Parshat Re’eh
Deuteronomy 11:26 – 16:17

By Torah Blogger, Jen Smith

The curtains’ part at the beginning of this week’s Torah portion, Re’eh, with a dramatic proposition: “See, I set before you today a blessing and a curse.” (Deut. 11:26)

It is a spiritual version of “Door #1 or Door #2,” except instead of Monty Hall and a goat behind one curtain[1], we are talking about the very shape of our lives. Blessing or curse, freedom or constriction, compassion, or cruelty. It is as if the Torah is empowering us by reminding us: we always have a choice.

But here is the mystical twist: the Hebrew word Re’eh means “see.” The Torah does not say “hear the choice” or “think about the choice,” … it says: See. In Kabbalistic terms, sight is so much more than physical vision; it is about clarity of perception, and how we develop the ability to pierce through the fog of confusion to experience divine light. The mystics teach that every moment and every decision – from choosing to go to war, to choosing when to cross the street – carries with it both blessing and curse woven together. The difference lies at the intersection of what we see and how we see it.

The Torah portion also emphasizes social justice. It talks about caring for the poor, releasing debts in the Sabbatical year, and making sure no one in the community is left behind. Judaism is not abstract spirituality floating above the clouds; it’s spirituality with boots on the ground, wallets in hand, and hands extended to help others. Blessings are not private treasures; blessings are a communal responsibility. The mystical Zohar puts it this way: when we open our hands to give, we literally open channels for divine blessing to flow through the world.

Think about current events: we live in a world where blessing and curses collide daily. Climate change and innovation; Polarization and solidarity; War and peace talks. Rising hatred and rising movements of kindness and resilience. We just need to open our phones and scroll to see curses and blessings side by side in the same newsfeed. The Torah’s point is that we choose where to focus our vision, and then we choose what we decide to do about it. 

Re’eh challenges us to remain grounded in the spectacle of negativity. It reminds us to train our eyes to notice where our blessings are hiding – a kind of spiritual Where’s Waldo. The scene might be Grand Central Station at 5:30 PM Friday night, and we know for sure: Waldo is there (the publisher swears!) even if it takes two visits to the dentist to find him! Blessings are the same: they are a divine guarantee, but they require us to do our part. The Torah lets us in on a secret: once we start to notice hidden blessings, they will appear all around us:  in our community, compassion, kindness, and sincere pursuit of justice. 

Parshat Re’eh is basically telling us: life is not “choose your own adventure;” instead, it is “choose your own lens.” What we see shapes what we create. The curse is not seeing – walking around blind to possibility, compassion, and divine sparks. The blessing is choosing to really see – to recognize that even in the mess of the world, the choice for goodness is right in front of us. In modern terms, the Torah is the original “augmented reality.” If you look through its lens, you see a world alight with holiness just waiting for you to choose blessing.

Shabbat Shalom

[1] The Monty Hall problem

Eikev
Deuteronomy 7:12–11:25

By Torah Blogger, Jen Smith

As the days of summer slowly slip into the golden light of Elul, and backpacks are filled with sharpened pencils and anxious hopes, we find ourselves in that sacred season known as “back to school.” Whether you’re a student, a teacher, a parent, or just someone who remembers the scent of a new notebook, this season carries a unique blend of nerves, excited energy, and potential….and so does Parshat Eikev.

Eikev begins with a curious phrase:

V’hayah eikev tishme’un… (And it shall come to pass, as a result of your listening…) Deut. 7:12

But the word Eikev is strange. It literally means “heel,” like the heel of one’s foot! Rashi taught that this refers to the mitzvot people might “trample underfoot,” meaning the small commandments that seem unimportant. But the Torah reminds us that while some of those mitzvot feel beneath our notice, indeed hold great spiritual power.

This idea is deeply rooted in Jewish mysticism. In the Zohar, the “heel” represents the most physical, grounded part of the body where our actions meet the earth. Mystics understood this to mean that our spiritual growth isn’t only about soaring prayer or ecstatic spirituality; it’s about the small, mundane actions – performed consistently and with intention – that truly elevate the soul.

And what better time to remember that than at the beginning of a school year?

For students, it’s easy to dream of big goals: good grades, winning games, and starring roles. But Eikev whispers to us, reminding us that sometimes it’s the small things that matter most. Holding the door for someone, including the new kid, listening carefully and respectfully, showing up with kindness (even when no one notices) – each of these “heel mitzvot” forms the spiritual foundation of who we are becoming.

This parsha is also deeply tied to memory and promise. Moses reminds the Israelites of their journey through the wilderness, the struggles they’ve faced, and the growth they’ve experienced. He tells them of manna from heaven as a divine reminder that especially in hardship, God provides. And He urges them not to forget that it wasn’t their strength alone that brought them to this moment.

Back-to-school season mirrors this lesson. Students are not starting from scratch – they’re continuing a journey on their way to transformation. The notebooks may be new, but the soul has been writing its story all along. Every year offers another chapter, and another chance to grow into who we are meant to be.

And for all of us – not just students – Eikev asks: What are the small steps I’ve been overlooking? What daily acts might I trample with my heel, oblivious to their holy potential?

May we move into this new season with humility, hope, and heightened awareness. Let us remember that our spiritual lives are built one quiet, sacred, step at a time. And let us teach our children (and ourselves) that even the tiniest mitzvah can light the way forward. Because sometimes, all it takes is putting one foot in front of the other with love, with intention, and with faith in the journey ahead.

Shabbat Shalom and good luck this school year! You’ve already begun.

Parshat Va’etchanan
Deuteronomy 3:23 – 7:11

By Torah Blogger, Jen Smith

This week, I spent a couple of days in the University of Pittsburgh gymnasium in Pittsburgh, surrounded not by Torah or my favorite Jewish books, but by basketballs, squeaking sneakers, and teenagers giving their all on the court. My 15-year-old son, Jordan, was there playing in the 2025 JCC Maccabi Games, and I was in the bleachers doing what all good Jewish parents do at sporting events – cheering, kvelling, and maybe coaching a little too loudly from the sidelines (though the moms from LA and Long Island put me to shame!)

But between the layups and timeouts, I noticed something else: the unmistakable presence of Jewish peoplehood. I didn’t know everyone in that gym, but I knew them. Parents and athletes from Miami, New Jersey, Los Angeles, Montreal, Mexico City, Israel, and even Poland (to name only a few) came from different places, with different levels of Jewish observance, different synagogue affiliations, and different Jewish expressions. But somehow, we were one.

And then it hit me: Shema Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Echad. Hear O Israel, Adonai is our God, Adonai is One.

This week in Parshat Va’etchanan, we hear the words of the Shema for the very first time as a declaration of faith, rather than the prayer we’ve come to understand. It was first a vision, then a theological, spiritual, and communal compass.

The Shema calls us to recognize God’s unity – but that unity also points us toward our own oneness. Across all our differences, we are part of something bigger. We are part of a people – Am Yisrael – a living, breathing collective with memory, destiny, and soul.

Judaism is many things. It is Torah and Talmud, ritual and law, prayer and belief. But it is also belonging. It is showing up for each other – in the pews and in the bleachers, at funerals and food drives, at candle lightings and kiddushes and yes, at basketball games in Pittsburgh. It is knowing that when someone says “mazel tov,” or “Baruch Dayan Ha’emet,” or “L’chaim,” they are speaking your language, even if you’ve never met before.

Moses, in this parsha, pleads with God to let him enter the Land. He doesn’t get to – but he does get to remind the Israelites of who they are, and who they must continue to be. “For what great nation has a god so near to them… and statutes and laws so righteous?” (Deut. 4:7-8)

We are that people. Not because we all observe every mitzvot listed in the Torah, and not because we agree on every custom or prayer or policy. But because we carry something shared. Because we say Shema together – even when we say it differently. Because we belong to one another, even when we don’t realize it.

I went to Pittsburgh to watch basketball and witnessed a sacred truth: our people are still here. We are still showing up. We are still one people, even in a world that often tries to divide us. And maybe, that’s the most powerful kind of Torah we can pass on.

Shema Yisrael – listen, Israel:
You are not alone.
You are not forgotten.
You are part of something ancient, beautiful, and whole.
And wherever you go, whether you find yourself abroad or in a gym in Pittsburgh – your people are already there.

Shabbat Shalom.

Pinchas
Numbers 25:10 – 30:1

By Torah Blogger, Jen Smith

In a portion named for a man who acted in self-righteous, judgmental violence, it is the voices of five courageous women – Machlah, Noa, Hoglah, Milkah, and Tirzah – that offer us one of the Torah’s most powerful lessons in spiritual inheritance, sacred change, and universal justice.

The daughters of Zelophehad, left without a father nor brothers to “take care of them,” approach Moses with a chutzpadik question: Why should our father’s name be lost just because he had no sons? In other words: Why should their family be erased because of a patriarchal culture that overlooked women?

Rather than dismiss the ladies outright, Moses brings the case before God. And what does the Divine say?

Ken benot Tzelofchad dovrot  (the daughters of Zelophehad speak rightly).

God not only agrees with their claim, but the Torah itself is changed because they had the courage to speak up.

This moment models the core Jewish value of tzedek (justice) as an evolving force that must bend and grow to accommodate the needs of the moment. These women were not just claiming land, they were reclaiming dignity, family legacy, and a place in the narrative of the people. Their bravery reminds us that justice begins with asking questions, especially when the world tells you to stay silent.

They also exemplify ometz lev – moral courage of the heart. It would have been the norm for women to believe their fate was in the hands of tribal elders and accept (or at best, careless) ruling, but the women believed that should be treated equally as members of the community, not simply peripheral assets. So the daughters of Zelophehad stood at the entrance of the Tent of Meeting filled with clarity and changed history forever.

In Jewish mysticism, the concept of yerushah (inheritance) is not only about property. It’s about spiritual transmission. The daughters weren’t just asking for a piece of earth; they were claiming their rightful share in kedushah, in holiness, in belonging to the story of the Children of Israel.  Kabbalistically, they represent the power of the Shekhinah – the feminine Divine Presence – rising to be seen and included.

The Zohar teaches that Divine wisdom flows through balance: between masculine and feminine, justice and mercy, structure and transformation. These women tipped the scales toward wholeness. They remind us that when marginalized voices rise, it’s not just politics – it’s prophecy.

Today, their story reverberates in every movement for equity and dignity. We see it when women claim their space in Torah learning, leadership, and public ritual. We see it in every person who approaches the “Tent of Meeting” of today, whether that be synagogues, schools, courtrooms, and boardrooms and asks: Why not me? Why not us?

And just like in the Torah, the answer begins with listening. The power of Moses in this moment is not his authority, it is his humility. He pauses and brings the question to God, opening recognizing that he doesn’t have all the answers. What a sacred model for leadership to have the courage to say: I need to listen. I need to learn!

The daughters of Zelophehad didn’t break the system, they fortified it; they didn’t fight for a place at the table… they reminded us that the table was always meant to be bigger and more inclusive.

This Shabbat, may we be reminded that the Torah isn’t just about the past, it’s a living guide to which we all have the power to contribute. And sometimes, holiness is hidden in small acts of bravery like having the courage to raise your hand and say: This matters. I belong here. Let me be heard.

Shabbat Shalom.