; as you rest,

travel, dream and wake.

Make symbols to remind you daily of your sacred bonds;

they shall be like beacons before your eyes.

And place these reminders also

at the entranceways

of your homes and cities,

that your dwelling places may be sanctuaries for

God’s presence.

         We can learn a lot just from the very first word- Shema- Listen!  Hear!

         Not do.  Not believe.  Listen.

         Rabbi Jonathan Sacks often described Judaism as a religion of hearing rather than primarily a religion of seeing. His point was that Judaism’s central encounter with God is not through images, representations, or visual contemplation, but through listening to a divine voice and responding through action.

         Listening is the foundation of relationship.  Friendships, marriages, communities fall apart quickly if we don’t listen to each other.  We know that in our personal lives, and we are called on to relate to God through hearing, not just speaking or doing.  So the first thing we are told is to be quiet. 

         The opening of Shema ends with echad- one.  Adonai Echad- God is one.  We may be surprised at the places we experience God if we can just be still. 

         God is one, yes.  We are reminded that ethical monotheism is the Jewish way.  We may each understand God in a unique way, and our own understanding of God may change throughout our lives.  Yet, God is big enough to contain all of our attempts at understanding. There is a unity to all that exists. 

         We live in a world that is fragmented, polarized.  Listen, this prayer urges us, underneath it all is

one-ness, connection.  And just as God is one, we, formed in the divine image, are more than any one quality within ourselves.  We are our successes and our failures, our joys and our sorrows.

You’ll notice that the last letter of the first and last words are written in a larger font.  That’s how they appear in the Torah, and that’s how they appear in our siddur.  Together they spell the word- ed- witness. 

         If we can feel that one-ness deeply, a feeling of love rises up.  That love will lead us to be witnesses to oneness, to the interconnectedness of all that is.

         V’ahavta- and you shall love.  Really, the Hebrew is the future tense- you WILL love.  How comforting, this idea, that we will be blessed to feel loving.

         As our translation suggests, this love will elicit dedication to God of our heart, our soul, our energy.  The word for heart- levavcha- is spelled with two letters “bet.”  The rabbis teach us that one represents our good inclination and one our yetzer ha-ra, our evil inclination. 

         We love God with all our being, with all aspects of our inner selves.   We are not called on to be perfect.  We are called on to devote our whole heart, our whole soul to our spiritual journey.

         These teachings should rest on our hearts, the prayer continues.  Chassidic commentaries remind us that sometimes our hearts are open, and the words can enter easily.  Sometimes our hearts are closed, by pain and disappointment.  When our hearts heal and open, the words are right there on our hearts, to gently fall inside.

         And it’s not enough for these teachings to be part of our lives. We have a responsibility to teach them to the next generation.  I like how this translation calls us to “manifest these teachings.”  Children learn by example; words alone are insufficient.  Lead by example.   Ensure that your actions express Jewish values- kindness and compassion, generosity and gratitude.

         Make them part of your life at home and away from home, day and night.  When you lie down and when you rise up is what Biblical scholars refer to as a merism- it really means, AND, everything in-between.  From a practical perspective, the Talmud understands that we can recite the words of the Shema in any position- sitting, standing, or even up in a tree gathering fruit. (BT Berachot 10b)

         Traditionally we remain in whatever position we find ourselves.  In the Reform world, we stand for the Shema to emphasize its fundamental importance.

         These teachings should guide every moment of our lives.  Holiness does not happen only here, in this sanctuary. 

         This first paragraph of the Shema reminds us that we need reminders.  On our hands, between our eyes, and on the doorposts of our home.

         Of course this led to the practices of tefillin and mezuzot, and, I think we can understand them metaphorically as well.  What are we DOING with our hands?  How are we SEEING others?  How are we treating those to whom we are closest, the ones with whom we share our home? 

         The Shema and V’Ahavta remind us that love is not a feeling but a doing.  It is woven into our choices, our priorities, our relationships. 

         As we pray these words, we ask ourselves- How will we love God today?  How will we use our hands and our hearts to express holiness? 

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I read this quote decades before I ever heard the term “imposter syndrome.”  What I understand is that just about everyone feels it.  It is challenging for me to focus on the good that I’ve done and all that I have accomplished, without, still, that inner voice harping on the times I haven’t lived up to the best in myself.

150. “The limits of my language means the limits of my world.”- Wittgenstein

God created the world with words and we create our world with words.  I love words and I love these quotes, and what a gift when we can find the exact right word to describe a moment.

151. “Ilona interrupted.  “David, that first night we talked- I told you then that we were two different species, despite our Jewishness.  Why did you not listen?  David, we have nothing in common.  Nothing.  Not even Goose Bay.  You, I know, see in Goose Bay only waste and isolation, but to me Goose Bay is Heaven- because I have already learned what hell is.  It is people.  You, David, look at the world and see order and purpose and the handiwork of God.  I look at the world and see chaos and madness and an officer crushing a cat’s tail for sport- still another Eichmann.  I recognize a hopelessly fat neurotic, and you envision her transformed by a little kindness into a slim, healthy beauty.

I wish I had recorded where I read this.  Clearly Ilona is a survivor, trying to explain the inexplicable- the evil she has witnessed and how it has transformed her.  #152 below appears to come from the same text.

152. I spend the entire evening explaining why I cannot be your wife, and you hear me telling you why I shall marry you.  as a rabbi you talk about love and peace and the Messianic hope and God, but I know only hatred and war and despair and- devils.  You speak of- there is the difference between us- you speak and you feel and you believe and you hope and you pray.  But I know, David.  I wish that I did not, but I know!”  She ground her eyes shut and tears spurted from them.  “You pray, and you ask God to forgive you for your sins.  But I never pray, David, because I can never forgive God for His sins.””- Herbert Tarr, The Conversion of Chaplain Cohen, p. 267

Per the above, Ilona’s experience is engraved in her soul.  She can’t, or won’t allow herself, to move on and to embrace life. 

153. “It is about time that we stopped talking of the failure of religion, education and civilization to improve man, and began to talk of the failure of man to improve religion, education and civilization.”- Mordecai Kaplan

Kaplan must have written this 60 years ago, yet its truth resonates.  I think it goes both ways.  The best of civilization and religion lifts us up, and, ideally, we continue to elevate our traditions as we grow and learn as humans.

154. “Her heart was dead long before her body.  She had sold it to become Sir Pitt Crawley’s wife.  Mothers and daughters are making the same bargain every day in Vanity Fair.”- William Thackeray, Vanity Fair

This novel reflects another era, when women’s choices were so very limited and marriages were arranged with no thought of love.  Thankfully we have mostly moved beyond this need for women to subsume their feelings in order to survive.

155. “Who was the blundering idiot who said that ‘fine words butter no parsnips?’  Half the parsnips of society are served and rendered palatable with no other sauce.”- ibid., p. 226

Flattery will get you everywhere.

156. “Remorse is the least active of all a man’s moral senses- the very easiest to be deadened when wakened; and in some never wakened at all.”- ibid., p. 497

I’m not sure if this is true.  Elsewhere in this collection is Emily Dickenson’s poem on remorse.  Re-morse, to chew over and again.  I’m sure there are psychopaths who never feel remorse, but for most of us, I think, the opposite is more the case- we can’t let go of our feelings of regret for choices made.

157. I should like to know what well-constituted mind, merely because it is transitory, dislikes roast beef?”- ibid., p. 584

I was a vegetarian for many years.  Maybe even when I read this initially.  It reminds me that “man does not live by bread alone.”  We can wax philosophical all we want, but, then, it’s time for a good meal.

158. “Everything should be made as simple as possible, but not simpler.”- Albert Einstein

Well- Einstein said it simply enough!

159. “If we can send one man to the moon, why not send them all?”- T-shirt ad, Ms. Magazine, July ’83

Not sure what precipitated this ad, but as the feminist movement was emerging it is easy to understand the thought behind it.

About This Series- About This Series- I love words.  I love when a word exactly captures the moment, the feeling.  How it precisely describes something that you experienced but didn’t know exactly how to express.  It’s like a warm bath or a deeply satisfying meal.

         And beyond that- a collection of words.   A deeply insightful phrase, thought-provoking and uplifting.  A quote to remember.

         I started collecting quotes when I was 16 years old.  (1972)  I’m 70 now, as I write these words, (2026), and there are 473 quotes in my collection.  At this precise moment. 

         That’s not really that many over the course of 54 years.  I guess I am fairly discriminating.  Sometimes years can go by and the collection lays dormant.  In other years there is a great harvest of quotes. 

         These are not necessarily famous quotes, things you’ll often hear referenced.  For the most part, they simply represent words that I read that made me stop for a moment to meditate and bask in their impact.  And quotes I enjoy reading and re-reading and quoting myself!

         These quotes represent the evolution of my thinking over the course of 54 years.  I look forward to pondering what it is that made me find each one meaningful enough to save.

The post My Life in Quotes: #149-#159 appeared first on AZ Rabbi.

At first glance, Korach sounds surprisingly modern.

Standing before Moses and Aaron, Korach accuses them: “All the community are holy, all of them, and the Holy One is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above God’s people?  (Numbers 16:3).

It is a powerful argument. In fact, the Hasidic master Rabbi Simcha Bunim of Peshischa taught that every dispute contains a spark of truth, and Korach’s claim is no exception. He was right that every human being possesses holiness. Judaism insists that each person is created b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God.

Yet Korach’s rebellion ends in disaster. Why?

The Mishnah in Pirkei Avot famously distinguishes between two kinds of disagreement:

“Every dispute that is for the sake of heaven will endure; but one that is not for the sake of heaven will not endure. What is an example of a dispute not for the sake of heaven? The dispute of Korach and all his company” (Pirkei Avot 5:17).

Notice that the rabbis do not describe the conflict as “Korach versus Moses.” Rabbi Ovadiah of Bartenura explains that Korach’s followers were not even united with one another. Their alliance was held together not by shared purpose but by resentment (Bartenura on Pirkei Avot 5:17).

Healthy disagreement seeks truth. Destructive conflict seeks victory.

Rabbi Jonathan Sacks observed, “Korach’s challenge was driven by envy. He focused on what others had rather than on the gifts that were his” (Lessons in Leadership: A Weekly Reading of the Jewish Bible, Korach essay). Korach was already a Levite, already honored, already entrusted with sacred responsibility. Yet he could not rejoice in his own gifts because he was consumed by envy of Aaron’s role.

Perhaps that is one of the great spiritual challenges of our age as well?

Social media constantly invites us to compare our lives with those of others. Communities divide when people measure their worth not by their own blessings but by someone else’s success. Families fracture when old resentments become more important than precious relationships.

And yet, there is another lesson hidden within this story.

Too often, noble ideals can become weapons. Calls for justice, tradition, equality, or even religion itself can be used to elevate ourselves rather than serve others. The question is not only whether our cause is righteous. The question is whether our motives are.

Moses offers a striking contrast. Faced with rebellion, he responds not with self-assertion but with humility. “What are we?” he asks (Numbers 16:11). Moses does not say, “How dare you challenge me?  I’ve sacrificed my life in service of this community!” Instead, he reminds the people that leadership is not about personal honor.

Prof. Nehama Leibowitz points out that throughout the Torah Moses consistently diverts attention away from himself and toward God’s mission and the needs of the people (Studies in Bamidbar, Korach). True leadership, she teaches, is not domination but service.

Perhaps that is why, after the earth swallows Korach and his followers, God does not provide another display of force? Instead, Aaron’s staff blossoms with almond flowers.

Life—not power—is the symbol of authentic authority.

That may be the deepest answer to Korach.

A healthy community does not eliminate disagreement. Judaism has always cherished debate. The Talmud itself preserves conflicting opinions because arguments pursued for the sake of heaven strengthen rather than weaken the Jewish people. 

We read of the conflict between Hillel and Shammai- “Elu v’elu divrei Elohim chayyim- these- and these- are the words of the living God.”  (BT Eruvin 13b)

Or, in the classic scene from Fiddler on the Roof, Tevye gestures to Perchik and Mordcha and says, “He’s right, and he’s right? They can’t both be right.”  To which Tevye responds, “You know… you are also right!”

But sometimes we must ask ourselves difficult questions:

Am I trying to understand, or merely to win?

Am I building relationships, or gathering allies?

Am I motivated by principle, or by envy?

Korach reminds us that a community can advocate that everyone is holy and still fall apart.

Our challenge is to recognize the image of God in each other.

To disagree without destroying.

To seek truth without sacrificing compassion.

And to remember that the communities that endure are not those without conflict, but those whose conflicts are guided by humility, purpose, and love.

May our disagreements be for the sake of heaven—and may they lead not to division, but to deeper understanding and greater peace.

The post Korach Teaches Us How to Deal With Conflict appeared first on AZ Rabbi.

Forty days later the spies return with a discouraging report.  Ten of the twelve describe fortified towns inhabited by powerful giants.  Their famous conclusion is one of fear- “We looked like grasshoppers to ourselves and so we must have looked to them.”  (Number 13:33)

 The morale of the entire community is negatively impacted, and the people are ready to flee back to Egypt.  Only Joshua and Caleb offer a different perspective- “Have no fear; God is with us.”  (Numbers 14:9)

        God is ready to destroy this people who have done nothing but whine, complain, and moan since the exodus, but Moses intervenes to save the day.  As a compromise, the generation that knew slavery will wander for forty years, while a new generation is raised to inherit freedom and the responsibilities freedom entails.

        You might think that the experience of slavery and the threat of enemies would lead the Israelites to become fearful or hostile to outsiders.   And perhaps it did.  Perhaps that is why this week’s parsha contains one of the 36 Torah references to, “There shall be one law for you and for the resident stranger, it shall be a law throughout the ages.  You and the stranger shall be alike in God’s presence.”  (Numbers 15:15)  In a world often divided between insiders and outsiders, the Torah demands a single standard of dignity and responsibility.

The Hebrew word for stranger is ger. In biblical literature, the ger is the vulnerable outsider — the person living among the community without inherited land, clan protection, or social standing. The Torah frequently places the stranger alongside the widow and the orphan as needing special care. 

The commandment is grounded not merely in abstract ethics, but in Jewish historical memory. Again and again, the Torah reminds Israel:

“You shall not oppress a stranger, for you know the soul of the stranger, having been strangers in the land of Egypt.”
— Exodus 23:9

Jewish morality begins with memory. The Torah does not simply say that oppression is wrong.  It says, You know what this feels like.   Your own experience must make you sensitive to the suffering of others.

The medieval commentator Sforno explained that “one law” means that justice must not bend according to social standing. Courts cannot favor the citizen over the outsider. All human beings deserve equal accountability and equal protection because we are all created in the image of God.

Maimonides expanded the idea further. In his Mishneh Torah, he teaches not only that the stranger must be treated fairly, but that Jews are commanded to love the stranger. He writes, “The Holy One loves the stranger… therefore we are commanded to love the stranger.” (Maimonides, Hilchot De’ot 6:4)

This is extraordinary. Judaism does not stop at tolerance. It moves us toward covenantal responsibility and even love. The stranger is not merely to be left unharmed; the stranger is to be embraced within the community.

At the same time, the Torah’s insistence on “one law” also establishes mutual obligation. Equality before the law means that everyone shares responsibility for the ethical life of the community. The stranger is protected by the law, but is also accountable to it. The covenantal society envisioned by the Torah depends upon common standards of justice.

Modern Jewish thinkers have continued to draw powerful lessons from this commandment. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks wrote that “The supreme religious challenge is to see God’s image in one who is not in our image.” For Rabbi Sacks, the Torah’s teaching pushes human beings beyond natural instinct. It is easy to care for those who are like us. The deeper religious challenge is to extend dignity across boundaries of difference.

        Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel likewise understood the biblical concern for the stranger as central to prophetic religion. Heschel taught that the prophets measured a society not by its wealth or military power, but by how it treated its most vulnerable members. Religion divorced from human compassion becomes empty ritual.

This teaching remains profoundly relevant today. Modern societies continue to wrestle with questions of immigration, refugees, minority rights, and social inclusion. Jewish tradition does not erase the complexity of political or legal debates. Nations must maintain laws and boundaries. Yet the Torah insists that however societies structure themselves, the humanity of the outsider must never be forgotten.

I just finished reading Rabbi Angela Buchdahl’s remarkable book, The Heart of a Stranger, and I highly recommend it.  Rabbi Buchdahl is uniquely exceptional- a Korean born woman ordained as both a rabbi and a cantor, she leads Central Synagogue in NYC.  She writes of her own experience as an outsider, and describes Judaism as “a religion of the Other”  (p. 310), founded, as it was, by Abraham and Sarah, who, themselves, had to leave home and become immigrants.  “Feeling like the stranger,” she concludes, “might be the most Jewish thing about me.”  (p. 127)

The phrase “one law for the native and the stranger” challenges double standards. It condemns systems in which one group receives protection while another receives suspicion or exclusion. The Torah envisions a society in which human dignity does not depend upon ancestry or privilege.

The Jewish experience through history reinforced the importance of this teaching. For centuries, the Jewish people lived as strangers in many lands, sometimes welcome, too often persecuted.   The memory of vulnerability became inseparable from Jewish ethical consciousness.

Ultimately, “one law for the native and the stranger” expresses one of Judaism’s boldest moral claims: that justice belongs equally to every human being. The Torah urges us to build societies grounded not in fear of the outsider, but in memory, compassion, and shared dignity.

I’ll conclude with these words from Rabbi Buchdahl,  “We are mandated by our tradition to remember, protect, and, yes, love the stranger, because that’s who we are.”  (p. 311)

The post Shelach L’cha: No Strangers Among Us appeared first on AZ Rabbi.

This quote is a flashing moment of insight into the mystery of human life and and the fear of losing it. 

137. “I sit on the downed tree and watch the black steers slip on the creek bottom.  They are all bred beef:  beef heart, beef hide, beef hocks.  They’re a human product like rayon.  They’re like a field of shoes.  They have cast-iron shanks and tongues like foam insoles.  You can’t see through to their brains as you can with other animals; they have beef fat behind their eyes, beef stew.”- Annie Dillard, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, p. 4

Dillard’s book is a beautiful celebration of our connection to nature.  Here she encounters a cow and is struck by the dumb affect of the beast.  Perhaps seeing a cow in this light helps us to feel better about consuming them? 

138. “The answer must be, I think, that beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them.  The least we can do is try to be there.”- ibid., p. 8

The world is full of miracles and we go about our days blind to the awesomeness of the beauty that surrounds us.  Dillard invites us to take a moment and take it all in. 

139. “It is dire poverty indeed when a man is so malnourished and fatigued that he won’t stoop to pick up a penny.  But if you cultivate a healthy poverty and simplicity, so that finding a penny will literally make your day, then, since the world is in fact planted in pennies, you have with your poverty bought a lifetime of days.  It is that simple.  What you see is what you get.”- ibid., p. 16

Ha!  In 2026 we have stopped manufacturing pennies altogether.  I wonder when this book was written that finding a penny could impact one’s day?

140. “Nature is above all profligate.  Don’t believe them when they tell you how economical and thrifty nature is, whose leaves return to the soil.  Wouldn’t it be cheaper to leave them on the tree in the first place?  This deciduous business alone is a radical scheme, the brainchild of a deranged manic-depressive with limitless capital.  Extravagance!  Nature will try anything once.  This is what the sign of the insects says.  No form is too gruesome, no behavior too grotesque.  If you’re dealing with organic compounds, then let them combine.  If it works, if it quickens, set it clacking in the grass;  there’s always room for one more; you ain’t so handsome yourself.  This is a spendthrift economy; though nothing is lost, all is spent.”- ibid., p. 66

This is a true fact.  The immensity of the beauty of the natural world is incomprehensible.  There is simply no way to take it in.  One can only stand in awe. 

141. “It has always been a happy thought to me that the creek runs on all night, new every minute, whether I wish it or know it or care, as a closed book on a shelf continues to whisper to itself its own inexhaustible tale.”- ibid., p. 70

The sound of running water is so soothing, so calming.  It is comforting to know that it is there whether we observe it or not.

142. “Live water heals memories.”- ibid., p. 102

See the above.  Listening to flowing water connects us to something being than ourselves, something that feels infinite. 

143. “You don’t run down the present, pursue it with baited hooks and nets.  You wait for it, empty-handed, and you are filled.”- ibid., p. 104

Dillard writes before “mindfulness” became a common watchword, yet here she captures the necessary patience it takes to be fully present.1

144. “Not only did the creator create everything, but that he is apt to create anything.  He’ll stop at nothing.”- ibid., p. 138

Again, the author celebrates the staggering diversity of the creation.

145. “Utility to the creature is evolution’s only aesthetic consideration.”- ibid.

Here she attempts to explain the endless diversity as a reference to each element serving a unique purpose to the creature.

146. “Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery.”- ibid., p. 147

There is so much that we don’t understand.  Dillard poetically captures how little we know with this beautiful image of the depth of mystery.

147. “Where have I been all summer while the world has been eaten?”- ibid., p. 233

Isn’t this true?  Spring arrives and everything bursts forth with freshness.  Each leaf perfect in its formation.  By the end of summer, nature looks as we all do as we age, withering and contracting.

148. “For most creatures, being parasitized is a way of life- if you call that living.”- ibid.

Wieselthier in his book, Kaddish, quotes a medieval description of hell as an itch that can’t be scratched.  A dermatologist friend concurred with this assessment, that this is truly hell.  Fortunately for me I am fairly impervious to mosquito bites, but I know that for many it is impossible to enjoy the outdoors when they are plaguing you.

About This Series- About This Series- I love words.  I love when a word exactly captures the moment, the feeling.  How it precisely describes something that you experienced but didn’t know exactly how to express.  It’s like a warm bath or a deeply satisfying meal.

         And beyond that- a collection of words.   A deeply insightful phrase, thought-provoking and uplifting.  A quote to remember.

         I started collecting quotes when I was 16 years old.  (1972)  I’m 70 now, as I write these words, (2026), and there are 473 quotes in my collection.  At this precise moment. 

         That’s not really that many over the course of 54 years.  I guess I am fairly discriminating.  Sometimes years can go by and the collection lays dormant.  In other years there is a great harvest of quotes. 

         These are not necessarily famous quotes, things you’ll often hear referenced.  For the most part, they simply represent words that I read that made me stop for a moment to meditate and bask in their impact.  And quotes I enjoy reading and re-reading and quoting myself!

         These quotes represent the evolution of my thinking over the course of 54 years.  I look forward to pondering what it is that made me find each one meaningful enough to save.

The post My Life in Quotes- #136-#148 appeared first on AZ Rabbi.

126. “Justice, justice shall you pursue.” (Deuteronomy 16:20)  Of all the values in Judaism- kindness, generosity, compassion. Justice is preeminent.  Without a foundation of justice, society cannot endure. 

I love the way Ahad HaAm expresses it- so powerful- “it was their all. . . .(it) is beauty, goodness, wisdom, truth.”  Justice is everything.

127. “Only through the holidays does life experience the eternity of the river that returns to its source.  Then life becomes eternal.  Then there is no fatigue, no anxiety, no disappointment, for the end becomes the beginning, and the course is marked out.”

Franz Rosenzweig’s quote is especially meaningful as articulated by Franz Rosenzweig.  Rosenzweig had made the decision to convert to Christianity, and attended one last service on Yom Kippur.  The experience was so powerful that he dedicated the rest of his life to studying Judaism, and became one of the great philosophers of the early 20^th century.  It is no wonder that he writes so movingly about the holidays.

128. During a discussion about rape, a male member of the Israeli parliament suggested that there should be a curfew on women.  Golda Meir, then prime minister, replied, “There should be a curfew on men.  They are the ones who are doing the raping.””

A classic and important thought from the prime minister.

129. “The crucial question to be put to the modern Jew is not, “How much Hebrew do you know?”  “How long do you wait between eating meat and milk?”  or, “What kind of God, if any, do you believe in?”  but, “Do you want the Jewish people to survive meaningfully?”  “Do you want to belong?””- Alan Miller, The God of Daniel S., p. 115

Judaism is about community.  Our beliefs vary widely and there is no catechism that dictates belief.  Ritual practices are diverse.  Yet, it is the sense of connection, of peoplehood, that makes us one, despite these differences in belief and practice.

130. “Straightforwardness without civility is like a surgeon’s knife, effective but unpleasant.  Candor with courtesy is helpful and admirable.”- Sri Yukteswar, quoted in Autobiography of a Yogi p. 140

Often when I ask friends to proofread my work, I request “gentle feedback.”  It’s good to be open to the perspective of others, and it’s good to provide feedback with kindness and sensitivity.

131. “In seeking knowledge, the first step is silence, the second is listening, the third remembering, the fourth practicing, and the fifth teaching others.”- ibn Gabirol

This one is a favorite.  If you’re talking you are not learning.  The only way to grow is to listen intently and remember what you’ve learned.  How do you know when you really know?  When you are able to explain and communicate to another person.

132. “Or she would ask:  “Well, what have you accomplished today for the counterrevolution?””- I. B. Singer, The Family Moskat, p. 560

Singer reminds us of our responsibility for tikkun olam.  Every day, he admonishes, we should think about how we’ve made the world better for our participation.

133. Gold was not sure of many things but he was definite about one:  for every successful person he knew, he could name at least two others of greater ability, better character, and higher intelligence who, by comparison, had failed.”- Joseph Heller, Good as Gold, p. 73

Wow, this is so true.  We may tend to think that folks who are the most successful are the most deserving, yet there is an unassailable randomness in accomplishment.  So many factors play into the outcome of our efforts.  Heller’s words remind us to be cautious as we rush to judgment.

134. “The meticulous observance of ritual is always a temptation to self-righteousness.”– Mordecai Kaplan, Questions Jews Ask:  Reconstructionist Answers, p. 227

Kaplan grew up in the Orthodox world and knew well how an excessive focus on ritual can become all-consuming.  Again, a warning against judging others by our understanding of what is/is not the “right” way to fulfill the mitzvot.

135. ” Happy is the man who knows how to distinguish the real from the unreal, the eternal from the transient and the good from the pleasant by his discrimination and wisdom.”- B.K.S. Iyengar, Light on Yoga

Iyengar reminds us to focus on what is most meaningful and not less ourselves be too distracted by what is momentary.

About This Series- About This Series- I love words.  I love when a word exactly captures the moment, the feeling.  How it precisely describes something that you experienced but didn’t know exactly how to express.  It’s like a warm bath or a deeply satisfying meal.

         And beyond that- a collection of words.   A deeply insightful phrase, thought-provoking and uplifting.  A quote to remember.

         I started collecting quotes when I was 16 years old.  (1972)  I’m 70 now, as I write these words, (2026), and there are 473 quotes in my collection.  At this precise moment. 

         That’s not really that many over the course of 54 years.  I guess I am fairly discriminating.  Sometimes years can go by and the collection lays dormant.  In other years there is a great harvest of quotes. 

         These are not necessarily famous quotes, things you’ll often hear referenced.  For the most part, they simply represent words that I read that made me stop for a moment to meditate and bask in their impact.  And quotes I enjoy reading and re-reading and quoting myself!

         These quotes represent the evolution of my thinking over the course of 54 years.  I look forward to pondering what it is that made me find each one meaningful enough to save.

The post My Life in Quotes- #126-135 appeared first on AZ Rabbi.

Among those curses: your food will be consumed by your enemies; you will be conquered and ruled by those who hate you; you will live in such fear that even the sound of a rustling leaf will send you fleeing.  This is the source of Milton Steinberg’s great novel, As a Driven Leaf.” And, truthfully, it gets worse- you can read it yourself.  The Torah does not shy away from painting a terrifying picture of a world without stability or security.

One blessing stands out.  In Chapter 26, verse 6, “And there will be peace in the land.”  Shalom. 

When I was first learning Hebrew as a child, I was taught that shalom means hello, goodbye, and peace. Hello and goodbye I understood. But peace? It felt abstract, distant—certainly not something I encountered in everyday vocabulary. Why was this word so central?

Now I understand.

The Torah itself explains what peace means. It is not merely the absence of war. It is security. It is freedom from fear. It is the ability to lie down at night without trembling. It is the strength to live without constant anxiety about what tomorrow might bring.

How little our concerns have changed since biblical times.

The medieval commentator Rashi, reflecting on this verse, offers a striking teaching: “If there is no peace, there is nothing.” Everything else—prosperity, health, success—depends upon it. Without peace, none of it can truly be enjoyed.

We read in Psalms: “Seek peace and pursue it.” (Psalms 34:14)  Not simply wish for it. Not passively hope for it. But actively seek it—and then pursue it, as if it might run away from us.

We are still pursuing peace.

We live in a world that often feels frightening and unstable. And when there is no peace in the land, it becomes extraordinarily difficult to cultivate peace within our own hearts.

Jewish teaching reflects the complexity of shalom. 

The Midrash teaches: peace that is unaccompanied by honest reproof is not true peace. In other words, silence in the face of wrongdoing is not peace—it is avoidance. The ability to question authority, to challenge policy, to speak truth—these are essential to a healthy society and a genuine peace.

The Hebrew word shalom shares a root with shalem, meaning whole or complete. Peace is not just quiet—it is wholeness, integrity, a world aligned with justice.

And so, our tradition insists on something remarkable: even when preparing for war, we must first seek peace.

In Deuteronomy, we are instructed that when approaching a city to wage battle, we must first offer terms of peace. Those who wish to surrender should be allowed to do so. Even in conflict, there are limits: we may not destroy fruit trees, sustaining sources of life. Newlyweds and the faint-hearted are exempt from battle. War is treated not as triumphant, but as a tragic necessity.

The Torah understands war as what later tradition calls a milchemet chovah—an obligatory war—when it is fought in self-defense. But even then, the obligation to pursue peace does not disappear.

Maimonides goes so far as to teach that when besieging a city, one must leave one side open, allowing an escape route for those who wish to flee. Even in war, there must be an opening toward life.

And yet, our tradition does not ignore the harsh reality that there are times when war may be justified.

The Book of Ecclesiastes reminds us: there is a time for war and a time for peace.

There are moments when evil emerges in forms so destructive, so dehumanizing, that inaction becomes its own moral failure. As the Torah commands: “Do not stand idly by the blood of your neighbor.”

The challenge, of course, is that there is no simple formula for recognizing those moments. In ancient times, leaders might consult the Urim and Thummim for divine guidance. Today, we are left with human judgment—fallible, complicated, and often uncertain.

That uncertainty should humble us.

It should make us cautious, even when we believe force is necessary. It should remind us that every act of violence carries a cost—not only for those who suffer it, but for those who carry it out.  We are learning more and more about moral injury and the long term consequences veterans pay for serving our country.

Judaism holds both truths at once: that sometimes war is necessary, and that it is always tragic.

Which is why, throughout our tradition, we find rituals that temper triumph with sorrow. We spill drops of wine during the Passover Seder as we recount the plagues, diminishing our joy because others suffered. We recite only half Hallel on Passover, acknowledging that redemption came at a cost.

In ancient Israel, the High Priest (Kohen Gadol) was a hereditary office, passed down through the priestly line of Aaron, usually from father to son. By contrast, the priest anointed for war (kohen mashuach milchamah), who addressed and encouraged the troops before battle (as described in Deuteronomy 20), was not hereditary. He was specially appointed for each period of military need.  There was always the hope that there would be no more war and no more need for a chaplain for the troops.

Even King David, a warrior, was not permitted to build the Temple. That sacred task was given to Solomon, a man of peace.

The vision toward which Judaism ultimately points is not one of endless conflict, but of transformation. Maimonides describes the messianic era as a time when there will be no famine and no war, no jealousy and no strife—when blessings will be abundant and peace will define human existence.

That is the world we are meant to move toward.

And until then, we are called to live as its builders.

Hillel teaches: be among the disciples of Aaron—loving peace and pursuing peace.

Not loving peace passively, but pursuing it actively. In our words. In our actions. In our willingness to listen, to challenge, to repair.

As we conclude this book of Torah, we say: Chazak, chazak, v’nitchazek—be strong, be strong, and let us strengthen one another.

May the strength that has carried us to this moment guide us forward.
And may we continue, together, the challenging and holy work of seeking peace and pursuing it.

The post The Blessing of Peace/The Reality of War- B’Har/B’chukotai appeared first on AZ Rabbi.

George Eliot is right.  Many things about which we think- “I could/would never do that,” suddenly become feasible when we feel threatened.  Or, when there is a threat to someone we care about.

117. “The wine and the sun will make vinegar without any shouting to help them.”- George Eliot, Romola, p. 533

I love this quote.  We are all so quick to rush to judgment and call people’s wrongs to their attention.  And yet I find that, given time, the truth will emerge without our input.  Sometimes the best thing is just to sit back and watch reality unfold without interfering.

118. “There has been no great people without processions, and the man who thinks himself too wise to be moved by them to anything but contempt, is like the puddle that was proud of standing alone while the river rushed by.”- George Eliot, Romola, p. 96

Yes- it seems that every culture and every community has its festive occasions and times of celebration.  We may think we are “too cool” to join in, and, that’s okay, but we may find that we are left behind and don’t get to share in the fun and the joy.

119. “Money is like a sixth sense without which you cannot make a complete use of the other five.”- Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage, p. 248

I think of this quote often.  Statistics suggest that beyond a certain amount of income, happiness is not impact by money.  Yet we need to have enough to meet our basic needs, the thought that Maugham poetically expresses.

120. “He had thought of love as a rapture which seized one so that all the world seemed spring-like, he had looked forward to an ecstatic happiness; but this was not happiness; it was a hunger of the soul, it was a painful yearning, it was a bitter anguish he had never known before.”- Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage, p. 278

Love is definitely beset by nuance.  It certainly can be the source of profound happiness, but Maugham’s poor character seems to be having a hard time of it.

121. “He could not be positive that reason was much help in the conduct of life.  It seemed to him that life lived itself.”- Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage, p. 323

The midrash suggests that as Moses stood by the Red Sea, with the Egyptians in hot pursuit, he prayed for God’s guidance.  It was, famously, Nachshon ben Aminadav who jumped into the waters, after which they parted.  The Israelites were able, finally to escape to freedom.  There’s a time to think and a time to act.  The 90% solution now beats the 110% solution in the future.

122. “Men may seem detestable as joint stock- companies and nations, knaves, fools, and murderers they may be; men may have mean and meager faces; but man in the ideal is so noble and so sparkling, such a grand and glowing creature, that over any ignominious blemish in him all his fellows should run to throw their costliest robes.”- Herman Melville, Moby Dick, p. 104

There’s the ideal and then there’s reality.  We can all articulate noble ideals, but life is what is lived in the moment, in the face of the challenging choices that face us each day.

123. “Long exile from Christendom and civilization inevitable restores a man to that condition in which God placed him, i. e., what is called savagery.  Now one of the peculiar characteristics of the savage in his domestic hours, is his wonderful patience of industry.  And ancient Hawaiian war-club or spear-paddle, in its full multiplicity and elaboration of carving, is as great a trophy of human perseverance as a Latin lexicon, with but a bit of broken sea-shell or a shark’s tooth, that miraculous intricacy of wooden net-work has been achieved; and it has cost steady years of application.”- Herman Melville, Moby Dick, p. 232

I appreciate Melville’s elevating the craft of the so-called “savage.”  The beauty and depth of art created with the most primitive of implements is mind-boggling and inspiring.

124. “God respects me when I work, But He loves me when I sing.”- Rabinadrath Tagore

Yes.  As a rabbi, I painfully agonize over each word of each sermon.  Yet Tagore reminds me that it is singing that reaches the highest heavens and brings the community together. 

125. “If you have love, you will do all things well.”- T. Merton

Hmmm- clearly a quote saved when I was MUCH younger.  Not sure I would agree today.  If you have love, I guess you can get credit for trying, but it’s no guarantee.

About This Series- About This Series- I love words.  I love when a word exactly captures the moment, the feeling.  How it precisely describes something that you experienced but didn’t know exactly how to express.  It’s like a warm bath or a deeply satisfying meal.

         And beyond that- a collection of words.   A deeply insightful phrase, thought-provoking and uplifting.  A quote to remember.

         I started collecting quotes when I was 16 years old.  (1972)  I’m 70 now, as I write these words, (2026), and there are 473 quotes in my collection.  At this precise moment. 

         That’s not really that many over the course of 54 years.  I guess I am fairly discriminating.  Sometimes years can go by and the collection lays dormant.  In other years there is a great harvest of quotes. 

         These are not necessarily famous quotes, things you’ll often hear referenced.  For the most part, they simply represent words that I read that made me stop for a moment to meditate and bask in their impact.  And quotes I enjoy reading and re-reading and quoting myself!

         These quotes represent the evolution of my thinking over the course of 54 years.  I look forward to pondering what it is that made me find each one meaningful enough to save.

The post My Life in Quotes: #116-#125 appeared first on AZ Rabbi.