Rabbi Dina Rosenberg

Somehow, I wonder how I ever lived in a dorm room or a studio apartment in New York City with only one closet and so little space. Back then, I made do with the bare essentials. But I’ve noticed something over the years: the bigger the space I have, the more I fill it—with furniture, gadgets, clothing, toys, and countless little things that I think I need.

Eventually, I find myself surrounded by so much stuff that I lose sight of what actually matters. Important things—items with sentimental value or gadgets I genuinely enjoy using—get buried beneath the clutter. What once sparked joy gets drowned in noise.

This week’s Torah portion, Parshat Shoftim, offers a surprisingly relevant teaching. In laying out the laws for kingship, the Torah warns that a future king of Israel must not acquire many horses, take many wives, or amass silver and gold in excess (Deuteronomy 17:16–17). Why such limitations on power and possessions?

Perhaps because too much leads us to forget. A king surrounded by opulence might lose sight of the people in the far corners of his kingdom—those who walk barefoot, those who go hungry, those whose cries for justice are muffled beneath the sound of palace luxury. With too much, even a wise leader can forget what truly matters.

Marie Kondo famously teaches us to hold each item and ask, “Does this bring me joy?” It’s a beautiful practice—but this week, I’d like to suggest another question: “Does this have meaning and value in my life?” Joy can be fleeting. But meaning endures.

Shoftim invites us to become spiritual minimalists—not to live without, but to live with intention. The less we surround ourselves with distractions, the more room we make for clarity, compassion, and purpose.

As Elul begins, this is the perfect time to take stock—not just of our closets, but of our lives. What have we collected that no longer serves us? What has real meaning, and what has simply become clutter?

May we enter this season with lighter hearts, clearer minds, and a deeper connection to what truly matters.

This week’s Torah portion begins with a powerful line:

“See, I set before you today a blessing and a curse…” (Deut 11:26)

At first glance, it sounds simple—choose the blessing, avoid the curse. But life is rarely that clear-cut, right? Sometimes the most meaningful blessings show up as challenges, hard work, or uncomfortable conversations. And sometimes what feels good in the moment—comfort, convenience, going along with the crowd—can actually pull us away from our values.

The Torah’s message isn’t just about big, dramatic moral choices. It’s about the everyday stuff: how we treat people, how we speak, what we prioritize, what we let slide. Judaism teaches that every choice matters, and that we’re capable of choosing well—not just based on what we feel but based on what we believe.

What’s beautiful here is that we’re trusted. God doesn’t micromanage; instead, we’re given real agency. That’s both empowering and a little daunting. But it also means that even the small decisions—how we show up at work, how we speak to our families, how we act when no one’s watching—can be moments of blessing.

This Shabbat, take a breath. Think about the choices in front of you—maybe not huge, life-changing ones, but the quiet ones that shape your days. Ask yourself: Does this move me toward who I want to be?

This week’s parsha almost sounds like a parent speaking to their child:

“The clothes on your back didn’t wear out, and your feet didn’t swell these forty years” (Deuteronomy 8:4).

Remember the manna? The water from the rock? The roof over your head? God provided all of that. But it’s not just a warm “I love you” moment — it’s also followed by:

“So keep the commandments… walk in God’s ways… and when you’ve eaten your fill, give thanks” (Deuteronomy 8:6, 10).

And that raises the question: Is this pure, unconditional love? Or is God giving in order to get something back — loyalty, gratitude, obedience? It’s the kind of dynamic many of us know from our own relationships: a parent loves deeply, but also wants the child to live by their values and say “thank you” once in a while.

A parent’s love may be unconditional, but the relationship flourishes when the child listens, remembers, and honors that love. God’s love shelters and sustains us, yet it also invites us to respond — to live with gratitude, to walk in God’s ways, and to make choices that reflect the blessings we have received.

Maybe God’s love for us is both — real and sustaining, but also filled with a hope that we will act and align with God’s expectations.

This Shabbat, may we notice the blessings around us before God has to start with, ‘Remember when your clothes didn’t wear out…?’

Happy Tu B’Av — the Jewish Day of Love!

This minor Jewish holiday is actually one of the most joyous of the year — second only to Yom Kippur, according to the Mishnah (Taanit 4:8). It is best known for the beautiful image of Israelite maidens dressed in white, dancing in the vineyards and seeking partners. But there’s a lesser-known, deeply powerful Midrash from Taanit 30b that offers an even more profound message for our day.

At the end of the Israelites’ 40 years of wandering, the final remnant of the generation punished for the sin of the spies — those who had been told they would not enter the Promised Land — found themselves still alive. Every year on Tisha B’Av, the people would dig their own graves and lie down in them, expecting not to wake up. Year after year, many did not. But in the 40th year, fifteen thousand people went to sleep in those graves… and woke up.

Thinking they had miscalculated the date, they repeated the ritual night after night — until they saw the full moon of Tu B’Av rise in the sky. Only then did they understand: the decree was lifted. They were no longer bound to the punishment of the past — they were free to join the new generation, and to walk forward into a new future.

Tu B’Av is a day of personal and communal rebirth. It’s not just about romantic love — it’s about self-love, healing, and the courage to hope again after despair.

In a world that often teaches us to doubt ourselves, to compare, to diminish our worth — Tu B’Av offers a spiritual challenge:

What if the decree against you has already been lifted?
What if you’re already whole enough to begin again?

This Tu B’Av, I challenge you to practice radical compassion — for yourself. Celebrate the love you offer to others, yes — but also the love you so deeply deserve to receive from yourself.

The Shabbat before Tisha B’Av is called Shabbat Chazon—the Shabbat of Vision. On this Shabbat, poised on the edge of memory and mourning, we stand before the destruction of the Temples and the exile from our land. And yet, rather than weep, we are offered a vision: the vision of the Third Temple.

Tradition teaches that this vision is meant to give us hope—hope that one day korbanot (sacrifices) will resume, that all Jews will return to the Land of Israel, and that the building of the Third Temple will open the gates of the Messianic Era.

But what if that is not your vision of Judaism?

What if daily sacrifices and a mass return to Israel do not feel like the spiritual future you long for? How, then, can Shabbat Chazon still speak to you?

Our sages offer another possibility: that the Third Temple will not be a structure of stone at all, but a Temple of the soul—eternal, spiritual, and created by God. Shabbat Chazon, then, is a vision of a world at peace with itself, a world filled with the knowledge of God and the potential for human wholeness. It is a reminder that if we strive to correct our behavior, to live in alignment with our highest values, God will build for us a Temple of unification, where holiness fills every corner of life.

On this Shabbat Chazon, may we lift our eyes to that vision:

A future where every person is valued, no one is hungry, and God’s presence is felt by all humanity.
A vision not of stone, but of spirit.
A vision we can begin building—here and now.