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I wonder how the story would have unfolded if God had been curious rather than furious, and if when Moses came down from the mountain and witnessed the dancing, he had been able to pause and observe, noticing the feelings arising and waiting to respond until his anger had quieted down. Was it reasonable to expect these newly freed slaves, who were just beginning to experiment with their sense of autonomy, to simply wait patiently for Moses to return? 

The horror stories we’re hearing about Uyghur people taken in the night, being separated from their families, having their heads shaved, put on trains, interned, forced into slave labor, and systematically murdered are all too familiar to the Jewish community.

The parshah is pushing us to learn from the insurrection – and not ever to forget it — in service of a larger goal. When major moments like this shock our systems, a part of us needs to embrace that shock and allow it to become constructive, something to propel us forward into courageous action.

I wonder if there might not be some wisdom in “let’s not talk about it”; if the covering might, sometimes, be part of the carrying. 

When someone like Kenneth Smith is praying even as he is lying on a bed of death, how can we pass by once we are made aware, awakened to God's presence there? 

To stand for human dignity means not only insisting on the right to basic survival needs, but the right to live fully — to experience joy, pleasure, love, friendship, beauty.

It is on us to use our tradition responsibly, and to challenge its misuse, whether that be in the service of racism and racist institutions, homophobic policies and legislation, nationalistic aspirations, or exclusive claims to land.

How we love our neighbor is by fighting for a society in which we would be glad to live no matter how little privilege we had.

For me, acknowledging what I cannot see lies at the heart of community building. It helps me feel connected to the humanity of people in my circles and in the broader world, as ultimately the invisible heaviness of experience is one of the things that I know to be true of being human.

I had never been inside Perth Amboy’s quaint, two room art gallery on the outskirts of this heavily Hispanic town in Central New Jersey. What brought me inside at this moment, nearly four years after I moved to Perth Amboy to be the rabbi of Congregation Beth Mordecai, the remaining synagogue in town, was not...