Author: Eve Posen

The Blessing of Giving

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Have you ever had second thoughts about deciding whether to lend a hand, give a donation, or volunteer your time? Not because you didn’t want to help, but because the moment required something more: intention, choice, and sometimes even discomfort. Parshat Re’eh meets us in precisely that space—the moment of decision—and asks us not just to see the world, but to respond to it.

Parshat Re’eh opens with a powerful proposition: “See, I set before you today a blessing and a curse.” (Deut. 11:26) What follows is a wide-ranging vision for the society the Israelites are meant to build in the Promised Land. It includes laws about worship, kashrut, festivals, and, centrally, economic justice. The Torah demands that we open our hands and our hearts: “If there is a needy person among you … do not harden your heart or shut your hand … but you shall surely open your hand.” (Deut. 15:7–8)

This call to generosity is more than social advice; it’s a mitzvah. And with mitzvot, we offer blessings not only over food or prayer, but also over acts of justice. Before giving tzedakah, many say:

“Baruch atah Adonai Eloheinu, melech ha’olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al ha’tzedakah.”

Blessed are you … who sanctified us with commandments and commanded us regarding tzedakah.

This blessing reminds us that giving isn’t optional. It’s not just charity, it’s a sacred act that brings holiness into the world. The Torah doesn’t say we should give when it’s convenient, or when we feel emotionally moved. It says, “You shall surely open your hand.” The double verb in Hebrew “patoach tiftach” emphasizes urgency and wholeheartedness.

Re’eh means “see.” See the needs of others, see the blessings in your own life, and then act. Sometimes it’s a little too easy to turn away, but Parshat Re’eh calls us to live with open eyes and open hands. This week, may we not only see the path of blessing, but choose to walk it generously, justly, and with hearts wide open.

A Blessing for the Land

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What is it about that first bite of a ripe fig or the crunch of fresh pomegranate seeds that satisfies more than just physical hunger? Food isn’t just fuel—it can be a memory, a story, even a portal to gratitude. Our tradition’s blessings over food can feel routine, but Parshat Eikev invites us to pause and reconnect with those deeper emotional ties.

Parshat Eikev continues Moses’s farewell address, reminding the Israelites of the rewards for faithfulness and the dangers of forgetfulness. He recounts their journey through the wilderness, the provision of manna, and how character is shaped through adversity. Moses warns the people not to take prosperity for granted once they settle in the Promised Land, urging them to remember that it’s God who provides sustenance and success.

In Deuteronomy 8:7–8, we read a vivid description of the land the Israelites are about to enter:

“For the Lord your God is bringing you into a good land … a land of wheat and barley, vines, figs, and pomegranates, a land of olive oil and honey.”

These seven species—shiv’at haminim—are not only agricultural staples; they symbolize abundance, rootedness, and the sacred relationship between people and land. From this passage comes the obligation to bless God before enjoying these fruits, with specific blessings such as “Baruch atah Adonai … borei pri ha’eitz” for tree-grown fruits, and “… borei minei mezonot” for grains.

These blessings are small daily acts that acknowledge a deeper truth: the food we eat isn’t just from the earth, it’s a gift from God. The Torah’s message urges us, even in times of abundance, to remember who makes it possible.

Parshat Eikev challenges us to infuse mindfulness into our most mundane routines. A blessing over fruit can become a moment of spiritual grounding. As we savor the sweetness of what the land offers, whether from Israel or our own backyard, we’re called to bring awareness, gratitude, and humility into our lives.

This week, let’s not rush through our meals or blessings. Let’s taste with intention, bless with sincerity, and remember that every bite connects us to the land, to our people, and to God.

With Feeling

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As I like to joke, Cantor Rabbi Bitton’s job is certainly safe with me around. But while I’m not known for my vocal skills, I’m comfortable in the music and melodies of our liturgy. If I had to pick one prayer that always feels easy and natural, it would be the Kiddush, the tunes for both Shabbat and for holidays. I hear my father’s voice in my head, and that always makes it a sacred moment for me. 

Beyond my personal memories, there’s something about the sound of Kiddush that evokes home. Whether it’s sung around a Shabbat table with a full spread or whispered beside a hospital bed with a mini challah and grape juice cup, the words of Kiddush root us. They declare that even when the week spins with demands, there is a sacred pause—an invitation to remember who we are and where we belong.

Parshat Vaetchanan is similarly packed with memory and meaning. After recounting his own plea to enter the Promised Land, Moses pivots to legacy. He repeats the Ten Commandments and delivers the Shema—foundational texts that anchor Jewish identity. It’s a parshah of retelling and reaffirming, of choosing covenant again and again. Amid all this, the holiness of Shabbat is once more commanded: “Guard the Sabbath day and keep it holy, as the Lord your God has commanded you” (Deuteronomy 5:12).

This verse differs subtly from its twin in Exodus, where we are told to “Remember (zachor) the Sabbath day.” Here in Deuteronomy, we are told to “guard” (shamor) it. Our tradition famously teaches that both words were spoken by God in a single utterance: zachor v’shamor b’dibbur echad. Kiddush, the sanctification of Shabbat, blends these themes. When we lift the wine and recite Kiddush, we remember the acts of creation and guard the sanctity of time through ritual and restraint.

Kiddush is more than a pre-dinner ritual. It’s a declaration of values. It reminds us that our worth isn’t measured by productivity, that time can be holy, and that rest is resistance in a world that demands constant motion. This Shabbat, I invite you to listen closely to Kiddush. Let it be more than a recitation; let it be a reset. A recommitment to living with intention, to protecting what is sacred, and to remembering that holiness doesn’t just happen—it’s something we choose to create, together.

Co-Creating a Sacred Community

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Are you the person everyone tends to come to with their questions, their struggles, or their to-do lists? Whether you’re a parent, a teacher, a volunteer—or a rabbi—at some point you’ve probably wondered, “How am I supposed to do all of this?” It’s not just overwhelming; it’s the deep human realization that we were never meant to do any of this alone.

This week, we begin the book of Devarim, Moses’s parting words to the Israelites. Standing on the edge of the Promised Land, he doesn’t give a victory speech. Instead, he tells a story. Their story. He recounts the journey, the stumbles, the triumphs—and the time when he, their leader, couldn’t do it alone. “How can I bear your troubles, your burdens, and your disputes all by myself?” he asks. The answer? He appointed others. He shared leadership. He invited partnership.

This verse, and the blessing it evokes, offers a powerful blueprint for sacred community. Pirkei Avot teaches: “Do not separate yourself from the community.” This isn’t just a moral reminder—it’s a blessing. A wish that we might find our place not above or apart from one another, but within and alongside.

As I begin my journey as your senior rabbi, I hold this verse close. Leadership, for me, is not about bearing burdens alone. It’s about being in relationship with each other, with our sacred traditions, and with the still-unfolding story of who we are and who we’re becoming. My vision is to co-create this kehilla together: to listen deeply, dream boldly, and build collaboratively. Just as Moses realized, the future is not carried by one, but cultivated by many.

So this week, let Moses’s words remind us that holy work is shared work. Whether by showing up, offering your voice, or extending a hand, you are part of shaping this community. Let us be co-authors of our collective story. Let us not separate ourselves from the community, but draw closer, with intention, compassion, and courage. Together, may we bear not burdens, but blessings.

Refuge and Sanctuary Now and Always

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In a world filled with loud opinions and polarizing headlines, it’s easy to feel unmoored. The feeling of safety isn’t just about physical protection, but emotional and spiritual refuge. Whether it’s from rising antisemitism, social instability, or injustice in our systems, the need for compassionate leadership and safe spaces—a safe world—is more urgent than ever.

Parshat Matot-Masei, the final double portion in the Book of Numbers, bridges endings and beginnings. In Matot, we encounter laws about vows and tribal responsibilities. Masei recounts the Israelites’ wilderness journey with a list of 42 encampments—each a waypoint on the road to becoming a people ready for the Promised Land. Among the legal and logistical details, we find a remarkable institution: the Arei Miklat—Cities of Refuge. These were designated places where someone who had accidentally caused harm could flee for safety and await fair judgment.

The concept of Arei Miklat embodies the tension between accountability and mercy. It acknowledges that harm can occur unintentionally, and that a just society must differentiate between guilt and accident, between vengeance and justice. Embedded in the system is not only legal wisdom, but deep empathy.

This idea echoes through the Amidah: “Restore our judges as in former times … and reign over us in lovingkindness and mercy.” We pray not just for law, but for leadership tempered with compassion. The verse invites us to imagine a world where fairness and care coexist—a community where refuge is real.

We may not have cities of refuge today, but we can create sanctuaries of spirit and justice in our homes, synagogues, and institutions. This week, may we recommit to being a community of thoughtful leadership, where truth is spoken with kindness and justice is pursued with humility. Let us be known not only for what we build, but for whom we shelter.