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Look up!
One of the architectural perks of our house is that I get to live in two meteorological realities at the same time. I will often hear a little rain on the roof, pausing to ask if it’s actually rain or just the AC turning on. I will look out into our backyard to see raindrops falling in the pool, only to glance back into the front lawn to see sunshine. Just yesterday afternoon, I stood in our synagogue portico as I watched dark stormclouds rip through the camp carpool line. On the other side of the portico? Not a cloud in the sky.
This is very Jacksonville. It is also the reality of life- holding on to two opposite signs of darkness and light in the same space. From a Jewish lens, this is very much the moment of twilight on a Friday night- that Kabbalat Shabbat moment when we still feel the struggles and frustrations of the weekday while holding space to invite Shabbat into our midst.
Our Rabbis delve into this specific twilight moment in Pirkei Avot, found in Siddur Sim Shalom on pg. 273
Ten things were created on the eve of the Sabbath at twilight, and these are they: [1] the mouth of the earth, [2] the mouth of the well, [3] the mouth of the donkey, [4] the rainbow, [5] the manna, [6] the staff [of Moses], [7] the shamir, [8] the letters, [9] the writing, [10] and the tablets
13th Century Rabbi Menachem Meiri comments that these ten items were created at the “edge” of creation—bein hashmashot—to signal that although they appear miraculous, they were part of the original plan of the universe.
“These are not new interventions in nature, but pre-programmed events that God placed into creation itself.”
— Meiri on Avot 5:6
My favorite 16th century Italian Rabbi, Obadiah ben Abraham of Bertinoro, aka the Bartenura, explains each of these ten items in Pirkei Avot 5:6:
At twilight: on the eve of the Shabbat of creation, before the creation was completed
.(1)The mouth of the earth: to swallow Korach and his congregation, (a reference to Numbers 16:32:
“and the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them up with their households, all Korah’s people and all their possessions.”)
(2)and the mouth of the well: The well of Miriam that went with Israel in the wilderness on all of the journeys. And some say, that it opened its mouth and uttered song, as it stated (Numbers 21:17), “rise up, O well; answer it.”
(3)and the mouth of the donkey: At twilight it was decreed that it should speak with Bilaam.
(The Message: Truth can come from unexpected places)
(4)and the rainbow: as a sign of the covenant that there would not be another flood.
(5)and the manna: that descended for Israel for forty years in the wilderness.
(It’s Message: Trust in God’s daily provision. Trains spiritual discipline—no hoarding, just enough.(Emunah- faith))
(6)and the staff [of Moshe]: with which the signs were performed. And it was [made] of sapphire.
(7)and the shamir: It is like a type of worm, the [size of a grain of] barley in its entirety. When they would [place] it on the stones that were marked with ink [to demark what they wanted cut, the stones] would become indented on their own. And with it did they engrave the stones of the vest (ephod) and the breastplate, as it is written about them, “in their fullness.”
(Talmud Sotah 48b) teaches the value of purpose: A supernatural worm that cut stone without iron (used in Temple construction).
(It’s Message: The Temple must be built in peace; even tools of violence are excluded.)(8)the letters: The shape of the letters that were engraved on the tablets;
(9)the writing: that they could be read from all four sides.
(10)the tablets: were [made] of sapphire. Their length was six and their width was six and their thickness was three, like a stone whose length, width and thickness are equal and it was split into two. And they were soft and they were quarried from the ball of the sun.
Side note: the text mentions the tongs (tsevat), made with tongs- yes the first set of tongs were formed through divine intervention
Midrash Shmuel, a major 16th-century commentary on Pirkei Avot, explores how each item listed in the Mishnah has moral or theological meaning.
On the rainbow, he writes that it is both a reminder and a restraint—a symbol that God holds back anger and destruction, and that humans must remember our part in preserving life.
On the mouth of the earth, he suggests that it is a warning against hubris and rebellion—specifically, Korach’s arrogance in trying to replace divinely-ordained leadership.
“The mouth of the earth represents the dangers of pride; the rainbow represents the blessings of humility and submission to the Divine.”
— Midrash Shmuel on Avot 5:6
The mouth of the earth, we know, appears in this week’s parashah. Korach, Datan, and Aviram rebel against Moses and Aaron. They challenge their leadership—not, it seems, to build something better, but to tear down what they feel excluded from. And in response, God causes the earth to open its mouth and swallow them whole. Too many people die in these horrific events, marred by rupture and silence.
The rainbow, on the other hand, comes from a similar, yet very different story. After the flood, after the destruction of nearly all life on earth, another potentially terrifying image of a barren world, God places a bow in the sky—a symbol of covenant, of peace, of enduring love for humanity. Nahmanides (13th-century Spain) suggests it is a bow (as in a bow and arrow) that is no longer aimed at the earth. Sforno adds on Genesis 9:17- a reference to a “double rainbow” (זאת אות הברית,) that acts as the sign of the warning aspect of the covenant. When this rainbow appears it is high time to call people to order and to warn them of impending natural calamities unless they change their ways.
Nahmanides teaches that every visible object that is set before two parties to remind them of a matter that they have vowed between them is called a “sign,” and every agreement is called a “covenant.” The rainbow is a reminder of an eternal, covenantal bond. It is the one enduring symbol out of all ten from Pirkei Avot that we continue to see today. As the storm dissipates and the sun peaks through, it is a literal and figurative call to action.
The rainbow really is the bein hashmashot symbol- between sunlight and the storm. When we look at regular sunlight, we do not see the colors of the rainbow. It is water that acts like a prism, revealing the beautiful spectrum of colors that make up sunlight. Water is divine, but water is also our story. Tears of empathy, tears of acceptance, tears of struggle, tears of joy open up a full tapestry for us all to hold, allowing beauty to emerge from brokenness.
It was under this teardrop-rainbow that 10 years ago, the Supreme Court affirmed that the Fourteenth Amendment guarantees the right to marry for same-sex couples, ensuring equal protection under the law.
If there were a song to accompany that moment, it may have been “Somewhere over the rainbow” a ballad by Harold Arlen with lyrics by Yip Harburg.
Its almost-prophetic lyrics—framed by the pogroms of the past and the Holocaust on the horizon —dreamt of a world where “troubles melt like lemon drops.” The song spoke to those who felt out of place, othered, or voiceless. That’s part of the other side of the rainbow story, popularized by Judy Garland in The Wizard of Oz. When Garland died in June of 1969, her funeral was held on June 27—just one day before the Stonewall Uprising, often considered the birth of the modern LGBTQ+ rights movement. Many who mourned her found themselves marching the next night, igniting a revolution that continues to this day.
A rainbow was always more than light—it was the dream of belonging.
We are called to resist the pull of Korah’s pride, pride that turned quickly to selfishness, in order to build community not from ego, but from empathy. And we are called to pursue the light of the rainbow—to create sacred space for everyone, affirming that all souls reflect the Divine image.
Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, expands on the rainbow from a Jewish lens:
“We are not all the same. We are each different, each unique, each a fragment of the Divine image. The rainbow reminds us that unity is not uniformity”…Later he writes, “A rainbow is unity in diversity: many colors, each beautiful, each different, forming a single harmonious whole. That is the Jewish vision, one God, one humanity, many cultures, many faiths.”
The story of Korah reminds us that the earth can swallow from below. Pride can pull us down as we are tripped up by haughtiness and ego.
The rainbow shines from above, a mirror of what our world can look like. We can always keep our head up, even in the storm, to catch that glimmer of light that creates beauty even for just a moment.
May we keep our heads high, appreciating the beautiful spectrum of those who make up our community.
May we keep our heads high, proud of one another.
May we keep our heads high, ready to join the blue birds in circled flight.
Od lo avda tikvateinu”—“our hope is not lost”—Even in the darkest of times, the Jewish people have dared to believe in a brighter horizon.
May we always dare to dream.
And may our dreams rise like the rainbow—arched across the sky…
Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high,
There’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby.
Somewhere over the rainbow, skies are blue,
And the dreams that you dare to dream really do come true.
Someday I’ll wish upon a star
and wake up where the clouds are far behind me.
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
away above the chimney tops,
That’s where you’ll find me.
Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly.
Birds fly over the rainbow; why, then, oh why can’t I?
Faith over fear: Parshat Sh’lah
What’s my report?
This week is about freedom. We commemorated Juneteenth—the day in 1865 when Union troops arrived in Galveston, Texas, and announced the end of slavery. That day marked the announcement of emancipation, but not the completion of freedom. Freedom is never instantaneous; it is a process, a struggle, a journey—one that demands faith, persistence, and accountability.
In The Heaven & Earth Grocery Store by James McBride, the residents of Chicken Hill—a multicultural neighborhood in Pottstown, Pennsylvania—embody the fragile, interdependent march toward freedom. Jews and African Americans live side by side, navigating shared struggles and hopes.
At the heart of this world is Chona Ludlow, who runs a modest grocery store. To the Black residents, she becomes an “artery to freedom”—a lifeline in a time and place with too few. Her quiet faith, her courage to stand up for the vulnerable, and her willingness to risk herself for others makes her more than a shopkeeper—she becomes a messenger of possibility.
This phrase, artery to freedom, stayed with me after listening to the book last summer. It reminds us that none of us reach liberation alone. We need one another—we need lifelines. But more than that, we each have a sacred responsibility to be a lifeline for others. We are vessels, not just recipients. Without continuing the journey—without delivering the message and following it through—freedom remains elusive. Each of us has the responsibility as a shaliach, an emissary, to be honest in our message rather than be corrupted by fear or agenda, poisoning our collective body.
We often find ourselves in an all consuming media world that cares less about a story that’s important and more about a story that’s compelling. The loudest report is the right one, right? When a hospital is bombed in Beersheva, or when ballistic missiles send thousands running to cover- what is the report being given? What happens when the truth of a story doesn’t play well with a compelling, all-in, yet deeply flawed narrative?
Miri Bar-Halpern and Jaclyn Wolfman, two Boston-area trauma therapists, give voice to a phenomenon many in our Jewish community have felt over the last 20 months. In a recent article, they use a term from their field: traumatic invalidation.
They explain: traumatic invalidation occurs when the pain of victims is dismissed, minimized, or denied. Like when rape victims are told they misinterpreted what happened, or even brought it on themselves. This term now echoes across Jewish communities around the world in the wake of October 7, when Hamas-led terrorists brutally slaughtered over 1,200 Israelis and abducted more than 250 to Gaza.
Bar-Halpern and Wolfman write:
“Rather than being met with compassion and care, many were instead met with a stunning mix of silence, blaming, excluding, and even outright denying the atrocities of October 7 along with any emotional pain stemming from them.”
What Bar Halpern and Wolfman describe is a giant “laughing emoji” to the pained status of those we don’t know and show little care for. This is the opposite of a lifeline. This is a severing, a refusal to witness truth. Indocrination poisons the message and the messenger.
We find ourselves in uncharted land, in an era of disinformation and invalidation. How can we be emissaries of truths, even multiple truths, when we travel into new uncharted territory? We look to the name of this week’s parasha: Shelach. Send forth.
We know the Shoresh:
שָׁלִיחַ (shaliah) = Messenger, shaliach tzibbur is a prayer leader
מִשְׁלוֹחַ (mishloah) = Delivery, as in our special delivery on Purim
מִשְׁלַחַת (mishlahat) = Delegation; often referring to our Israeli groups that work at Jewish summer camps across the country.
שְׂעִיר הַמִּשְׁתַּלֵּחַ (se’ir ha-mishtalei’ah) = The scapegoat that gets sent to Azazel on Yom Kippur to atone for Benei Yisrael’s sins
Sh’lach is something we are familiar with from a number of recent storylines in the torah (and even earlier than these):
וַיִּשְׁלַ֣ח פַּרְעֹ֔ה וְהִנֵּ֗ה לֹא־מֵ֛ת מִמִּקְנֵ֥ה יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל עַד־אֶחָ֑ד וַיִּכְבַּד֙ לֵ֣ב פַּרְעֹ֔ה וְלֹ֥א שִׁלַּ֖ח אֶת־הָעָֽם׃ {פ}
Pharaoh sent [scouts] (following the cattle plag) and behold not a single animal of the B’nei Yisrael died. The heart of Pharaoh remained hard and he did not send out the people.
וַיֹּ֤אמֶר יהוה אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֔ה בֹּ֖א אֶל־פַּרְעֹ֑ה וְדִבַּרְתָּ֣ אֵלָ֗יו כֹּֽה־אָמַ֤ר יהוה אֱלֹהֵ֣י הָֽעִבְרִ֔ים שַׁלַּ֥ח אֶת־עַמִּ֖י וְיַֽעַבְדֻֽנִי׃
Then the Lord said to Moshe, Go in to Par῾o, and tell him, Thus says the Lord God of the Hebrews, Send out my people, that they may serve me.
So we see:
Sending forth a messenger or delegation may result in a delivery in hand, but does not guarantee satisfaction for anyone in the supply chain- sender, messenger, or receiver.
Sending forth leaders, Moses hoped for a positive review. why Shlach Lecha?
Rashi states:
שלח לך SEND THEE (more lit., for thyself) — i.e. according to your own judgement: I do not command you, but if you wish to do so send them. — God said this because the Israelites came to Moses and said. “We will send men before us etc.”, as it is said, (Deuteronomy 1:22)
Rashi points out—God doesn’t command the sending of the scouts. “Send for yourself,” He says. In other words: I’m not taking credit for what happens next. The responsibility rests with you, Moses—and with the people.
שלח לך אנשים. לָמָּה נִסְמְכָה פָרָשַׁת מְרַגְּלִים לְפָרָשַׁת מִרְיָם? לְפִי שֶׁלָּקְתָה עַל עִסְקֵי דִבָּה, שֶׁדִּבְּרָה בְאָחִיהָ, וּרְשָׁעִים הַלָּלוּ רָאוּ וְלֹא לָקְחוּ מוּסָר (תנחומא):
שלח לך אנשים SEND THOU MEN — Why is the section dealing with the spies put in juxtaposition with the section dealing with Miriam’s punishment? To show the grievousness of the spies’ sin: because she (Miriam) was punished on account of the slander which she uttered against her brother, and these sinners witnessed it and yet they did not take a lesson from her (Midrash Tanchuma, Sh’lach 5).
The juxtaposition of this story with that of Miriam’s punishment (for her lashon hara, or slander) is no accident. The scouts witnessed Miriam’s fate and still failed to learn from it. Rashi notes this starkly. Accountability—learning from mistakes—is essential for growth and freedom.
So Moses sends the scouts. The outcome is sobering.
Let’s take a look at the two sides of their response.
(כז) וַיְסַפְּרוּ־לוֹ֙ וַיֹּ֣אמְר֔וּ בָּ֕אנוּ אֶל־הָאָ֖רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֣ר שְׁלַחְתָּ֑נוּ וְ֠גַ֠ם זָבַ֨ת חָלָ֥ב וּדְבַ֛שׁ הִ֖וא וְזֶה־פִּרְיָֽהּ׃ (כח) אֶ֚פֶס כִּֽי־עַ֣ז הָעָ֔ם הַיֹּשֵׁ֖ב בָּאָ֑רֶץ וְהֶֽעָרִ֗ים בְּצֻר֤וֹת גְּדֹלֹת֙ מְאֹ֔ד וְגַם־יְלִדֵ֥י הָֽעֲנָ֖ק רָאִ֥ינוּ שָֽׁם׃ (כט) עֲמָלֵ֥ק יוֹשֵׁ֖ב בְּאֶ֣רֶץ הַנֶּ֑גֶב וְ֠הַֽחִתִּ֠י וְהַיְבוּסִ֤י וְהָֽאֱמֹרִי֙ יוֹשֵׁ֣ב בָּהָ֔ר וְהַֽכְּנַעֲנִי֙ יוֹשֵׁ֣ב עַל־הַיָּ֔ם וְעַ֖ל יַ֥ד הַיַּרְדֵּֽן׃
(ל) וַיַּ֧הַס כָּלֵ֛ב אֶת־הָעָ֖ם אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֑ה וַיֹּ֗אמֶר עָלֹ֤ה נַעֲלֶה֙ וְיָרַ֣שְׁנוּ אֹתָ֔הּ כִּֽי־יָכ֥וֹל נוּכַ֖ל לָֽהּ׃
(לא) וְהָ֨אֲנָשִׁ֜ים אֲשֶׁר־עָל֤וּ עִמּוֹ֙ אָֽמְר֔וּ לֹ֥א נוּכַ֖ל לַעֲל֣וֹת אֶל־הָעָ֑ם כִּֽי־חָזָ֥ק ה֖וּא מִמֶּֽנּוּ׃ (לב) וַיֹּצִ֜יאוּ דִּבַּ֤ת הָאָ֙רֶץ֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר תָּר֣וּ אֹתָ֔הּ אֶל־בְּנֵ֥י יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל לֵאמֹ֑ר הָאָ֡רֶץ אֲשֶׁר֩ עָבַ֨רְנוּ בָ֜הּ לָת֣וּר אֹתָ֗הּ אֶ֣רֶץ אֹכֶ֤לֶת יוֹשְׁבֶ֙יהָ֙ הִ֔וא וְכׇל־הָעָ֛ם אֲשֶׁר־רָאִ֥ינוּ בְתוֹכָ֖הּ אַנְשֵׁ֥י מִדּֽוֹת׃ (לג) וְשָׁ֣ם רָאִ֗ינוּ אֶת־הַנְּפִילִ֛ים בְּנֵ֥י עֲנָ֖ק מִן־הַנְּפִלִ֑ים וַנְּהִ֤י בְעֵינֵ֙ינוּ֙ כַּֽחֲגָבִ֔ים וְכֵ֥ן הָיִ֖ינוּ בְּעֵינֵיהֶֽם׃
(27) This is what they told him: “We came to the land you sent us to; it does indeed flow with milk and honey, and this is its fruit. (28) However, the people who inhabit the country are powerful, and the cities are fortified and very large; moreover, we saw the Anakites there. (29) Amalekites dwell in the Negeb region; Hittites, Jebusites, and Amorites inhabit the hill country; and Canaanites dwell by the Sea and along the Jordan.”
(30) Caleb hushed the people before Moses and said, “Let us by all means go up, and we shall gain possession of it, for we shall surely overcome it.”
(31) But the other men who had gone up with him said, “We cannot attack that people, for it is stronger than we.” (32) Thus they spread calumnies (aka slander/fear) among the Israelites about the land they had scouted, saying, “The country that we traversed and scouted is one that devours its settlers. All the people that we saw in it are of great size; (33) we saw the Nephilim there—the Anakites are part of the Nephilim—and we looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them.”
We hear the fear in the voices of the 10 scouts, reconfirmed by the overwhelmingly nervous response of the community, who cry out in fear. With the first report, with the Israelites drinking the kool aid, How do Caleb and Joshua respond?
(ז) וַיֹּ֣אמְר֔וּ אֶל־כׇּל־עֲדַ֥ת בְּנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל לֵאמֹ֑ר הָאָ֗רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֨ר עָבַ֤רְנוּ בָהּ֙ לָת֣וּר אֹתָ֔הּ טוֹבָ֥ה הָאָ֖רֶץ מְאֹ֥ד מְאֹֽד׃ (ח)
(6) And Joshua son of Nun and Caleb son of Jephunneh, of those who had scouted the land, rent their clothes (7) and exhorted the whole Israelite community: “The land that we traversed and scouted is an exceedingly good land. (8) If pleased with us, יהוה will bring us into that land, a land that flows with milk and honey, and give it to us; (9) only you must not rebel against יהוה. Have no fear then of the people of the country, for they are our prey: their protection has departed from them, but יהוה is with us. Have no fear of them!”
וְטַעַם טוֹבָה הָאָרֶץ מְאֹד מְאֹד לְהַכְחִישׁ הַדִּבָּה, לֵאמֹר שֶׁאֵינָהּ אוֹכֶלֶת יוֹשְׁבֶיהָ, כִּי הָאֲוִיר טוֹב וְהִיא אֶרֶץ זָבַת חָלָב וּדְבָשׁ:
IT IS ‘M’OD M’OD’ (AN EXCEEDING) GOOD LAND. The reason [for this emphasis] is in order to contradict the false report [of the scouts]] and to state that it is not [a Land] that eateth up the inhabitants thereof, for the air is good, and it is a Land flowing with milk and honey.
This double emphasis—meod meod—is not just poetic flourish. It points to a mindset: to see goodness not through naive optimism, but through deep conviction. Caleb and Joshua’s meod meod is a defiant declaration of faith in the face of overwhelming doubt.
And this very phrase appears again in the teachings of Rebbe Nachman of Breslov, in Likutei Moharan:
ליקוטי מוהר”ן, תנינא מ״ח:ב׳:ז׳
וְדַע, שֶׁהָאָדָם צָרִיךְ לַעֲבֹר עַל גֶּשֶׁר צַר מְאֹד מְאֹד, וְהַכְּלָל וְהָעִקָּר – שֶׁלֹּא יִתְפַּחֵד כְּלָל:
“A person must cross a very, very narrow bridge.
The most important thing is not to make one’s self afraid at all.”
Again: מאד מאד – meod meod. (side note- tzurot – narrowness- is used by the first 10 scouts to describe the fortresses) .
This is no coincidence. Joshua, Caleb and Rebbe Nachman recognize that the path to redemption—to true freedom—is not wide or easy. It’s precarious. Risky. But it is possible. And the key to crossing that bridge is not strength or certainty. It is faith over fear.
Like the scouts, each of us is sent out every day—to observe, to report, to lead. Whether in our homes, our workplaces, or our communities, we are messengers. The question is: What kind of report do we bring back?
Do we, like the ten, amplify fear? Do we exaggerate threats and shrink in the face of difficulty? Or do we, like Caleb, look honestly and still choose hope?
Do we recognize our role as lifelines—arteries to freedom—not only for ourselves but for others?
Freedom requires accountability—learning from the past, owning our choices; being an ally rather than searching out an alibi,for where we weren’t when it mattered most. Accountability demands faith—faith that we can grow, change, and overcome. And faith insists on courage—not because the path is wide, but because the bridge is narrow.
Caleb’s report didn’t deny the challenges. But he did not let fear become falsehood.
Let us remember: the land, our ancestral homeland, is very, very good—tova meod meod.
Even if the bridge is very, very narrow—tzar meod meod.
Because God is still with us.
Because we are still here.
And because our voices, our reports, and our faith still matter.
Hazzan Jesse Holzer 