My Faltering Heart

Shalom,

This week’s Torah reading recounts a profound moment before battle, where the Israelite troops would gather to hear from their leaders. The generals issued their commands, and then a priest would step forward to bless the soldiers. He would proclaim, straight from Deuteronomy 20:3-4: “Hear, O Israel! You are about to join battle with your enemy. Let not your heart falter. Do not fear or panic or dread them, for it is Adonai your God who marches with you to do battle against your enemy to bring you victory.”

Throughout human history, clergy have given religious sanction to warfare. Religious leaders of various traditions have inspired young men and women to fight—and often to die—on behalf of their nation and their God. In this week’s Torah portion, the priest’s charge was intended to stiffen spines, harden hearts, inspire bravery, and reassure soldiers of inevitable victory because God was on their side.

The 19th-century Torah commentator Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehuda Berlin (known as the Netziv) offered an audacious interpretation of “Do not let your heart falter.” He taught: “Do not let your heart falter to cause you to do wrong to your enemies after they fall into your hands.” In this interpretation, the priest’s role shifts from merely urging fearlessness in battle to warning about the moral dangers of unchecked aggression. Even when justified, warfare is always ethically fraught. The Netziv suggests that religion’s role is not to inflame ferocity but to teach responsibility and restraint.

We all face battles—some literal, some metaphorical—and in every case, it is imperative not to lose our humanity. Otherwise, we risk becoming what we are fighting against. This truth has weighed heavily on my heart this week. My heart is not faltering—it is shattered.

Last weekend, as the Litwaks enjoyed time together as a full family with friends, six Israeli families faced unimaginable loss. While we looked forward to our gathering for nine months, the Denino, Goldberg, Polland, Lobanov, Suisi, and Yerushalmi families had waited in anguish for nearly 11 months to reunite with loved ones—only to have their hopes destroyed by the unspeakable pain of mourning.

The month of Elul, a time of deep reflection leading up to the High Holy Days, calls us to examine our actions and motivations. It urges us to ensure we follow the better angels of our nature. My heart is broken because our Israeli brothers and sisters are fighting with a moral code that commands, “Do not do wrong to your enemies after they fall into your hands.” Yet they face an enemy with no such code—an enemy that kept innocent souls in unimaginable captivity for 320 days, only to execute them when freedom seemed so close.

My heart is shattered by the Sophie’s choice forced upon Israel: to bring loved ones home or to prevent further rearming of Hamas by controlling the Philadelphia Corridor along the Gaza-Egypt border. I am devastated by my trust in the young Israeli soldiers defending our homeland and my lack of trust in the Israeli government’s leadership directing them. The Netziv’s teaching offers a timeless reminder: even when hardening our hearts seems right, we must resist, for that is Pharaoh’s way—not the way of holiness. Our task is to fight without losing compassion, to act with resolve but stay true to our values.

This brings us to a celebration of open-hearted transformation. Today, Ruth Virgil Bernholtz completes her journey of conversion to Judaism. We invite Ruth to the bimah. She will tell you that this morning’s immersion was the hardest part—she might even say she fought off sharks—but we welcome her nonetheless!

Blessed is the One who gave Torah to Israel. God, we thank You for Your many blessings. We praise You for revealing truth to humanity and, above all, for the gift of Torah—a light unto our path. Throughout history, many have chosen to join the Jewish people, knowing its burdens and joys. Converts come without witnessing Mount Sinai’s thunders or quaking mountains, yet they embrace the covenant by choice. There is no greater testament to God’s love than this.

Today, Ruth, you affirm your place within our people. Do you accept Judaism as a living and growing faith?
—Yes.
Do you identify with the Jewish people’s history—past, present, and future?
—Yes.
Do you commit to a Jewish home adorned with symbols of our faith and guided by our calendar and life cycle?
—Yes.
Do you promise to live justly, improve the world with kindness, and pursue continued Jewish study?
—Yes.

As we rise together and open the ark, we declare: “We will do and we will obey.” Ruth, you are now known as Rut Esther bat Avraham v’Sarah. May your name bring honor to your family and all of Israel. May God bless you with peace and wholeness.

Together we say, Amen.