This week I saw a teshuva – an answer to a question on Jewish law – from Rav Shlomo Aviner, a Religious Zionist Rabbi popular in certain circles. He was asked if non-Jews can be accepted as volunteers (volunteers!!) to do agricultural work in Israel (a very common practice, both as volunteers and, more commonly as hired workers, as it is very hard to get people who are willing to do the difficult, backbreaking work).

In Parshat Tetzave we continue to receive instructions about the Tabernacle in the desert. One of them is for Moshe to “Make holy garments for Aharon your brother, for honor and glory.” The notion that the high priests and the other, regular priests, should have some sort of special uniform seems sensible, as does the demand that they be “for honor and glory”, that they should be special, appropriate for the place and occasion.

If you take a close look at the various arguments going on in the Jewish world, one of the themes which emerges is the question of who gets to decide, whose opinion is meaningful, and what role the common folk, as opposed to the leadership class, are meant to play in decision-making for the community. Some come down on the side of a more democratic approach: the members of Jewish communities should be able to make, or at least contribute to the making of, important communal decisions, be they social, halachic, or political.

Over the past few years, political correctness has become a kind of red flag for many, particularly on the right. Trump rode the distaste for political correctness, which seems to exist among many in the Midwest and South in particular, to victory in 2016, and he and his enablers continue to go on and on about it.

Parshat Va’yeshev is always read just before or, once in a while, during, Chanukah, and we Rabbis are obligated, by our contracts, terms of service, and ancient custom, to come up with some connection between the two. There is none. So yes, it’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it; here goes.

This week’s parsha, Va’yishlach, has generated what is, in certain circles, one of the most often quoted statements in Rabbinic literature. The statement is made by Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, and people tend to quote only the first half of it, and actually reference a late, faulty version.

Last week, in parshat Toldot, we learned about the struggle between Yaakov and Esav. This week, in Va’yetze, Yaakov opts out of the conflict and, fearing Esav’s anger, departs for his family’s earlier home, Haran. In Toldot, Yaakov’s dealings with Esav were remarkably transactional, and somewhat underhanded: he purchased the birthright from him when he was very hungry for a bowl of soup, and then stole their father’s blessing.

One of the conversations which has been set into motion by the murders in Pittsburgh, and which, in fact, has been going on one way or another since the horror show of Trump’s presidency began (and also, even earlier, in connection with one’s opinions about Israel), has been the question of bringing politics into religion, or religion into politics.

The other day, a rocket fired from Gaza hit a house in Beersheva. It was a direct hit; the house was damaged extensively.  Luckily, the mother of the family heard the alarm – in her sleep – and quickly woke up and grabbed her three children and got them down into the house’s bomb shelter, closing the door to the shelter just in time.

Famously, Bereshit has two different creation stories, one after the other. In the first, the creation of man is embedded towards the end of six full days of divine activity; he is part of the entire creation, integrated into a narrative about bringing the heaven and earth and all that is in them into existence. Actually, in this story we are not talking about a “he”, it’s a “they”: we are told that “male and female He created them”.