For the week of April 18, 2026 / 1 Iyar 5786

Tazria & Metzora
Torah: Vayikra/Leviticus 12:1 – 15:33; B’midbar/Numbers 28:9-15
Haftarah: Isaiah 66:1-24
Originally posted the week of April 22, 2023 / 1 Iyar 5783 (revised and expanded)

For as the new heavens and the new earth that I make shall remain before me, says the LORD, so shall your offspring and your name remain. (Isaiah 66:22)

This week’s Haftarah (portion from the Hebrew Prophets) is special because the new Jewish month begins this week on Shabbat. It is the second of two references in Isaiah to “the new heavens and the new earth” that God will create (the first occurring in Isaiah 65:17). The renewal of the entirety of creation is central to the overall story of the Bible. From the beginning, God determined he would not allow the cursed state of affairs resulting from our first parents’ disobedience to be permanent. From the first hint of restoration in Bereshit/Genesis 3:15, which foretells the eventual destruction of the serpent and all it represented to God’s promise to Abraham in Bereshit/Genesis 12:3, anticipating world-wide blessing (compare Galatians 3:8) to various other prophecies to Israel and their implications for the nations, Isaiah’s summation in terms of universal renewal should be of no surprise.

Contrary to popular misconception, the expectation of the new heavens and new earth was never to be understood as God’s intent to destroy the material realm. Far from it! God was and is committed to his creation project. What is to be destroyed will be all the evil forces that have worked to undermine the essential goodness of God’s plans and purposes. A day is coming when the universe will be fully and forever set right.

To deny God’s intentions for the material realm distracts from an accurate biblical understanding of the world we live in. Biblically minded people may be surprised, if not offended, to be told that our tendency to degrade the creation by denying the God-given goodness of the material realm has contributed to the growing tendency of much of today’s culture in its embrace of nonsense.

We live in a world of design, God’s design. Despite its cursed state, the creation is based on divinely intended principles. Denying these principles denies reality, nonsense in other words. C.S. Lewis, in his book The Problem of Pain, eloquently explains that the only thing that God can’t do is nonsense. He writes:

His [that is, God’s] Omnipotence means power to do all that is intrinsically possible, not to do the intrinsically impossible. You may attribute miracles to him, but not nonsense. There is no limit to His power. If you choose to say “God can give a creature free-will and at the same time withhold free-will from it,” you have not succeeded in saying anything about God: meaningless combinations of words do not suddenly acquire meaning simply because we prefix to them the two other words “God can.” It remains true that all things are possible with God: the intrinsic impossibilities are not things, but nonentities. It is no more possible for God than for the weakest of His creatures to carry out both of two mutually exclusive alternatives; not because His power meets an obstacle, but because nonsense remains nonsense even when we talk it about God.

The universe we live in has both material and non-material aspects. But nonsense doesn’t exist; nor can it.

Yet, that doesn’t stop human beings from pretending that it does. I attribute this phenomenon to the wonderful God-given gift of imagination. Imagination is a key dynamic involved in creativity. It is imagination that enables us to problem solve, to explore possibilities, and to expound the complexities of life and the universe in extraordinary ways. What imagination on its own cannot do is determine what is good and right. When imagination is allowed to run amok, untethered from the realities of our universe, untold destruction is the result.

Asserting “anything is possible” or “you can be anything you want to be” is helpful when facing legitimate injustice or badly perceived obstacles. All sorts of beneficial innovations have been discovered and effectively implemented due to such optimistic attitudes. Accepting our inability to fly was reasonable until someone allowed their imagination to develop flying machines. But to imagine we can fly without such a device is outside the realm of God-established reality. To believe we could would be nonsense. Attempts to do so would result in destruction.

Nonsense has beset the human family from the time Adam and Eve accepted the serpent’s claim that God was lying to them. Whether we ascribe power to idols or believe being rich will make us happy, or that being popular will give us self-esteem, or pretending we were born in the wrong body, nonsense has always set us in a destructive direction.

The establishment of the new heavens and the new earth will mark the time when nonsense will be shown for what it really is. No longer will reality be ignored as God unveils the full essence of his design forever. Until then, we have the opportunity and responsibility to reflect the creation’s destiny by navigating our broken world through the truth of God’s Word, under the forgiveness of the Messiah and the power of the Ruach HaKodesh (English: the Holy Spirit). Imagine that!

Scriptures taken from the English Standard Version

For the week of April 11, 2026 / 24 Nisan 5786

Sh’mini
Torah: Vayikra/Leviticus 9:1 – 11:47
Haftarah: 2 Samuel 6:1 – 7:17
Originally posted the week of April 10, 2021 / 28 Nisan 5781 (revised)

And David and all the house of Israel were celebrating before the LORD, with songs and lyres and harps and tambourines and castanets and cymbals. And when they came to the threshing floor of Nacon, Uzzah put out his hand to the ark of God and took hold of it, for the oxen stumbled. And the anger of the LORD was kindled against Uzzah, and God struck him down there because of his error, and he died there beside the ark of God. (2 Samuel 6:5-7; ESV)

The connection between this week’s parsha (weekly Torah reading portion) and its associated haftarah (excerpt from the Prophets) is very clear. The parsha includes the death of two of Aaron’s sons for their inappropriate offering. The haftarah also includes a death due to a mishandling of one of God’s most specially set-aside objects. It was during David’s first attempt to bring the Ark of the Covenant to Jerusalem. When the cart upon which it was being transported tipped, a man by the name of Uzzah attempted to stabilize it, and God struck him dead as a result.

The Torah incident doesn’t provide us with the specifics as to what Aaron’s sons did wrong. All we know is that it was, in Hebrew, “zur” (“strange” or “unauthorized”); in other words, outside of that which was prescribed. The context suggests they may have been drunk. We don’t know if that in itself was what was deemed unacceptable and deserving of death, or if drinking led them to make a bad decision.

In the case of the haftarah, however, the reason for the extreme result is much clearer. David had directed his people to transport the Ark in an unauthorized way. Instead of following the Torah protocol of carrying it on poles by Levites, they transported it on an ox cart. We see the acknowledgment of this error sometime later when they resumed the plan; this time in keeping with Torah. The reason for the change of transport method is more explicit in the parallel passage found in 1 Divrei Ha-Yamim/1 Chronicles 15:1–2.

These are two examples of Bible stories that fall into my “don’t like it” category. I am not alone. Aaron, who lost his two sons, was understandably grieved, while David was upset and wouldn’t continue the journey with the Ark until sometime later. Yet, as I struggle with these and other unpleasant incidents in Scripture, I realize that life is full of things that I don’t like.

I have heard statements such as “I could never believe in a god who”—referencing stories like these. It seems to me that such sentiments are loaded with all sorts of additional assumptions. There is likely little to no understanding of the reasons behind such extreme consequences. Plus, little to no acknowledgment or understanding of God’s complex nature, purposes, and plans that could provide the necessary context for such serious consequences.

Whatever one’s relationship is to the God of the Bible, life is full of serious consequences. I am aware that much of such harshness is inexplicable. But, at the same time, how much trouble have we gotten ourselves into because we haven’t taken life as seriously as we ought? At times, this ignorance is at an individual level, as was the case with Aaron’s sons. It appears they should have known better themselves. In Uzzah’s case, he suffered due to the leadership’s irresponsible handling of the situation.

We could learn to accept the way the world God made works, or choose to reject the God who created such an environment for human beings. More and more people insist that we need a type of freedom that ignores the consequences of our actions. Our government may protect and/or mandate all sorts of preferences and/or lifestyles. But that will never change the way things actually work. Not doing things God’s way has serious consequences.

Scriptures taken from the English Standard Version

For the week of April 4, 2026 / 17 Nisan 5786

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Pesach
Torah: Shemot/Exodus 13:1-16; B’midbar/Numbers 28:19-25
Haftarah: Ezekiel 36:37 – 37:14
Originally posted the week of April 11, 2020 / 17 Nisan 5780 (revised)

You shall tell your son on that day: It is because of what the LORD did for me when I came out of Egypt. (Shemot/Exodus 13:8)

Pesach (English: Passover) begins this year the evening of Wednesday, April 1. One of the reasons for this annual commemoration of Israel’s freedom from slavery in Egypt is to retain connection from generation to generation, “l’dor vador” as it says in Hebrew. The ritual aspects of the retelling of the exodus from Egypt were designed by God not only to remind subsequent generations of our wonderful, foundational story, but also to intimately bind our descendants to the original event to the extent that they see themselves as actually there when it happened. Every year when celebrating Pesach, we are to say to our children: “It is because of what the Lord did for me when I came out of Egypt.”

But isn’t this statement for the originals only? Would it not be more correct for the children of the released Hebrew slaves to say, “It is because of what the Lord did for my parents when they came out of Egypt”? Understanding oneself as connected to a historical event through one’s ancestors isn’t identical to being there, of course. That’s technically correct, but technicalities of this sort obscure the depth of meaning found in the intense identification the statement demands.

Even technically, we are far more connected to our history than we normally think. However genetics actually work, the experiences of the past indelibly stamp themselves on our psyches. To some extent, we carry the past with us and pass it on to our children, whether they or we are conscious of it. For subsequent generations to benefit from the events of the past, be they good or bad, it’s better to be not only conscious of those events but also to consciously understand them properly.

From the days of Moses and the departure from Egypt, every Jewish person was to regard themselves as a freed slave. To lose that would be to lose the core of our identity and begin to become something we are not.

Retaining connection to this story is not for the Jewish people alone. When Yeshua leveraged his final Pesach observance as the key reference through which his followers would remember him and his sacrifice, he opened the door for everyone, Jewish or otherwise, to recognize the commonality of all peoples. Israel’s oppression in tyrannical Egypt functions as a picture of evil’s oppression of all people. Yeshua’s giving of himself as the supreme Passover Lamb provides freedom to all who trust in him. Just like the Angel of Death passed over those Jewish homes that had applied the Passover lamb’s blood to their doorframes in faith, so God’s judgment passes over anyone, Jewish or not, who figuratively places the Messiah’s blood over themselves by trusting in him.

As we tell the story of our deliverance as inherited from those who have gone before, their story becomes our story. Pesach, as viewed through a messianic lens, reminds us that the God of Israel is the God of deliverance for all. And if we make his deliverance our own, as demonstrated by the exodus and offered to all people through the Messiah Yeshua, we will have the opportunity to tell our children, “This is what the Lord did for me.”

Scriptures taken from the English Standard Version

For the week of March 28, 2026 / 10 Nisan 5786

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Tzav
Torah: Vayikra/Leviticus 6:1-8:36 (English 6:8 – 8:36)
Haftarah Malachi 3:4-24 (English: 3:4 – 4:6)

For I the LORD do not change; therefore you, O children of Jacob, are not consumed. (Malachi 3:6)

I understand how difficult it is to grasp God’s covenantal loyalty, his “hesed” in Hebrew. But it isn’t acknowledged—more than that—celebrated, in Scripture for nothing, such the twenty-six times it is repeated in Psalm 136: “Ki l’olam chasdo; his steadfast love endures forever.” However, the difficulty surrounding God’s enduring love isn’t due to some sort of linguistic or conceptual complexity. It’s that we cannot seem to accept that God would commit in this extreme way.

But, no matter how you might feel about it, that’s exactly what he did. When God called Abram in the twelfth chapter of Genesis, he put no conditions on his promises to him of nationhood, blessing, and land. Perhaps the directive to go to the land of Canaan was a condition. If so, that condition was met.

It’s one thing to make unconditional promises; it’s another thing to keep them. But to keep them was never in question, the certainty of which is expressed by God through the prophet Malachi: “For I the LORD do not change; therefore you, O children of Jacob, are not consumed” (Malachi 3:6).

Not being consumed doesn’t mean easy street by any stretch of the imagination. Israel’s chosenness thrust them into the pressure cooker of partnership with God, his plans, and his purposes. God’s spotlight shone upon them, entrusting them with divine truth, but also putting a target on their backs as God’s enemies became their enemies. Bearing the weight of God’s calling, their human nature would be taxed in unique ways. Their frailty and sin would be showcased for all to see.

Their failure—as any other nation would have done—to live up to God’s standards would have consequences, consequences of oppression, exile, and death. By Malachi’s day, they thought they had seen it all. Some, having returned from exile to Babylon, hoping for long-anticipated better days, continued to experience corruption and strife.

Yet, like every other time, whether before or afterwards, they were down, but not out. But why? Why hasn’t Israel ended up, like so many other nations, on the ash heap of history? Why are the children of Jacob not consumed? Because the God of Israel doesn’t change!

God’s unchanging nature is the basis of our confidence in him. Tragically, those who reject God’s enduring faithfulness to Israel don’t realize that if he can’t be trusted to fulfill his promises to Israel as a nation, we have no basis to trust in his enduring faithfulness to us as individuals.

Thankfully, that’s not the case! The unchangeable God is not fickle; he is trustworthy. That’s why we can look at the miracle of the Jewish people’s existence—not just existence, but thriving—despite persecution, exile, and attempted genocide and take heart that whatever we might be going through today, if we have put our trust in the Jewish Messiah, he will see us through.

Scriptures taken from the English Standard Version

For the week of March 21, 2026 / 3 Nisan 5786

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Vayikra
Torah: Vayikra/Leviticus 1:1 – 5:26 (English 1:1-6:7)
Haftarah: Isaiah 43:21 – 44:23
Originally posted the week of March 12, 2022 / 9 Adar II 5782 (revised)

The LORD called Moses and spoke to him from the tent of meeting, saying, “Speak to the people of Israel and say to them, When any one of you brings an offering to the LORD, you shall bring your offering of livestock from the herd or from the flock.” (Vayikra/Leviticus 1:1-2)

The directives in Torah regarding sacrifices and offerings are far more concerned about the “what” than the “why.” God, through Moses, was speaking to a culture where animal and other sacrifices were the expected norm. In the Bible, sacrifice dates back to at least Cain and Abel, the sons of Adam and Eve. Some think it goes back further, when God himself provided animal skins to cover Adam and Eve, replacing the skimpy fig leaf “clothes” they made. Regardless, the Bible assumes sacrifice as a primary human activity without explaining why. The lack of a why has not prevented it from being central to many societies throughout human history, and it continues today.

Similar to the “why” question, what does sacrifice do? It appears that many cultures understood it to be a way to appease the gods. It was believed that the gods were behind the challenges of nature. Somehow, the offering up of an animal, often through burning it, transferred it to the domain of the gods. If the gods accepted it, good things would happen. If not, you continued to be a victim of their wrath through drought, famine, floods, and so on.

There are some hints that biblical sacrifice worked in a similar fashion. For example, God speaks of receiving an acceptable sacrifice as a pleasing aroma (e.g., Vayikra/Leviticus 1:9). Vayikra/Leviticus 17:11 teaches that blood is imbued with a certain quality that makes sacrifice effective. Yet, it is very clear that the Bible rejects any sort of mechanical dynamic regarding sacrifice. For if a person’s attitude toward God wasn’t one of humility and genuine honor, the sacrifices would accomplish nothing (e.g., Hosea 6:6). It was never the sacrifices themselves that made the difference. It has always been (and still is) more about how people personally relate to God. Biblically speaking, rituals were always intended to be an outward expression of an inner, personal reality.

The great exception to this is the Messiah. His sacrifice actually made a practical difference by breaking the power of sin in the world. A case could be made that every other genuine, godly sacrifice is a sort of symbolic gesture reflecting the uniqueness of Yeshua’s selfless death.

The call to sacrifice continues despite the effectiveness of Yeshua’s sacrifice. I am not referring to the Old Covenant sacrifices established through Moses, for they are now obsolete in light of the New Covenant prophesied in Jeremiah 31:31-34 and clarified by the Book of Hebrews. Under the New Covenant, the focus on sacrifice shifts from giving up what we own to giving up our very lives. We read,

I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship (Romans 12:1).

Far from attempting to court favor from the gods in order to reap benefits, we give our whole selves out of gratefulness to the one who graciously restored us to himself.

Yeshua called his followers to a lifestyle of sacrifice. He said:

If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it (Matthew 16:24-25).

And yet, these words are often misunderstood to refer to the need to reckon with the great difficulty of following him, as in something like, “Oh, what a heavy cross I bear!” That misses the point. Instead, Yeshua’s directive aligns with the call to be a living sacrifice. Yeshua is saying that his followers must be ready to do God’s will, even if it means giving up our lives, just as he did.

Scriptures taken from the English Standard Version

For the week of March 14, 2026 / 25 Adar 5786

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Vayakhel & Pekudei
Torah: Shemot/Exodus 35:1 – 40:38; & Shemot/Exodus 12:1-20
Haftarah: Ezekiel 45:16-46
Originally posted the week of March 25, 2017 / 27 Adar 5777 (revised)

Then the cloud covered the tent of meeting, and the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle. And Moses was not able to enter the tent of meeting because the cloud settled on it, and the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle. (Shemot/Exodus 40:34-35)

This week’s parsha (English: Torah portion) is a high point in Scripture. After many chapters describing the design and construction of the mishkan (English: tabernacle), it is finally completed. God responds to this by filling the mishkan with his kavod (English: glory). God’s glory in this context refers to a visible manifestation of himself, denoting his presence in a very real way. God was tangibly showing the people of Israel that he was with them. While God is everywhere in the universe in one sense, this demonstrated that he was uniquely making himself known in and through Israel alone.

Every aspect of the development of Israel’s national life, as revealed by God through Moses, had to do with maintaining his glory among them. From the sacrificial system to personal intimacy; from agricultural techniques to hygiene; from business practices to treatment of people with special needs—everything that God commanded was because he, the Master of the Universe, dwelt among them.

In the centuries that followed, Israel risked losing God’s glory. Eventually, this tragically occurred during the Babylonian captivity, as recorded in the eighth through eleventh chapters of the prophet Ezekiel. Contrary to what many people think, the loss of God’s presence was not due to Israel’s moral imperfections. God had made provision in the Sinai Covenant for wrongs committed. The glory departed due to long-term rebellion against God as expressed mainly through idolatry. In other words, Israel had rejected God. But that is not the end of the story. Ezekiel, Isaiah, and the other Hebrew prophets predicted over and over again that God’s glory—his presence—would return to Israel. The restoration of God’s presence was guaranteed to Israel based upon his earlier unconditional and eternal promises to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.

By the end of the writing of the Hebrew Scriptures, God’s glory had not yet returned. As prophesied by Jeremiah and decreed by the Persian King Cyrus, many Jewish people returned. They resettled the land and rebuilt both the temple and Jerusalem. But the nation continued in a state best described as tentative. On the one hand, during this period, God was with them—there would not have been a return otherwise—but not to the extent the prophets anticipated. For most of the time from the return until the destruction of the second temple in the year 70, Israel continued under foreign rule, a sure sign that all was not right between them and God. Where was the promised Messiah?

It was not until Yeshua’s coming that the light of God’s glory began to appear on the horizon again. Those who believed him to be the Messiah rightly understood that, according to the prophetic writings, Yeshua’s arrival indicated that God himself was returning to dwell among them.

This time, however, it would not be in the form of a cloud filling the temple, but something much greater. Through Yeshua’s sacrifice, his defeat of death by the resurrection, and his return to the heavenly temple to sit at God’s right hand, he poured out the Ruach Hakodesh, the Holy Spirit, upon those who placed their trust in him. Now the glory of God would not live in a tent or a building, but rather in people. The glory of the God of Israel has returned as promised, taking up residence in and among all those who truly entrust themselves to Yeshua the Messiah.

Scriptures taken from the English Standard Version

For the week of March 7, 2026 / 18 Adar 5786

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Ki Tisa & Parah
Shemot/Exodus 30:11 – 34:35; B’midbar/Numbers 19:1–22
Haftarah: Ezekiel 36:16–38

And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. (Ezekiel 36:26)

This week’s haftarah (reading from the Hebrew prophets) is special because this coming Shabbat follows Purim (the Festival of Esther). Purim, which this year occurs on Tuesday, March 3, commemorates the rise of Queen Esther, who was willing to risk her life to save her people from extermination. It’s the most joyous of all Jewish holidays.

Purim reminds us of our God-given responsibility to speak up in the face of evil. And yet evil’s power, be it in Esther’s day or our own, can often intimidate us into silence. What difference can one person make, especially if that person is me? And yet, like Esther, we may find ourselves in the right place at the right time. We never know when God may choose us to take a stand against evil, not just for our own sake, but for purposes far greater than ourselves.

I believe we are living in a time when evil has become so widespread that the responsibility to speak the truth falls on anyone who possesses it. This evil has taken many forms, which I will not take the time to list here. But as someone who treasures the Scriptures, as many of my audience do, at the core of it all is the spirit of Haman from the Purim story. It’s the misrepresentation and misguided treatment of the Jewish people, commonly called antisemitism. Tragically, antisemitism is too often naively and not-so-naively displayed by those who, while claiming allegiance to the Jewish Messiah, adhere to what has been called Replacement (or Fulfillment) Theology, also known as Supersessionism — the idea that God’s promises to ancient Israel are either transferred to or fulfilled by the Church.

When producing TorahBytes, I always begin with a fairly short Scripture as I did here. But to make my point more effective this week, I am providing a wider context. Here is Ezekiel 36:22-32:

Therefore say to the house of Israel, Thus says the Lord GOD: It is not for your sake, O house of Israel, that I am about to act, but for the sake of my holy name, which you have profaned among the nations to which you came. And I will vindicate the holiness of my great name, which has been profaned among the nations, and which you have profaned among them. And the nations will know that I am the LORD, declares the Lord GOD, when through you I vindicate my holiness before their eyes. I will take you from the nations and gather you from all the countries and bring you into your own land. I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you shall be clean from all your uncleannesses, and from all your idols I will cleanse you. And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to obey my rules. You shall dwell in the land that I gave to your fathers, and you shall be my people, and I will be your God. And I will deliver you from all your uncleannesses. And I will summon the grain and make it abundant and lay no famine upon you. I will make the fruit of the tree and the increase of the field abundant, that you may never again suffer the disgrace of famine among the nations. Then you will remember your evil ways, and your deeds that were not good, and you will loathe yourselves for your iniquities and your abominations. It is not for your sake that I will act, declares the Lord GOD; let that be known to you. Be ashamed and confounded for your ways, O house of Israel (Ezekiel 36:22-32).

If the case against Supersessionism isn’t clear enough by my simply providing this passage, let me emphasize the following:

First, the Israel he is speaking to is whom we would call the Jewish people today, those in Ezekiel’s time, who, years earlier, had been scattered by the Assyrians and then exiled by the Babylonians.

Second, God’s own reputation is at stake here. Note his actions are not based on the people’s response, but upon his work among and within them.

Third, Israel’s return to both God and our ancient homeland is part of God’s restoration of his ancient covenant people.

And let’s also include verse thirty-six: “Then the nations that are left all around you shall know that I am the Lord; I have rebuilt the ruined places and replanted that which was desolate. I am the Lord; I have spoken, and I will do it.” God’s work among and within the people of Israel will have a great impact on the surrounding nations.

Obviously, there is so much here to unpack, but for now, let me say this: according to Ezekiel, the people who will experience the spiritual and physical renewal are the wayward people of Israel. Any transference of these promises to anyone else, any subtle or not-so-subtle interpretive twist that undermines what God is saying, any theological sleight of hand that suggests that God did not or does not mean what he says, not only robs the Jewish people of our God-given inheritance, but misrepresents the God of Israel himself, which is blasphemy.

The circumstances of Purim began when Esther’s cousin Mordecai would not bow to the Amalekite Haman, whose self-interest influenced the political powers in an attempt to destroy God’s chosen people. On this Purim, I call upon each and every person who values the Scriptures of the God of Israel to stand with the people of Israel against this same evil spirit that sought to destroy us centuries ago. Stand with the God of Israel by standing with the people of Israel, so that his promises through Ezekiel may be fulfilled sooner than later.

Scriptures taken from the English Standard Version

For the week of February 28, 2026 / 11 Adar 5786

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Tezavveh & Zakhor
Torah: Shemot/Exodus 27:20 – 30:10; D’varim/Deuteronomy 25:17-19
Haftarah: 1 Samuel 15:2-34
Originally posted the week of March 7, 2020 / 11 Adar 5780 (revised)

As a jeweler engraves signets, so shall you engrave the two stones with the names of the sons of Israel. You shall enclose them in settings of gold filigree. And you shall set the two stones on the shoulder pieces of the ephod, as stones of remembrance for the sons of Israel. And Aaron shall bear their names before the Lord on his two shoulders for remembrance. (Sh’mot/Exodus 28:11-12)

This week, we look at one particular aspect of the elaborate garb of the Cohen HaGadol (English: Chief or High Priest). Over his main clothing, he was to wear an ephod, an apron-like overgarment with special spiritual significance. On each of the ephod’s shoulder pieces was a stone with the names of the twelve tribes of Israel. We read: “Aaron” (meaning he and his successors) “shall bear their names before the Lord on his two shoulders for remembrance” (Sh’mot/Exodus 28:12). The Cohen Hagadol, therefore, literally carried the names of the tribes into the presence of God.

It isn’t clear whether the “remembrance for the sons of Israel” refers to the need for the Cohen HaGadol to remember the people of Israel in his priestly service, or if, in his priestly service, he was bringing the people of Israel to the remembrance of God. Either way, he was symbolically carrying the weight of the nation on his shoulders. That this was symbolic makes what he was doing no less real. He obviously wasn’t carrying the people themselves on his shoulders, but the burden of the cares of the nation is a heavy burden—one that would intensely affect most people.

Like the Cohen HaGadol, we carry burdens on our shoulders. Any responsibility, be it family, job, community, and so on, is a burden—a burden that may or may not feel burdensome, but a burden nonetheless.

God had clearly placed the people of Israel on the Cohen HaGadol’s shoulders. What you and I are to carry, however, may not be so clear. At times, we find ourselves overwhelmed by the cares and concerns of others. I suggest we take the time to ask God, whether or not these are our assigned burdens or if we have mistakenly put them on ourselves.

Sometimes we carry burdens God has given us, but we make them heavier than they really are. We might misunderstand the nature of the responsibility, leading us to take misguided courses of action. It is important to let God clarify for us how he wants us to do the things he gives us to do. Don’t be deceived into thinking that going extreme on something is the same as being faithful to God. Doing more than we should can be as destructive as neglect.

Frankly, I don’t know how common this is, but you might find this helpful. At times, I have felt burdened without knowing what I am burdened with. I find myself feeling heavy, thinking that I am personally struggling emotionally, when actually God is placing a concern on my heart for someone else. When you find yourself carrying a weight, but don’t know what it is, as in everything else, ask God what is going on. You might be bearing the burden of another. If so, then ask him what he wants you to do about it.

While very few are called, like the Cohen HaGadol, to carry the burden of an entire nation, what has God placed on your shoulders? Unlike those who find themselves overly burdened or misunderstanding what it is they are carrying, perhaps you have been too busy to notice. Few carry the responsibility level of a Cohen HaGadol, but all people carry something. As bearers of God’s image, created by him to fulfill his plans and purposes on earth, we all have some part to play, some burden to carry, a responsibility to fulfill.

Yeshua said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30). Often, when this is referenced, the lightness of his burden is emphasized so much that we forget there is still a burden to carry. What God calls us to do is not designed to crush us, but we are called to carry it.

Scriptures taken from the English Standard Version

For the week of February 21, 2026 / 4 Adar 5786

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Terumah
Torah: Shemot/Exodus 25:1 – 27:19
Haftarah: 1 Melachim/1 Kings 5:26 – 6:13 (English 5:12 – 6:13)
Originally posted the week of February 17, 2018 / 2 Adar 5778 (updated)

And you shall put the mercy seat on the top of the ark, and in the ark you shall put the testimony that I shall give you. There I will meet with you, and from above the mercy seat, from between the two cherubim that are on the ark of the testimony, I will speak with you about all that I will give you in commandment for the people of Israel. (Shemot/Exodus 25:21-22)

It’s fairly common to hear the God of the Old Testament contrasted with the God of the New. Even among those who would never dare to say that these constitute two very different beings, they may as well, given how common it is to mischaracterize what many view as irreconcilable depictions of this one God. There are indeed key contrasts between the Hebrew Scriptures and the New Covenant Writings vis-à-vis the divine. The differences, however, are not in God himself. But, rather, in his relationship to human beings.

To the casual reader, the Hebrew Scriptures seem to depict a God who is distant, while the New Covenant Writings portray him as approachable. That is somewhat true, because on our own, we are not fit to approach him. This is not due to his aloofness, as if he is sitting far away in heaven, nor a disinterest in human affairs. Far from it! As he revealed himself to the people of Israel within the covenant given at Mount Sinai, we see him anxious to live among his precious human creatures.

The entire Sinai covenant system was built upon the centrality of God’s dwelling place. God directed Moses to construct a mobile structure called the “mishkan” (English: tabernacle). It was here that the sacrifices and other worship rites were to be exclusively performed. Mishkan means “dwelling.” It was the precursor of the temple, which in Hebrew is “bayit,” the word for “house.” It is difficult to say whether God’s taking up residence in the mishkan was metaphorical or literal. It is probably both in some ways and not in others. Regardless, the people of Israel were to understand that the Master of the Universe was among them.

Inside the mishkan, in its innermost sanctum, called the “kodesh ha-k’dashim” (English: Holy of Holies), was a special golden chest, called the “aron ha-b’rit” (English: the Ark of the Covenant). On top of the aron ha-b’rit was the “kapporet” (English: “cover,” traditionally referred to as “the mercy seat”). As we read at the beginning, it was here that God would meet and speak with Moses. It would be here that the Cohen HaGadol (English: the Chief Priest) would appear before God once a year on Yom Kippur (English: the Day of Atonement).

That God was in the house was an essential element of ancient Israeli society. God is not a concept, but an actual personal being (the Being of all Beings, we can say). Obedience to his Word, even then, was not simply cold adherence to abstract principles, but the reasonable response to the reality of his presence. Everything that the people did or didn’t do was in response to him being in the house.

One of the dramatic developments within the New Covenant is that God’s presence is no longer confined to the ancient house, be it the mishkan or the temple. This is illustrated by the miraculous tearing of the curtain that separated the Holy of Holies from the rest of the house (see Matthew 27:51, Mark 15:38, Luke 23:45). This occurred immediately following Yeshua’s death to demonstrate that his sacrifice not only provided access to God for people of all nations, but that God’s presence was being unleashed throughout the entire world.

Through the New Covenant, the God of Israel is no longer exclusive to the people of Israel. In a sense, he never was. Not only did the calling of Israel through Abraham always have the nations in mind, but the Hebrew Scriptures are clear that God was neither nationalistic nor regional. It’s due to the human condition that the world wasn’t ready for his presence.

Since Yeshua’s death and resurrection, God’s presence has manifested throughout the earth in a most personal way. While most people seem to be blind to his taking up residence within his creation, he is no less present. God is in the house—the world he has made—yet we too often ignore him. We think we can get away with doing our own thing our own way, as if he will not call each and every one of us to account. He is doing far more, speaking far more, and responding far more than we care to admit.

We are not alone. God is in the house.

All scriptures, English Standard Version (ESV) of the Bible

For the week of February 14, 2026 / 27 Shevat 5786

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Mishpatim & Shekalim
Torah: Shemot/Exodus 21:1 – 24:18; 30:11-16
Prophets: 2 Melachim/2 Kings 12:1-17
Originally posted the week of February 25, 2017 / 29 Shevat 5777 (revised)

Then Moses and Aaron, Nadab, and Abihu, and seventy of the elders of Israel went up, and they saw the God of Israel. There was under his feet as it were a pavement of sapphire stone, like the very heaven for clearness. And he did not lay his hand on the chief men of the people of Israel; they beheld God, and ate and drank. (Shemot/Exodus 24:9-11)

One of the most intriguing incidents in the Torah is when Moses, his brother Aaron, two of Aaron’s sons, and seventy elders ate with God. The references to seeing and beholding God seem to contradict God’s later statement to Moses about not seeing his face (see Shemot/Exodus 33:20). But in both occasions, there seems to be a seeing but not seeing happening at the same time. In the latter story, Moses is told that he can’t see God’s “face,” but only his “back” (Shemot/Exodus 33:23). How literally this is to be taken, we don’t know. It is reasonable to assume that seeing God’s face as opposed to his back is a reference to various levels of encountering his presence in the material realm. Human beings, due to our alienation from God, can only tolerate his revealing himself to some extent, a fullness of which would result in death. This explains the reaction of surprise by people such as Jacob, Gideon, Samson’s parents, and Isaiah, who have encountered God in some physical sense and yet survived (e.g., Bereshit/Genesis 32:30; Shoftim/Judges 6:22-23; 13:22, Isaiah 6:5).

A hint that Moses and company in this instance didn’t see God in his fullness is the mention of “his feet” and the appearance of the ground underneath him. If they saw more than that, one would think that there would be additional, more graphic things to describe.

Experiencing the presence of God, or the lack thereof, is a recurring theme in Scripture. The early pages of the Bible describe God mingling with people (see Bereshit/Genesis 3:8). Adam and Eve’s exile from the Garden of Eden for their rebellion against their Creator marks the beginning of our alienation from him. And yet God is not entirely absent. His contact with human beings from that time on is primarily verbal (however that worked) with a few dramatic and more intimate encounters such as the ones I have mentioned.

The directives God gave to Moses for building the Mishkan (English: Tabernacle), the precursor to the Temple, indicate God’s desire to dwell with his people. On one hand, he was understood to be in the people’s midst, but on the other hand, he was hidden from them behind the veil in front of the Mishkan’s inner sanctum, “the Holy of Holies.”

But doesn’t God live in a completely other place called “heaven”? Both the experience of eating with God and God’s presence within the Mishkan tell us something different. Heaven isn’t way out there somewhere. Rather, it’s where God is. Understanding heaven as far away is a way of speaking to describe the separation of God’s realm from the world in which we live. Yet the Bible teaches that the heavenly realm breaks in from time to time. And one day, the heavenly and earthly realms will co-exist harmoniously as God always intended, when the New Jerusalem is established on earth (see Revelation 21). What Moses and company had was a taste of this age to come.

Whenever and however that will be, we can access heaven now. That’s what happens when God’s Spirit takes up residence in us. The Messiah’s sacrifice and his defeat of death through his resurrection create access to heaven beyond anything experienced prior to his coming, Moses and company’s experience included. Heaven, the realm of God, is not something we must wait to experience when we die; it can be our lived experience now, by putting our trust in the Messiah, Yeshua.

All scriptures, English Standard Version (ESV) of the Bible