9/5/25 – Ki Teitzei
This week’s Torah portion, Ki Teitzei, is packed with more mitzvot than any other parashah. It covers family life, business ethics, justice, and community. And right in the middle of all these weighty laws, we find one of the most tender commandments in the entire Torah:
“If you come across a bird’s nest in any tree or on the ground, with fledglings or eggs, and the mother sitting on them, do not take the mother with the young. Send the mother away first, and then take the young, so that it may go well with you and you may have a long life.” (Deut. 22:6–7)
Tender, you say? This is enough to turn someone into a vegan! But I see it as tender because the Torah is teaching empathy in the simplest, most relatable way. It takes a scene from daily life — gathering food — and turns it into a lesson in sensitivity. The Torah understands that we will sometimes use the earth’s resources, but it asks us to do so in a way that honors life. By shooing the mother bird away, she is spared the pain of watching her young taken before her eyes. And while the fledglings will still be taken, they are shielded from their mother’s stress and panic.
The other day, I was riding my bike and stopped to drink some water. In front of me was a little boy who had noticed one of those big turtles sitting in the middle of the road. He wanted to pick it up, but his grandfather knelt down and I overheard him say, “Let’s help him cross instead.” I stayed to watch as they stood guard, letting the turtle take its slow, cautious steps. The boy got to watch up close, the turtle was safe, and what could have been a forgettable moment became a lesson in gentleness. Torah is teaching us the same thing here: empathy isn’t only for dramatic moments of justice; it starts with the smallest acts of awareness.
We are being taught to pause — to notice, to care, to honor life even in the smallest moments. It shows us that holiness isn’t only found in grand gestures; it begins with a single act of compassion. That pause is what transforms an ordinary act into a holy one.
The rest of Ki Teitzei overflows with mitzvot that protect the vulnerable: the stranger, the orphan, the widow, even workers in the field. Over and over, Torah measures righteousness not by how we treat those with power, but by how we treat those who have none.
On the surface, sending away the mother bird seems small. But spiritually, it reveals a profound vision: that holiness begins with empathy. That every life matters. And that even in taking, we can choose to bless.
And that is why this mitzvah speaks so deeply to this season. We are on the edge of Yom Kippur, the season of teshuvah — of turning, returning, softening our hearts. Torah is asking us tonight:
Are we careful with power?
Do we notice those who are vulnerable?
Do we move through life with reverence for what sustains us?
May this simple commandment open our hearts, so that we see holiness even in the smallest creatures.
And may we carry this truth with us: If Torah cares for the feelings of a bird, then surely we must care for the dignity of every child,
every family, and every soul we meet.