The phrase “light to the nations” (or lagoyim) from Isaiah 49:6 is one of the most profound and debated in the prophets. Many who honor the God of Israel, including those who identify the Messiah ben David as the promised descendant of King David, see this verse as central to messianic expectation. But does the […]
In many circles that cherish the Hebrew Scriptures, heartfelt declarations abound: “I love the Land promised to Abraham and his descendants.” “The Torah is Hashem’s eternal, life-giving instruction.” “The Temple represents the purest devotion to Hashem.” These words often arise from a sincere desire to connect more deeply with the God of Israel and the
I am a writer. My profession was created by the fireside of a prehistoric camp. After a successful hunt, the meat was divided among the heroes who had provided sustenance to the tribe. The choicest meat went to the hunter whose spear first struck the prey. The next piece of meat went to the tracker
I came to the desert with a pocket full of seeds To live in the house of my father’s best dreams Promised to me before I was born Taken away because of my sins I came with a map painted on ancient hide To find the city of gold stripped of its wealth Its life-giving
When I first came to Israel, I was shocked to find that many Gentiles were going to great lengths to convert to Judaism. I had spent much of my adult life trying to hide that aspect of my identity. I could not understand their motives. Dialoguing with these people revealed to me the lie of
We’re neighbors, Naftali and I, but we have little in common. He’s already married off two of his children, and my eldest isn’t quite in first grade. He’s a high-profile heavy-hitter, an aggressive businessman, and I’m a misanthropic hermit, happy to be left alone. But we do share two passions—a good cup of coffee and
I woke up in the middle of the night and could not fall back asleep. While everyone knows I am a writer, I don’t think anyone knows why. I hear voices. They tell me stories, words that need to be recorded. And if the voices refuse to let me rest until I write those words
I run my fingers across my chest and feel the bumps. Four small scars where your claws sank into my flesh, a reminder I don’t need of the night I will never forget. Our bodies pressed together in a violent embrace until I pulled you away, my fear lending me strength I did not own,
“This is none other than the House of God, and this is the gate of heaven.” In the rolling hills of Canaan, after decades of trials, exile from his homeland, deceit at the hands of Laban, the wrenching loss of Rachel, and reconciliation with Esau, Jacob yearned for peace. He had built his family, weathered
Being the oldest student in the yeshiva didn’t make me bitter, but being old and single while young men came and went, married after just a few months, was like road rash after high-siding your bike and sliding half a mile on rough asphalt. Just when you got used to the pain, it got even
I need to preface this story with a disclaimer. It contains a few profanities and references to drug use. If this offends anyone, I apologize and request amnesty for this one story. It will never happen again. It was necessary to wallow in the mud once again to transmit a profound message. Like the Grateful
Today we discuss the ebb and flow of regional & cultural norms, and the halakha passed down from Israel’s sages.
He had to stoop to fit through the doorway, his head pressed against the ceiling. He stood for a few moments, blinded by the sudden darkness, searching the dark interior. He panicked for a moment, not understanding how she could have disappeared. It was a tiny playhouse with only one door, and he had watched
Some of the most moving moments we have witnessed in shul happen without fanfare. A man rises for his aliyah, kisses the mantel with unmistakable tenderness, and returns to his seat. Only later do you learn that he was not born into this world. He chose it, fought for it, rebuilt his life around it.
