The Torah has contradictory accounts of whether or not God can be seen. We deny ourselves the richness of interpretive possibility if we limit ourselves only to one way of thinking about this question, and a close reading of a single verse in this week's parashah helps remind us that there's always another way to look at an idea we assumed we understood completely.

An "angel" is a being with a divine task. Our tradition teaches us that ordinary human beings--yes, including you and me--are able to bring God into the world, and when we do, we, too, act as angels. Parashat Terumah was my bar mitzvah Torah portion, so this week's lesson holds a special place in my heart.

In the Torah, the "mixed multitude" is considered both dangerous and praiseworthy - but in either case, they are "other." How should we think of a single individual that comes from this group, and how might that apply to the way we think of people today? It can be easy to conflate a person with the group they're a part of, but often that's the easy (and wrong) way to judge others.

Reflections on the way grandparents affect our lives, including some surprising grandparent Torah facts.

Three years ago, Pittsburgh's Tree of Life Congregation was observing Refugee Shabbat. It was their commitment to refugees that attracted the hatred of a violent criminal, who broke into the congregation and murdered eleven of its members. We continue to reel in the aftershock of this terrible crime, and we also continue to stand for the values that came under attack that day. Our congregation was also observing Refugee Shabbat at that time, and our resolve has only strengthened in the years since. Even when our community is under attack for what we believe--especially when our community is under attack for what we believe--we stand up for our values and push for them in the public square. So on this anniversary of Refugee Shabbat, our congregation announces our ongoing and burgeoning efforts to support and mentor a refugee family that will be resettled in Chicago in the new year.

The mysteries of Creation are just that: mysteries. For centuries, seekers of truth have turned to Genesis in search of answers. But I believe a more genuinely Jewish approach to these texts is to approach them with questions. The questions inspired by the Creation story open our minds to new possibilities and enrich our individual and communal quests for truth.

Do you believe in aliens? Do you believe in God? And how do you decide? More importantly: Do you decide about God the same way you decide about aliens?

In this year's Kol Nidre sermon, I suggest that the wonders of the natural world can inspire us to awe. The fantastic search for extraterrestrial life misses the point of "unidentified aerial phenomena," which are reminders of the marvelous mysteries our world offers to us as waystations to faith.

Abortion--for now--is all but illegal in Texas, and the Supreme Court has said--for now--that it's okay. This is not a sermon about abortion. It is a sermon about the Court's dereliction of its duty to protect the Constitution and to abide by the proper procedures for legal change. Our texts and tradition help us frame our own response to the Court's increasing favorability toward political action over against judicial prudence.

When do we need to hide? And when is it our responsibility to come out of hiding? These aren't easy questions to answer, and they're often quite personal. The Torah offers a robust defense of stepping forward at all costs and takes a dim view on hiding; the Rabbis, however, approach the concept with a considerable degree of empathy. Each of us looks for our own path in balancing these competing impulses in our tradition and within us.

What do we keep as our most precious reminders? And why does the Torah suggest that we might keep a relic of our greatest sin in our most sacred space? By holding on to the brokenness of the past, we can help remind ourselves to strive for tikkun (repair) in the future.