Shabbat Won’t Fix the World—But It Can Steady Us
Even though I knew going into last Shabbat that we were on the brink of war, I still felt shocked when I walked into BJ and heard the news that it was official, a war with Iran had begun. It is especially hard to be offline on Shabbat when historic and personal shifts like this are unfolding in real time. I spent much of Shabbat eager to connect with friends and family in Israel, especially my best friend, who had given birth just days prior.
Shabbat is meant to give us a taste of a perfect world. But the world we live in could not feel further from perfect. Lately, it seems like the Shabbat bubble is constantly being pierced by the enormous moral imperfections that surround us.
One of the most striking aspects of Parashat Ki Tissa is that a moment meant to embody moral perfection so quickly becomes one of moral failure. Moshe ascends the mountain to receive the Ten Commandments, and in the space between his ascent and descent, B’nai Yisrael build and begin to worship the golden calf. The people are afraid. The world no longer makes sense. They fear they have lost their leader, and in that fear and uncertainty they lose their moral compass.
Meanwhile, Moshe is on the mountain receiving the foundation of our Torah, the anchor meant to guide us through a world that does not make sense. And the irony is devastating: The moment Moshe descends the mountain, he smashes the tablets, breaking the very anchor we need in that moment, the one meant to keep us from drifting away forever.
But the story does not end there. By the end of the parashah, Moshe is back on the mountain receiving a second set of tablets. This time, it is a partnership. While the first set was entirely the work of God, the second is a joint effort. Moshe carves them, and God speaks the words.
Rabbinic tradition teaches that the second set came with even more Torah. Where the first held only the Ten Commandments, the second expanded to include halakhah (Jewish law), midrash (rabbinic interpretation), and aggadah (narrative law)—layers of interpretation, law, and story that continue unfolding to this day. The Talmud teaches that had we not sinned by making the golden calf, we would have received only the Five Books of Torah and Joshua. But because we failed, we were invited into partnership. We became responsible for interpreting, expanding, and carrying Torah forward. It is on us to help future generations navigate the imperfection of humanity. The teaching ends with a quote from Kohelet: וְיוֹסִיף דַּעַת יוֹסִיף מַכְאֹוב—Much wisdom comes through much heartache.
We are meant to learn and grow from our moments of failure, pain, and heartache; from the ways we personally or communally miss the mark. Imperfection demands hard work, partnership, and a clear moral vision.
I think one of my deepest fears about the world around us is not only the brokenness itself, but our tendency to forget, to forget to learn from our mistakes, to forget the cost of moral collapse. Or maybe it is not forgetfulness, but overwhelm. The task of leaning more deeply into moral responsibility can feel impossibly heavy. Adding our voices to Torah, to history, and to the long painful arc of justice asks a lot of us.
And that is what makes Shabbat so complicated—and even more important—right now.
Shabbat gives us a taste of the world as it should be—not so that we can escape reality, but so that we remember what we are working toward. It reminds us that even when the first tablets shatter, the story is not over. There can—and must—be a second set, a deeper partnership, more Torah.
The question is whether we will step into that partnership. Whether we will let the cracks in the world lead us to carve something new. Shabbat does not shield us from an imperfect world—it cannot—but it does steady us within it. And this week, may it remind us that even in moments of fear and fracture, we are still capable of carving the next set of tablets together.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Rebecca Weintraub