Author: Eve Posen

Be a Channel of Blessing

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Picking up the pieces following horrific event after horrific event, in D.C. and in Boulder and more and more places around the world, it can feel like there are no words. No time to let one wound heal before the next one is ripped open. But for thousands of years, in times of joy and in times of tragedy, we’ve found strength and comfort in being able to bless each other, using the words of our tradition. We all long to feel blessed — to know that we are seen, loved, and protected. And we all hope to offer blessings to others through our words, our presence, and our actions. Parshat Naso contains one of the most beautiful and enduring blessings in all of Torah, the Birkat Kohanim, the Priestly Blessing, which continues to echo through our tradition and our lives today.

Parshat Naso is the longest Torah portion, covering a range of topics. It continues the census begun in Bamidbar, detailing the roles of the Levites, describes the laws of the nazirite, and addresses the ritual for the sotah, the woman suspected of adultery. But in the midst of these detailed and sometimes difficult laws, we find a moment of pure light: God instructs Moses to tell Aaron and his sons how to bless the people. This blessing, just three short verses, transcends time:

Yevarechecha Adonai v’yishmerecha.
May God bless you and protect you.

Ya’er Adonai panav eilecha vichuneka.
May God shine God’s face upon you and be gracious to you.

Yisa Adonai panav eilecha v’yasem lecha shalom.
May God lift God’s face toward you and grant you peace.

The Priestly Blessing is much more than words — it’s a profound statement about the relationship between God, the people, and those who serve as conduits of blessing. Notice that the priests don’t create the blessing; they channel it. God is the source of blessing, but it is through human intermediaries — through people willing to lift their hands, open their hearts, and speak words of goodness — that blessing flows into the world.

Each line of the blessing builds: from physical protection (v’yishmerecha), to inner grace (vichuneka), to the ultimate aspiration of shalom — peace and wholeness. The blessing reminds us that God’s presence is not abstract. It’s felt when we experience safety, when we are shown kindness, and when we rest in the deep calm of peace.

While the priests were the official bearers of blessing in ancient times, today we are all called to be mamlechet kohanim — a kingdom of priests. We are all charged with being vessels of blessing.

What would it look like for each of us to act as channels of blessing this week? To offer protection to someone vulnerable, to show graciousness to someone struggling, to lift our faces and truly see those around us? And perhaps most importantly, to become builders of peace — in our homes, our communities, and our world?

A Minyan and Then Some

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There’s a special electricity in the air when a large Jewish gathering comes together — whether it’s the Kotel packed on a festival, a concert hall filled for a Jewish music event, or even a massive Zoom screen of tiny Jewish faces during the pandemic. In the Talmud (Berakhot 58a), we’re taught that upon seeing 600,000 Jews gathered together, we recite the blessing: Baruch… chacham ha-razim — “Blessed is the wise one who knows all secrets.” This rare blessing invites us to reflect on the power of community, diversity, and the holiness that emerges when individuals stand together.

This week, in Parshat Bamidbar, we open the fourth book of the Torah — the Book of Numbers — with the dramatic moment of the census. God commands Moses to count the Israelite men of military age, tribe by tribe. The tally comes to 603,550, just over the threshold associated with the chacham ha-razim blessing. But this census isn’t just about numbers; it’s about identity and belonging. Each person is counted l’mishpachotam u’l’veit avotam — by their families and their ancestral houses. The parshah also describes the arrangement of the tribes around the Mishkan and assigns specific roles to the Levites, underscoring that every individual and every tribe has a unique place and purpose.

The blessing chacham ha-razim expresses awe at the idea that God knows the inner workings, thoughts, and uniqueness of each person in a vast crowd. The sages teach that just as no two faces are alike, no two minds or souls are alike. It’s easy to look at a massive crowd and see only sameness, but God sees the secrets within — the hopes, struggles, dreams, and doubts that make each person irreplaceable.

The census in Bamidbar is not a cold bureaucratic exercise; it’s an act of love. As Rashi comments, God counts the people because God treasures them, just as someone counts their precious jewels. When we stand in community, whether in the desert, in synagogue, or even virtually, we remind ourselves that we are more than a number — we are part of a tapestry of souls, each known and cherished by God.

This Shabbat, as we read Bamidbar, I invite us to pause and look around at our own community with the eyes of chacham ha-razim. Can we see beyond the surface to recognize the unique stories, struggles, and gifts of each person around us? Can we cherish the differences that strengthen the whole? Even when we gather in numbers far fewer than 600,000, we have the opportunity to bless the divine wisdom that makes each human being a secret worth knowing.

The Power of Pause

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There is something profoundly humbling about pausing before a meal to say a blessing. Whether seated at a Shabbat table or unwrapping a snack on a busy afternoon, the simple words “Baruch atah… borei p’ri ha’adamah” remind us that what we consume is not simply the work of our own hands, but part of a sacred partnership with the earth and with God. This week’s double portion, Behar-Bechukotai, invites us to expand that moment of gratitude into a vision of justice, rest, and renewal for the entire society.

In Parshat Behar, we’re introduced to the Shmita year—the sabbatical year—when the land is allowed to rest every seven years, and the Yovel—the jubilee year—after seven cycles of Shmita, when debts are forgiven, slaves are freed, and ancestral land is returned to its original family. These systems are not just about agriculture; they are about economic fairness, social equality, and creating a rhythm of pause and repair. 

Parshat Bechukotai continues by describing the blessings that come with following God’s statutes and the consequences if we turn away. Among the blessings are abundant harvests, peace in the land, and the assurance that God’s presence dwells among the people.

The blessing over the fruits of the earth—borei p’ri ha’adamah—captures the heart of these portions. We acknowledge that the land’s produce is not solely ours to command; it is a gift. When we say Birkat HaMazon after eating, we express gratitude not only for the food on our plates but also for the land of Israel, its covenantal promise, and the divine presence that sustains life. It’s easy to forget the source of our abundance, yet these blessings pull us back into relationship with the earth, with each other, and with God.

Behar and Bechukotai challenge us to ask: How can we build lives and communities that make space for rest, release, and fairness? Shmita and Yovel remind us that none of us truly “owns” the land, our wealth, or even our time; they are entrusted to us, and we are called to steward them with care. As we move through the week, may we find ways to practice release: letting go of control, forgiving debts, sharing resources, and allowing ourselves moments of true rest. 

Counting Up

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Every year between Passover and Shavuot, we count the days. While this act is based on a Torah commandment, it can often take on an additional meaning. There are years when that count leads directly to the last day of school, and other years when it might lead to a birthday of a loved one. In 2010, the year I was ordained, the count led directly to my rabbinic ordination, with the ceremony taking place the day before Shavuot. 

Parshat Emor covers a wide range of topics, but a large section focuses on the festivals of the Jewish year — Shabbat, Pesach, Shavuot, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Sukkot. It is here that the Torah lays out not only when we celebrate these holidays, but also why: to sanctify time, to remember our story, and to reconnect to God and one another. Among these mitzvot, we find the commandment of Sefirat HaOmer, the counting of the Omer — a mitzvah we’re engaged in right now, between Pesach and Shavuot.

Each night during this seven-week period, we say the blessing:

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu melech ha’olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al sefirat ha’omer.

“Blessed are you, God, sovereign of the world, who has sanctified us with your mitzvot and commanded us regarding the counting of the Omer.”

This blessing teaches us something profound: the act of counting — something so simple, so ordinary — becomes holy when we do it with intention and blessing. It’s not about reaching day 49 as fast as we can. It’s about noticing each day as it comes, pausing, reflecting, and marking time with purpose. Through this small nightly ritual, we remember that holiness doesn’t always require grand gestures — sometimes it’s found in small, mindful acts repeated with care.

This week’s parshah, Emor, invites us to reflect on the power of sacred time and sacred action. When days blur together and we often rush from task to task, Emor reminds us that time is not just something we pass through — it’s something we can elevate.

Emor challenges us to look at the mitzvot in our lives — not only the big holidays or life-cycle moments, but the everyday acts of kindness, justice, and mindfulness. Can we bless these ordinary acts with intention? Can we find the sacred in a conversation with a friend, a meal with family, or even just a deep breath before the next busy day begins?

Sacred Boundaries, Sacred Commitments

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In our tradition, holiness isn’t something that floats above us in the heavens—it’s rooted in the way we live our lives, especially in our most intimate relationships. Parshat Acharei Mot, one of two parshiyot in this week’s double portion, challenges us to consider what it means to live a life of holiness not just through prayer and ritual, but through how we love, commit, and connect. In a culture that often celebrates freedom without boundaries, this parshah reminds us that some of the most powerful forms of holiness come not from saying “yes,” but from knowing when and how to say “no.”

Acharei Mot begins with the Yom Kippur service, detailing how the High Priest is to enter the Holy of Holies and seek atonement for the people. But the second half shifts dramatically into a list of arayot—forbidden sexual relationships. These laws are blunt and specific, outlining which relationships are prohibited, including those involving close kin, adultery, and other behaviors seen as destructive to the moral fabric of society.

While these verses may feel uncomfortable to read or discuss, especially in modern times, they close with a crucial teaching: “You shall keep my statutes . . . and live by them—va’chai bahem.” (Leviticus 18:5) These mitzvot are not meant to shame or repress, but to uphold life, community, and sacred trust.

There has never been more openness around sexuality and relationships than there is now. Much of that progress has been positive—celebrating love, expanding rights, and affirming dignity for all people. But in a world that often blurs the line between freedom and permissiveness, Acharei Mot reminds us that not all expressions of love are ethical or holy. The Torah’s sexual ethics are rooted in the belief that intimacy carries power—and with power comes responsibility.

There is no blessing for “not doing” something wrong—but there is a blessing for doing something right. At a Jewish wedding, we recite the sheva berachot, and one of those seven blessings thanks God for sanctifying us through mitzvot and commanding us concerning forbidden relationships:

Asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu al ha’arayot . . . 

It’s a striking moment: at the height of joy and intimacy, we recall the boundaries that protect the sanctity of the union. Judaism doesn’t just bless love—it blesses committed, ethical, sacred love.

This week, take time to reflect on the relationships in your life—romantic, familial, communal. Are they built on mutual respect and holiness? Do they honor boundaries, consent, and care? Consider how you might bring more intentionality to the way you show love, build trust, and uphold sacred commitments. Holiness isn’t only about what we avoid—it’s about what we build.