Dear TBZ Community,
What comes after despair? Rebellion. And that makes sense.
Last week in Parshat Sh’lach Lecha, we reached a turning point in the journey of the people of Israel. After a long and difficult passage through the desert, they finally seemed to be approaching the Promised Land. Just one more strategic, necessary step: scouts were sent to check out the land before the people would enter it.
The results are well known. Ten of the twelve scouts returned with fear in their hearts and despair in their words. They doubted their ability to conquer the land, and perhaps more importantly, they doubted God’s presence with them. God was furious. At first, God considered wiping them all out, but after Moses intervened, God settled instead on a different punishment: the people would wander in the desert for 40 years, ensuring that this generation would never enter the land. They would live out their days in the wilderness, with no promised future of their own. Only their children would enter the Promised Land.
They are punished with despair. They must live with the knowledge that the hope they were carrying has been deferred. (Though perhaps, for some, the knowledge that their children would enter the land could offer some thread of meaning.)
It’s from this place of despair that this week’s Torah portion, Korach, unfolds.
In moments of despair, systems begin to crumble. In moments of despair, trust erodes. In moments of despair, Korach – the rebellious main character after whom this week’s parasha is named – makes perfect sense.
Korach and his followers rebel against Moses. And on the surface, their argument could be compelling, even righteous. They claim, in Number 16:3:
וַיִּקָּהֲלוּ עַל-מֹשֶׁה וְעַל-אַהֲרֹן, וַיֹּאמְרוּ אֲלֵהֶם רַב-לָכֶם–כִּי כָל-הָעֵדָה כֻּלָּם קְדֹשִׁים, וּבְתוֹכָם יְהוָה; וּמַדּוּעַ תִּתְנַשְּׂאוּ, עַל-קְהַל ה’
They combined against Moses and Aaron and said to them, “You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and Adonai is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above Adonai’s congregation?”
It’s easy to see why these words might have resonated. The people had just been told they would die in the wilderness. Korach’s message – “We are all holy, God is among all of us” – could have felt empowering, even comforting. It spoke to their wounded dignity, to their need for meaning and agency in a moment of despair.
How is this rebellion wrong? After all, Israel is a people born of rebellion – against Egypt, against Pharaoh, and even, at times, against God. Abraham became the first “Jew” by rebelling against the idolatry of his father’s house. Our tradition values resistance and courage in the face of injustice and inequality. It honors those who raise their voices to uphold sacred values.
So how can we criticize Korach for standing up for what he believed in?
Especially when the Torah’s response is so harsh: the earth opens and swallows Korach and his household whole. He is quite literally “disappeared.”
Rabbinic tradition steps in here and offers a deeper view. In Pirkei Avot 5:17, we learn:
כָּל מַחֲלוֹקֶת שֶׁהִיא לְשֵׁם שָׁמַיִם, סוֹפָהּ לְהִתְקַיֵּם. וְשֶׁאֵינָהּ לְשֵׁם שָׁמַיִם, אֵין סוֹפָהּ לְהִתְקַיֵּם. אֵיזוֹ הִיא מַחֲלוֹקֶת שֶׁהִיא לְשֵׁם שָׁמַיִם, זוֹ מַחֲלוֹקֶת הִלֵּל וְשַׁמַּאי. וְשֶׁאֵינָהּ לְשֵׁם שָׁמַיִם, זוֹ מַחֲלוֹקֶת קֹרַח וְכָל עֲדָתוֹ
Every argument that is for the sake of Heaven will endure. But if it is not for the sake of Heaven, it will not endure. What is an example of an argument for the sake of Heaven? The disagreement between Hillel and Shammai. And what is an example of one that is not for the sake of Heaven? The argument of Korach and his followers.
The rabbis suggest that what makes Korach dangerous is not that he disagreed, but that his motives were self-serving. Our rabbinic tradition paints Korach not as a principled dissenter, but as a demagogue, manipulating others for the sake of his own power.
It’s hard not to wonder: how could these people, who had been redeemed from slavery, who crossed the sea, who stood at Sinai, fall for such a voice? How could they be swayed by someone like Korach?
Midrash and commentators wrestle with this very question: how is it that even a people who experienced revelation and miracles could be so easily manipulated?
But maybe it’s not so hard to understand.
Though the clear direction of this teaching often points toward leaders who act like Korach, today I want to explore a different layer.
Each of us is a potential Korach. In our despair, we too can lose perspective. We can become consumed with our own pain, our own perspective, our own urgency. And when that happens, our rebellion – even if well-intentioned – can lose its grounding in love, in justice, in community, and in God. When despair takes hold, we can become reactive, defensive, even cruel, mistaking righteous urgency for self-righteousness.
I feel, deeply, that we are like the Israelites in this moment, wandering in a wilderness of despair.
Someone wise reminds me, often, that every crisis eventually ends. That doesn’t mean the cost isn’t high. It doesn’t mean we’ll all see the end. But perhaps it invites us to lift our eyes, to remember that a future still awaits. That our children, and the generations after us, may yet reach the promised land.
And the real question, the one I find myself asking again and again, is how we can live in a world that holds so much despair, without becoming like Korach?
Another wise friend told me: it’s about the stories we tell ourselves. Can we let go of the story of wandering without hope, and instead hold a story of wandering with hope? With faith? With a sense of purpose, even when the road ahead is long?
Yes, it is hard. But there is hope. There is light.
And this isn’t just about politics or leadership. In these painful times – in the U.S., in Israel, in Gaza, and in a world increasingly defined by division and binaries, by violence and a lack of nuance – Korach can show up in our own lives. In the way we speak to one another. In how we judge, assume, or turn away. In how easily we stop trusting one another’s hearts.
How do we resist that? How do we rise above despair, not just globally, but right here, in our relationships and communities?
We hold each other with more love. We practice patience. We offer care. We tell better stories: not only of wandering in hopelessness, but of moving forward with hope. Of holding on to each other, even when the road is long.
מן המקום שבו אנו צודקים
לא יצמחו לעולם
פרחים באביב
From the place where we are right
Flowers will never grow
In the spring.
Truth without tenderness, righteousness without humility, these leave no room for life to blossom. But if we step forward, not from certainty but from compassion, if we meet one another, not only with conviction but with care, we may yet plant seeds of something new.
May we hold our despair with honesty and our hope with strength.
May we stay human.
Even when fear rises. Even when we are hurt.
Even when we’re tired or angry or heartbroken.
May we not lose sight of each other’s humanity, especially when we most disagree.
May we resist the temptation to turn away, to harden, to forget that the one before us is also created in the image of God.
May this Shabbat bring us moments of stillness, moments of clarity, and above all, moments of connection.
May we reach for one another more gently, more lovingly.
May all those in pain, in fear, or in danger find safety and comfort.
May those who are ill find healing.
May the remaining 50 hostages still in Gaza come home.
May those working for peace be granted the strength and courage to continue their sacred work.
May peace prevail, and may our leaders choose life.
May the day come soon when ceasefires are achieved, and Israelis and Palestinians can live side by side in peace.
And may we remember that God’s presence dwells within us and between us.
May peace come soon.
עוֹשֶׂה שָׁלוֹם בִּמְרוֹמָיו, הוּא יַעֲשֶׂה שָׁלוֹם עָלֵינוּ, וְעַל כָּל יִשְׂרָאֵל, וְעַל כָּל יוֹשְׁבֵי תֵבֵל.
Oseh shalom bimromav, Hu ya’aseh shalom aleinu, Ve’al kol Yisrael, ve’al kol yoshvei tevel.
May the One who creates peace on high bring peace to us, to all Israel, and to all who dwell on earth.
Shabbat Shalom and Hodesh Tov,
Rav Claudia
P.S: As I shared last Shabbat, my summer plans have changed. Due to the war with Iran, my one-month program at the Hartman Institute, part of my three-year fellowship, was cancelled. I will continue working at TBZ through July 3, then take three weeks off for personal travel and a shortened visit to Israel. I will return to TBZ for Shabbat on July 26 for two weeks, and then will be away again from August 10 through September 1, returning after September 1 as previously planned.
While I’m away, the Shabbat N’kabla email with service details will continue as usual. The d’var Torah portion will be paused, resuming July 31.
A member of our rabbinic team will be available throughout the summer and services will be led by clergy members. Please consult the TBZ website for updated information or contact the office if you require assistance.