#parashah

[girlactionfigure]

اللهم آمين

[nonstandardrepertoire]

Parashat Pinəḥas, 5784

(This dəvar was originally given at Kolot Chayeinu on the morning of Saturday, 27 July, 2024.)

Today's Torah portion comes from the book of Numbers, which is called that in English because it has so many lists of numbers of things. Several of those lists occur in today's portion, including a second census of all the Israelites in the wilderness. You may remember a similar census being taken way back at the beginning of the book, some forty years ago or so; we have to do another one here because the entire generation that was counted in that first census has since died. Or, well, that entire generation minus Mosheh (for now), Yəhoshú’a and Kaleiv, and everyone who wasn't yet 20 the first time around. But still, close enough. An entire generation, give or take, minus those spared by G-d or fate or what have you.

Perhaps because it's a census of the next generation, this list of Israelite adults contains some little nuggets of history along with the tribal tallies. We hear about Qóraḥ's rebellion, for example, and then we hear that the sons of Qóraḥ did not die.

It gets an entire verse all to itself, Numbers 26:11: And the sons of Qóraḥ did not die.

What do we make of this?

One approach is to take it very literally: Qóraḥ had some sons, they didn't rebel with him, they didn't die. That's the approach Ibn Ezra — a scholar from early twelfth-century Spain — takes. He notes that several psalms are attributed to the tribe of Qóraḥ, surmises that these must be Qóraḥ's descendants, and explains that some of Qóraḥ's kids must therefore have survived. Easy enough.

But if you know anything about our tradition, you know that our sages of blessed memory are seldom satisfied with a simple surface reading, and they have some wild things to extrapolate from this one verse. The Babylonian Talmud, in tractate Sanhedrin, page 110a, records a story from Rabba bar bar Ḥanah. He says he met a guy this one time who brought him to a crack in the earth that belched steam and heat so intense it could singe wet wool when passed over it at spear's length. And yet when bar bar Ḥanah listened, he heard the sons of Qóraḥ singing songs of praise from the underworld.

The Talmud doesn't cite a Biblical prooftext for this story, but we can find an allusion to it in Numbers 26:11 itself: If you take the first letter of each word in the verse, you get ו, ק, ל, ם, which together spell vəqolam, "and their voice". The sons of Qóraḥ did not die, and neither did their voice. If you listen, perhaps you can still hear it today.

What does that voice tell us? If you take Mosheh's side of the dispute, which the sages certainly do, this is a warning that no victory is final, that there will never be a perfectly stable society where no one seeks to challenge the status quo. It's a warning against resting on your laurels, a warning that leadership requires constant attention to discontent among those you hope to lead.

If you take Qóraḥ's side, tho, it suggests that defeat need not be final either, that a setback, however ruinous, to the cause of pursuing justice is never the end of the story — the sons of Qóraḥ did not die; another generation will come and carry on the fight.

This reading echoes Justice Ruth Bader Ginsberg's quip that dissents speak to a future age, that the dissenter's hope is that they are writing not for today but for tomorrow.[1] Dissents like these remind us that the past is not flat, that the majority or official opinions aren't the only ones that existed, and that the world does not always move in a tidy line from less to more just.

Our tradition is full of dissents such as these. One that I come back to regularly as I build my own Jewish life is a dissent from Rabbi Howard Handler from 1992. At the time, Rabbi Handler was a member of the Conservative Movement's halakhic authority, the Committee for Jewish Law and Standards, which was debating whether to alter the traditional ban on homosexuality. The majority opinions adopted by the Committee reflect the ambient homophobia of the time — the consensus position includes a clause saying they will not accept "avowed homosexuals'' into the movement's rabbinical school, for example — but Rabbi Handler's dissent is having none of it. He writes:

The CJLS has made gay and lesbian Jews second-class citizens or, even worse, a tolerated minority. . . . The policies are discriminatory at best and profoundly oppressive in any event. There is no reason for us to hesitate in accepting gays and lesbians into our community with complete equality.[2]

In some ways, this dissent, with its insistence on full equality for queer Jews, goes further than the Committee would go some fourteen years later, in 2006, when the Committee finally approved a təshuvah abrogating their halakhic ban.[3] His dissent is a reminder of what could have been, that there is a radical tradition there for us in the past, no matter how hard some have tried to bury it.

Rabbi Handler wrote these words some ten years into the AIDS crisis. Despite Fukuyama's "End of History", it was a time of tremendous upheaval, uncertainty, and death. In my undergraduate gay and lesbian history class, the lecture on the early years of the crisis was the one lecture my professor asked us not to take notes on. Instead of his usual academic analysis, he just showed us pictures from when he was in college, some 40 years ago or so, pictures of his friends, with little annecdotes about each of them in turn. This one would always make sure you got home safe from the party, no matter how drunk you were. This one was so beautiful, but so annoying to be in class with. This one sang so enthusiastically, even if he wasn't always the most in tune. Each of these stories, a whole hour's worth of them, ended in the same way: And he died. And he died. And he died. A whole generation, give or take, minus those spared by G-d or fate or what have you.

In 1993, Rabbi Handler was outed and fired from the congregation where he had had a pulpit. He was kicked off the Committee for Jewish Law and Standards, and his former colleagues debated whether the movement should help him find a new job. In a decision stark in its cruelty, fourteen of these rabbis voted to deny him that help. He was left without a rabbinical position.

But the sons of Qóraḥ did not die.

Queer Jews did not simply go away. We certainly didn't get any quieter. 1992 was not the first time we asserted our halakhic rights, and it would not be the last. The struggle is far from over, but more and more, these days, it's the people who would shame us who are themselves shamed instead.

We are living in a time of tremendous upheaval, uncertainty, and death. (When are we not!) I don't know how it will all turn out. I don't know what the ledger will say when the final case has been tried and decided, the final verdict rendered with no appeal left in any court human or Divine. I don't know where things will stand when history truly, finally ends. I don't know what happens when that day comes.

But I do know it won't come for a while yet. And so even when the prospects seem bleak, when I am in despair and the possibility of bending the universe towards justice seems faint, remote, impossible, even then I keep working, keep putting my little voice out into the world. Because I want there to be a record of it. Because I want people to know I was here. Because, even if things don't all turn out the way I hope they will, perhaps another generation in some future age will be able to say "Look! Even back then, there were people who thought like this, who fought for these ideals, however imperfectly and unsuccessfully.''

Because the sons of Qóraḥ will not die.

Shabbat shalom.

This quote has been widely repeated, which makes it difficult to track down a precise source. If anyone can point me to the origin, I'd love to cite it more properly.

Rabbi Howard Handler, “In the Image of G-d: A Dissent in Favor of the Full Equality of Gay and Lesbian Jews into the Community of Conservative Judaism”, 25 Mar, 1992 (PDF)

In my experience, many Conservative shuls today go much further than even the most permissive ruling in 2006 would theoretically allow. The ruling in question explicitly says that bisexual Jews must only enter into relationships with Jews of the "opposite" binary gender, and bars gay and lesbian Jews from sanctifying their relationships with the rite of qidushin. (Instead, they create an alternate rite that heterosexual Jews are not supposed to use — it's very marriage vs civil union, honestly.[4]) I have been in many Conservative shuls in the past ~8 years where I would be, frankly, shocked if the suggestion that bisexuals halakhically ought to limit themselves to heterosexuality were met with anything other than shocked condemnation. There is the Law, and then there is the Community, and I think it's important to remember that they're not always in synch.[5]

Or at least, that's the theory. In 2017, the CJLS approved a təshuvah about trans people that, among other things, allows married Jews to stay married after one of them transitions, meaning that you can, in fact, have two men or two women joined in qidushin or a man and a woman joined with the bərit ahuvim after all. But I digress...

That said, from what I gather, both the 1992 and 2006 discussions of gay and lesbian Jews in the CJLS were acrimonious and distressing for most of those involved, so I understand why they're not exactly eager to dredge the whole thing up again.

[yishmaelalves]

Diariamente temos a necessidade de saciar nosso corpo físico de diversas maneiras (comendo, bebendo, dormindo, etc.); e quanto à nossa alma? O que temos feito para suprir a sua necessidade?

O que é minha alma?

Muitas são as perguntas, e poucas são as respostas.

Resumidamente: Quando você se comunica, é a sua verdadeira essência quem está no controle de seu intelecto.

Ou seja, é a sua alma "Neshamá"; seu corpo é apenas um invólucro (embalagem com prazo de validade) que por determinado tempo aprisiona o seu verdadeiro "Eu" até sua morte. Eclesiastes 12:6-7

Ela "Alma", não se sacia com nada terreno, apenas com a presença do Criador e Sua luz divina.

Este é um dos muitos segredos bíblicos revelados em:

Salmos 42:2 A minha alma tem sede de Deus, do Deus vivo; quando poderei entrar para apresentar-me a Deus?

Em poucas palavras durante as 24h do dia sua alma quer retornar à sua origem, que é se reconectar a Deus.

O sono representa 1/60 ávos da morte, e é um estágio onde ela viaja pelos mundos espirituais "Olamot".

Mas antes do "cordão de prata" se romper, ela deve cumprir suas missões terrenas, só então seguirá viagem rumo às novas fases após a sua morte.

Suas missões estão descritas na Torah "Bíblia".

Então, aproveite o tempo que ainda lhe resta encarnado neste mundo e não perca tempo. Ele passa como um sopro.

A porção "parashá" desta semana nos fala um pouco sobre este tema "depois da morte", após a morte dos dois filhos de Aharon "Arão", como se apresentar diante a presença de Deus e Seus requisitos.

Você desconhece o que lhe aguarda daqui a um minuto. Contudo, o cumprimento ou não de suas missões já estão sendo computados.

[fractalist]

[psychologeek]

Jumblr!

I think about starting a weekly Parashah-related writing prompts (starting at Bereshit).

Is anyone interested?

Also, plz lmk if you'll be interested in joining a multifandom Jewish -writing related discord group?

(Or if one already exists?)

Lmk!

[kfirbenyehudah]

PARASHÁT JUQÁT

Bemidbár 19:1 - 22:1

Parashát Juqát es la sexta porción semanal de la Toráh, que se encuentra en el Séfer Bemidbár (Libro de Números). En esta Parasháh, se enseñan las leyes relacionadas con la purificación ritual y se relatan los fallecimientos de Miriám y Aharón, los hermanos de Moshéh. Además, se castiga a Moshéh por el incidente de las aguas de Meriváh, lo que le impide entrar en la Tierra Prometida1.

Una de las ceremonias especiales de purificación mencionadas en esta Parasháh involucra la vaca roja (paráh adumáh). Esta vaca sin defectos se sacrificaba fuera del campamento y se quemaba junto con madera de cedro, hisopo y un hilo escarlata. Las cenizas de la vaca roja se utilizaban para purificar a las personas que habían estado en contacto con un cadáver2.

En resumen, Parashát Juqát aborda temas de pureza e impureza, así como la importancia de cumplir con las leyes Divinas, incluso cuando no siempre comprendemos su propósito o significado1.

Reflexiones

Parashát Juqát nos presenta una serie de lecciones y desafíos que siguen siendo relevantes en la vida actual. Aquí hay algunas reflexiones sobre esta porción semanal:

La paradoja de la purificación: La ceremonia de la vaca roja es un ejemplo de cómo a veces las soluciones Divinas pueden parecer paradójicas o incluso ilógicas. La purificación a través de las cenizas de la vaca roja es un recordatorio de que no siempre entendemos completamente los caminos de Dios, pero debemos confiar en Su sabiduría.

La importancia de la obediencia: Moshéh es castigado por golpear la roca en lugar de hablarle, lo que le impide entrar en la Tierra Prometida. Esto nos enseña que incluso los líderes espirituales deben obedecer las instrucciones Divinas con precisión. La obediencia es crucial para nuestra relación con lo sagrado.

La fragilidad de la vida: La muerte de Miriám y Aharón nos recuerda que incluso aquellos que desempeñan un papel importante en la historia pueden partir en cualquier momento. Valorar a nuestros seres queridos y vivir con propósito es fundamental.

La búsqueda de significado: A veces, como Moshéh, enfrentamos situaciones difíciles sin comprender completamente su propósito. La fe implica confiar en que incluso en momentos de confusión, hay un propósito más grande en juego.

En última instancia, Parashát Juqát nos invita a reflexionar sobre nuestra relación con lo Divino, nuestra obediencia y nuestra búsqueda de significado en medio de la incertidumbre.

Lehitra’ót! 🙋🏻‍♂️

[parashapix]

Shmini

Yes, I know. I messed up. I forgot last week. (specifically, I forgot that I wouldn't be able to do it on the day I normally do, Friday.) So to make up for it, today you are getting both the Torah and the haftarah וַיִּקְח֣וּ בְנֵי־אַֽ֠הֲרֹ֠ן נָדָ֨ב וַֽאֲבִיה֜וּא אִ֣ישׁ מַחְתָּת֗וֹ וַיִּתְּנ֤וּ בָהֵן֙ אֵ֔שׁ וַיָּשִׂ֥ימוּ עָלֶ֖יהָ קְטֹ֑רֶת וַיַּקְרִ֜יבוּ לִפְנֵ֤י יְהֹוָה֙ אֵ֣שׁ זָרָ֔ה אֲשֶׁ֧ר לֹ֦א צִוָּ֖ה אֹתָֽם: וַתֵּ֥צֵא אֵ֛שׁ מִלִּפְנֵ֥י יְהֹוָ֖ה וַתֹּ֣אכַל אוֹתָ֑ם וַיָּמֻ֖תוּ לִפְנֵ֥י יְהֹוָֽה: And Aaron's sons, Nadab and Abihu, each took his pan, put fire in them, and placed incense upon it, and they brought before the Lord foreign fire, which He had not commanded them. And fire went forth from before the Lord and consumed them, and they died before the Lord. (Vayikra 10:1-2)

וַיַּרְכִּ֜בוּ אֶת־אֲר֚וֹן הָֽאֱלֹהִים֙ אֶל־עֲגָלָ֣ה חֲדָשָׁ֔ה וַיִּשָּׂאֻ֔הוּ מִבֵּ֥ית אֲבִינָדָ֖ב אֲשֶׁ֣ר בַּגִּבְעָ֑ה וְעֻזָּ֣א וְאַחְי֗וֹ בְּנֵי֙ אֲבִ֣ינָדָ֔ב נֹהֲגִ֖ים אֶת־הָעֲגָלָ֥ה חֲדָשָֽׁה: וַיִּשָּׂאֻ֗הוּ מִבֵּ֚ית אֲבִֽינָדָב֙ אֲשֶׁ֣ר בַּגִּבְעָ֔ה עִ֖ם אֲר֣וֹן הָאֱלֹהִ֑ים וְאַחְי֕וֹ הֹלֵ֖ךְ לִפְנֵ֥י הָאָרֽוֹן: ודוד | וכל־בית ישראל משחקים לפני יהוה בכל עצי ברושים ובכנרות ובנבלים ובתפים ובמנענעים ובצלצלים:  And they set the ark of God upon a new cart, and they carried it from the house of Avinadav that was on the hill; and Uzzah and Ahio, the sons of Avinadav, drove the new cart. And they brought it out of the house of Avinadav, which was on the hill, with the ark of God, and Achyo went before the ark. And David and all the house of Israel made merry with all [manner of instruments of] cypress wood, and with harps, and with psalteries, and with timbrels, and with sistra, and with cymbals. (Shmuel Bet, 6:3-5)

[mylight-png]

There is a lot to be said about the murder of Rabbi Zvi Kogan, but I just can't find enough words.

There is no justification for this horrible tragedy. Absolutely none. This is a man who left his home to go spread light in a new place, and was murdered for it.

His murder is unjustifiable.

This murder turned his legacy into something painful, something to be angry about. The name of a person whose whole mission was to spread light and joy now evokes pain. It's unfair, another thing stolen.

Do not let his murderers take and twist his legacy.

Go out of your way to do a mitzvah in his memory. Maybe light for Shabbat this week, say a bracha over something you eat if you usually don't. Take a few minutes out of your day to read a lesson on this week's parashah. Anything.

They took his life, don't let them take his legacy.

[laineystein]

No guilt, just gratitude. No guilt, just gratitude. No guilt…

We lost 21 chayalim today in Khan Younis, the area of Gaza I spent the past few weeks in…the same place I left Monday morning. I’m gutted. There are no words. I don’t know how much more we can take. עד מתי???

My husband and I drove up north to get away for a bit. We haven’t had much alone time since this fucking war started and he wanted to treat me so here we are. After everything this morning, I wasn’t going to share this but I spoke with my bubbe earlier and she assured me that I am doing the world a disservice by diminishing my joy right now. She asked me what we were all fighting for if not for our fellow Israelis to be able to live normal, happy, peaceful lives. My bubbe escaped Nazi Germany, fled to a war torn France, and then finally made her way back to Israel at 15 — so I think she knows what she’s talking about. She reminded me that life does not end when war starts and that it shouldn’t pause either. She reminded me that in this week’s parashah, when the Jews were caught between an army and the sea, they put their trust in Hashem and he guided them through. So I’m going to continue leaning into Hashem for guidance - no guilt, just gratitude.

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

Resources for Times of Distress: Sefaria Announcement

October 11, 2023 | 26 Tishrei, 5784

The last few days have been immensely painful for the global Jewish community. At Sefaria, an organization with staff in both Israel and the United States, we are heartbroken and concerned for our family, friends, colleagues, and all those whose lives are impacted by the current violence in Israel.

In the face of loss, Jews over the generations have often found solace and spiritual power in prayer and study. The Sefaria library is here for you, and we hope it can be a source of connection and meaning amid the shock, fear, and uncertainty so many of us are feeling.

Below are some resources that may be particularly useful during this time.

One version of the prayers for Israel, Israeli soldiers, and those in captivity can be found in the Siddur Ashkenaz.

Psalms are a significant source of Jewish liturgy and are frequently recited during times of distress. Some Psalms traditionally recited for peace in the land of Israel include Psalms 20, 120, 121, and 125.

Our new Weekly Parashah Study Companion is a way to connect to the weekly Torah cycle with insights and study prompts for all levels.

Together, we dedicate our learning in memory of the lives lost, and with prayers for the safe return of those held captive and for everyone affected by the ongoing violence in Israel.

[girlactionfigure]

[nonstandardrepertoire]

Tzav/Trans Day of Visibility

[This dəvar was originally given at Kolot Chayeinu on 20 Adar II, 5784. This transcript has been lightly revised with some staircase thoughts.]

Shabbat Shalom!

As a general rule, the Torah is written using a very restricted vocabulary. When two characters are talking, for example, we don't get verbs like "muttered", "mumbled", "shouted", or "whispered" — it's all just "said", "said", "said". One of the big exceptions is the lavish descriptions of priestly matters like the Mishkan and the Levitical paraphernalia. Suddenly, we have all these technical words for kinds of fabric, dyes, precious stones, and architectural features. The ordination of the priests in this week's parashah is no exception: Aharon doesn't just have "clothes", he has a special tunic, he has a frontlet, he has something called an "efod".

We know what some of these things looked like, but others remain somewhat mysterious, because no actual examples of them survive to the present day. This isn't altogether surprising — in general, not much clothing survives from the past. In part, this is because so much of it is made from materials less durable than ceramic or stone, but it's also because people wear clothes, and in doing so expose them to the ravages of time and the elements. This can easily distort our understanding of the past — it's easy to come away from a historical fashion exhibition with the impression that everyone in the past was skinny and fashionable, when really it's just that very skinny clothes are hard to hand down or alter for the next generation and very fashionable clothes tend to be worn once or twice, for a season at most, and then set aside instead of being worn again and again year after year. The constant exposure that comes with regular use takes its toll on clothes to the point that they disintegrate into nothing.

Exposure takes its toll on people, too. Outside of shul, I'm an artist (I make theatre), and from time to time, people will try to hire me with exposure instead of money. This happens so frequently that my friends have a stock joke response to such offers: "Work for exposure? But people die of exposure!"

That joke has been on my mind a lot these past few years whenever Trans Day of Visibility rolls around. On the whole, trans people have become increasingly visible in this country in the past few years, but that visibility hasn't been accompanied by increased support or protection. Instead, increasing visibility has come with increasing hostility, increasing attempts to punish and prevent trans existence. In this climate, being more visible feels an awful lot like being more exposed, with all the vulnerability to destruction that that entails. I've seen increasing numbers of my trans friends talk about visibility as a problem, as a trap.

In this way, Trans Day of Visibility feels like it's become one more day when we talk about trans suffering. And trans suffering has a visibility all of its own.

As I said, outside of shul, I make theatre. And I have found again and again that when producers talk about authentic trans plays, they have in mind plays about trans suffering. The plays that the mainstream theatre world is most excited about are plays where trans people, all in all, don't have a very good time.

And I don't like that.

I'm not going to stand up here and claim that living as a trans person is 100% uninterrupted peaches and cream, but my transsexual life is not defined by my suffering. And I don't want the world at large to get in the habit of equating transness with misery. I don't want people left with the impression that the only true transsexual is a suffering transsexual. I want people to be in the habit of imagining us happy, or at least as happy as anyone gets to be on stage or in the wider world.

And this brings me back to the roots of the day. Trans Day of Visibility was started in 2009 as a counterweight to Trans Day of Remembrance, the day when we remember our dead and mourn their untimely passing. Trans Day of Visibility was meant to be a foil to that, to be a day for celebrating trans joy, a day for lifting us up while we're still alive. And I think that that insistence on life, that full-throated affirmation that we belong here, in the world, as living people instead of memories, is worth holding on to, especially in a moment when so many people want us to disappear without a trace.

The lives we celebrate on this day don't have to be grand or earth shaping. Laurel Thatcher Ulrich's quip that well-behaved women seldom make history is often taken as a feminist exhortation to make good trouble, but her original point was gentler and subtler than that. Her point was that lots of women in the past lived orderly lives, lives that leave little trace in the historical record. They weren't poets, they weren't politicians, they weren't activists or artists or great warriors. But they were still real people. Their lives still mattered. Their invisibility in the historical record shouldn't lead us to think of them with incurious apathy. For trans people, too, our lives shouldn't have to be big and splashy, to be especially visible, to matter, to be worth protecting.

On Trans Day of Visibility, I think about my friend Liz, who works in HR. Brian, a clerk in a small-town city hall. Jay, a night manager at the Ralph's. I want Trans Day of Visibility to be for them, too. I want a world where it doesn't take courage to be trans. I want a world where trans people can be boring.

And in a weird way, this brings us back to Tzav.

Leviticus — especially this part of Leviticus — is often called fly-over country. People rarely fight to give a drash on Tzav. But listen: I have this one trans friend. We were thrown together by circumstance — the same exhausting place at the same exhausting time — and we've stuck together since then. From time to time, we get coffee, and we don't talk about anything particularly deep or witty: the latest hijinks at our jobs, the health of various family members, the weather. But it's nice. I like seeing them. It's a reminder that we're both still here, and sometimes that's enough. With the world the way it is, it doesn't always feel like such a small achievement.

I'll be honest: I think Tzav is kind of boring. But if I'm here studying it again, that means we're both still here. And maybe that's enough. Not every trans person needs to be Miss Major or Chase Strangio. And not every Torah portion needs to be Bəreishit or Qóraḥ. Tzav, too, is Torah. And we must learn.

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Parashah 1: B’resheet (In the beginning) 1:1–6:8

1 In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. 2 The earth was unformed and void, darkness was on the face of the deep, and the Spirit of God hovered over the surface of the water. 3 Then God said, “Let there be light”; and there was light. 4 God saw that the light was good, and God divided the light from the darkness. 5 God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. So there was evening, and there was morning, one day.

6 God said, “Let there be a dome in the middle of the water; let it divide the water from the water.” 7 God made the dome and divided the water under the dome from the water above the dome; that is how it was, 8 and God called the dome Sky. So there was evening, and there was morning, a second day.

9 God said, “Let the water under the sky be gathered together into one place, and let dry land appear,” and that is how it was. 10 God called the dry land Earth, the gathering together of the water he called Seas, and God saw that it was good.

11 God said, “Let the earth put forth grass, seed-producing plants, and fruit trees, each yielding its own kind of seed-bearing fruit, on the earth”; and that is how it was. 12 The earth brought forth grass, plants each yielding its own kind of seed, and trees each producing its own kind of seed-bearing fruit; and God saw that it was good. 13 So there was evening, and there was morning, a third day.

(A:ii) 14 God said, “Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to divide the day from the night; let them be for signs, seasons, days and years; 15 and let them be for lights in the dome of the sky to give light to the earth”; and that is how it was. 16 God made the two great lights — the larger light to rule the day and the smaller light to rule the night — and the stars. 17 God put them in the dome of the sky to give light to the earth, 18 to rule over the day and over the night, and to divide the light from the darkness; and God saw that it was good. 19 So there was evening, and there was morning, a fourth day. — Genesis 1:1-19 | Complete Jewish Bible (CJB) Complete Jewish Bible Copyright © 1998 by David H. Stern. All rights reserved. Cross References: Genesis 2:4; Numbers 20:29; Deuteronomy 32:11; Job 38:8; Job 38:10; Psalm 19:1; Psalm 24:2; Psalm 33:7; Psalm 33:9; Psalm 65:8; Psalm 74:16; Psalm 95:5; Psalm 136:9; Psalm 145:9-10; Psalm 148:4; Psalm 150:1; Isaiah 40:6; Isaiah 45:7; Jeremiah 31:35; Jeremiah 33:20; Jeremiah 33:25; John 1:1-2; Acts 17:24; 1 Corinthians 15:38; 2 Corinthians 4:6; Hebrews 6:7; 2 Peter 3:5

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Commentary on Genesis 1 by Matthew Henry

[puckgoodfaggot]

i love little torah coincidences!

when i converted, i had chosen my name well in advance of knowing when my beit din would be and it turned out my namesake appeared in the parashah that week

and today i was back at my home shul and it was pride shabbat and i got to bless the torah for the second time ever and lo and behold my namesake appeared in today’s parashah too!

[gendzl]

sefaria is doing weekly parashah emails! sefaria my beloved.

[ofpd]

omg! vayeshev is my birth parashah so i also have a big soft spot for yosef 💙💙💙

omg yes yosef buddies