בס "ד

Integrar la Torá en la propia vida a través de la reflexión y la conversación puede ser una experiencia increíblemente divertida y atractiva. Es un viaje de descubrimiento, en el que la sabiduría ancestral y las enseñanzas intemporales cobran vida en nuestras experiencias cotidianas. A través de la reflexión, tenemos la oportunidad de sumergirnos en el rico tapiz de la Torá, extrayendo profundas ideas y lecciones que resuenan en nuestras vidas modernas. La alegría reside en los momentos "ajá", aquellos en los que un versículo o una historia de la Torá conectan de repente con nuestros retos, aspiraciones y valores personales. Y cuando participamos en conversaciones sobre la Torá con otras personas, se convierte en una exploración interactiva, en la que diversas perspectivas e interpretaciones mejoran nuestra comprensión. Estos diálogos a menudo despiertan el entusiasmo y la curiosidad intelectual, haciendo que el proceso de aprendizaje sea agradable y satisfactorio. La Torá se convierte en una parte vibrante y dinámica de nuestras vidas, que nos ofrece no sólo orientación, sino también una fuente inagotable de fascinación, conexión y crecimiento.

NOTA: No te sientas obligado a consultar todas las fuentes ni a responder a todas las preguntas, a menos que quieras hacerlo. Incluso una sola fuente o una sola pregunta te dará mucho material para debatir y meditar. Disfrútalo.

Some thoughts about Parshat Shemot

When she could no longer hide him, she took a small ark of reeds, sealed it with clay and pitch, placed the child inside it, and set it among the reeds by the riverbank.”
(Exodus 2:3)

At the beginning of the book of Exodus, the Torah introduces us to a world that is dark, dangerous, and morally inverted. A powerful empire has turned fear into policy. Jewish infants are hunted. Their parents are forced into impossible choices. It is precisely here, in this bleak setting, that the Torah begins to reveal one of its most important themes: even when we cannot fix everything, we are still responsible to lessen suffering where we can.

We encountered this idea earlier in Genesis. Joseph was sold by his brothers and sent away as a slave. The Midrash notes a striking detail: the caravan that carried him was transporting fragrant spices rather than foul-smelling goods, which was unusual. Joseph’s life was being torn apart—but even then, a small mercy was present. His suffering was not erased, but it was softened.

The same idea appears again here.

When Moses’ mother, Jocheved, could no longer hide her baby, she placed him into a small basket and set it afloat on the Nile. The situation was terrifying. She did not know whether her child would live or die. And yet, the Torah pauses to tell us something seemingly insignificant: she sealed the basket with pitch on the outside, but not on the inside, so that the child would not have to endure the foul smell.

This detail invites a powerful question: When you are sending your child into mortal danger, what difference does the smell of pitch make?

The Torah’s answer is subtle but profound. Kindness does not become irrelevant just because the situation is dire. Even when outcomes are uncertain, even when the big picture is out of our control, we are still accountable for the small choices that express care, dignity, and love.

Jocheved did not know how the story would end. But she acted with faith, responsibility, and compassion in the present moment. She planted a seed whose growth she could not yet see.

There is a verse in Ecclesiastes that says, “Cast your bread upon the waters, for after many days you will find it again.” The Torah here gives that verse flesh and blood. Jocheved “cast” her child onto the waters, not recklessly, but with courage and hope. Redemption, the Torah teaches, does not arrive fully formed. It grows. It begins as something fragile, easily overlooked, dependent on faith and patience.

The Hebrew word used for Moses’ basket is teivah. It can mean an ark, a container, or even a word. Sometimes we act through deeds; sometimes through prayer; sometimes through quiet moral resistance. Sometimes we protect life not with force, but with care. Not every battle is fought with weapons. Some are fought with presence, restraint, and compassion.

This is where the message becomes universal.

The Torah insists that within every human being and within every situation there is a core of goodness that must be protected. Even in times of cruelty, fear, or chaos, we are not absolved of our responsibility to act humanely. We may not be able to end injustice overnight. We may not be able to save everyone. But we can always make things less cruel. We can refuse to add unnecessary pain. We can preserve dignity.

The world is sustained not only by grand acts of heroism, but by small, quiet decisions to care when caring seems futile.

If we truly believed that every person carries a spark of Divine worth, how would we speak to one another? How would we treat those who are vulnerable? How would we act when no one is watching?

The story of Moses begins not with miracles or power, but with a mother who chose compassion in a moment of fear. That choice changed history.

May we be blessed to recognize the moments when we are called to soften the world, especially when we cannot yet repair it, and may compassion spread through all of Creation.

Ahora, reflexiona sobre las siguientes preguntas:

  1. If we truly believed that every person carries inherent worth and moral dignity, how might that change the way we speak, decide, or act—especially under stress or fear?
  2. When a situation feels overwhelming or beyond our control, how do we decide what small acts of kindness are still within our responsibility?
  3. Why do you think the Torah highlights seemingly minor details—like comfort, dignity, or reduced suffering—during moments of great danger or uncertainty?
  4. Can you recall a time when a small act of care made a meaningful difference for you, even though it didn’t solve the larger problem? What did it change?
  5. What does this story suggest about the relationship between faith in the future and responsibility in the present moment? Can hope exist without action?

¡Shabbat Shalom!

Por el rabino Tani Burton

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