Author: Eve Posen

God’s Home

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Where does God live? It’s a question I hear from time to time from our Foundation School students. We often talk about God being everywhere, which is an abstract concept to the very literal mind of a 3-year-old. If everything has a “home,” then God should too. 

In Parshat Terumah, God instructs the Israelites, “Let them make me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them.” (Exodus 25:8) This command begins the construction of the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary that traveled with the Israelites in the wilderness. More than just a physical structure, the Mishkan served as a sacred meeting place between God and the people. But what does it mean for God to “dwell” somewhere? Can we truly build a space for the divine?

Interestingly, the Mishkan shares a deep connection with another temporary sacred structure in Jewish tradition—the sukkah. Both the Mishkan and the sukkah are impermanent, yet they serve as places where holiness can be felt. In the blessing for dwelling in the sukkah, we say:

“Baruch atah . . . asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu leishev basukkah.”
(Blessed are you . . . who has sanctified us with commandments and commanded us to dwell in the sukkah.)

The word leishev—”to dwell” or “to sit”—is key. It implies more than just entering a space; it suggests presence, intention, and a sense of belonging. When we dwell in a sukkah, we engage with the space in a meaningful way, just as the Israelites did with the Mishkan.

The parallel between the Mishkan and the sukkah teaches us something powerful: holiness is not about permanence; it’s about intention. The Mishkan was temporary, yet it brought the people closer to God. A sukkah is fragile, yet it’s a space of divine protection. Similarly, in our own lives, we don’t need grand, lasting structures to create sacred moments—we need mindfulness, openness, and a willingness to invite God in.

Here’s the question Parshat Terumah asks us: How do we create sacred space in our own lives? It might be through setting aside time for prayer, making our homes places of kindness and learning, or building relationships infused with holiness. Just as the Mishkan and the sukkah remind us that God’s presence is not confined to a building, so too can we bring holiness into every space we inhabit.

May we approach our own sacred spaces with the same kavanah—the same intentionality—as when we say leishev basukkah, recognizing that wherever we invite God in, holiness can dwell.

Matter of Life and Health

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Some Torah portions explain historical lineage, linking generations of leaders for context. Some portions detail big, sweeping scenes of miracles and wonder. And some give us the framework for the laws and traditions that guide Jewish observance even today. Parshat Mishpatim falls into that third category.

Mishpatim is a cornerstone of Jewish law, a blueprint for justice, ethical behavior, and societal responsibility. Among its many laws, one passage stands out in contemporary discussions on reproductive rights: Exodus 21:22-25. This verse describes a situation in which a pregnant woman is injured during an altercation, resulting in the loss of the pregnancy. The Torah states that if no further harm follows, the one responsible must pay financial damages, but if harm does follow, then the principle of “an eye for an eye” applies.

This passage has been foundational in Jewish legal tradition, as it differentiates between the status of the fetus and the life of the pregnant person. While some perspectives grant fetal life an independent legal status from conception, the Torah’s distinction here implies that the well-being of the pregnant person takes precedence. This principle is echoed throughout Jewish law, which consistently prioritizes the health, safety, and autonomy of the person carrying the pregnancy. The Mishnah (Ohalot 7:6) reinforces this idea, stating that if a pregnancy endangers the mother’s life, intervention is not only permitted but required.

Jewish tradition calls upon us to uphold justice and compassion in all areas of life, and reproductive rights are no exception. The laws of Parshat Mishpatim remind us that justice is not abstract—it is about ensuring that the vulnerable are protected, that individual dignity is respected, and that ethical decisions are guided by wisdom and care. As much as we’ve advanced in almost every area of science and healthcare, somehow reproductive rights are still contested. Yet our ancient texts apply a nuanced approach, which acknowledges the complexities of pregnancy and prioritizes the life and health of the pregnant person.

In light of this, we offer a blessing, drawing upon our sacred tradition:

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha’olam, shenatan lanu Torat emet v’chayei olam nata b’tocheinu.
Blessed are you, Adonai, sovereign of the universe, who has given us a Torah of truth and planted within us eternal life.

This blessing, traditionally recited after Torah study, reminds us that our learning must lead to action. The Torah’s truth is not stagnant; it calls us to uphold justice in our communities. As we reflect on Parshat Mishpatim, may we be inspired to advocate for policies that support those making difficult decisions and ensure that justice, as our tradition envisions it, is upheld for all.

Thunder on the Mountain

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Parshat Yitro includes one of the most awe-inspiring moments in the Torah, the giving of the Ten Commandments at Mount Sinai. The experience is described with an overwhelming sense of grandeur: “And it came to pass on the third day in the morning, that there were thunder and lightning, and a thick cloud upon the mount, and the voice of the shofar exceedingly loud; so that all the people in the camp trembled” (Exodus 19:16). The moment of revelation wasn’t just intellectual or spiritual, it was visceral, shaking the people to their core.

This thunderous moment invites us to consider a lesser-known but powerful Jewish blessing: the bracha we say upon hearing thunder—Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu melech ha’olam shekocho ugevurato malei olam. “Blessed are you, Adonai, our God, sovereign of the universe, whose strength and might fill the world.”

Even though the rain we get here in Portland isn’t often accompanied by thunder, it’s still normal to think of thunder as nothing more than a natural phenomenon, a rumbling caused by lightning superheating the air. But in Jewish tradition, it’s understood as a reminder of God’s power, an echo of the divine voice that once thundered at Sinai. The blessing reminds us that moments of awe—whether from nature or from Torah—can shake us out of complacency and reawaken our awareness of the divine.

Rashi, commenting on the scene at Sinai, notes that the people “saw the thunder” (Exodus 20:15), an odd turn of phrase since thunder is heard, not seen. Clearly the experience at Sinai was beyond the realm of normal sensory perception; it was a full-body immersion in God’s presence. When we hear thunder today, we have a choice: we can dismiss it as an ordinary weather event, or we can let it be a moment of revelation, a reminder of a power greater than ourselves.

These days, moments as overwhelming as Sinai are few and far between, but the blessing on thunder invites us to cultivate awe even in the everyday. The sound of thunder can remind us of what the Israelites might have heard (or “seen”) when they received the Torah. It’s a call to reawaken our sense of purpose, just as the Israelites did when they stood at the foot of the mountain, trembling yet ready to accept their covenant with God.

Grand Spectacles and Small Miracles

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Imagine the scene—towering walls of water, dry land underfoot, and an entire nation walking through the sea as if it were a pedestrian footpath. It’s no wonder that this miraculous event is considered one of the foundational moments of Jewish history.

In this week’s parshah, Beshalach, we encounter one of the most awe-inspiring moments in the Torah: the splitting of the Red Sea (or Yam Suf in Hebrew, often translated as “Sea of Reeds”).

After crossing to safety and witnessing the Egyptians’ defeat, the Israelites burst into song, praising God for this incredible act. The Shirat HaYam, the Song of the Sea, is filled with imagery that celebrates God’s power over nature. It’s a Wow! moment if ever there was one.

These days, we don’t often see seas splitting or manna falling from heaven. But that doesn’t mean the wonders of creation are any less miraculous. In fact, Jewish tradition gives us a tool to recognize these everyday marvels: the blessing Oseh Ma’aseh Bereshit or “[Blessed is God] who makes the works of Creation.”

This blessing reminds us to pause and appreciate the beauty and wonder in the world around us. It’s typically recited when we see something extraordinary in nature, like a majestic mountain range, a stunning sunrise, or a rainbow after a storm.

But here’s the catch: What counts as “extraordinary”? If you think about it, the splitting of the sea wasn’t the only miracle in Beshalach. God provided manna, a food that appeared out of nowhere. The Israelites received fresh water from a rock. Even the way nature was manipulated to allow their survival in the wilderness was miraculous. Yet, the Torah teaches us that recognizing miracles isn’t just about seeing the extraordinary; it’s about noticing the divine in the ordinary.

Was the splitting of the sea just about the moving water? Or was it also about the Israelites having the courage to step into the unknown, trusting that the path would open before them? Perhaps the real miracle wasn’t just in God’s actions, but in the partnership between God’s actions and human faith.

When we recite Oseh Ma’aseh Bereshit, we’re invited to cultivate this same perspective. It’s not just for grand spectacles; it’s for the small miracles too. The chirping of a bird, the smell of rain, or even the crunch of snow underfoot—all these moments are invitations to marvel at the works of creation.

A Taste of Haste

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In Parshat Bo, we reach the dramatic climax of the Exodus story, as God brings the final plagues upon Egypt and commands the Israelites to prepare for their liberation. Among the mitzvot introduced in this parshah is the commandment to eat matzah during the festival of Passover: “And they shall eat the meat that night, roasted over the fire, with unleavened bread and bitter herbs” (Exodus 12:8). This simple food, matzah, carries profound significance, embodying themes of haste, freedom, and faith that define the Exodus experience.

When we recite the blessing “Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha’olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al achilat matzah” during the Passover Seder, we affirm not only our participation in this ancient mitzvah but also our connection to its deeper spiritual lessons.

Matzah is known as the “bread of affliction” (Deuteronomy 16:3), a reminder of the suffering endured by the Israelites in Egypt. Simultaneously, it’s the “bread of freedom,” eaten in haste as they departed slavery. This dual identity reflects the tension of transformation: leaving behind the familiar, even if it is painful, for the uncertainty of redemption requires courage and faith.

The haste with which the Israelites prepared their matzah mirrors the urgency of faith. They had no time to let the dough rise, yet they trusted that God’s promise of redemption would sustain them. This trust in God urges us to act with conviction even when the path ahead feels unclear.

It’s matzah’s simplicity that we contrast with rich leavened breads we might associate with luxury. By eating matzah, we strip away excess and remember that liberation is not about material abundance but about spiritual purpose. The blessing over matzah reminds us to sanctify moments of simplicity and embrace the things that truly matter. Through this simple Passover blessing, we connect not only with our Israelite ancestors, but with the generations of contemporary Jews who came before us who’ve said the same words, affirming that their story is our story—a story of courage, trust, and redemption.

As we read Parshat Bo, think about the “matzah” in your life. What are the moments that require us to act with both haste and faith? How can we find meaning in simplicity, even on the complicated journey toward freedom?