This is the d’var Torah I delivered at Congregation Neveh Shalom on Friday, June 5, 2026.
Next week marks 12 years since Duncan, a 9-month-old Shiri, and I visited Portland for the first time. I’m sure Carolyn Weinstein remembers having to put Shiri’s car seat in her car so she could drive us around and give us the lay of the land. In between looking for a house and checking out what would be our new community, we snuck away to visit the International Rose Test Garden. As an outside observer, they were magnificent. What I did not know was how much work they require. Roses need pruning. They need attention. They need care. Left entirely to themselves, they would still flower, but not nearly as beautifully and plentifully as they do in Washington Park.
One of the surprising things about roses is that the healthiest blooms often come after a gardener cuts them back. Growth requires a kind of humility. The rose cannot become what it is meant to be if it insists on holding onto every branch.
Parshat Be’haalotecha is filled with moments that challenge our assumptions about leadership, greatness, and humility. The Israelites continue their journey through the wilderness. The menorah is lit. The Levites are consecrated. The people complain about the manna and long for Egypt. Seventy elders are appointed to help Moses carry the burden of leadership. And at the end of the parshah, Miriam and Aaron speak critically of Moses, leading to one of the Torah’s most remarkable descriptions of his character.
The Torah tells us: “Now Moses was exceedingly humble, more than any person on the face of the earth” (Numbers 12:3).
What is striking is where this verse appears. It comes not after a great triumph, but in the middle of criticism. And Moses doesn’t defend himself. He doesn’t lash out. He doesn’t demand recognition. His humility is not weakness; it’s confidence rooted in purpose, rather than ego.
Like a rose, Moses does not need every branch of self-importance to remain intact. He understands that leadership is not about being admired. It’s about serving something larger than oneself.
Humility is often misunderstood. We think it means making ourselves small. Jewish tradition disagrees. True humility means knowing exactly who you are—your gifts, your strengths, your limitations, and placing them in service of others.
The rose does not humbly apologize for being beautiful. It simply blooms.
As we move through this week, may we embrace the humility of the rose and of Moses. And supposedly his toeses. I’m sure you didn’t expect me to get through a whole drash about Moses and roses without Singing in the Rain. Anyway, may we be willing to let go of what no longer serves us. May we focus less on proving ourselves and more on growing into the people we are called to become. And may we remember that the most beautiful blossoms often emerge from hearts rooted in quiet strength and humble purpose.
Rabbi Eve Posen 