This is the d’var Torah I delivered at Congregation Neveh Shalom on Friday, July 10, 2026.

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Before we delve into this week’s Torah portion, here’s a simple question: If you had to describe “home” in just two words, what would they be? Based on tonight’s Shabbat theme, do you see where this is going? For the Torah, the answer is “milk” and “honey.” 

Those words appear again and again throughout the Torah, not as a travel brochure or a restaurant review, but as a promise. They evoke abundance, possibility, and hope; a land flowing with milk and honey. Milk represents nourishment. Honey represents sweetness. Together they paint a picture of a place where life can flourish. 

This week we conclude both the Book of Numbers and the journeys of the wilderness with Parshat Matot-Masei. The Torah recounts the forty-two stops the Israelites made on their way from Egypt to the edge of the Promised Land. There are battles, negotiations, the establishment of cities of refuge, and detailed descriptions of the borders of the land the people are about to enter. After forty years of wandering, the destination is finally in sight. It’s striking that just as the Israelites are preparing to cross the Jordan River, the Torah pauses to remember every step along the way. Before looking forward, it looks back. Before arriving, we remember the journey. 

Tonight our theme is “Milk and Honey” Shabbat, a reminder that the Land of Israel has always held a unique place in the Jewish story. For thousands of years, Jews prayed facing Jerusalem. In exile, we ended our Seders with “Next year in Jerusalem.” Across continents and centuries, the Land of Israel remained not simply a destination, but the ancestral homeland of the Jewish people, the place where our collective story was born, where our sacred calendar took shape, and where so much of our Torah unfolded. 

Like every homeland, Israel is complex. It is a place of joy and sorrow, celebration and heartbreak, hope and challenge. Loving something does not require pretending it is simple. But complexity does not erase connection. The Torah’s repeated vision of a land flowing with milk and honey reminds us that our relationship with Israel is rooted not merely in politics or current events, but in covenant, memory, and peoplehood. 

As we close the Book of Numbers, perhaps that is our invitation. Take time to remember the journeys that have brought you where you are. Cherish the places that have shaped your identity. And ask yourself: What would it look like for me to add a little more milk and honey to the world this week? More nourishment. More sweetness. More hope. Hazak, hazak, v’nithazek. Be strong, be strong, and let us strengthen one another. 

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.

My paternal grandparents (a.k.a. Nana and Papa) were expert gardeners; they certainly had a green thumb that I sadly did not inherit. Papa always planted a beautiful flower garden in the backyard of their house every year and would invite me to help. Then Nana would plant the vegetable garden, and I’d tend the plants with her. We’d put up a fence to keep the deer and bunnies away from the bounty. While at the time I may have gone out of my way to avoid eating anything resembling a vegetable, I do remember planting and then watching them grow. The inside of their house was filled with plants too. They kept most of them on a beautiful window seat behind their dining room table, one of which was a potted cactus. One Rosh Hashanah lunch after services, my younger sister tried to squeeze between the edge of the seat where the cactus was and my Papa’s seat and ended up falling into the cactus. Ouch! 

After calling poison control, my dad and uncle wrapped their hands in duct tape to extract the cactus needles from my sister’s arms and face. Unfortunately, the little spines were so tiny and thin that we were finding them for days. And that’s when I truly understood the meaning of “a thorn in your side.” We moved the cactus to a different spot, but our family never forgot the trauma of the incident, a lesson which is described symbolically in our Torah portion this week. 

In our parshah this week we read the final sections of text from the fourth book of the Torah, Bamidbar. Parshiyot Matot and Masei begin with a discussion of the different vows Israelites might make, and then they detail the requests of the various tribes as they get ready to enter the Promised Land. The chapters end with the final placements of all the tribes as they prepare to divide their land inheritance. Along with this information are warnings about what it might be like to live within an area with a variety of customs and cultures. Not since leaving Egypt have the Israelites lived in a place long enough for God to worry about them acculturating and assimilating. 

In chapter 33, verse 55 we read: “Those whom you allow to remain shall be stings in your eyes and thorns in your sides.” This warning is meant to illuminate for the Israelites that sometimes their adversaries will be in plain sight (a sting in your eye,) and sometimes they will walk beside you, with a false sense of camaraderie until they dig in their barbs (a thorn in your side). 

Like avoiding the cactus with her unseeable needles, the Torah reminds us to use precaution as we journey through life. It’s easy to get caught up in the literal interpretation that we need to rid the land of certain people who might be against us, but the real lesson is to recognize and rid ourselves of the more insidious metaphorical needles of intolerance and ignorance. Those are the needles that do the most damage. 

Is the Supreme Court an example of democracy in action? That’s not meant to be flippant; the recent slate of decisions handed down from our highest court prompts me to ask: Does the fact that one person is in charge of Supreme Court Justice appointments make the Court less democratic by nature? I think there are arguments for both sides. For example, you could say that because our president is elected through a democratic process, the Supreme Court is (indirectly) representative of the people, at least at a certain period in time. On the other hand, if a president loses the popular vote, meaning that the president’s party views may not necessarily represent the majority, does that contradict this idea? 

Unanimity is rarely achieved in any setting where different opinions are represented. One side is almost always going to be the minority. Yet, putting the SCOTUS appointment process aside for a moment, even when there are “winners” and “losers,” there’s still something reassuring about being part of a greater deciding body. Making decisions on your own, in a silo, can feel like a pretty heavy burden to bear, while group decision-making provides support, reassurance, and safety in numbers. This is actually echoed in the Torah we read this week. 

In our parshah this week we read the final sections of text from the fourth book of the Torah, Bamidbar. Parshiyot Matot and Masei begin with a discussion of the different vows Israelites might make, and then they detail the requests of the various tribes as they get ready to enter the Promised Land. The chapters end with the final placements of all the tribes as they prepare to divide their land inheritance.

As the land appointments are given out, there is a noticeable shift in verb forms. While so many of the instructions are given in the singular, at this moment, chapter 34, verse 18 switches to the plural: “And y’all shall take . . .” The word tikchu is second person plural. Who are “y’all” in this case? Up until now, this has been about one tribe or the other, so the sages say that this refers to both Eleazar and Joshua, a team who oversees this land distribution.

Governance is critically important, and it’s not a solo task. At the end of this turning point in the Torah, the text reminds us of the power of being in it together. Decisions are best made not in isolation, but rather in partnership, in which we can discuss the impacts and the future that will come from them. Eleazar was a priest, while Joshua was a different kind of leader, and together, their combined expertise offered the best outcome. That’s the lesson of community.

What do you do when you see a loved one making a bad or destructive decision? Do you intervene? Do you let it play out? Or when you can see two opposing views among friends, do you take sides? Do you try to remain neutral? 

When your heart’s divided, it’s difficult to see the clearest path forward. What I know in the depths of my soul is that when this happens, especially to people who have supported and loved me through the years, I often try to step back as long as possible and stay out of it until I can’t any longer.

This is a lesson that’s tough to learn, and one that Moses finds himself in the middle of in this week’s Torah portions. The Torah we read today is still the same Torah inspired by God and interpreted through Moses, and in our parshah this week we read the final sections of text from the fourth book of the Torah, Bamidbar. Parshiyot Matot and Masei begin with a discussion of the different vows the Israelites might make, and then they detail the requests of the various tribes as they get ready to enter the Promised Land. The chapters end with the final placements of all the tribes as they prepare to divide their land inheritance.

As the Israelites continue on their journey to the land of Israel, they find themselves facing challenges against a multitude of nations along the way. Often, they act as one undivided unit in their attack, led by Moses and guided with clear principles and expected actions. That changes in this portion, though, as the conflict is with the Midianites.

Moses is whom the people look to, and it’s his job to lead the nation he loves deeply in this moment. At the same time, his wife Tzipporah is of the Midianites, and his father-in-law Yitro was a Midianite priest who saved Moses’s sanity when he didn’t know how to delegate. The Midianite people took Moses in when he left Egypt fleeing for his life. Moses finds his heart torn in two and decides to let the other leaders take on this battle. Moses takes a step back; he does not lead the charge. Unfortunately, what ensues is reckless behavior by the Israelites, without care for human life.

This portion is full of strange dichotomies. Moses stood back because his heart was torn, but doing that led to more heartache and violence. He returns to his position and rails at the army as a whole for their unthinkable choice to hurt women and children, innocent and weaponless, but still celebrates the triumph of his nation. 

It’s hard to know what the right choice is when you feel torn between two places or people or ideas. However, that doesn’t get you out of making a choice. Moses makes mistakes, as all leaders do, and in this week’s Torah, we learn the hard way what happens when the worst choice is making no choice at all.