Shabbat Shuvah is always a tender time. We stand in the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, with the sound of the shofar still echoing, and the Day of Atonement drawing near. These are days when our tradition calls us inward — to examine our deeds, to measure our words, to do the hard and honest work of teshuvah. But Judaism also reminds us that soul work is never only solitary. Our prayers are said in the plural. Our confessions are recited together. The work of return is always communal work.
This week’s Torah portion, Vayakheil, begins with the word “And Moses gathered.” It is about assembling the people — gathering hearts and hands so that the Mishkan, the dwelling place of God, can be built. In these days of Shabbat Shuvah, when we, too, gather, the message is clear: our spiritual repair cannot be built alone. It depends on the community we create together.
And so, we turn to the world beyond our sanctuary. The pain, the divisions, the arguments about what justice and responsibility demand of us as Jews, as a people, as human beings, do not wait politely for us to finish our prayers. They press in. The debates over Israel’s security, over humanitarian obligation, over international law and political legitimacy — they swirl all around us.
Just this morning, at the United Nations, Prime Minister Netanyahu delivered his speech. Some applauded. Some, too many, walked out. And everywhere, words like “justice,” “terror,” “antisemitism,” and “human rights” are spoken, argued, weaponized. It can feel overwhelming.
But on Shabbat Shuvah, Judaism asks us to bring these arguments into the realm of soul work. Not to set them aside, but to ask: How do we as a community respond faithfully? What does our Torah require of us when the world seems so fractured?
Jewish sources offer more than one answer. Pikuach nefesh — saving life — reminds us that protecting human life must be paramount. The Torah’s repeated commands about justice — tzedek, tzedek tirdof — urge us to seek fairness even in the hardest circumstances. Rambam’s laws of war remind us that there are limits, even in the heat of conflict. And the prophets cry out that God’s presence dwells not where the strong prevail, but where the vulnerable are protected.
On Shabbat Shuvah, we are not asked to solve the politics of nations. We are asked to bring a different kind of presence: humility, compassion, responsibility. We are asked to keep our community anchored in truth, to resist both demonization and denial, to remember that our words can wound or can heal.
Like the Israelites in Vayakheil, we are called to gather — to pool our wisdom, our prayers, our acts of kindness — so that the dwelling place of God is not destroyed in our time but rebuilt wherever there is courage to protect life and compassion to soften suffering.
So let this Shabbat Shuvah be a gathering: of our questions, our grief, our hopes, and our commitments. Let us remember that teshuvah is never done alone, that the path of repair is walked together. And let us pray that our gathering — our vayakheil — helps create a sanctuary of justice and compassion that can shine light into a broken world.