Tetzaveh
Exodus 27:20 – 30:10 

By Jen Smith 

Imagine opening a book where the main character – our hero, our guiding force – suddenly vanishes from the page. Not a single mention. Not even a whisper of his name. That’s exactly what happens in Parashat Tetzaveh – the only Torah portion, from the moment Moses steps onto the stage in Exodus until the final curtain call in Deuteronomy, where his name is completely absent.  

Though unmentioned, Moses is still very much present. Instead of calling him by name, God addresses him directly: Ve’ata tetzaveh – “And you shall command…” (Exodus 27:20). It’s as if the Torah is handing Moses a spotlight without ever speaking his name, drawing us closer to examine what it means to lead; what does it mean to be present even when unseen; or to leave a legacy that speaks louder than any voice reading a written name? 

This mysterious omission isn’t just a quirk – it’s an invitation. An invitation to rethink leadership, presence, and the true measure of influence. Because sometimes, the most powerful figures are the ones who don’t need to be named at all.  

The chapter begins with the command to bring pure olive oil to kindle the ner tamid, the eternal flame in the Mishkan (Tabernacle). The Zohar, a Jewish mystical text, teaches that this light represents the divine soul within us – an eternal spark longing to connect to something greater. The ner tamid was not just a physical light; it symbolized the ongoing responsibility of the Jewish people to keep the spiritual flame of Torah and the mitzvot alive.  

In Kabbalah, oil is often used as a metaphor for hidden wisdom; it is only revealed when pressed, much like when our deepest abilities and strength emerges during challenging times. The act of lighting the menorah was not just the duty or chore of the kohanim (priests); it is a reminder that each of us has a spark of divine light, and as Jews, we are called to illuminate the world with acts of kindness, justice, and connection. 

A central theme in Tetzaveh is the priestly garments, particularly those of the Kohen Gadol (High Priest). Our ancient rabbis note that these garments were not just elaborate ritual costumes; they were spiritual tools in the quest to elevate the Israelite community. 

The breast plate (Choshen Mishpat) had the names of all twelve tribes, symbolizing that the leader must carry the entire community in their heart. 

The tzitz (golden forehead plate) bore the words Kodesh L’Hashem (Holy to God), a written reminder that to the priests of the importance of leading from a position rooted in sacred purpose. Finally, the ephod (priestly apron) connected the human with the mystical, representing the holiness of human action that is inspired by and connected to God. Kind of like a spiritual theory of quantum entanglement: two particles mysteriously linked in a way that defies common sense, so if you alter one particle, the other instantly changes too, regardless of the distance between them.  

The priestly garments are guideposts; they reminded the priests that they are not separate from the people they lead – they represent the people. Great leaders carry the burdens, hopes, and struggles of their communities while striving to uplift everyone, not just a favored few. 

Ba’al HaTanya, founder of Chabad, offers a mystical interpretation of the Kohen Gadol. He taught that just as the High Priest wore the names of all the tribes of Israel, so does each Jew carry not only a unique Divine spark, but a spark of the collective soul of all Israel. We are spiritually entangled – when one person is hurt, the entire nation feels the pain; when one person rises joyfully to fulfill mitzvot, we are all elevated in our holiness. 

This is why community engagement is a central, and inextricable, part of Jewish life. We don’t seek spirituality in isolation; we built the Mishkan, we build synagogues, study groups, tzedakah initiatives, Tikkun Olam events, and commit to gemilut chasadim (acts of loving kindness) to lift each other higher.  

Tetzaveh challenges us to consider how we can be Kohanim Gedolim: How can we, in our own way, be “high priests” for our families, friends, and communities? 

Tetzaveh reminds us that each of us is a light – our deeds, words, and character has the power to inspire others. Like the ner tamid, we are guardians of our inner flame, a Divine spark that thrives when it is nurtured and shared.  

We all wear priestly garments; if not in a literal sense, then in the way we inspire and uplift those in our orbit. Leadership is not about status or privilege – it is a sacred responsibility. We are all connected – thus, our spiritual and communal obligations are not individual pursuits, but rather collective efforts to bring holiness into the world. 

This Shabbat, may we find new ways to nurture our inner light so that we can more deeply connect to ourselves and our community. As Jews we are commanded not only to spread the light, but to Be the light. In doing so, we fulfill the deeper call of Tetzaveh – to be active participants in sustaining the divine presence in our world. 

Shabbat Shalom. 

Mishpatim
Exodus 21:1–24:18 

 By Guest Torah Blogger, Jen Smith

Parashat Mishpatim begins: “And these are the laws that you shall set before them.” (Exodus 21:1) 

After the big show at Sinai, where God’s voice thundered in revelation, you might expect the Torah to remain in the supernatural realm of miracles and divine mystery. Instead, it turns to the laws of daily life – compensation for damage to people or property, ethical treatment of workers, and even the proper care of animals. However, hidden within these laws is something infinitely deeper: the fusion of justice and holiness (din and rachamim), law and love. 

We also hear the haunting verse that defines the Jewish people:  “Do not oppress the stranger, for you know the soul of the stranger, since you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” (Exodus 23:9) 

This verse resonates deeply today. The people of Israel know what it means to be vulnerable. We know the pain of oppression, of exile, of being at the mercy of those who see us as sub-human. And tragically, we have seen that pain once again in the murder of the Bibas family and other hostages taken from their homes, brutalized, and executed without mercy. 

How do we, as Jews, respond to such evil?  The Zohar teaches that every human soul contains a spark of divine light, a piece of the Ein Sof, the Infinite. Our tradition teaches that when life is taken unjustly, that diving spark cries out. Just as the blood of Abel cried from the earth when Cain murdered him (Genesis 4:10), so too do the souls of the Bibas family, Oded Lifshitz, and of every innocent life and hostage lost since the atrocities of October 7. 

The Kabbalists speak of a cosmic battle between the forces of holiness (kedushah) and those of the “other side” (sitra achra), or the force of darkness. When innocent lives are destroyed, it is not just an earthly crime; it is considered as a tear in the spiritual fabric of the universe. We mourn not only the loss of life but the attack on the God’s divine presence itself. 

Yet, Jewish wisdom teaches that even in the face of utter cruelty, we must never become like our enemies. The Torah warns, “Do not follow the ways of the nations” (Leviticus 18:3). We respond to evil with strength, but we do not sacrifice our humanity. Justice is not vengeance. Strength is not cruelty. 

Mishpatim demands action. It tells us that a moral society is not built solely upon faith and ritual, but rather on laws and justice. “You shall not murder” (Exodus 20:13) is not a suggestion; it is a divine imperative. In fact, when innocent blood is spilled, the Torah does not allow us to turn away. Instead, we must demand justice, defend the innocent, and ensure that those who seek to destroy are stopped. 

But punishment is just one part of justice – Justice is also about memory. The greatest crime the Amalekites committed was not just their attack on the weak, but their desire to erase the Israelites from history. Zachor! Remember! We will not allow the names of our murdered brothers and sisters to fade. 

The Talmud teaches: “Whoever destroys a single life, it is as if they have destroyed an entire world.” (Sanhedrin 37a)  

The Bibas family was an entire world. Every hostage taken, every child, every mother, every father – each was an irreplaceable reflection of God’s image. And so, while our response must be driven by justice, it must also be driven by light. Every mitzvah we undertake, every act of kindness, every prayer, and every moment we choose to bring holiness into the world, we push back against the darkness. 

Mishpatim reminds us that law and morality are inseparable. When we uphold truth, when we stand for what is right, we do more than fight evil – we affirm that we are B’tzelem Elochim, created in the image of God, and therefore, we cannot be erased. 

May the souls of the Bibas family and all the murdered hostages be bound in the bonds of eternal life. And may we, through our actions, ensure that their memory is a blessing and a light in a dark world. 

Shabbat Shalom.