OUTREACH

Re’eh 

This week’s parsha begins with words that strike right to the heart: “Re’eh, Anochi noten lifneichem hayom bracha u’klalah – See, I am placing before you today a blessing and a curse.”

Usually, the Torah calls us to awareness with the word Shema –Hear. But here it says Re’eh – See. Hearing can be distant, something that enters the ear and passes through. But seeing is different. When you see something, it becomes real, undeniable, etched into your soul.

Every word of this verse breathes kindness. Anochi – I, G-d’s very essence beyond any name. Noten – giving, with generosity and love. Lifneichem – before you—but more deeply, inside you—for the soul of every Jew is pure. Hayom – today, not only once but every single day, eternally. All of this sounds like pure blessing. And then suddenly the verse ends with the possibility of a curse. Why would a G-d who is good give us something so opposite?

Because without choice, there is no purpose. If blessing were automatic, it would be empty. By setting before us light and darkness, holiness and temptation, G-d gives us the dignity of choice. When we choose good, not because it is easy or logical, but because it is His will, then we elevate ourselves and transform even the potential of evil into holiness. The Torah says see, because it wants us to look deeper, to recognize that even what appears as negativity exists only so that by overcoming it, we can bring the world to its perfection.

And how fitting that we read this portion as we bless the new month of Elul. Elul is the month when the King leaves His palace and comes into the field. He is not distant, not on His throne surrounded by angels. He walks among us, close, available, ready to greet us as we are. And He is asking us: Will you walk toward Me? Will you see Me in your life, in your soul, in your choices? Every mitzvah in Elul is not just a good deed; it is a step into the field to meet the King face to face.

Later in the parsha, the Torah lists forbidden birds, and hidden within them are lessons that pierce the heart. One bird is the ra’ah, a creature with extraordinary vision, so sharp it could stand in Babylon and see a carcass in Israel. With eyesight like that, why is it impure? Because it uses its gift to look only for death and decay. The Torah is warning us: do not train your eyes to search for flaws and failures. Use your vision to seek out goodness, life, possibility. Another bird is the chassidah, the stork, praised for its kindness, for feeding its friends. But it too is not kosher, because its kindness is limited. It cares only for its own circle. The message is piercing; true kindness cannot be selective. To be real, it must embrace every human being, every soul in need.

There is a story about Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev, who once saw a Jew smoking on Shabbos. He approached him and asked gently, “Perhaps you forgot it is Shabbos today?” “No, Rebbe,” the man replied, “I know it is Shabbos.” “Perhaps you did not realize smoking is forbidden?” “I know it is forbidden,” he answered. “Then perhaps you are not well?” “No, I am perfectly well.” At that moment Rabbi Levi Yitzchak lifted his eyes to heaven and cried: “Master of the Universe! Look at Your people. Even when they sin, they refuse to lie!” Most would have seen rebellion. The Rebbe chose to see honesty, integrity, the spark of goodness that still burned in that Jew’s soul. That is Jewish vision. That is what it means when the Torah says Re’eh – See.

And this is not only a story of the past. Today, Jews everywhere are wrestling with deep pain and deep division. Arguments about Israel, politics, and identity have pulled at our fabric. It is easy to see the fractures. But if you look deeper, you will see another vision. At a recent rally for the hostages in Jerusalem, a Hasid in a long black coat and Shtreimel stood beside a young Israeli in jeans and a T-shirt, bareheaded, waving a blue-and-white flag. To the eye, they looked like they came from two different worlds, two different universes. But as the names of the hostages were read, tears streamed down both their faces. And then, without a word, they turned and embraced each other. Two Jews who may never daven in the same shul, may never vote for the same party, may never share the same lifestyle, but in that moment, they remembered that they are brothers.

That is the choice of Re’eh. We can choose to see only the curse, the carcass, the fracture, the differences. Or we can choose to see the blessing, that beneath the surface, we are one people, bound by destiny, by love, by the unbreakable soul of Am Yisrael.

So, the question for us is: what do we choose to see? Do we see only the divisions, or do we see the miracle that, despite it all, we are still here, still together, still one? Do we keep our kindness and our love only for those who look and think like us, or do we stretch it wider, to every Jew, every soul, every brother and sister? As we step into Elul, the King is in the field, looking at us with eyes of love, seeing not only who we are but who we can become.

May we embrace one another the way those two Jews did in Jerusalem, until the whole world sees us as we truly are: one people, one heart, one destiny.

Have a great Shabbos and a good week.

Rabbi Zalman Lipskar

(adapted from the writings of my Father and Teacher, Rabbi Sholom D. Lipskar, obm)

For more information Click here