Rabbi's Message: Slichot
Shavua Tov,
There’s something powerful about being in the final days of the Jewish year. It feels different, to me, than the last week of December. At this moment, nearing the conclusion of the month of Elul, we know that Rosh Hashanah is approaching. It will soon be a day of celebrating our world, the new year, and community. Yes, the liturgy of the New Year begins to set us up for the deep spiritual work of the Yamim Noraim (Days of Awe), yet it is a celebration - we say Shanah Tovah!
But, immediately after Rosh Hashanah, we embark on the journey of the Days of Awe, a time when the Book of Life has been cracked open only to be closed on Yom Kippur and sealed at the end of Sukkot. So, these final days of the year, the final week of Elul, feels as if all the “stuff” in our hearts, minds, and souls has been accumulated and now is the time to sort through it. From one perspective, we can imagine that this is the work of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, yet in the Ashkenazi Jewish tradition, we have this final week as a period of Selichot. The 15th century Spanish Rabbi, Joseph Albo, wrote in his Sefer HaIkkarim, “We do not wait for Rosh Hashanah to come. We desire to approach the day of judgement as friends of God, not as strangers. In this manner we are confident that God will give us a good year.”
So, Selichot is the time in which we search our own souls and begin to prepare ourselves spiritually for Rosh Hashanah, the Days of Awe, and eventually Yom Kippur. It is a period of spiritual reflection deeper than the balance of Elul and in preparation for the days ahead. As we embrace these final moments of Elul and engage with Selichot, may we discover again our opportunity to be-friend God, Divine, Mystery of Creation, whatever it is we believe.
Shanah Tovah U’Mitukah - A Good and Sweet New Year,
Rabbi Evon
May Her Memory Be A Glorious Blessing
By Rabbi Lauren Ben-Shoshan
Before I left for college, each of my grandmothers gave me a seminal work of Second Wave feminist thought. Years later, as I neared the end of college, those books—and the women who had placed them in my hands—inspired me to write my senior honors thesis on the impact of Second Wave feminism upon Reform Judaism. That work became part of the path that led me to rabbinical school and, ultimately, to the rabbinate.
The First Wave of American feminism, which stretched from the 19th century into the early decades of the 20th, fought most visibly for women’s suffrage and political equality. It gave us leaders such as Hannah Greenebaum Solomon (1858–1942), who founded the National Council of Jewish Women and mobilized thousands of Jewish women in the work of civic reform and education, and Clara Lemlich (1886–1982), whose fiery leadership helped ignite the 1909 uprising of garment workers in New York. These women did not take the first steps toward women’s equality—women had been struggling toward freedom for generations—but they secured transformative legal and political gains upon which later generations could build.
Second Wave feminism carried that work more deeply into the educational, professional, economic, familial, and intimate realms of women’s lives. It helped shape the world into which I entered as a young woman. Because of the work of Second Wave feminists, doors once closed to women opened wider. Women gained stronger protections against discrimination in education, employment, and credit. We asserted a legally recognized—if still fiercely contested—claim to bodily autonomy. Within Reform Judaism, the movement helped communities reconsider inherited assumptions about who could study Torah, exercise religious authority, and serve as clergy.
Second Wave feminism did not single-handedly make my education or rabbinate possible. But its advocates challenged many of the barriers that might once have kept someone like me from imagining either. We may now speak of third- and fourth-wave feminism, but we continue to inhabit a world built upon the courage, sacrifice, organizing, and insight of the Second Wave.
That is why the death of Gloria Steinem this past week affected me so deeply—and why her loss is being felt by so many, including throughout the Jewish community.
Steinem’s story, too, was a story of inheritance. As an adult, she discovered that her activism had roots in a family history she had never fully been taught. Her paternal grandmother, Pauline Perlmutter Steinem, had been a Jewish suffragist, an advocate for vocational education, and the first woman elected to Toledo’s Board of Education. Gloria later recalled that she had been told that Pauline kept a kosher home and raised four sons—but not that she had addressed Congress or campaigned alongside socialists and anarchists.
What an extraordinary illustration of the ways women’s stories are lost. Gloria knew that her grandmother had cared for a household; she had not been told that her grandmother had worked to change the world.
For Steinem, this discovery revealed that her life’s work was not hers alone. She was continuing a path another woman in her family had already begun. I find that especially moving. My grandmothers deliberately placed the work of feminist foremothers into my hands. Steinem had to discover that inheritance for herself. In both cases, however, one generation’s courage made another generation’s work possible.
Steinem’s connection to Jewish life found particularly meaningful expression at the Passover table. For more than twenty years, she joined a circle of Jewish feminist “Seder sisters” who reclaimed the women of the Exodus and connected their ancient courage to the continuing struggle for equality. Together they sang of Miriam the prophet, asked new questions, named the “Ten Plagues of Women,” and created modern midrash. Their premise was simple, yet revolutionary: women matter—in our sacred stories, in Jewish life, and in the still-unfolding work of liberation.
Gloria Steinem’s life embodied that conviction. She asked questions that could not be unasked. She named injustices that could no longer be dismissed as ordinary or private. And although she became an icon, she reminded others that movements are not made by icons alone. They are built in circles, through listening and organizing, by ordinary people who discover that they are neither alone nor powerless.
Her life also reminds us that progress is neither inevitable nor irreversible. Steinem lived long enough to witness victories for which she had struggled—and to see some of them endangered or undone. Still, she continued working for equality until the end of her life. She understood that the pursuit of justice does not belong to one leader or one generation. It is an inheritance passed from hand to hand: from Pauline to Gloria, from my grandmothers to me, from Gloria to millions of women and allies—and now, from all of them to us.
May Gloria Steinem’s memory be for a blessing. May her courage live in every person who refuses to accept inequality as inevitable. May her questions continue to unsettle us, her vision continue to enlarge us, and her life remind us that freedom is not simply something we inherit. It is also something we must preserve, expand, and pass forward.
Fall Is a Time for Family and Renewing Friendships
Message from the President
There’s something about fall in Tahoe that always gets my attention. Maybe it’s that first morning when you realize you need a sweater or watching the aspens begin to turn. Whatever it is, fall seems to remind us that change can be beautiful—and that it’s a good time to reconnect.
That’s very much the spirit of our High Holidays this year. Yes, we’ll pray and reflect, but we’ll also do something equally important: sit around tables together. We’ll share meals, stories, laughter, and conversation. We’ll see old friends, make new ones, and remind ourselves why being part of a Jewish community matters.
And while we’re talking about community, I’ll make my annual gentle reminder: none of this happens for free, even though we offer our High Holiday experiences without tickets or admission charges. We want everyone to feel welcome, regardless of their ability to pay. To make that possible, we depend on the generosity of our members—and especially appreciate contributions from visiting family and friends who join us. Our High Holiday moments are community affairs that takes many volunteers to come to life. Please also consider signing up for your opportunity to participate in what makes us so special. Links to donate your time or money are below.
So as the leaves begin to change, enjoy the season. Come sit at our table. Bring a friend. Share a meal.
And most importantly, enjoy the moments we have together.
L’Shanah Tovah,
Heidi Doyle, President
North Tahoe Hebrew Congregation
Rabbis’ Message: August 25, 2026
This week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo, begins with a basket.
The Israelites are told that, when they enter the land and begin to harvest its produce, they should take the first fruits of the soil, place them in a basket, and bring them forward as an offering. Standing there with the fruits of their labor in their hands, they tell the story of the journey that brought them to this moment. It is a beautiful ritual because it holds past, present, and future together.
They remember the past: the journeys and work of cultivation that brought them to this point in time. They celebrate the present: the fruit they can finally hold in their hands, the tangible result of planting, tending, waiting, and working. And because these are the first fruits — not the final harvest — they also look toward the future, toward everything still growing.
As we prepare for the High Holy Days, I find myself thinking about the baskets we are carrying. Over this past year, we have planted and cultivated so much together. We have gathered for Shabbat and holidays, learned together, celebrated together, mourned together, welcomed new faces, strengthened friendships, and continued building Jewish life here in the mountains. Some of that work has been visible. Much of it has happened quietly: someone setting up chairs, bringing food, greeting a newcomer, carrying a Torah, helping a child, making a phone call, preparing a room, or simply showing up when another person needed community.
And now we are approaching one of the great harvest moments of our Jewish year. The High Holy Days do not simply happen. The community we experience during these sacred days is something we create together. Every person who welcomes someone at the door, helps prepare a space, brings something for a shared meal, assists with our children and families, carries supplies, cleans up afterward, or says, “I can help,” adds something to the basket.
If you have a little time to offer this season, we would love to have you join our High Holy Day Task Force in the volunteer efforts linked below:
Volunteer for Rosh HaShanah: [LINK]
Volunteer for Yom Kippur: [LINK]
Other High Holy Day volunteer opportunities: [LINK]
You do not need to do everything. You do not need to have special expertise. You simply need to bring one small piece of the harvest.
Ki Tavo reminds us to stop long enough to notice what our collective labor has already produced — and then to look toward what we might grow next. As we approach the new year, may we be grateful for those who planted before us, proud of what we have cultivated together, and ready to add our own hands to the work of tending this extraordinary community.
May the first fruits of 5787 be only the beginning of a beautiful harvest.
Rabbi’s Message: August 18, 2026
By Rabbi Lauren Ben-Shoshan
As we are settling into the Hebrew of month of Elul, the month of preparation before our High Holy Day Celebrations, I have been considering the meaning of each of our rituals. Which means that this week I have spent a lot of time thinking about Tashlich.
Between Erev Rosh HaShanah and the entrance of Yom Kippur, Jews around the world walk toward water. We gather beside rivers and lakes, streams and oceans. We empty our pockets, shake out the corners of our clothing, and sometimes toss breadcrumbs, birdseed, or even small pebbles into the water. We watch the ripples spread. We watch the current carry something away.
The ritual itself takes its name from the closing verses of the prophet Micah:
“Who is a God like You,forgiving iniquityand remitting transgression…You will take us back in love;You will cover up our iniquities,You will cast—v’tashlich—all our sins into the depths of the sea.”(Micah 7:18–19)
Micah’s poetry lays open an extraordinary image of forgiveness and possibility. Imagine, he suggests, that the things we have done wrong could be lifted from us and carried so far away that they sink into the deepest parts of the sea. Centuries later, we turned Micah’s metaphor into movement.
One of our earliest clear records of the ritual of Tashlich comes from the Maharil, Rabbi Yaakov ben Moshe Moelin, the great recorder of medieval Ashkenazi Jewish practice. Writing around the turn of the fifteenth century, he describes a custom of going to a river on Rosh HaShanah after the meal and symbolically casting away our sins. Later, the Rema would record the practice more explicitly: Jews “go to the river and say the verse, ‘You will cast all their sins into the depths of the sea.’”
But before we can cast anything away, there is another step—one that is much easier to overlook. We have to know what we are carrying.
This is one of the spiritual skills that the month of Elul asks us to practice: awareness. Before teshuvah can begin, we have to notice. We cannot cast away what we have not first been willing to see.
And then comes a second spiritual skill: discernment.
Because not everything we carry should be thrown into the water. There may be grief that still deserves to be carried. A boundary we worked hard to establish. A responsibility that would be much easier to discard than to fulfill. A mistake whose guilt we may eventually release, but whose lesson we desperately need to keep.
That may be why I find Tashlich so compelling. Judaism could have left us with Micah’s beautiful words. Instead, our ancestors created a ritual in which we engage with creation. We stand by the cleansing, living waters and we reach into our pockets. Then we open our hands. Our bodies rehearse what we hope our hearts might learn to do.
As we move through Elul and toward the New Year, we do not need to arrive at the water already transformed. The work of teshuvah is only beginning. But perhaps we can begin by practicing these two skills: awareness enough to notice what we are carrying, and discernment enough to decide what we are ready to do with it.
And when the time comes, may we have the courage to open our hands.
Please join us for Tashlich as a part of our first day Rosh HaShanah Celebrations at Tahoe Vista and South Lake Tahoe on September 12th or in Truckee on September 15th.
Where the Mountains Meet the Sacred: Tahoe’s Unforgettable High Holy Days
By Pam Taylor, Tahoe Jewish Community High Holy Day Work Group Member
It’s time to restart, reset and refocus. Prayer, community, creativity, and the beauty of Lake Tahoe come together in a celebration unlike any other. That is why observing our holy days is so special to me.
Each autumn, as the aspens turn gold and the Sierra air grows crisp, the Tahoe Jewish Community gathers for the High Holy Days in a setting that feels made for reflection. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are always sacred, but in the Lake Tahoe Basin they take on a special character—rooted in tradition, strengthened by collaboration, and illuminated by the grandeur of the natural world.
One Community, Two Congregations
The celebration is shaped by a remarkable partnership between North Tahoe Hebrew Congregation in Tahoe Vista and Temple Bat Yam in South Lake Tahoe. Through the Tahoe Jewish Community, the two congregations share their strengths, resources, clergy, and creativity. The result is more than a combined calendar: it is a basin-wide Jewish family that reaches residents and visitors from Truckee to Carson City and throughout the Sierra.
That spirit of cooperation gives the holidays an unusual warmth. Familiar prayers and melodies are held alongside fresh approaches to learning and reflection. Sanctuary services provide the comfort of tradition, while creative programs invite people of different ages and levels of Jewish experience to explore the season’s themes of return, renewal, and transformation.
A Sanctuary as Wide as the Sky
What makes Tahoe’s observance truly unforgettable is the way worship extends beyond synagogue walls. Over the years, community gatherings have included prayer and learning beside the lake, spiritual hikes, family experiences, and moments of reflection framed by forests, mountains, and open water. In such places, the sound of the shofar seems to carry farther, calling worshippers not only into a new year but into deeper awareness of creation and their responsibilities within it.
Tahoe’s landscape does not replace the liturgy; it amplifies it. The stillness of the lake encourages introspection. Yet, the gentle current of the lake gives an illusion of pulling you upward, symbolic of the divine source.
A Place at the Table for Everyone
Another defining quality is the welcome extended to the wider community. Members, newcomers, visitors, interfaith families, friends, and those simply curious about Jewish life are invited to participate respectfully. This openness reflects a Reform Jewish approach that honors tradition while making room for personal choice, thoughtful questions, and many paths to connection.
Children and families find accessible ways into the holidays; longtime worshippers encounter beloved rituals with renewed meaning; and travelers discover that they are not merely guests. In a region where communities are separated by mountains and miles, the High Holy Days bring people together with intention, generosity, and joy.
The Tahoe Difference
The most special services are not defined by spectacle. They are defined by the feeling that every element belongs together: ancient words and new insights, quiet contemplation and communal song, two congregations and one shared purpose, the intimacy of a sanctuary and the vastness of the Sierra sky.
In Tahoe, the High Holy Days become both homecoming and journey. They invite each person to pause, listen, repair, and begin again—surrounded by a community that welcomes them and a landscape that makes wonder impossible to ignore.
Won’t you join the Tahoe Jewish Community as we enter into 5787?
Shoftim: Knowing Others
Week of August 11, 2026
Shalom,
Here we are, on the doorstep of the Hebrew month of Elul. We are winding down the year, and focusing on what the New Year may hold inside. As we consider the religious and spiritual work asked of us during Elul, preparing for the Yamim Noraim, I want to dive into one verse in this week’s Torah portion, Shoftim>>>. Deuteronomy 16:19 guides us in our work of judgement, most often understood as directed towards judges, yet principles that apply to us all:
לֹא־תַטֶּ֣ה מִשְׁפָּ֔ט לֹ֥א תַכִּ֖יר פָּנִ֑ים וְלֹא־תִקַּ֣ח שֹׁ֔חַד כִּ֣י הַשֹּׁ֗חַד יְעַוֵּר֙ עֵינֵ֣י חֲכָמִ֔ים וִֽיסַלֵּ֖ף דִּבְרֵ֥י צַדִּיקִֽם׃
You shall not judge unfairly: you shall show no partiality; you shall not take bribes, for bribes blind the eyes of the discerning and upset the plea of the just.
There is one phrase in here that has been taken colloquially. In Hebrew, “לא תכיר פנים”, (lo takkir panim) which is translated as, “you shall show no partiality.” Yet, Hebrew holds more than this idiomatic understanding alone. Breaking down the words, bear with me on this esoteric journey, many of us are familiar with the word lo - meaning “no” or “don’t do” whatever follows. The final word of this phrase is also straight forward, panim, meaning “face”.
Yet this middle word, takkir, is to “know” or be “familiar” with. It is juxtaposed to another Hebrew verb, lada’at, which is a way to “know” facts. Our verb, in this verse, is “to know” someone, to be familiar with them. So, if we literally translate this phrase, we could render it as: Do not know faces. Holding this literal translation in the content of the verse and this part of Torah, the translation above is artfully crafted. I might suggest the following as a more full translation: Do not pervert justice, specifically, do not take into account your familiarity with those being judged, nor their status. This might just stick a little more true to each word, yet the published translation (JPS 2023) is masterful.
So, what does all this have to do with the season and entering the month of Elul? Well, I am holding on tightly to this verse. More specifically, I am intrigued by the mention to judges to not show partiality as a clue to the reality that when not in a seat of judgement, we should actually know others more deeply. In carrying out judgment we ought not be partial to those whom we know, for that perverts justice. Yet, in all other moments, we should definitely strive to be familiar with and know others. Commentators (Ibn Ezra and Rashi) and our classical texts (Sifrei Devarim) also teach that this phrase guides us to not take into account what is on the “face” and Maimonides (Mishneh Torah H. Sanhedrin) leans on this verse when he instructs us to not: favor someone because they are poor, favor someone because they are righteous, favor someone because they are learned, or pity for they all affect judgment.
So, when determining judgement, we do not do these things, for they pervert justice. And, they must be common enough in our disposition in everyday moments for a reminder to judges to set them aside to have been penned in our Torah. This verse is crucial for both the setting described, the courtroom, and all other moments of our lives. We must hear in this passage a charge to truly know others, to strive to always deepen our relationships. In the Hasidic realm we can often find a juxtaposition of panim (face from our verse) and penimiyut (the divine image within - innerness). This moment in the Jewish year calls us to consider judgement, of ourselves, of our deeds, and how we work towards our best selves. It demands of us both the courtroom disposition of not being partial, while, at least in my reading, also urging us towards deeper knowing of one another, a reminder. While not quite concise, I might render the first half of our verse in this way:
When in a position of legal judgment, do not pervert justice, do not show partiality based on status or appearance. In other moments, be sure to strive for deeper connection, knowing the divine within all.
As Elul arrives, may we strive to know others more deeply, to listen more keenly, and see all holding divinity within.
Shavua Tov,
Rabbi Evon
Eikev - Raising Future Generations
Shalom,
As we continue to stand on the bank of the Jordan River listening to Moses’ farewell speech (which is almost the entirety of the Book of Deuteronomy) we come to our parasha for this week: Eikev. We continue to learn about the blessings and curses resulting from our response to the Mitzvoth - the Commandments. We discover lessons about learning to recognize the good, hakarat hatov our tradition calls it, it is a Jewish take on gratitude. We gain insight into the balance of our spiritual and physical needs when we learn to bless our sustenance and take note of the material items we journeyed with in the wilderness. Yet, there is a verse in this week’s portion that helps us see deeper into the mitzvoth as educational tools. It is about raising up future generations!
We are familiar with the charge that we recite in the V’ahavta prayer - V’Shinantam L’Vanecha - and you (singular) shall teach your children (Deut. 6:7) which appeared in last week’s portion; this week we learn - V’limadetem Otam - and you (plural) shall teach them (Deut. 11:19). While these phrases ring in similar ways, our tradition teaches us that there is more to this pair of verses. We can dig into the different in the two verbs, both translated here as “teach”, yet they are different words. In Deut. 6, V’Shinantam is sometimes understood as to “whet” an appetite or to “sharpen” and arrow. While V’limadetem in Deut. 11 is more closely related to teaching in the traditional sense.
In the Babylonian Talmud, this second verse is discussed and juxtaposed to the first on numerous occasions. We learn that we are to understand them in similar ways, but the second is broader in its command. This second verse expands the responsibility to not only one’s biological children, but also to the children in the community. It is a two pronged approach, one that we are charged to inspire our own children (Deut. 6) and ensure we build up the structures of our communities to teach and instruct all children (Deut. 11).
We can learn from this, that we must continue imparting the mitzvot, our tradition, to each subsequent generation, but also share our tradition at large and ensure we support learning environments and moments for all our young people.
In a world in which we take in so much information, it is becoming more and more complex to sift the information. How much more so is this true for the way our young people learn. We are all always modeling for others.
As we engage in parashat Eikev this week, may we all recognize the responsibility we have to teach, whether overtly in the form of lessons or covertly through our modeling, the younger generations in our communities and our world. May we work towards being role models in every place and space we find ourselves. May we also take to heart the responsibility to help our children, our own and those within our community, sift and discern the lessons that ought to be gleaned from what they experience, see and hear throughout life.
Shavua Tov,
Rabbi Evon
President’s message - Knock, knock!
Message for the week of July 28th
Knock, knock!
Who's there?
Shabbat.
Shabbat who?
Shabbat we spend together becomes a memory we carry forever!
Summer has a wonderful way of slowing us down just enough to notice what matters most.
This month I have had the joy of spending time with my two amazing eight-year-old grandchildren. Watching them explore, ask questions, laugh, learn, and simply delight in the world has reminded me how quickly the years pass—and how beautifully our Jewish values are passed along from one generation to the next.
I see kindness in the way they treat others. Curiosity in the questions they ask. Pride in their Jewish identity. Joy in celebrating our traditions. As "Bubbe", there is no greater gift than seeing those timeless values take root in the next generation.
Judaism has always been a story told around family tables, on Shabbat evenings, during holidays, on hikes through nature, and in the simple moments of everyday life. It reminds us that we are connected—not only to our own families, but to a much larger family that stretches across Lake Tahoe, across our country, and throughout the world.
As you enjoy these beautiful summer days, I hope you find time to unplug, breathe the mountain air, paddle a kayak, hike a favorite trail, share a meal with loved ones, or simply watch a Tahoe sunset. These are the moments that become treasured memories.
Wherever your summer adventures take you, remember that our congregation is always here—a place of friendship, belonging, learning, celebration, and caring for one another. We are stronger because we share not only our traditions, but our lives.
May the weeks ahead be filled with laughter, discovery, renewal, and gratitude. May you make memories that your children and grandchildren will one day pass on to theirs.
From our family to yours, have a joyful, safe, and memory-filled summer.
L'dor va-dor — from generation to generation.
Warmly,
Heidi Doyle
President
North Tahoe Hebrew Congregation
Rabbi’s Message: July 21, 2026
For thousands of years, many of our people lived in a land nearby to Israel. According to the Bible, a couple of thousand years ago, we were defeated in battle, uprooted, and forced into exile, settling in the lands between the Tigris and Euphradies. In addition to archeological evidence, we see these forcible exiles all throughout the later parts of the Bible, including verses like 2 Kings 15:29, 1 Chronicles 5:26, 2 Kings 17:5–6, and 2 Kings 18:11–15. Texts like the Books of Daniel and Nehemiah chronicle some of the individual experiences of this series of exiles; the Book of Lamentations, which we traditionally read this week, is based on the grief of these collective experiences. Over the years, this land where many of our people moved went by many names: Sumer, Akkad, Babylon, Assyria, Persia. Throughout the generations, some were given permission to return to Israel, while others stayed where they had been replanted. Indeed, over time and because we are a people who have always done our best to thrive no matter where we are planted, the region became a center for Jewish life for thousands of years, and in many ways, the heart of Jewish scholarship for generations (Note: the Talmud that we most often refer to today is actually the Babylonian Talmud!).
Before the Arabian conquest, one of the most beloved deities throughout Mesopotamia was Ishtar. She embodied striking contradictions: goddess of passionate love and fertility, yet also of war, plague, and destruction. In the Epic of Gilgamesh she woos a hero before unleashing catastrophe, while the hymns of her high priestess, Enheduanna, from 2300 BCE praise her as both compassionate and terrifying. I have always found that combination bewildering. How can love and destruction occupy the same sacred space?
(Rabbi Lauren “Rabbit Hole”: Interestingly, Ishtar’s husband, Dammuzi/Tammuz, is the namesake for the most recent Hebrew month. He was the god of shepherding and agricultural abundance; and if you are interested in us doing a class on this part of the Mesopotamian pantheon and the Deuteronomical Author, please let me know!)
During Tisha B’Av – which begins tomorrow evening – we commemorate events like the destruction of the First and Second Temples, the failure of the Bar Kokhba Revolt against the Romans, the Crusades of 1095, the Expulsion from England (1290), and the Expulsion from Spain (1492). Each of these events wreaked utter devastation on the Jews of their time; so much so that these events also unrooted the Jewish generations that followed, forcing them to replant themselves in exile elsewhere.
And yet, during Tu B’Av – which begins next week – ancient Jewish women (and single men) celebrated by dancing joyfully in local vineyards under the full moon (Talmud, Ta'anit 30b–31a). This fervent celebration of love and romance and passion under the fullness of the sky, and amongst the buds of the growing harvest, was one of our most beloved holy days.
Whether by influence or by experience, in this month, Judaism developed its own remarkable way of holding grief and love together.
Tisha B'Av reminds us that there are moments in life when we are uprooted. A relationship ends. A loved one dies. A community changes. A dream falls apart. Like our ancestors, we may find ourselves standing in unfamiliar soil, grieving what once was.
But Tu B'Av reminds us that uprooted is not the same as ended.
The Jewish story has never been simply one of exile. It has been a story of replanting. Again and again, our ancestors took root in unfamiliar soil without forgetting where they came from. They carried Torah across deserts and seas. They built homes where none had existed before. They planted vineyards, established schools, raised children, and found reasons to celebrate—even after profound loss.
This month of Av invites us to do the same.
We acknowledge what has been uprooted, and then, with remarkable courage, we plant once more.
We plant acts of kindness where hatred has grown. We plant hope where despair threatens to take hold. We plant relationships, communities, and dreams whose fruit we ourselves may never fully see.
May this season give us the strength to honor our losses without allowing them to define us. And may we, like generations before us, find the courage to take root once again—wherever life has planted us—and to help one another grow.
Rabbi’s Message: Reflection & Vision
Week of July 14th, 2026Shalom,
“In my opinion, it is really important to stick with community by putting time and effort in, while also not losing sight of one’s own personal goals and interests.” These words were part of my son’s, Caleb’s, D’var Torah last summer as he was called to Torah as Bar Mitzvah. This past Shabbat was the one year anniversary in Torah, and I hear this core message echoed this Shabbat as we transition from the Book of Numbers to Deuteronomy in Torah.
Last week, in Mattot-Masei we learned again about the tribes navigating their way preparing to enter the Land. This week, in the opening chapters of Deuteronomy, parashat Devarim, we engage with a reflection on the last 40 years of our people’s sojourn.
In both sections of Torah, our attention is brought to the constant charge to reflect and look ahead. It is a tension between knowing where we’ve been and imagining possibilities. This is essential to our ancestors’ formation as a people, and it remains a charge for us today.
Caleb taught us, both my child and the Biblical character, to live in this tension. To not only feel, but also to engage with, the push and pull of the past and tomorrow. It is not always comfortable to imagine and envision what may be possible while standing firmly on a shared past. Yet, wrestling with this can ensure a strong bond of our shalshelet hakabbalah - our chain of tradition.
As we prepare to transition to the final Book of Torah, and reflect on the journeys of our past, and our own stories, let us be empowered by both our reflection and our opportunity, a blessing, to vision for tomorrow.
Shavua Tov - Toa Good Week Ahead,
Rabbi Evon
PS Thank you to Caleb for teaching me this insight into Torah!
President’s Message: Summer in the Sierra
Our president Heidi Doyle with her homemade challah at this year’s Pride Shabbat
Summer has arrived in the jewel of God’s creation. Here in the Tahoe-Truckee region, we’re blessed each day by sparkling blue waters, towering pines, mountain trails, and the beauty that surrounds us. It’s also a wonderful time to pause and reflect on the many blessings we’ve shared together as a congregation.
Looking back over the past year, my heart is filled with gratitude. Together we’ve celebrated Shabbat, welcomed new families, rejoiced at life cycle events, learned together, comforted one another, laughed, sang, and strengthened the bonds that make North Tahoe Hebrew Congregation such a special community.
Judaism reminds us that community is not simply about gathering in one place. It is about showing up for one another—with kindness, compassion, joy, and respect. It is about meeting people where they are, celebrating together during life’s happiest moments, and offering support when times are more challenging. Those values continue to define who we are.
As we begin a new year of leadership, I’m pleased to welcome our newest Board members, Amy Kaufman and Aaron Pratt, who join Stephanie Kohler, Justine Jacob, and me in serving our congregation. I am grateful for their willingness to lead, to listen, and to help shape the future of Jewish life in our mountain community. I would also like to acknowledge Jon Miller and Alan Werba, who will be serving as Senior Advisors.
Our congregation has accomplished so much this past year. Together we have expanded programs for children and families, celebrated meaningful holidays, strengthened our partnerships across the Tahoe region through our membership with Tahoe Jewish Community, welcomed visitors, supported one another through life’s milestones, and continued building a warm and inclusive Jewish home for everyone seeking connection.
In the coming weeks, you’ll receive your annual membership renewal information. Membership remains the foundation that makes everything we do possible. It supports the care of our synagogue home, brings inspiring rabbis and educators to our community, sustains our religious school, and allows us to celebrate the holidays and traditions that connect us across generations.
This year you’ll notice a new annual security assessment of $180. After thoughtful discussion and with feedback from our congregation, our Board voted to continue providing professional security through the Placer County Sheriff’s Office during our public gatherings. While we wish these measures were unnecessary, our highest priority is ensuring that every person who walks through our doors feels safe, welcomed, and able to participate fully in Jewish life. By sharing this cost equally among our membership, we strengthen our collective commitment to caring for one another.
If you’d like to stay connected, I encourage you to read The Shofar, our weekly Tuesday email newsletter. It’s the best way to learn about upcoming services, programs, volunteer opportunities, and special events happening throughout our vibrant Jewish community.
One of my greatest joys is getting to know our members. If you’d ever like to meet for coffee, take a walk, or simply share your thoughts about the future of our congregation, I’d love to hear from you. Your ideas, your experiences, and your vision help shape the future of North Tahoe Hebrew Congregation.
As our nation celebrates its 250th anniversary this summer, and as we continue our journey through the Jewish year 5786, may we remember that strong communities are built one relationship, one act of kindness, and one shared celebration at a time.
On behalf of our Board of Directors, thank you for your continued support, your generosity, and your commitment to Jewish life in the Tahoe-Truckee region.
Wishing you and your loved ones a joyful, safe, and adventure-filled summer.
L’Shalom,
Heidi Doyle
President, North Tahoe Hebrew Congregation
Pinchas - Leadership, Leaders, & Behavior
Shavua Tov,
As the 250 milestone of our nation approaches, there is much to glean in retrospect of what has been accomplished in our country’s history. The strength of our democracy certainly relies on that ability to celebrate what deserves celebrating, and learning from what could have been better. When we consider the July 4th holiday and recognize that date as a time of declaring a new form of existence, of government and of leadership, it must have been exciting for sure, but also fraught with anxiety and uncertainty. I am also confident it was not too different for our ancestors during the events that transpired in this week’s Torah portion. In parashat Pinchas, this week, we learn about Joshua as the successor to Moses. It comes following significant bouts of Israelite complaining, challenges to leadership and a bit of zealotry with Pinchas. It was the namesake for this week’s portion, who last week took the law into his own hands. Rabbi Lisa Gruschcow teaches that parashat Pinchas, and the weeks preceding, narrate a series of leadership challenges.
“Rabbi Lisa Gruschcow points to the reality that our sages and scholars recognized the challenges of leadership. She uses the great teaching of the Kotzker Rebbe: The Kotzker Rebbe (Polish, 19th century) writes: When Moses saw how great Pinchas was, he was afraid that he would be chosen as the leader, but he was not pleased with the prospect of having such a zealot as the leader of the Jewish people. He therefore asked of God that the leader be a tolerant person, and not a zealous one.” (Torah Gems, v.3, Yavneh Publishing, 1998, p.144)”
And it is perhaps with these ideas in mind that Moses described Joshua: Moses spoke to God saying, “Let Adonai, Source of the breath of all flesh, appoint someone over the community who shall go out before them and come in before them, and who shall take them out and bring them in, so that Adonai’s community may not be like sheep that have no shepherd.” (Numbers 25:15-17). Joshua, in Moses’ eyes, was a leader because of his behavior. He demonstrated faith and trust in the process of our people’s story. Joshua, along with Caleb, demonstrated not only resolve in their scouting moment earlier in the Book of Numbers, but Moses’ description here provides a view of him as one among the people too. Pinchas, in contrast, set himself apart, and even above, the people when he took the law into his own hands. He held a position of leadership, he was grandson of Aaron the High Priest, yet his behavior fell short of being a true leader. The foreshadowing this week of the peaceful transition of leadership from Moses to Joshua is integral to our story as it unfolds, and bears lessons for us today.
As the July 4th holiday approaches, a time to celebrate the great transition towards freedom, let us recall the qualities in our people’s leaders…in Moses and in Joshua, and strive to bring them into our world through us. Let us strive to inspire our leaders to be continually living up to the examples of them too. May the leaders in our world today lead with behaviors befitting such positions.
Wishing you a meaningful and pleasant week, a fun and safe Independence Day - Shavua Tov,
Rabbi Evon
Dvar Torah Parashat Beha’alotcha 5786
As Pride Month comes to a close, I would like to share our member, Jason Toups', beautiful d'var Torah from Pride Shabbat in place of the rabbis' message for the next newsletter. We are blessed to be able to highlight the learning and thoughtful reflections of our members.
Beha’alotecha
Last year, my husband Danny and I came up with this idea of doing a Pride Shabbat celebration. With the support of the North Tahoe Hebrew Congregation, Rabbi Lauren, the Tahoe Jewish Community, Church of the Mountains, the Truckee Pride team, and the Town of Truckee, we have been able to make that happen. So thank you to everyone who makes this possible.
Last year, Danny gave the Dvar Torah, and he did an incredible job. Some of you may know I am not actually Jewish…yet. I am still in the process of converting. But when we were planning for this year’s Pride Shabbat, I asked Rabbi Lauren if I could give the Dvar Torah. This week’s portion is Beha’alotecha from the Book of Numbers, and the title translates to “when you step up,” which I thought was fitting.
In the Torah portion, it’s the start of the second year since the Exodus from Egypt, and we are told about the wandering in the wilderness. We learn that God appears as a cloud by day, and as a pillar of fire by night. He guides them on where to go, and where to stop and rest.
We learn how to make camp, how to summon the people, and how to form up a marching order for the next day’s journey. We receive instructions on appropriate offerings, and how to hold the first Passover.
In the midst of all that instruction, one in particular caught my eye:
“God spoke to Moses, saying: Make two trumpets of silver; make them of hammered work. They shall serve you to summon the community [edah] and cause the camps [machanot] to journey.” (Numbers 10:2)
On Monday earlier this week, banners to celebrate Pride went up downtown, hanging from the lamp posts. Similarly, banners were set up at the entrance to Glenshire and at the Train station. For the past many weeks, countless posts have been shared online to promote Truckee Pride. And during this week, many of us wear a Rainbow pin or clothing.
These symbols trigger reactions, and not always good ones. If you’ve ever been on Facebook or Instagram, you probably have seen how the rainbow flag makes certain people feel. On the Sierra Sun’s Instagram posts about the banners downtown and this week’s Pride celebrations, most of the comments are hyper critical and expletive-laden. At the puppy pride event at Donner Lake, pride flags guiding the way to the meeting spot were taken down by an anonymous stranger halfway through the event.
These critics ask: why do we need flags? Why do we need banners? Why do we even need Pride? Why do we have to make such a big deal about it? Can’t we just stop?
And to them, I respond: The Lord said, make two trumpets of hammered silver. And with them, you shall summon the community.
We cannot build community in silence or in darkness.
In the Torah portion, the People have just escaped Egypt at great risk, fleeing into the desert, and now there is a pillar of fire over their heads by night, and a column of cloud during the day, and they’re blasting trumpets. They aren’t hiding. They aren’t silent.
That’s why we do Pride. That’s why we wear the rainbow clothing, and wave the flag, and festoon banners everywhere. That’s why we post on Instagram, tell our friends and neighbors, and make our voices heard. Every public act builds community.
Going back to the passage, it talks about using the trumpets to summon both the community and the camps (sometimes translated as tribes). And then the next section in the Torah lists some of those camps, and tells us a little about them.
We are told about the Gershonites and Merarites: they carry the Tabernacle. The Kohathites: they carry the sacred objects. And the Camp of Dan: They bring up the rear.
And it got me thinking about this duality of camp and community.
In the queer community, we have many camps or tribes. Even our acronym: LGBTQ+, suggests this. We’ve got lesbian, gay, bisexual, trans, queer, intersex, asexual, and many many more. And even within each of those, we have more camps and tribes.
Take the gay scene for example: When I lived in the big city, you had your kickball gays and your dodgeball gays. We’ve got DJ gays and stay-at-home-and-sip-tea gays.
I’ve personally been accused of being a transit gay, which is a gay man who’s a little too into public transit solutions.
Camp and Community. There is a tension there. Throughout the year, we often find ourselves in our camps: amongst the people that we are most akin to. Because it’s easy and it’s comfortable.
But let Pride be a call to bring our camps together, to come together as one community. Whether gay or straight, lesbian or bisexual, trans or cis. Let Pride be our silver trumpets, our pillar of fire, and our column of cloud. Let it remind us to be heard and to be seen and to be together.
Shabbat Shalom. And Happy Pride.
Rabbi's Message: Korach & Plagues
Shalom,
Reading ancient texts often feels, well, ancient, and distant from our lived experience. Just ask most B Mitzvah students, because when they struggle to discover meaningful ways to teach about their portion, this is often their first response. Yet, this has been our people’s way for millenia, as we read and read again our Torah, we strive to discover kernels of wisdom and insights from our commentators that can support us navigate our moment in history.
Recently, I listened to a student’s D’var Torah, and witnessed an amazing thing happening. This young person wrote a draft in which each paragraph provided a different perspective on the same story. It was as if this young person was channeling the ancient rabbinic wisdom that there are more than “seventy faces of Torah”, by which they meant we can read, study, and debate the same text and discover a new meaning each time. This student’s work was a beautiful display of exactly this, that we can see so many lessons, and ask so many questions, and struggle with so many parts of the same story.
This coming Shabbat, we will read from parashat Korach in the Book of Numbers. In reading this portion again this year, I am feeling a new understanding. We see in this story a rebellion against Moses and Aaron’s leadership. It is followed by what our Torah calls plagues that cost many Israelite lives. While the story claims their consequence was about their lack of commitment to the common call of becoming a people, I am noticing a new connection.
The story begins as Korach “betook” himself along with 250 other Israelites to confront Moses and his leadership. It is this “way” of confrontation that appears to continue to plague the community. When striving together, when trusting one another’s efforts, we can and will debate and have arguments, yet it is so affected by the “way” we engage with one another. Speaking kindly, approaching challenges with curiosity rather than critique, and sharing purpose and vision are necessary ingredients towards success.
The Israelites struggle in this moment because they fail to trust one another and engage for the sake of their own situation, not for the sake of a higher purpose. The plague that befalls our ancestors might be less a Divine action, and more a natural outcome of a loss of shared purpose and connection.
As we wrestle with parashat Korach this year and strive to see multiple perspectives, may we know we share a vision as community - striving to build an ecosystem of Jewish joy and engagement. May we know that we must approach with curiosity rather than critique. And may we choose kindness with our words.
Shavua Tov,
Rabbi Evon
Rabbi’s Message: June 9, 2026
By Rabbi Lauren Ben-Shoshan
This week's Torah portion, Sh'lach, contains one of the most consequential moments in the Torah. Moses sends twelve spies to scout the Land of Israel. They return carrying enormous clusters of grapes and reports of a land flowing with milk and honey. Yet alongside the promise comes fear. As the Torah portion reads: "The people who inhabit the country are powerful, and the cities are fortified and very large." (Numbers 13:28)
The spies are not wrong. The obstacles are real. The challenges are daunting. The danger is not imagined. And yet, ten of the twelve spies make a critical mistake. They allow fear to become the lens through which they see everything. "We looked like grasshoppers to ourselves," they say, "and so we must have looked to them" (Numbers 13:33). Their fear becomes not merely an emotion but an identity. They no longer see the possibility of growth, only the certainty of defeat.
The tragedy of the story is not that the spies were afraid. The tragedy is that they believed their fear completely. But how do we respond when we are afraid? Throughout the Tanakh, we encounter different models for responding to fear.
Abraham faces fear by moving forward anyway. When God calls him to leave his homeland, Abraham receives no map, no guarantees, and no detailed plan. He simply hears, "Go forth" (Lech Lecha). Courage, in Abraham's story, is not the absence of uncertainty. It is taking the next faithful step despite uncertainty.
Moses offers another model. At the burning bush, he is terrified — not only by the fire before him but by the task being asked of him. Again and again he protests: "Who am I?" "What if they don't believe me?" "I am not a man of words." Moses does not overcome fear through confidence. He overcomes fear through relationship. God does not remove his anxiety; God promises accompaniment. "I will be with you." Moses leans on his relationships to manage his fears and move forward.
The prophet Elijah demonstrates a different response. Exhausted, frightened, and fleeing for his life, he retreats into the wilderness. There, God does not appear in the earthquake, the wind, or the fire, but in the kol d'mamah dakah — the still, small voice. The fear caused as these natural phenomena whip around him must have been overwhelming. In this moment, Elijah shows that fear can overtake us. And yet, sometimes, with patience and observation of the situation, clarity arrives not through force but through quiet focus.
The Book of Esther offers yet another model. Esther initially responds to danger with hesitation. Speaking to the king could cost her life. Yet Mordecai reminds her that silence carries risks as well. Fear asks, "What if I act?" Wisdom asks, "What if I don't?" Esther spends time in reflection, consideration, and careful strategy; establishing a well thought out plan and following through on it is her method to manage her fears.
And then there are Joshua and Caleb, the two spies from this week's Torah portion, who see the same giants, the same walls, and the same challenges as everyone else. Their gift is not superior eyesight. It is perspective. They acknowledge the obstacles but refuse to let those obstacles define the future.
This may be one of the Torah's deepest teachings about fear. Fear is information. It tells us something matters. It alerts us to risk. It asks us to pay attention. But fear is a poor prophet.
Fear often predicts catastrophe where possibility exists. Fear narrows our vision until we can only see what threatens us. Fear convinces us that today's challenge determines tomorrow's outcome.
The spies saw giants and concluded that the future was already written. Nonetheless, Joshua and Caleb saw giants and concluded that the story was still unfolding. Every generation faces its own giants. We worry about our families, our communities, our health, our future, our world. The question is not whether we will feel fear. We will.
The question is whether we will allow fear to tell the whole story.
Jewish tradition never asks us to become fearless. It asks us to become wise: to remember that fear is a companion on the journey, but it is not the guide. As we move through all of the world's events this week, may we learn from Abraham to take the next step, from Moses to seek companionship, from Elijah to listen for the still small voice, from Esther to act according to our values, and from Joshua and Caleb to see possibility alongside challenge.
And, most of all, may we remember that we are rarely as small as fear tells us we are.
Celebrating Pride Through Jewish Values of Dignity and Joy
Reflections from NTHC President Heidi Doyle
As we enter Pride Month, we are reminded that Judaism calls upon us to recognize the dignity, joy, and humanity inherent in every person. Pride Month is not simply a cultural observance; it is deeply connected to Jewish values that have guided our people for generations.
Our tradition teaches that every human being is created in the image of God. This foundational belief reminds us that each person deserves respect, belonging, safety, and love exactly as they are. When we honor the diversity of human experience and identity, we honor the divine spark within one another.
This week’s Torah portion also speaks powerfully to the idea of community and shared responsibility. In the wilderness, the Israelites journeyed not as isolated individuals, but as a people bound together through mutual care and covenant. Jewish life flourishes when every person knows they are welcomed, valued, and seen. Our communities become stronger, kinder, and holier when we make room for everyone to stand proudly within the circle.
Pride Month also celebrates joy — and joy itself is a sacred Jewish value. Judaism does not ask us merely to endure life; it encourages us to rejoice in it. Remember the wedding scene in Fiddler? We are commanded to celebrate, to sing, to gather, and to lift one another up. There is holiness in authenticity, in friendship, in love, and in the freedom to live openly and truthfully.
At North Tahoe Hebrew Congregation, we strive to be a community where all are welcome and where compassion and human dignity guide our actions. During this Pride Month, may we recommit ourselves to listening with empathy, standing against hatred and exclusion, and creating spaces where every person can feel at home and welcomed within our mountain community.
We invite everyone to join us as we celebrate Pride Month together during Shabbat services in Truckee this Friday evening, June 5 as we celebrate a Shabbat rooted in joy, dignity, belonging and the sacred worth of every human being.
Heidi Doyle
Beha'alotcha—Words, Tone, and Prayer
June 2, 2026Shalom,
One of the joys of working with adolescents is the unique language they bring into the world. More than once, a student has greeted me with, "Hey, dude!" or "What's up, bro?" I have to admit that part of me finds it endearing. It is often their way of expressing comfort, trust, and connection. At the same time, another part of me wonders whether those words quite fit the relationship between student and rabbi. The tension makes me smile, but it also reminds me that the words, and especially the ‘tone’ we use matter. The way we address one another communicates something about how we see each other and how we wish to be seen.
In our tradition, prayer is one of our forms of communication, of using language. And, I am not sure about all of you, but I know that for me, prayer has been an evolving concept in my life. At times it is about hoping for something; at other times it is mental space to explore how we might strive to be our best selves. In the Torah portion we read this past Shabbat, Beha'alotcha, we encounter one of the Torah's most memorable examples of spontaneous prayer.
It comes after a bout of sibling rivalry between Moses, Miriam, and Aaron. The result of their familial strife is that Miriam becomes stricken with illness. Moses, after experiencing his siblings speaking out against him and his leadership, witnesses Miriam's suffering and offers a prayer: "O God, please heal her!" (Numbers 12:13).
This is certainly one form of prayer—a prayer of supplication. It is Moses' request that God remove the illness from his sister and restore her to health. Rashi comments on this moment, drawing on the Midrash, teaching that "if one is asking a favor of their fellow human being, one should first say two or three words of supplication and then make the request."
At first glance, this sounds a bit like a teenager saying, "Mom, your new haircut looks great. Can I borrow the car keys?" But I think Rashi is aiming much deeper. He is teaching us about what he calls the "correct attitude in social life." Our words matter. The way we speak to one another matters. The brief phrasing of Moses' prayer reminds us that kindness, humility, and compassion should be present in our actions, and also in our speech.
Perhaps that is why I find myself reflecting on those moments of being called "dude" or "bro." The words themselves are not the issue. What matters is learning that language carries meaning and shapes relationships. Whether we are speaking to a parent, a teacher, a friend, a stranger, or even to God, Divine, Mystery of Creation - whatever it is we believe, our words have the power to build connection, express respect, and communicate care.
As this week begins, may we examine the ways we connect with others through words—speaking with kindness and compassion, and listening with the same care and attention.
Shavua Tov,
Rabbi Evon
Rabbi’s Message, May 26, 2026
As the weather temporarily warmed this past long weekend, my fun-time “beach reading” was consumed by the Dungeon Crawler Carl series by Matt Dinniman. While the books contain plenty of adventure, humor, and absurdity (and a warning about their colorful language), they also spend a surprising amount of time wrestling with a question that feels deeply relevant to our own lives: How does a person maintain their integrity when circumstances become less than ideal? What happens when life becomes messy, even very messy? What principles remain non-negotiable, and where does flexibility become necessary? How do we hold onto our values when circumstances constantly pressure us to compromise them? These are the questions I carried with me when I began reading this week's Torah portion, Parashat Nasso.
The longest portion in the Torah, Nasso opens with a census of the Levite clans and an accounting of their responsibilities in caring for the Israelites' sacred space. It then turns toward a series of situations in which things have gone wrong. The Torah discusses theft, wrongdoing, restitution, and the process of repair when someone recognizes their mistakes and takes responsibility for them. These passages offer a vision of accountability rooted not merely in punishment, but in restoration.
Yet the section that often receives the most attention appears a bit later: the ritual of the Sotah. The Sotah ritual addresses a painful situation in which a husband accuses his wife of infidelity, while the wife maintains her innocence. The Torah describes a circumstance in which jealousy has overtaken the husband: "a fit of jealousy has come over him and he is wrought up about the wife who has defiled herself; or if a fit of jealousy has come over him and he is wrought up about his wife although she has not defiled herself" (Numbers 5:14). For many modern readers, this passage feels deeply uncomfortable. The ritual reflects assumptions about gender, power, and marriage that stand far from our contemporary values. It would take five pages for me to list all of the reasons that I find this text challenging (at best) and repulsive (at worst).
Yet Jewish tradition rarely asks us to ignore difficult texts. Instead, it invites us to wrestle with them.
One of the most remarkable aspects of the rabbinic tradition is that our sages themselves struggled with the Sotah ritual. Rather than treating jealousy as proof of guilt, they increasingly shifted attention toward the destructive power of jealousy itself and how society could help moderate behavior driven by this feeling. (Mishnah Sotah 1:4-5) The Talmud ultimately teaches that the practice ceased altogether. (Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai, Mishnah Sotah 9:9) According to the rabbis, when adultery became widespread in society, the ritual no longer functioned as intended and was abolished. (Babylonian Talmud, Sotah 28a) In effect, the tradition chose to retire a troubling institution rather than preserve it unchanged.
This move reflects something profound about Jewish ethics in the context of less than ideal circumstances. The goal of Torah is not blind obedience to our worst instincts. The husband in this story arrives consumed by suspicion and fear. The Torah acknowledges those emotions, but the larger arc of Jewish tradition refuses to let jealousy have the final word.
Perhaps that is one reason this passage appears alongside laws of restitution and repair. Human beings make mistakes. We become angry. We become fearful. We become convinced that our perspective alone tells the whole truth. The challenge lies not in avoiding every difficult emotion, but in deciding what we do once those emotions arrive.
In Dungeon Crawler Carl, the characters rarely face a clean choice between good and evil. More often, they must choose between competing goods, competing loyalties, or competing harms. The same often proves true in real life. Most of us do not wake up wondering whether to become villains. Instead, we face decisions clouded by grief, uncertainty, fear, exhaustion, conflicting responsibilities, and yes, even jealousy.
The Jewish response does not expect perfection in these messy circumstances. It seeks integrity. Integrity means returning, again and again, to the values that define us: justice, compassion, truthfulness, accountability, dignity, and peace. It means asking not simply, "What do I want?" but also, "What kind of person do I want to become?" It means recognizing when jealousy, anger, or fear have begun to drive the conversation and even the decision-making that we want to do. And it means remaining willing to engage in repair when we inevitably fall short.
Nasso reminds us that living in ideal circumstances is not always possible, not even in the Bible. Like the characters in Dungeon Crawler Carl, we often find ourselves navigating situations in which every available option carries risk, cost, or uncertainty. The Jewish tradition does not promise us perfect choices. Instead, it offers us a compass: compassion, accountability, repair, and dignity. When circumstances become messy, those values may not tell us exactly what to do. But they can help us remember who we want to become.
Condolences to the Muslim Community of San Diego
This week, our hearts are with all communities that experience violence in their sacred spaces, but particularly, the Muslim community of San Diego following the devastating shooting at the Islamic Center of San Diego. We mourn the loss of life, hold the injured and traumatized in our prayers, and extend our deepest condolences to all those whose sense of safety and sacred belonging has been shattered by this violence.
Jewish tradition teaches that every human being is created b’tzelem Elohim — in the image of God (Genesis 1:27). To attack a community gathered in prayer is not only an assault upon human life, but upon the sacred dignity carried within each person. The Talmud teaches: “Whoever destroys a single life, it is as if they have destroyed an entire world” (Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:5). Each life lost in this tragedy was an entire world of relationships, memories, hopes, and love.
Our tradition also reminds us that houses of worship are meant to be sanctuaries of refuge and peace. In the Book of Isaiah, God’s vision for the future is that the Temple shall become “a house of prayer for all peoples” (Isaiah 56:7). Places of worship — mosques, synagogues, churches, temples, and sacred spaces of every tradition — should never become places of fear. They should be places where human beings gather to seek meaning, connection, healing, and the Divine.
Our community is profoundly grateful for all of our security partnerships around our beautiful basin, including The Secure Communities Network, Placer County, and El Dorado County. As a Jewish community, we know too well the trauma that follows violence directed toward people because of their faith. We know the heartbreak of wondering whether sacred spaces are safe. And because we know that pain, we are called to stand in solidarity with our Muslim neighbors and with all communities targeted by hatred.
Pirkei Avot teaches: “In a place where there are no human beings, strive to be human.” In moments such as these, may we choose compassion over indifference, solidarity over isolation, and courage over hatred. May the memories of those who were killed be a blessing. May healing come to the wounded and traumatized. And may the day come soon when every person can enter their house of worship in peace and leave it in peace.