The sages see Abraham as a paragon of love and inclusion. He brought people from the surrounding societies in Haran and Canaan close to the one God through his example and his generosity.

Living in today’s world, we too face many unknowns. As people who profess a faith in the God of Abraham, trusting also in the Good News of Yeshua the Messiah, we to come face to face with challenges throughout our journeys.

In God’s pursuit of justice, some will be brought low, and others lifted up, but in the end, in the fulness of time, all of creation will be made whole once more.

Though we can’t turn back the hands of time, we can—and do—revisit time by rolling the Torah scroll back and recycling the stories noted therein. This we do this every year around this time: on Simchat Torah. And so we begin again . . .

What a tragic and challenging year! We might be very much tempted to say “good riddance” to the last year, 5784. Yet our tradition reminds us to welcome every New Year with a sense of hope and encouragement.

Everybody needs heroes, and heroism can be contagious. In these trying times, Yeshua’s sacrifice encourages us to courageously go forward to meet the challenges of life without a layer of self-protection.

With Rosh Hashanah we enter the Ten Days of Awe that will continue through Yom Kippur. But we live in a time when it’s hard to be awed . . . because awe is the response to the presence of a transcendent other, something or someone far greater than ourselves, greater than our understanding or our ability to perceive.

Why is it so hard to change? As we approach the season of teshuvah (turning, repentance) and the Ten Days of Repentance, this question is worth considering. Dramatic, intentional changes do happen, but they seem to be the exception rather than the rule.

When Israel enters the land, the Israelites are to declare their origins and identity. "He has brought us to this place and has given us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey; and now, behold, I have brought the firstfruits of the land which you, O Lord, have given me."

This week our spirits were pierced again with a time of national mourning as we commemorated the tragedy of 9/11. As we look out across the social landscape of America we wonder if God is chastising this nation or if we are in some stage of rebellion. Perhaps both at the same time.

At a time when the modern State of Israel is at war, when we are daily praying for hostages, and the world is in upheaval, we must be focused, attentive, and ready for what will come.

We must have spiritual vision and depth perception to see clearly. “Turn my eyes away from gazing at vanity but revive me in Your ways” (Psalm 119:37). Instead of asking “Do you see what I see?” Re’eh asks, “Do you see what He sees?”

It is as our Rabbi Yeshua taught by quoting from this parasha while suffering the hardship of a forty-day fast in the wilderness: “Man does not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of Adonai."

Nothing breathes more life into a community than the sound of young children, laughing and playing. Even the sound of a baby’s cry, somewhere in the back of the room, can bring feelings of hope. Hope in the future, hope in the next generation, hope that there will be someone to teach.

Tisha b’Av keeps alive the memory of the whole Jewish story through the centuries, a story reflecting both the lament of exile and the hope of return.

We are people of the Book, a book made up of words. We are then, quite literally, a people of words. And when we “give our word” in the colloquial sense, we understand that God is watching and recording.

Pinchas was zealous, not jealous. He knew the Lord, and knew that strict adherence to his rules was the only correct way to live. He was zealous for the Lord, not jealous of the lifestyle of the pagan nations.

Recently at dinnertime, as the family sat around the table, the question came up, “Why do parents think more highly of their own children than others? Does that reflect bias?” And, the implication, “If so, is that bias . . . ok?”

The beauty of the red heifer was not in its life but in its death. It is more valuable in its death than it ever was in its life. In its death it changes forms. It does not cease its power, but it goes through a metamorphosis from the physical body to the ashes.

This week’s parasha, Korach, records a mutiny of sorts that becomes the archetype for rebellion in Judaism, and could also have become the standard for a really bad day, but for the intervention of Hashem.

In our parasha, Adonai gives the commandment and instruction for the tzitzit which were to be on the borders of the garment. They also were found on the hem of Yeshua’s garment in Luke 8:44, bringing healing to a woman who had been ill for 12 years.

Moses longed for the day in which we are living: “If only Adonai would make all the people prophets! If only Adonai would put the Spirit on all of them!” Let’s say Amen to that as we walk daily in the Spirit-infused Torah of the risen Messiah.

On exhibit in the Israel Museum in Jerusalem are artifacts from the excavation of a burial plot from the end of the First Temple period. Among the exhibit is a small thin silver plaque the size of a thumb. Inscribed on it in Hebrew is the Birkat Kohanim, the priestly blessing we still recite today.

One moment I was preparing a lesson on living a life filled with the hope we have in Messiah and the promises of blessings that are ours. The next moment the messengers were delivering their news.