Shabbat Greetings

This week’s Torah portion, Shoftim (Deuteronomy 16:18–21:9), insists, “Justice, justice you shall pursue.” Often we hear those words as a demand, even a burden: the world isn’t yet just, so we must do more, push harder, never rest. But if we listen a little differently, there’s also comfort here. The Torah does not say, “Justice is beyond you.” It says, “pursue it.” Which means justice can, in fact, be pursued. Human beings are not powerless. Brokenness is not permanent. Every act of fairness, however small, tilts the balance of the world.

This weekend, the American calendar asks us to pause for Labor Day. At its best, Labor Day honors the dignity of workers: not only leaders and innovators, but teachers, caregivers, health workers, builders, drivers—the people whose daily labor makes community possible. In a way, this mirrors the Torah’s confidence in ordinary people. Shoftim teaches that judges, leaders, officers—all are accountable. Labor Day teaches that workers, too, are to be honored. And together they remind us that hope is seeded in daily acts: the teacher grading papers late into the night, the nurse tending to a patient, the parent rocking a restless child. None of these make the headlines. But all of them are sacred threads in the fabric of life.

And then there is the Jewish calendar, which has its own voice in this moment. We are now in the month of Elul, preparing for the High Holy Days. Elul invites us not only to face where we’ve fallen short, but also to notice the sparks of good already glowing within us. Tradition calls for the shofar to be blown each day of this month. We often think of the shofar as an alarm—wake up, pay attention, turn back to what matters. But the shofar is also a reassurance: you are still here, you are still capable of change. The gates of renewal are open, and you are not walking through them alone.

Yes, the world feels heavy. Conflict, injustice, uncertainty, and worry press on us. But if we listen carefully, three voices rise together in harmony: the Torah’s voice declaring that justice is possible, the American calendar reminding us that human labor has dignity, and the Jewish season calling us toward renewal. And perhaps the deepest comfort of all is this: none of these tasks—pursuing justice, honoring labor, or seeking renewal—are meant to be carried out in isolation. They are communal journeys. We are in them together.

So as we stand in this in-between time—between summer and fall, between Elul and Tishrei, between the labor of the year past and the hopes of the year ahead—may we take heart. Justice can be pursued. Work can be honored. Renewal is always possible. And none of us is alone.

SHABBAT SHALOM