The Rabbi of the Warsaw Ghetto, R’ Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, observes that the verse doesn’t mention someone who feels weak, and therefore is afraid of losing, but rather someone who is lacking the proper spirit and conviction. Ultimately, it is our motivation that contributes to the success of a campaign and therefore how we answer the call determines if we are worthy to be a part of it or if we will be sent home.

In fighting for worker’s rights, it is a care for the quality of people’s lives that fuels the movement and unions. That care is sourced and elevated in the heart. It is also alluded to in the specific transgression that the rabbis ascribe to the one removed from the battlefield as having a sin “with their hand.” The commentators explain that the odd language, modifying a generic sin with, “with their hand” refers to a potential interruption between placing the phylacteries on the arm/hand, opposite the heart, and the one on the head. On a deeper level it serves as a warning to those who lack a continuity of commitment from the specific ideas in the mind, and the feelings in the heart, to what the hand performs in the world of action.

It has been said that the greatest distance in the world is the space between the head and the heart. There are some things that we know to be true, even with tremendous clarity, that still can’t manage to travel through our bodies and manifest in reality. Faith asks for a vertical integration of the heart, mind, and body; aspiring to offer the totality of who we are in each and every moment. If we are not willing to act on our beliefs, or at least attempt wholeheartedly, how much do we really value them?

Choosing sides on a particular issue, or deciding whether or not we even want to throw ourselves into the fight can be scary. What will people think or say about us? How will we see ourselves if we opt to just stay out of it because we view it as the simpler, easier, or safer option? These tests feel inescapable. Inaction is also a choice that has consequences. The fear of failure, or getting something wrong, can be incapacitating and taking risks can be, well - risky. However, not all fears are the same and not everything is worth being afraid of.

In only two places in the Hebrew Bible does the word “הַיָּרֵא֙ - HaYaria,” meaning those who fear, appear: both in the context of a self-centered anxiety. During the Ten Plagues in Egypt, in preparation for the impending hail, those among the Egyptians who feared God’s word brought their slaves and animals indoors to prevent damages. Additionally, when the list of military deferments is given it includes “anyone who is afraid or disheartened.” The Rabbis qualify this fear to be referring to one who is afraid that perhaps they have sinned and therefore feel vulnerable on the battlefield. This preoccupation with self, whether with material possessions or even when focused on spiritual matters, disqualifies a person from properly attaching themselves with others for the greater good.

The Torah, in Deuteronomy 8:17-18, reminds us that it is not “My own power and the might of my own hand that have won this success for me” but “that it is the ETERNAL, your God who gives you the power to be successful.” This is especially important when going off to fight, because if one solely relied on God, there is no need to even get out of bed, much less raise a fist or an army.

Our partnership with the Divine invites us to demonstrate our contribution to the relationship through our concern and advocacy for humanity. The role we each play in organizing, to advance the cause of goodness, shows which side we are on. We never lose when we fight for the wellbeing of each other.

In the Rabbinic exploration of the Biblical expectation to “love God,” the verse is understood as “you shall make the name of Heaven (God) beloved.” The Talmud explains the scriptural intention to mean that we should study Torah and treat folks we work with in pleasant ways. By doing so, the Rabbis imagine that people will attribute the refined kindness at work to the study of faith, and consequently God will be more loved and appreciated by others.

Ostensibly, the Torah is asking us to take part in a marketing campaign, as a way of showing how much we love God, as if God’s love language is promotion and advertising.

To more accurately engage in an authentic dynamic with God, as our truest selves, it is necessary to interrogate the nature of the relationship. We are told in Genesis 2:7 that God “formed a Human from the earth, blowing into their nostrils the breath of life.” This Divine breath in Hebrew is called a neshama, and is the word that we use for “soul.” It acknowledges the Divine Presence in every living person and assists us in relating to The Source of Life that continues to bless and sustain us with continued life.

The Medieval commentator Rashi understands being created “in God’s image and likeness” as “with the power to comprehend and to discern.” Our ability to recognize Divinity in God and in each other, is advanced when we develop a greater sensitivity to the presence of Divinity in ourselves. Being created in the image of God allows us to better recognize God because we ourselves are Godly, and when we express that Godliness towards other people, they can come to see, appreciate, and love the Godliness in them.

Just as contemplating all of the goodness we have been blessed with develops gratitude to the Source of All Blessings, being good to each other also makes it easier to love one another. On a deeper level however, being spiritually conscious at work isn’t meant to solely reinforce our various relationships through a transactional model of giving and receiving.

Loving the Creator of the Universe necessitates loving the purpose of creation - people! If the person that we love the most in the world is working, wouldn’t we want them to have a fair, livable wage, safe and positive work environment, and all of the benefits that would help them live their best life?!!! In providing good working opportunities for people, we facilitate the creation of a world that expresses the love that we have for God, having learned how to love from how God loves and provides for us.

To love God with “all of our heart” also includes the painful reality that all too often our hearts are broken for the suffering of people all over the world. Rashi reads “all of our heart” to include the desires of both good and bad, along with the invitation to meet each moment holistically as a means of repairing the brokenness. In other words, the places of brokenness are precisely the places where our love is impactful and needed most.

This is why the Talmud focuses on how we approach labor as the principal way of expressing our love for God. Organizing and fighting for each other is a choice. We can choose to look away from all that is wrong in the egregious treatment of workers, or we can choose to show up and engage in advancing the ethical and moral responsibilities of the workplace. Advocating for worker’s rights is meaningful because it reveals the motivation of our authentic, heart centered commitment to making life easier for those who are working so hard. By loving laborers, we demonstrate our love for each other and for God.

Religion is often understood as people being in relationship with their Creator, as asymmetrical as that dynamic might be. Although our personal interactions with a Higher Power are exceptionally individualized, the broader structure of both giving and receiving is universal. The Rabbis explains that all situations of authority demand responsibility. Empowerment carries within it subservience, just as employers owe duties of care to their workers.

The classic example of this principle is centered on the balance between workers’ rights and responsibilities. Due to the many biblical prohibitions and obligations of various employment arrangements, the Rabbis teach “כׇּל הַקּוֹנֶה עֶבֶד עִבְרִי כְּקוֹנֶה אָדוֹן לְעַצְמוֹ - Anyone who hires a worker for themselves, is like they have hired a boss for themselves.” A consequence of God creating the world, is that God “sustains the entire world with God’s goodness, with favor, with kindness.” So too, we are also responsible to provide for those we choose to work with.

Parameters are offered by the Talmud as a way of navigating the boundaries of ethical and moral behavior in the work place. The subjective and evolving nature of best practices motivates the Rabbis to reject a rigid set of protocols in exchange for a dominant culture of concern. The first Mishnah in the chapter of Bava Metzia, entitled “One Who Hires Laborers,” addresses reasonable expectations of when the work day should begin and end, in addition to the types of food that will be made available for the workers to eat and concludes “הַכֹּל כְּמִנְהַג הַמְּדִינָה - Everything is in accordance with the local custom.”

Customs can be exceedingly powerful, even overpowering and uprooting Jewish Law, as Tractate Soferim teaches: “מנהג מבטל הלכה.” However, not all customs are holy or advancing the call of goodness. We must challenge and change those which are not upholding the wider values of tradition by replacing them with those that can. This concept, and charge, are alluded to in the Hebrew word for custom “מנהג - minhag” sharing the same numerical mispar katan value as the word “תורה - Torah.”

In exploring the Torah’s sensitivity and preoccupation with equitable labor practices, what emerges is not a limited set of rules that apply to specific categories of work, but rather a global ethos that extends to the ways in which society elevates and protects workers as part of humanity. Society today must see its posture of consumerism as mandating a reinvestment in those we are taking and benefiting from.

Our current climate of entitlement fails to properly acknowledge the impact on those we rely on for goods and services. It is particularly in a situation where one person “owes” another person a debt that the Hebrew Bible interrupts the collections with an injunction, preventing it becoming even harder for that person to make a living. “One shall not take a mill or grindstone as a pledge, for they shall be taking a life as a pledge.” The verse equates impacting a worker’s ability to do their job with killing them in order to highlight the human capacity for selfishness, and the accompanying audacity of evil, that quite literally can kill. This verse is followed by the warning “If a person is found kidnapping a person…” to further focus our attention on the spectrum of being free, or in captivity, as also applying to the way society treats its workers. Having a job is meant to provide more opportunities for a better life, not as coming at the expense of it.

Deuteronomy 24:5 teaches about the responsibility of a husband to make his newly wed wife happy. In a seeming non-sequitor, Deuteronomy 24:6 commands the need to safeguard a worker’s ability to earn a living. However, if the Torah is ultimately instructing us to approach our commercial relationships with a sensitive understanding to the impact of our actions, then perhaps there is no greater framing and introduction than the learning curve of a newly married couple.

Marriage, like all healthy relationships, must include paying attention to the needs and well-being of the other. If a person, upon getting married, focuses primarily on how they will benefit and what they are able to get from the other, without a profound sense of reciprocity and a desire to give more than they receive, then it is exploitative, unsustainable, and unholy. We must approach our economy as we would any healthy relationship - with loving concern for all involved - if it is to be worthy of Divine blessings for success.

Unlike in our professional careers, our spiritual services are not subject to vacations, sick days, or retirement. Maimonides writes that “A person should direct their heart, and the totality of their behavior, to one goal [of being connected to God]...for example: when involved in business dealings or while working for a salary, one should not think solely of earning money. Rather, they should do these things so that they will be able to obtain what is necessary to function and support their family, ect.” The Code of Jewish Law teaches this principle more broadly: “Let all of your actions be for the sake of Heaven” and concludes by stating “One who acts like this, will be serving their Creator constantly.”

Our jobs, and the way that we structure our labor forces in society, are part of an ethical and moral way of being. We need to study the wisdom of our tradition as a way of elevating and informing our employment policies. Perhaps it is for this reason that the Torah was given at Mount Sinai during the month of Sivan, which according to mystical work of Sefer Yitzeria corresponds to the Tribe of Zebulon - who are described in scriptures as merchants and traders.

Sivan is also the month associated with the action of “hiluch - progress” and further reinforces the biblical guarantee that “If you follow (literally “progress”) My laws and faithfully observe My commandments, I will grant your rains in their season..,” as conditional on, as Rashi comments, “עֲמֵלִים בַּתּוֹרָה - laboring with Torah.”

Learning, with the intention to actualize what one is studying, is one of the 48 ways of acquiring Torah. There is a custom to review each of these attributes on the 49 days between Passover and receiving the Torah again on Shavuot. This particular attribute also falls out on Rosh Chodesh Sivan, the first day of the month, directing our attention to the intrinsic relationship between sagacity and our obligation to be practitioners of that wisdom.

The vertical integration of study and application is an essential prerequisite for a holistic spiritual practice. Maimonides, in the introduction to his commentary addressing agriculture, writes that a person’s spiritual obligations are incomplete as long as there is something missing in either one’s thoughts or actions. This synergy is not limited to a fulfillment of Divine expectations for our personal relationship with God. Maimonides extends this partnership, of learning and action, to achieving a dominant culture of kindness that unites all of humanity as well.

Being unified in thought, action, and community were also necessary for the Israelites preparations to accept the Torah, when they organized “like one person with one heart.” No one person can fulfill all 613 commandments because the Torah was never given to a singular individual, but to the collective. Similarly, unions provide unique and holy opportunities to support progress in careers, communities, and a culture of care that can only be achieved as a collective.

Jewish Law, Halachah, is this same language of progress and expects us to forge a path of continuous growth. We must constantly strive to improve working conditions, and to guarantee fair compensation and a higher quality of life for everyone. This process must continue naturally until a fully integrated and aligned set of policies are actualized.

King David credits this work ethic as a source of perpetual joy. “Happy are those whose path is constantly advancing (הַ֝הֹלְכִ֗ים) the teachings of The Lord.” The verse appropriately begins the longest chapter in all of Psalms because a constant focus on meeting the moment is the key to all of the positive virtues in the 175 verses that follow. It is also this celebration that is ascribed to the tribe of Zebulen when they would go off to work, as Moses says “Rejoice, O Zebulun, on your journeys. Seeing ourselves securely in our role of service to the greater good, frees us from the distractions from everything else.

This year, Pesach Sheini, or “Second Passover,” coincides with May Day, a holiday rooted in the history of workers uniting to demand justice. Established in 1889 as International Workers’ Day, May Day symbolizes the collective strength we wield when we come together to fight for a better life. Its legacy is intertwined with the struggles for the eight-hour workday, a fight epitomized by the tragic events at the Haymarket in Chicago in 1886, where labor advocates were brutally suppressed for demanding fair working hours. The essence of May Day and the teachings of Pesach Sheini both celebrate the pursuit of equal opportunities for all.

In Numbers 9:10, the text references those barred from partaking in Passover as “ish ish,” a repetition of the word for “person” in the singular, emphasizing individuality in contrast to the collective experience. This highlights the hyperindividualism that often alienates us from the communal spirit essential for true liberation. It is through solidarity in our struggles that we cultivate a deeper understanding of freedom and equality. When we stand together, we elevate our collective fight for workers’ rights into a sacred act of social and spiritual justice.

The Passover narrative is not solely a recounting of the Israelites’ enslavement; it’s a universal call to remember the domination and dehumanization of oppression, including those who were not enslaved, such as the tribe of Levi. The duty to share this story lies with everyone, reminding us that freedom isn’t confined to those who have suffered directly. In a remarkable moment documented in the Hagadah, sages gathered in Bnei Brak, none of whom were descendants of enslaved Israelites, stayed up all night discussing the Exodus, demonstrating that the fight for freedom transcends personal or inherited trauma. It is a collective human right and obligation.

The stories we share bind us across generations, linking our past struggles with present challenges. May Day serves as a powerful reminder of the labor movement’s roots, marked by workers uniting for fair wages, safe conditions, and a better quality of life. This struggle for moral fairness in labor remains as urgent as ever in today’s economic climate, where families grapple with skyrocketing costs and precarious job security.

Today, decisions shaping our livelihoods and community resources too often lie in the hands of a privileged few rather than the workers who influence these policies. We must recognize that May Day isn’t just about marching in the streets; it’s about harnessing our power at every level. Our values must find expression at the ballot box, where we choose the leaders who create the rules and those who truly represent us. By collectively demanding accountability from both our politicians and corporations, we can foster an economy that works for everyone, not just the elite.

Worker power is not merely a slogan; it’s a call to action. Civic engagement allows us to channel that power into meaningful change. The charge of Pesach Sheini and May Day reminds us that liberation is not just about our individual journeys; it’s about our collective ability to uplift and solidify one another’s rights and opportunities. The fight for workers’ rights is, at its core, a fight for freedom — a freedom that honors our history and propels us towards a just future.

In this moment of renewed urgency, let us gather in consistent solidarity, ready to engage in both the spiritual and civic arenas. By affirming our commitment to justice and equity, we can create a world where all workers have the dignity and respect they deserve, fulfilling the rich legacies of both our Jewish heritage and the labor movement. Together, we can amplify our voices, unite in our efforts, and move forward in the ongoing struggle for liberation and justice.

We might have expected Moshe Rabbeinu, Moses our teacher, to be a key figure in the story of the Exodus that we tell at the seder. Instead, Moses doesn’t say anything at all. On the single most educationally focused night of the year, our master teacher asks us to sub in. Perhaps Moses’ absence is itself a lesson in the role that teachers are meant to take in the educational empowerment of the classroom experience. Ideally, students acquire knowledge and then become themselves the teachers of others who need schooling.

An education is valuable to the extent that the knowledge we have learned actually informs the choices we make. It is wasteful to have the correct answer to a question, and not to use it. One of the many deleterious effects of the daily erasure of our democracy is that the truth about what is right continues to be buried and distorted while inappropriate actions and incompetence are elevated and rewarded. It feels as if the teacher is grading on a curve, only giving credit for the wrong answers!!!

The first night of Passover attempts to restore the world to its proper way of being. Known in Hebrew as Leil Seder, it is the time designated annually to focus on reordering the world, to envision and help us reach the ultimate potential for good. The word “seder” means order, and it acknowledges that we actually have everything we need to restore society - we just have to do things properly.

Reviewing material is a necessary component to a successful studying practice, and so the Hagaddah takes us through the history of how we got here and what we are expected to do next. Achieving clarity of this type of fundamental material is a transformative experience that makes it harder to un-know right from wrong.

What we are witnessing in America now is not a forgetfulness of the basic civics education that most of us received, but the denial of that which we all acknowledge to be true actually being applied in the world outside of the classroom. We know voting is a patriotic duty, so why is there voter suppression? If this is a country governed by the rule of law, why are people being disappeared off of the streets by masked agents of the government? Is it that we have forgotten what we were taught or that some folks refuse to allow those teachings to be dominantly expressed and impactful?

Remembering the Exodus of Egypt isn’t just about not forgetting that we were enslaved. Rather we are meant to be always aware of what happens in a society when people are discriminated against and dehumanized. By examining the current broken status of our world, we are able to create a lesson plan to fix it, revealing what is concealed and bringing it to the surface to be studied as an applied wisdom.

The Tractate of Ethics begins with a record of how we came to know what is expected of us: “Moses received the Torah at Sinai and transmitted it…” That Mishnah concludes with a charge to future generations to perpetuate the transmission that includes “וְהַעֲמִידוּ תַלְמִידִים הַרְבֵּה - to raise up a lot of students.” This instruction can also be understood to mean that we should raise up our students a lot to entrust them with the obligation of protecting our societal obligations to help each other.

There are no extra people in the world, and so everyone has an essential role to play, both as student and teacher. Consequently, as we imagine what the ideal vision of humanity can be on Passover this year, we must remind ourselves that truth is not ours to negotiate with and the moral imperative to actualize it is not something we are ethically permitted to compromise. By standing up and reclaiming our values, we bring all of our teachers to the table through living what we have learned. What is at stake is too important. On the seder night, mediocrity is not on the syllabus.

What Purim Teaches Us About Surviving — and Even Thriving — Under Authoritarianism

Purim is not only a celebration of Jewish survival. It is a political handbook.

The Book of Esther reads less like ancient folklore and more like a case study in how to endure — and outmaneuver — authoritarian power. It is a story about fear, propaganda, strongman politics, and the dangerous illusion that silence will keep us safe.

When Mordechai urges Queen Esther to confront the king, she hesitates. She understands the threat. She sees the injustice. But she is afraid. Speaking out could cost her status, safety — even her life. Silence feels safer. Familiar. Rational.

Mordechai’s reply cuts through the comfort of quiet compliance:

“If you keep silent in this crisis, relief and deliverance will come from another place — but you and your father’s house will perish. And who knows? Perhaps you have attained this royal position for just such a crisis.”

His message is bracing: Privilege is not protection. In an unjust system, no one is truly insulated. The question is not whether history will move. It is whether we will move it.

Haman, the regime’s xenophobe-in-chief, persuades King Ahasuerus to legalize genocide with a bribe and a narrative. He describes the Jews as “a certain people, scattered and dispersed.” Outsiders. A threat to stability. Different. Dangerous.

The decree is chillingly bureaucratic: destroy, massacre, exterminate — men, women, children — and plunder their property. Authoritarianism rarely begins with chaos; it begins with paperwork.

But Haman misreads what he sees. “Am echad” — he calls them one people, intending it as an accusation. Yet the phrase carries another meaning: a unified people. What he labels as vulnerability becomes a protective strength. What he frames as difference becomes a solidarity of holiness.

Esther’s answer to the decree is not despair. It is organization: “Go, gather everyone together.”

Autocracy depends on fragmentation. Resistance begins with connection and grows by reinforcing them.

King Ahasuerus, meanwhile, embodies the fragility of the infallible strongman. When he regrets his decision, he refuses to revoke it. An edict sealed with the king’s signet ring, he insists, cannot be undone. Rather than admit error, he issues a second decree allowing Jews to defend themselves.

The result? Preventable bloodshed. Seventy-five thousand dead. Pride proves deadlier than policy.

Purim does not romanticize power. It exposes its absurdity — the gaudy displays of wealth, the drunken banquets, the performative masculinity. It reminds us that authoritarian pageantry is designed to inspire obedience and nationalist fervor, not moral clarity.

And then it does something radical.

It commands joy.

We are instructed to celebrate, to send gifts to one another, and to give to the poor. These are not sentimental rituals. They are social strategies. Joy builds resilience. Generosity builds trust. Mutual aid builds networks that outlast regimes.

Where authoritarianism thrives on isolation and fear, Purim insists on community and courage.

The story’s lesson is neither naïve nor partisan. It is enduring: Silence does not save us. Unity does. Power rooted in cruelty collapses. Power rooted in collective responsibility endures.

Esther stepped forward not because she was fearless, but because she understood that fear could not be her master.

Perhaps that is the deepest teaching of Purim: We are alive in this moment for a reason. History has placed us here. The question is whether we will gather, speak, give, love — and choose joy — together.

Rabbi Sharon Kleinbaum is the Senior Rabbi Emerita of CBST and Director of The Beacon

Rabbi Mike Moskowitz is the Director of Multi-faith Scholarship at The Beacon

Learning how to appropriately use words in expressing one’s feelings makes it much easier to be in healthy relationships, and it takes a lot of practice. Our emotions are expansive and our own, while the words we choose to use in relating them to others are limiting, and rely on another person to hear what we are trying to say. While this is true of all interpersonal dynamics, the Mishnah chooses to introduce the chapter dealing with hiring skilled laborers with this sensitivity training, and the establishment of a category of Jewish Law called “grievances.”

The commentaries understand the disputed claim, not as a legal demand for monetary compensation, but as the spiritual entitlement to express how the actions of one employee have affected another in the workplace. Maimonides writes “When one person wrongs another, the latter should not remain silent and hold negative thoughts…they are commanded to make the matter known and ask: ‘Why did you do this to me?,’ ‘Why did you wrong me regarding that matter?’.”

Structurally, the order of the Mishnah seems counterintuitive. Wouldn’t it make more sense to first list the legal rights that are actually enforceable in courts, and then to supplement those that fall outside of their jurisdiction by encouraging people to demonstrate good will and try and work things out themselves?

To better appreciate the Mishnah’s framing, it is essential to understand the narrow parameters of specific scriptural obligations. In Deuteronomy 6:17, Moses reminds the Israelites to “Be sure to keep the commandments, decrees, and laws” and then continues in the following verse to instruct them to “Do what is right and good in the eyes of God.” as if there is somehow space between following the commandments and doing what is right.

Nachmanides explains that “it is impossible for the Bible to mention all aspects of human conduct with neighbors and friends, every type of various transactions, and the ordinances of all societies and countries…therefore the verse reverted to state in a general way, that in all matters, one should do what is good and right, including even compromise, and going beyond the requirements of the law.”

Perhaps the Mishnah intends to frame the specific practical applications of worker’s rights with a broader world view to help inform the way we approach ethical labor practices. In addition to reinforcing Judaism’s belief that one can not morally defend inappropriate actions by claiming that they were lawful, and therefore just, the chapter begins with the charge to advance the quality of the worker’s experience by advocating for better, more equitable ways of being by naming what is wrong.

It can be difficult for a worker to speak up and name a grievance if they are not confident of a fair process. In the time of the Mishnah, the rabbinical courts were enjoined to defend the rights of workers. Today, many workers rely on the power provided by unions and collective bargaining to ensure a fair hearing for their grievances.

The Hebrew for “Right and Good” is “הַיָּשָׁ֥ר וְהַטּ֖וֹב - Hayashar V’Hatov.” Rashi explains that the “good” is referring to behavior that is deemed appropriate in the eyes of God, while the “right” are those actions judged favorably in the eyes of people. We find a parallel distinction made in the daily evening prayers: “Truth and faith, these are permanently established with us.”

In Hebrew, the phrases “Right and good” and “Truth and faith” share the same numerical value. “Truth,” in this context, is viewed as the human responsibility to be honest and fair in our personal interactions, while “faith” is what we place in our relationship to God. These two categories are inextricably related to each other. The more we have faith in God’s expectation for a just world, the more empowered we are to pursue truth - even if it means having difficult conversations.

Three days after the splitting of the sea, the Israelites took issue with Moses about the lack of drinking water in the desert and then God provided access. Shortly thereafter, they raised their concerns in regard to food insecurities. The verse relates God’s response as “I have heard the complaints of the Israelites” and that night dinner fell from the sky.

Faith based cultures create atmospheres of cooperation and communal commitments to providing for the needs of society in ways that support sustainable, dignified living. Believing that God will take care of us, and everything will be ok, doesn’t absolve us from speaking up to advocate for what we think is right, it obligates us to do so.

Fighting for justice is not meant to be a supernatural event. As the Egyptians retrench themselves in iniquity and race forward to recapture their Israelite slaves, God sweeps them into the raging waters of the sea. Yalkut Shimoni on B’shalach 225 explains, “וַיָּ֨שׁב הַיָּ֜ם לִפְנ֥וֹת בֹּ֙קֶר֙ לְאֵ֣יתָנ֔וֹ – the sea returned to its original condition.” The Hebrew word “תנאי” means a contingent condition. The midrash explains:

א”ר יונתן התנה הקדוש ברוך הוא תנאים עם הים שיהא נקרע לפני ישראל הדא הוא דכתיב וישב הים לפנות בקר לאיתנו [י”ד, כ”ז] לתנאו שהתנה הקדוש ברוך הוא עמו

Rabbi Yonatan said, the Holy Blessed One made a condition [at creation] with the sea, that it would split for Israel, as the verse says, וַיָּ֨שׁב הַיָּ֜ם לִפְנ֥וֹת בֹּ֙קֶר֙ לְאֵ֣יתָנ֔וֹ – the sea returned to the condition that God had stipulated.

This midrash is curious. Why does God make a condition with the sea? God is all powerful and could simply demand that the sea obey. The midrash asserts that God wants the salvation of Israel at the sea to be part of the natural order, not a sudden divine intervention.

As soon as Israel walks through on the dry land, they become truly free and the Egyptians lose their power over them. The sea naturally then returns to its original strength. God programs this sequence of events into the laws of nature. Freedom will always lead to the disempowering of oppressors.

Rashi on Exodus 14:27 explains:

כאדם שמנער את הקדרה, הופך העליון למטה והתחתונים למעלה, כך היו עולים ויורדים ונשברים בים

Like a person stirring a pot, moving the top to the bottom and the bottom to the top, so were the Egyptians rising, falling, and breaking in the sea.

This image is a potent symbol of social justice today. Raising the oppressed frequently involves lowering the oppressors. Fixing society requires shattering norms that reify injustice. We always read this story, of the final showdown with the Egyptians, close to the holiday of Tu B’shvat.

Tu B’Shvat is described as Chag Hailanot, the Festival of the Trees. However, the word “אילנות” doesn’t appear anywhere in the Torah, Prophets, or Writings. Although the Torah speaks a lot about trees, the word generally used is “עץ.” The Rabbis observe that the constellation of letters in ”אילנות” only appears in one place in the Bible - in the aforementioned verse, Exodus 14:27. Once the sea splits and the Israelites are on dry land, the verse continues: וַיָּ֨שׁב הַיָּ֜ם לִפְנ֥וֹת בֹּ֙קֶר֙ לְאֵ֣יתָנ֔וֹ – the sea returned to its normal state/power. For the trees as well, this is a time of coming back to themselves. According to Rashi, this is the day where the sap of a tree starts to rise up inside of itself.

This corrective resurgence is emblematic of the month of Shevat, whose Mazel, or astrological sign, is the bucket (d’li). It must first be lowered down in order to be able to draw up the water from the well. Life is filled with downs and ups as part of the meaningful struggle to be a healer in a broken world. Finding the balance of productive effort, as opposed to the avodos perech/the work of enslavement in Egypt, is alluded to in the role of the Tzadik, a righteous person, represented in the letter “צ-Tzadi,” which corresponds to the month of Shevat, according to Sefer Yetzira.

The labor of the righteous is an investment for a better tomorrow, as Psalms 97:11 declares: “Light is sown for the Tzadik.” By contrast, the Egyptian taskmasters used work as the principle tool of oppression and dehumanization. Advancing the cause of goodness takes a lot of effort and an uncompromising commitment to not give up the fight. King Solomon writes in Proverbs 24:16: “The righteous person falls seven times and [still] gets up.”

Bereishit Rabbah 66:4 teaches that the wicked are initially at peace and later experience suffering. This may be because if one is in a place of privilege, without the need to struggle for oneself, not being proactive on behalf of others is sinful! The righteous, on the other hand, grapple at first, and then are able to achieve and enjoy a better state of being. It is perhaps for this reason that Tu B’shvat is the only one of the four New Years that is observed halfway through the month, and not at the beginning, modeling the work that first needs to be done in order to be worthy of celebration.

According to the Ari Z”l, the 12 Hebrew months of the year are reflected in the 12 possible permutations of the four letters of God’s name – י,ה,ו,ה. Each month has a corresponding verse that follows the same order of those four letters in that month’s organization. The verse for the month of Shevat is הָמֵ֣ר יְמִירֶ֔נּוּ וְהָֽיָה ה֧וּא (Leviticus 27:33), describing a sacrificial animal that has been improperly exchanged for another. The order of the letters in God’s name י-ה-ו-ה are at first presented out of order, with the “ה” and “י” switching positions. The final two letters, “ו” and “ה” are presented in the correct order of God’s name, alluding to the righting that happens in the middle of the month of Shevat.

Earlier, in Exodus 14:10, the Israelites looked up and saw the mighty Egyptian army, complete with horses, chariots, and warriors, bearing down on them. They were trapped by the sea, with nowhere to run, and they were terrified. Their situation had never been more dire. As they explained to Moses, “it would have been better for us to be slaves in Egypt than to die here in the wilderness.” It was precisely at this dark moment, when they were too exhausted to visualize a path forward, that their ultimate salvation was achieved.

Tu B’shvat is a yearly celebration of this kind of moment. It always falls in the dead of winter, when the trees appear lifeless and vulnerable. Tu B’shvat reminds us that even when we feel like we have nothing left in us, the process of regeneration and redemption may already have begun. When we reinvest in the fight for justice and equality, the disruption of systemic oppression will be as natural as the changing of the seasons.

Pirkei Avos, the tractate of Mishna focusing on ethical teachings, posits that while the world stands on three things - Torah study, prayer, and kindness - there are three corresponding negative attributes that exclude a person from authentically experiencing the world: jealousy, desire, and distorted honor. In the mystical tradition, these are not simply character flaws but are dangerous portals that exclusively offer access to a false universe. This misguided pursuit of false status symbols is alluded to in the numerical value of these three Hebrew words equaling the word “sheker,” meaning lies.

Wanting something that belongs to someone else is the opposite of kindness. In being kind, we mobilize our resources to benefit another person, while in covetousness we not only keep what is ours but we also feel entitled to what others have.

In addition to creating dehumanizing interpersonal dynamics, where people are only seen as being valuable to the extent that they can be useful for selfish acquisitions, attitudes of envy are also theologically problematic. Tractate Yoma, 38b, prepares us for healthy coexistence with the principle that “No person may encroach upon what is prepared for another.” God invests in each of us a unique set of endowments; what we do with them is the ultimate expression of our free will.

Joseph, with his gift of dream interpretation, embodies a spiritual practice of meeting the moment to help others. As such, he doesn’t attribute his success to his own talents or expertise in oneirology, but rather to the spiritual values of trusting in God as the source of his blessings. His Hebrew name “Yoseph - יוסף “has a numerical value of 156, the same as the word for “jealousy - kina - קנאה, “acknowledging that one is the antidote for the other. His faith in a higher moral value is also the inspiration for his generosity of spirit. In Genesis 45:5 he reveals to his brothers “it was to save life that God sent me ahead of you.” Joseph perceives his sale into slavery as an opportunity to provide for everyone in Egypt and his extended family back home.

At the climactic reunion with all of his brothers, Joseph is convinced that they have truly repented. He sees that they are genuinely concerned for the wellbeing of Benjamin, and the potential impact of his absence on their father, and so he harnesses the reunion for healing and a restoration of their values. Counter-intuitively, Joseph recreates an opportunity for jealousy by giving Benjamin extra gifts, but he does so to offer them a chance to show they have grown and won’t make the same mistakes of bitterness and hostility. “To each of them, he gave a change of clothing; but to Benjamin he gave three hundred pieces of silver and several changes of clothing.”

Known by the rabbis of Talmud as “Joseph the Righteous,” his actions become so associated with the pursuit of justice that the Talmud refuses to entertain the possibility that he could possibly stumble by causing pain to another, in the same way that he had personally suffered. Unlike those who champion liberation only to vengefully repeat the oppression, as retribution against those previously in power, Joseph provides restitution to Benjamin for the wages owed to him for covering Joseph’s work shifts while he was in Egypt. Because Joseph is guided by his faith, and the moral obligation to be kind, the brothers respond by actualizing the potential of individual identity and purpose, thereby erasing resentment and malevolence.

We read about these Biblical narratives, in the weekly Torah portions around Chanukah, in part because this ethos is the foundational Torah that the Greeks outlawed and tried to make us forget. Antiochus - אנטיוכוס, the King of the Greeks - יון מלך, created a dominant culture full of externalities and objectifications, where a person’s worth was evaluated by their physicality and superficial beauty. Both Antiochus’ name and title, as King of the Greeks, each have a numerical value of 156 – the same as Joseph and jealousy. This manifests as an embodiment of this perversely unjust world view, applied to the Jews to forbid them from fulfilling the Divine Will.

By contrast to the Greek’s transactional appraisal, we reinforce our commitment to protecting and respecting the unconditional value of human life, described in Proverbs 20:27 as God’s candle, by preserving the sanctity of each person through love and acceptance. Immediately after lighting the Menorah, we verbally attest that “the flames are holy and we are not permitted to use them, but only to observe them.” Chanukah reminds us that without a deep commitment to the wisdom of our traditions, we risk losing our connection to the miraculous by pursuing the materialism of others.

Understanding why Laban is considered devastatingly diabolical needs an explanation. He is the grandfather of the Children of Israel and having a sinister business structure is hardly comparable to committing infanticide! Concealed in this ostensibly awkward attribution of wickedness is the deep wisdom necessary to achieve universal liberation. And, surprisingly, it is revealed through an unlikely focus on workers’ rights.

One of the Torah’s guiding principles of ethical labor practices is the belief that all people must be free to serve the Master of the Universe. Free will and free actions are necessary for spiritual service to be meaningful. The verse, Leviticus 25:55, in which God declares “they are My servants, whom I freed from the land of Egypt—I, your God” is used by the Talmud to justify an employee’s right to quit their job. No one can be forced to work for another because we all answer to the Ultimate Boss who cares about our ability to make choices. So, when Laban chases after Jacob who wants to stop working for Laban and leaves without giving notice, God intervenes.

When Laban catches up to him, he tells Jacob (Genesis 31:29-42) “I have it in my power to do you harm; but the God of your father’s [house] said to me last night, ‘Beware of attempting anything with Jacob…” Jacob responds by claiming that Laban had changed the terms of his wages a hundred times and “Had not the God of my father’s [house]—the God of Abraham and the Fear of Isaac—been with me, you would have sent me away empty-handed.”

It is Jacob’s connection to his inherited understanding of Divine expectations to live an honest and just life that both empowers and protects him from Laban’s perceived entitlement of violence. Jacob doesn’t fall for the tricks because he knows who he is, as the Prophet Micha describes, an embodiment of truth.

Throughout history, for the con men turned autocrats, the scam de jour dictates what is true and what is fake - informing and advancing tomorrow’s grift. In addition to the obvious horrors of oppression, cultures of cruelty also uproot the history of our humanity and with it, our attachment to the Source of our values.

Faced with the current threat to our democracy, we should worry less about the tactics of how to combat authoritarianism, and worry more about who we are and what we stand for. If we don’t know what our values are, and where they are sourced, how can we know whether or not we are properly advancing them in this moment that needs them the most?

Proverbs 3:11 teaches “מוּסַ֣ר הֹ’ בְּנִ֣י אַל תִּמְאָ֑ס - Do not despise the rebuke of God, my child…” Homiletically, this charge can also be understood to mean that the greatest rebuke from God is to really internalize and believe that you are a child of God, and as a result, someone who refuses to do despicable things! The more precise our alignment to goodness is, the more intolerant we are to everything in opposition to it.

Laban’s shady shifting was ultimately no match for Jacob’s firm grounding in his ethical identity. What we are witnessing today is no different. Each day offers a competition of chaos designed to sever our connection to norms, decency, and any form of accountability. The smoke and mirrors are intended to distract us from what are objectively un-American and sacrilegious policies of hateful lies. Only the clarity and affirmation of our moral values can combat the distortions that give cover to tyrants and guide us to restoring our democracy.

One of the most frequently asked questions about Chanukah is “How is חנוכה spelled in English?” Does it begin with a “c” or an “h”? How many “n’s” in the middle? And what’s with the “h” at the end?

While it’s true that exploring these stylistic choices won’t help us access the deep mystical light of creation, which tradition says is hidden in the flames of the Chanukah candles, it does return our focus to the more basic theme of the holiday: education.

Hebrew presents particular challenges to spelling something “correctly.” Unlike in English, where the names of all of the letters have accepted dictionary spellings, in Hebrew only some have fixed spellings. “Hey,” for example, has multiple acceptable spellings which don’t affect the pronunciation: ה”א ,ה”ה, and ה”י. In this context, we can read the word “Chanukah,” as rooted in the word “חינוך” meaning educational instruction. If we do that, it can be parsed to read “חנוכ-ה,” the lessons from the letter “ה - hey.”

“Lessons from [the letter] hey” is not what the word “Chanukah” normally means. The simple definition of the word is “dedication” in “the sense of formally assigning a site or object to a purpose.” The holiday gets its name, in part, from the rededication of the Second Temple which was made possible by the miracle of one day’s oil lasting for eight days. The rituals of the festival direct us to rededicate ourselves to the fundamental truths that we were meant to learn early on in our schooling. But this return to foundations also brings us back to the letter “ה,” which can help shape our own rededication.

Chanukah, at its essence, is a celebration of the power of faith over oppression to preserve our identities without fear. These hidden strengths are contained in the variations of the letter “ה.”

When Joseph wants to prepare the Egyptians for the impending famine (Genesis 47:23), he tells them “הֵֽא לָכֶ֣ם זֶ֔רַע - here is seed for you to sow the land.” In this verse the “הֵֽא - hey - aleph” represents an attitude of kindness and care. Moving on to the next rendering, our Rabbis teach that the two heys together “הה” are sourced in the sounds of our breath and speak to the lowest threshold of being alive, while the “ה-י,” which can form one of God’s names, acknowledges the highest potential of a human’s spiritual capabilities. The building blocks for human development are the recognition that all life has immeasurable value, kindness is essential for coexistence, and we must strive to live our best lives.

Additionally, the letter “hey” is the fifth letter in the Hebrew Alphabet and corresponds to the five basic senses; sight, hearing, smell, taste, and touch. A rededication of ourselves is a renewed commitment to use all of our physical resources for their intended purpose - to bring more light into the world, not just for ourselves, but for all of humanity (על פתח ביתו מבחוץ).

The religious obligation to light the Chanukah candles each night can be fulfilled by just one person from each household lighting a single candle, however the Talmud tells us that we can enhance the experience by having each person light their own menorah, a candelabra, with the number of candles reflecting the number for each night of Chanukah. This upgraded procedure is called Mehadrin Min HaMehadrin - מְהַדְּרִין מִן הַמְהַדְּרִין, and refers to the beautification of the action. The root of the word is “hadar - הַדְּר” which also means “a return” and can be understood as a restoration of the original, unadulterated, intention to do the right thing, for the right reason.

On a deeper level, the word “hadar - “hadar - הַדְּר”” can also be interpreted as “הַ-דְּר - dwelling with the letter hey.” Our annual encounter with this unique texture of time invites us to extend our temporary sojourning in the illuminating clarity of freshly reviewed material, to a permanent return to the ideal way of being. Perhaps holiness isn’t hidden in the esoteric, but rather has been concealed under the lies and hate that we are taught from systems of oppression and greed.

Chanukah is so appreciated by children, not just for the parties and gifts, but because it speaks to their purity that hasn’t yet been corrupted. We must believe in our ability to preserve and strengthen that truth centric approach by raising young people today to believe in their ability to advance the cause of goodness and overcome the forces that want to erase us now, as then.

As we are taught, a little bit of light dispels a lot of darkness because the light is real.

Transgender Day of Remembrance is observed annually, on November 20, to honor the lives that have been lost to anti-transgender violence; may their memories be for a blessing. It is a day that is designated for internalizing our collective responsibility to protect the vulnerable and marginalized. If society better understood the trans experience as the holy gift that it is, then next year we would be celebrating the blessings of their lives being lived, not the memories of their lives lost.

The Hebrew word for blessing, ברך - baruch, evokes the idea of increasing our attachment to another. The three letters that form the word, have the numerical values of two, twenty, and two hundred; when we support each other, blessings multiply.

Although being transgender is a blessing, for many the experience is overwhelmingly hard. The struggle to live authentically while one’s identity is being questioned, debated, and legislated is not easy. Living under the constant existential threat of being erased is nothing to be grateful for; yet this is not an unfamiliar story, or struggle, for the Jewish people.

In this week’s parsha,Toldot, we read about how Jacob had to run away from home, fleeing his brother Esav. Esav wanted to kill Jacob because of Jacob’s identity as the first born. And still, Toldot is known as the Torah portion of blessings. Each aliya has blessings in it, with the word for “blessing” mentioned more here than anywhere else in the Torah.

The climactic blessing that Isaac gives to Jacob begins the sixth aliya. Tradition teaches that the number six is always associated with blessing. This week’s Torah portion is the sixth in the Book of Genesis, and the sixth aliya begins with the sixth letter in the Hebrew alphabet, the “vuv - ו”.

וְיִֽתֶּן־לְךָ֙ הָאֱלֹהִ֔ים מִטַּל֙ הַשָּׁמַ֔יִם וּמִשְׁמַנֵּ֖י הָאָ֑רֶץ וְרֹ֥ב דָּגָ֖ן וְתִירֹֽשׁ׃”

And may God give you the dew of the heavens and the excess of the earth, and abundant grain and wine.”

The Midrash explains that this blessing begins with the conjunction “and” to teach us that blessings are continuous and ongoing: “May God give, and give again.” We acknowledge this, as King David wrote “בָּ֤ר֣וּךְ ה’ י֤וֹם י֥וֹם - Blessed is Hashem, every day.”

This letter “vuv” is known as the “vuv hachibur”, literally “the vuv that connects,” and is often understood in rabbinic literature as “וא״ו מוסיף והולך - the vuv adds and continues.” The presence, or absence, of this letter speaks to a sense of growth and an awareness of the work that is still required to achieve completeness.

Jacob, when spelled with the “vuv”, - “יעקוב” has a numerical value of 188, half of the value of the word “shalom,” whose numerical equivalent is 376. Rabbi Meir Yechiel HaLevi, the Ostrovtser Rebbe, explains that this reflects Jacob’s belief that he was only complete when he was helping another. His brother Esav’s name, by contrast, has a numerical value of 376 by itself, demonstrating that his sense of fullness came only from separation and isolating himself from others.

Communities and allies can offer comfort, safety, and support to those feeling alone or invisible. As we remember those that this world has failed to protect, we must create more awareness of what is necessary to ensure it doesn’t happen again.

We must apply those beliefs to the moment by moment struggles of trans folks, particularly trans youth. The very name of the Parsha reminds us of the charge to be adaptive and precise in our application. “Toldot,” in addition to meaning “offspring,” also means an extension of a broader principle, as demonstrated in conversations about ethics, called avot - meaning both ancestors and broad categories. It is not enough to hold generic truths about the value of human life, but must implement the specific changes necessary to live those values.

When the Israelites were displaced in the desert and beginning their recovery from being enslaved, God delivered manna each morning that was surrounded by dew to protect it. This was a fulfillment of Isaac’s blessing “And may God give you the dew of the heavens.” It also models for us that it isn’t enough to provide, even in miraculous ways, sustainable access to basic needs and resources – they also must be protected.

This year will continue to present difficulties to the trans community and with it, ongoing opportunities to come together to elevate and alleviate the struggle. God tells Abraham “I will bless those who bless you and curse the one who curses you”. The word for “blessing - ברכה” has the same numerical value as the word “remember - זכר.” When we recall those who are no longer here, and are inspired because of them to make this world a better place, then their memories become a continued source of blessing for all of us.

The Biblical obligation to pay laborers on time isn’t just a mitzvah, and the ethical thing to do, it is also a matter of life and death.

In Deuteronomy 24:15 the verse instructs us:

בְּיוֹמוֹ֩ תִתֵּ֨ן שְׂכָר֜וֹ וְֽלֹא־תָב֧וֹא עָלָ֣יו הַשֶּׁ֗מֶשׁ כִּ֤י עָנִי֙ ה֔וּא וְאֵלָ֕יו ה֥וּא נֹשֵׂ֖א אֶת־נַפְשׁ֑וֹ וְלֹֽא־יִקְרָ֤א עָלֶ֙יךָ֙ אֶל־הֹ’ וְהָיָ֥ה בְךָ֖” חֵֽטְא׃”

You shall pay their hire on its day; the sun shall not set upon them, for they are poor, and risk their life for it; let them not call out against you to God, and there be a sin with you.”

A simple understanding of “risk their life for it” is that the workers are putting themselves on the line by the hazards of their work, as Rashi suggests. Alternatively, as Rabbi Abraham Saba (d. 1508) wrote, the verse is referring to an employer who might very well be risking the life of the employee by not giving them the financial means, at the end of the day, to feed themselves and their family.1

In the mystical tradition, the Zohar2 explains that it is not the employee, but rather the employers who are risking their own lives by not fulfilling their obligation to pay on time. According to this reading, the setting of the sun isn’t just the acceptable window to pay workers, but also a threatening reference to how a negligent employer’s “days” will be cut short for not paying their workers on time. There’s a particular poetic justice in this tit-for-tat reading: the employer bears the danger of divine retribution if they do not pay workers who are putting their own lives at risk.3

The opposite is also true. Not only do the Rabbis warn that worker exploitation can result in an untimely death, employer compassion is also rewarded with more life. We find the Zohar asserting “that if one restores the soul of a poor person, even if the [employer’s] time has arrived to depart from this world, God restores their soul and gives them a further lease of life.”4 God treats us the way we treat our workers.

Rabbi Chaim Vital (d. 1620) writes about his teacher, the Arizal,5 that he wouldn’t engage in afternoon prayers until he had paid all of his workers, even if it meant borrowing money to cover the payroll. The practice of taking care of the wellbeing of others before praying is aligned with the teaching that God doesn’t listen to the prayers of those who don’t pay their workers on time. Indeed, we are taught that God is always most attuned to the prayers of the poor, so much so that all other prayers are pulled along by the supplications of those in need.6 The rabbis describe this as “all of the prayers that God accepts are clothed in the supplications of the poor.7

How we treat those in our professional care reverberates far beyond the workplace. The use of the phrase “לֹא תָב֧וֹא - without [sunset] coming” alludes to the cosmic implications for any breach of our employment responsibilities. This is hinted to in the limited linguistic use of the phrase “לֹא תָב֧וֹא - without [sunset] coming.” Those two Hebrew words are only found together in two other places in the entire Bible and all three verses are understood to be in conversation with each other.8

In a prophecy about punishment, Ezekiel 24:16 uses the phrase for “tears”: “ולא תבא דמעתך - don’t have your tears come.” And, in the context of false piety, Jeremiah 5:12 indicates the arrogance of those who say “וְלֹֽא־תָב֤וֹא עָלֵ֙ינוּ֙ רָעָ֔ה - and nothing bad will come to us.”

Talmud Berachot 32b frames this triad through the belief that “the gates of tears are not closed.”9 If a person isn’t punctilious in paying on time, thinking nothing of the stress they are causing to those impacted, their act is seen as so egregious in heaven that it even forces the gates of tears closed.

When the Bible prohibits us from doing something, like not paying workers in a timely manner, that transgression is then, by definition, a “sin” even without the word “sin” being used explicitly. Why then does the verse choose to end with a warning that if we don’t pay on time we will be sinning; just tell us that we must pay on time and then we will know that if we don’t pay on time we will have sinned?!

Rabbi Meir Simcha of Dvinsk (d. 1926) writes that employers paying a day laborer, at the end of their shift, is more meritorious than acts of charity because they have made a choice to provide an employment opportunity to someone in need. However, recognition of that merit only comes if workers are paid on time. If not, the employers themselves have elected to reject the potential mitzvah and exchange it for an actual “sin!”10

The ultimate investment in helping ourselves is by focusing our efforts and resources in helping others. Uplifting the dignity of labor elevates all of us, and humbly aspirers to puts us on the side of God.

God’s identity is intimately bound with our quest for being kind. When Moses asks God how God wants to be introduced to the Israelites, God responds with “I Shall Be What I Shall Be.” The medieval commentator, Nachmanides, understands this cryptic answer to mean: “As you are with Me, so I am with you.” That is, when we open our hand to assist others, God also opens God’s hand. God’s nature is not independent of our actions towards each other but reflects our way of being.

We can’t clock in and out of this expansive, continuous kindness. Our intentions to help others must continue in our workplaces as much as in our homes, on the road, and in our houses of worship. Employers are also expected to be a source of blessing. To this end, the Rabbis of the Talmud explore a worker’s rights case that involves a manager who hired day laborers to work at a lower rate than the owner had requested. Even though the wages were within the fair market range and the workers had consented to the lower wage before they started working, the Rabbis conclude that the workers have a claim against the manager because they can say “Don’t you have respect for the verse (Proverbs 3:27) ‘Do not withhold good from one to whom it is due, when it is in the power of your hand to do it’?” In other words, part of the job is doing the work in a way that is good for all those involved. Being ethical isn’t just a theological argument, but a legally binding one as well.

We know that Noah escaped the flood in the ark, but we often forget that he merited being saved because of his desire to improve the working conditions of his generation. Genesis 5:29 states that Noah (literally “Relief”) gets his name because “This one will provide us relief from our work and from the toil of our hands.” Jewish tradition teaches that until Noah, people did not have agricultural instruments. So he constructed tools to help people in working the fields with much greater ease and efficiency. Noah’s technological breakthrough was to work from an internalized, heart-centered place, which consequently produced new tools to express his feelings of benevolence and care. God responded in kind by bringing him into the ark to protect him.

Historically, industrial advancements have often developed from military technology: nuclear power from the atomic bomb, canned food from rations, and even in Genesis 4:22 where Tubal-cain forged all implements of copper and iron as murder weapons before they found constructive uses in civil society as plows and shovels. To not repeat the violent cycles of the past we must approach new tools, like AI, with a focused purpose for communal benefit.

Often, we struggle with the space between our intentions and the actual impact of our actions. When it comes to being kind to others and feeling responsible to help all those who we can, it is our attitudes that determine how successful we will be in our pursuits of goodness. We are living in a time of both exceptional advancements in science and huge regressions in human decency. This vast separation can be explained by the greed and callousness that is motivating so much of these efforts.

These texts, from scripture and the rabbis, emphasize our agency: the potential and the obligation we have to help others. Our ultimate success is in our hands; it isn’t determined by how hard or smartly we work, but how much we invest in being able to bring goodness with us wherever we go. It’s not the skillful labor that we produce that has the most value, but the altruistic aspirations that inspire the craftsmanship of kindness.

Noah and the other people of his generation all had equal access to the cutting-edge resources of their time. What set Noah apart was his willingness to teach others how to best use this technology and this in turn is what caused him to find favor in the eyes of God.

Each one of us in this world is part of a universal obligation to continue and expand our mutual blessings. Faith teaches us that our ambitions to help humanity should inform all our interactions, especially utilizing the workplace as a public display and implementation of our values.

When Hillel famously asks “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?” he means that since no one else can be “me,” no one else can contribute in my unique ways. Crucially, he pairs it with “and if I am only for myself - what am I - מָה אֲנִי?” According to Hillel, a person loses their own human identity (as created in the Divine Image) when failing to help others, and, indeed becomes an object (a “what” not a “who”) when they give into their own selfishness.

Hillel’s question can also be understood as a rhetorical one: “What is going to happen to my own identity, my אֲנִי - I, which is created in the image of the Divine “אֲנִי - I?” This use of אֲנִי - I refers to the start of the Ten Commandments, where God identifies God’s self as “I am Hashem your God, who took you out of the land of Egypt.” If אֲנִי - I, do not act as God does, in assisting other people, what have I become?!!!

Love can be understood as “what is important to you becomes important to me.” Being conscious of the needs and wants of another is a prerequisite for all meaningful relationships. The Talmud notes that newlywed husbands would be asked ““matza or motzeh?” as a way of inquiring into the state of the marriage. The extreme scriptural shorthand takes matza to refer to a good relationship, as Proverbs teaches “One who finds a wife, finds [matza] good.” On the other hand, motzeh refers to a bad relationship, as Ecclesiastes posits “And I find [motzeh] the woman more bitter than death.” Highlighting the options of “matza” or “motzeh,” is an invitation to share how the relationship is treating him and, more importantly, to reflect on how he is treating the relationship.

It is noteworthy, too, that the language of the Talmud isn’t the standard “we ask him,” but rather “אָמְרִי לֵיהּ הָכִי - we say to him” - “matza” or “motzeh.” It’s seemingly axiomatic that when a person enters into a marriage, they should wonder not what their partner can do for them, but rather what they can do for their partner. For those who focus on what the other can do for them, the relationship will never be enough and it certainly won’t end well. This is perhaps the marriage advice being offered, if it’s about you - וּמוֹצֶ֨א אֲנִ֜י - putting your “I” at the center - it will always be bitter.

Building a peaceful home, whether for a newlywed couple or the Holy Temple in Jerusalem, requires an altruistic posture of generosity and care. Rashi posits that acts of kindness are also acts of peace because they are ways of communicating to another that they are loved by you, which fosters healthy coexistence. The converse is also true, baseless hatred makes it impossible to really live together and is also why the Second Temple was destroyed.

This is the time of year when we mourn the destruction caused by our distortion of the Divine Image. Between the 17th of Tamuz (when the first set of tablets were broken) and the 9th of Av (the date when both Temples were destroyed) is commonly known as Bein haMetzarim, the Time of the Troubles. The Golden Calf — the reason the tablets were smashed – is a misrepresentation of God’s absolute reality as the One True Creator. The Israelites’ desire to to “make us a god who shall go before us” was a corruption of the natural order and a projection of an artificial god made in our image.

Similarly, the sin of the spies, who brought back an evil report about the Land of Israel, revealed their lack of confidence in their true identity as a partner with the Divine. They acknowledged “we looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them.” Not believing in the ability of the Divine Will to be successful distorts our own sense of power and agency.

Seeing ourselves as magnanimous extensions and emissaries of God’s essential nature as a giver, is empowering - and with it comes the responsibility to manifest that goodness in the world of action. If we truly understood the limitless love that God has for God’s creations, we would channel our mourning over the destruction of the Temples into the joyous restoration of humanity.

There is a long tradition of rabbis seeing the study of Torah as kindness-centric. Rabbi Simlai taught that the Torah begins and ends with acts of kindness.1 On a simple narrative level, this teaching refers to God making clothing for Adam and Eve at the start of Genesis and God burying Moses at the end of Deuteronomy. Practically, as an applied spiritual intention, being kind to each other is understood to be the entire purpose of the Torah.

The Torah’s wisdom teaches us that the only way to be truly pious (a chasid - חסד) is to be a master of kindness (a baal chesed חסד) in human relationships. It also supports our faith that in difficult times, our small acts of kindness make a big difference.

There is a popular custom to stay up all night on Shavuot and learn Torah until the morning. By learning Torah we learn to be more kind. As we study through the dark night, we declare that when things are not the way they should be and we feel like the world is simply too much, we don’t surrender to the fear by hiding until it passes, but we organize our collective powers of goodness and, through learning, increase the light until we create a new dawn. Kindness not only helps us to endure adversity, but helps end it.

The Midrash observes that The Book of Ruth, which we read during the day of Shavuot, isn’t legally didactic, but was rather written to teach us about the reward for kindness.2 Ironically, it was also intended to trace King David’s lineage back to his great-grandmother, Ruth, who comes from the tribe of Moav - a people that was so unkind3 to the Israelites when they left Egypt that Moabites are biblically prohibited from converting into Judaism!4

The opening line of the book tells of a famine in the land of Israel that motivates one of the wealthiest men of the generation to leave, so as not to be constantly bothered having to help others in need. His name is Elimelech and he chooses to settle in Moav because their dominant culture of selfishness comforts him, at least in the short term. He uproots his entire family just to escape the constant call to be kind and his death follows shortly afterwards. We are informed that when the famine has ended, Naomi - his widow, is going to return home after her two sons also pass away.5

The theme of engaging in kindness, in relationship with the Divine Presence, continues later in the story when Boaz tells Ruth to “stay the night and in the morning there will be a redeemer.”6 The rabbis understand this verse as an allegory for a long night of exile in which good deeds do not only cope with the darkness, but accelerate the dawn.7

King David instructs us in Psalm 92 that it is good “לְהַגִּ֣יד בַּבֹּ֣קֶר חַסְדֶּ֑ךָ וֶ֝אֱמ֥וּנָתְךָ֗ בַּלֵּילֽוֹת - to relate Your kindness in the morning and Your faith in the nights.” The word “לְהַגִּ֣יד - l’hagid,” like the word “הגדה - Haggadah,” is also a language of “continuation.” On the night of Passover we recall the miraculous acts of kindness that our ancestors experienced to transition the night into day, reinforcing our faith that acts of kindness generate the redemptive light of day.

Boaz, who was otherwise a generous man, famously served Ruth a meal comprising only “toasted kernels of grain.”8 He has good company in this example of inappropriately meager action. Yalkut Shimoni posits that had Reuven, Aharon, and Boaz known that scriptures would be recording their actions, they would have embellished them greatly: Reuven wouldn’t have simply planned to retrieve Joseph from the pit, but he would have carried him home on his shoulders. Aharon would have greeted his brother Moses, upon returning to Egypt, with a big brass band. And if Boaz knew that the Book of Ruth was going to preserve the menu of their encounter, he certainly would have served the best meat available and not just toasted kernels of grain.

One of the lessons of the Midrash is that we don’t always know which moments of our lives are going to turn out to be the most significant, and so it is best to approach each encounter as if it is critically important. Perhaps another teaching here is that these great individuals had an incomplete awareness of the potential of piety in the mundane actions of relationships. Once they saw that these exchanges were worthy of being preserved in the holy writings, then they would have approached these acts of kindness as spiritual practices that always invite our beautifying enhancements. We are taught “derech eretz kadma l’Torah - “proper conduct is necessary to learn Torah”, which implies that by treating one another properly, we become more worthy of the Torah.9

Just as a precondition for the Israelites prepared for the giving of the Torah at Mount Sinai, by unifying as one person with one heart, the generations preceding the building of the Temple also required the same refinements of connecting through kindness. Even after the Temples have been destroyed, the purifying power of being nice to each other exists and brings us closer to restoring a world that is free of baseless hatred.

Avos D’eRabbi Nosson highlights an additional function of kindness in our times with the following story: “Once, Yohanan ben Zakkai, left Jerusalem, and Rabbi Yehoshua followed after him. And he saw the Holy Temple destroyed. [Rabbi Yehoshua said: Woe to us, for this is destroyed –] the place where all of Israel’s sins are forgiven! [Rabbi Yohanan] said to him: My son, do not be distressed, for we have a form of atonement just like it. And what is it? Acts of kindness, as it says, “For I desire kindness, not a sacrificial offering.” For the rabbis, kindness reflects an aspect of the physical Temple transformed into action.

Shavuot is the only festival whose designated reading includes the commandment to engage in charitable acts, as it says “then you shall observe…offering your freewill contribution.”10 This emphasis, during the festival, reminds us that the Torah is a tool to bring goodness into the world, and to be a successful practitioner of it we must ourselves be dedicated agents of goodness towards each other.