Shavuot’s name has an oddly retrospective meaning that doesn’t really center the day itself. Shavuot means “weeks”, and comes from the practice of counting days and weeks from Passover until you’ve reached seven weeks, and then the next day - the 50th - we celebrate Shavuot. 

As we roll into the Book of Numbers this week, Parashat Bamidbar opens with a census of the Israelites. One leader per tribe is designated to help in enumerating the number of military-aged men in each tribe. The bulk of the Torah portion then goes on to explain, systematically, the layout of the Israelites' camp around the Mishkan (Tabernacle), as well as the divisions and leadership responsibilities of the Levite tribe. 

Back in November 2025, the United States Department of Transportation memorably started a campaign to “jumpstart a nationwide conversation around how we can all restore courtesy and class to air travel,” in part by encouraging people to “dress with respect.” 

Lately, my answer to the stock question of "How are you?" has been something like "Personally, I'm doing well, despite it all." I've been thinking a lot about the discrepancy there... and how it is that we work to create of order and meaning in our personal lives, even (or especially) in light of the chaos the Trump administration is kicking up all around us.

A few days ago, I was walking to preschool with my children. My five-year-old, who has been exploring friendship and playground etiquette (mostly in the breach), noted that one of his classmates had been encouraging others to do mean things. After participating for a while, my kiddo finally wised up and chose not to play with this classmate anymore. 

As we head into the Shabbat of Parashat Tazria-Metzora -- which is also the Shabbat before Yom HaAtzmaut -- I want to share and build on the words of a colleague. In a compelling and powerful Dvar Torah published this week, Rabbi Aaron Leven wrote for the T'ruah list (a rabbinic social justice and human rights organization):

Sometimes, you want a short, pithy phrase to remind you who you are, what matters to you, and what you are trying to do in life. A tagline, mission statement, or mantra, anything that feels grounding and returns you to purposeful and meaningful activities. 

Passover, which begins tonight, revolves around the single most important narrative that we Jews tell about ourselves: the story of "yetziyat mitzrayim," "the going out from Egypt." Through songs and questions, four cups of wine, and a wide range of props and symbolic foods, we recall this story, probe it, and ingest it into the very fibers of our being!

What I love about the book of Vayikra, with its tedious and off-putting instructions for sacrificial offerings and its odd rituals for moving in and out of impurity, is that at the core of the book’s vision is an orderly system for living in relationship to the holy. Life is messy, scary, uncertain… and there’s something we can do to bring ourselves back into alignment, to know that we are okay, that we are enough, that we can make up for mistakes, and that we are meaningfully embedded in a web of life pulsing with sacred purpose. 

We are living through an incredibly tough and volatile moment. This is a hard time to be an American, a hard time to be Jewish, and a hard time to be human! I hope you're all hanging in there.

I’ve been reading a book called What the Robin Knows, by Jon Young, and early on Young tells a story of a time when he was visiting with some friends and looking out a window while people were talking. He describes what he sees as follows:

This week's Torah portion, Ki Tissa, tells a high-drama tale, and leaves us with lots to ponder.

Moses has already been up on top of Mount Sinai for nearly 40 days. Meanwhile, down below, the Israelites have despaired of him ever returning and instead have fashioned a giant idol -- a golden calf -- which they worship with sacrifices, food and drink, and dancing.

In Proverbs, a biblical book of conventional advice delivered with drama, Wisdom is personified as a woman. In the first chapter, she runs out into the streets shouting at “simpletons who love oversimplification, scorners who delight in mockery, and fools who hate knowledge” (Proverbs 1:22). I’m sure she has shown up at some of the same protests you have, marching in the streets full of indignation at the cruel and arrogant and existentially foolish behavior of so many in power right now.

I am writing to you this week from Tel Aviv. Unfortunately, the Kavana-Mishkan group trip to Israel and the West Bank that we had envisioned for February didn't come together (we simply didn't have enough travelers to make it a go -- we'll have to try again). However, I decided to take advantage of this school break week to come with my own family, and we have spent time with relatives and friends, visited museums, archaeological and new cultural sites, and explored the complex political and social realities for both Israelis and Palestinians. It's been a packed and intense trip, and I look forward to debriefing it and sharing more of what I've experienced and learned with the Kavana community in future weeks. For now, I'll stick to the weekly Torah portion...

Nestled in the list of rules (mishpatim) that give this week’s Torah portion its name, there are a handful of verses outlining restitution for harm done by an ox. 

If you are getting ready to zone out, consider this important fact, gleaned from a 2009 study published by Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital in Ireland entitled Cow-related trauma: A 10-year review of injuries admitted to a single institution: “Cow-related trauma is a common among farming communities and is a potentially serious mechanism of injury that appears to be under-reported in a hospital context. Bovine-related head-butt and trampling injuries should be considered akin to high-velocity trauma.”

This week's Torah portion, Yitro, is a big one! After Moses receives leadership advice from his Midianite father-in-law, the Israelites encamp at the base of Mount Sinai and Moses ascends the mountain where he receives the Ten Commandments from God. Between thunder and lightning, the blare of the shofar, and a smoking mountain, the revelatory moment of Exodus is certainly dramatic.

“Serve God in fearful awe, and gilu bi’re’adah וְגִילוּ בִּרְעָדָה - rejoice while shaking.”Psalms 2:11

“Our moods do not believe in each other.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

I’ve been fascinated by Emerson’s quote for a long time, because when you are feeling something big, you enter an emotional world unto itself and it really can be difficult to remember that other states of being exist at all, let alone to imagine experiencing them once again. That is certainly true for difficult moments, personal or political, when gloom clouds over possibilities. But it is equally true of joyous and even calm moments, at least in my experience. 

My front hall closet is filled with an array of reusable grocery bags, but in recent weeks, I've purposefully been reaching for the one from T'ruah, a rabbinic human rights and social justice organization. On the side of the canvas bag, in bold burgundy letters, are the words: "Resisting tyrants since Pharaoh." Given everything unfolding around us right now, I'm drawn to the idea that within the long arc of human history, we've met Pharaohs before, and we know how to recognize Pharaoh-mindedness when we see it: the need for a leader to feed his own ego in order to feel powerful, and the cruelty and oppression that flows from there. I am comforted by the thought that our Jewish muscles instinctively know how to do the work of resistance, and that when we fight back against Pharaoh-ish tyranny, we are following in the footsteps of the many generations that have come before us.

The 20th century Israeli poet Zelda’s most famous poem follows a simple format: 

“Each of us has a name, given by…” The list includes God, parents, the mountains, our walls, and more. It is a rightfully beloved poem, and provokes curiosity about how and why we are known by one name or another. 

This week, we (and the Jewish people everywhere) read Parashat Shemot - and launch into the book of Exodus. The opening chapter-and-a-half covers lots of territory: first, the Israelites become enslaved and oppressed in Egypt, and then a courageous group of women -- both Egyptian and Israelite -- resist Pharaoh's orders. Baby Moses is born, hidden in a basket, and ultimately brought by Pharaoh's daughter to be raised to safety inside her father's palace.