Beginning Again with Responsibility

The first Shabbat of a new Torah cycle arrives with a familiar question: What will remain of the inspiration of the Chagim when ordinary life resumes? Rabbi Paul Bloom poses this question and offers some practical suggestions.

We have prayed, asked forgiveness, sat in the sukkah, and celebrated with the Torah. Now we open Bereishit again. Its account of creation offers a practical direction for the year ahead. The world belongs to Hashem, and our place within it carries responsibility. We are asked to care for what we receive, take ownership of our choices, and attend to the welfare of other people.

For those of us at Beit Knesset Hanassi in Jerusalem, the opening of the Torah has a particular resonance. Rashi, citing Rabbi Yitzchak, asks why the Torah begins with creation rather than the first commandment given to Israel as a nation. His answer concerns Eretz Yisrael: creation establishes the Creator’s authority over the earth and the foundation of Israel’s claim to the land He gives us. Before Avraham’s journey or the revelation at Sinai, the Torah’s opening already provides that foundation.

Rashi’s explanation can renew our gratitude for the privilege of living here. Jerusalem easily becomes the setting for ordinary errands, appointments, delays, and frustrations. Yet familiarity need not erase wonder. We walk streets toward which generations turned in prayer. We learn Torah and build Jewish homes in a place our ancestors longed to reach. The practical question I draw from Rashi is how our conduct should reflect gratitude for that gift. What kind of neighbors, family members, and fellow Jews will we be here?

The second chapter of Bereishit gives human responsibility a concrete setting. Hashem places Adam in Gan Eden “לְעָבְדָהּ וּלְשָׁמְרָהּ,” to cultivate it and guard it (Bereishit 2:15). Even the garden requires care. Abundance does not remove obligation; receiving something valuable creates a reason to protect and nourish it. The same insight applies to a home, a marriage, a community, or a commitment to Torah learning. Each needs effort that helps it grow and attention that protects it from harm.

A shul, for example, requires more than a building and a schedule of minyanim. Its human atmosphere also needs cultivation. A person entering for the first time may know how to daven and still feel uncertain about where to sit or whom to approach. A greeting, an introduction, or an invitation can turn attendance into belonging. Similarly, an older member’s absence may call for a phone call. These actions are modest, but they give substance to communal responsibility.

The Torah’s teaching that the human being is created “בְּצֶלֶם אֱלֹהִים,” in the image of God (Bereishit 1:27), deepens that responsibility. A person’s dignity precedes our judgment of their usefulness, ability, or agreement with us. This is most difficult to remember when we are frustrated. We see the clerk who cannot solve our problem, the person taking too long, or the relative whose opinion irritates us. Tzelem Elokim asks us to recover our awareness of the person before us, even while addressing a real difficulty. This matters especially in a community whose members bring different languages and experiences. Someone struggling to express a thought in Hebrew may need patience rather than correction. Someone unfamiliar with Israeli life may need an explanation that others take for granted. And within our own homes, people who know us best still need the courtesy and attention we readily give strangers. The opening of Bereishit challenges us to make human dignity visible in our everyday speech.

The parshah then confronts failure. Adam and Chavah eat from the tree and hide. Hashem asks Adam “אַיֶּכָּה,” where are you (Bereishit 3:9)? Within the narrative, Adam has hidden among the trees. In our own spiritual lives, we can hear the question as an invitation to examine where we stand. What have we avoided acknowledging? Which commitment needs renewed attention? Where has an explanation become a way of escaping responsibility?

Adam points to the woman given to him; Chavah points to the serpent. Each identifies an influence on the decision, yet each also directs attention away from personal choice (Bereishit 3:12–13). We know this habit. We spoke harshly because we were provoked, failed to call because nobody called us, or abandoned a commitment because circumstances became difficult. Those circumstances may be real. The remaining question is what action belongs to us now. An honest apology or a realistic renewed commitment can begin repair without pretending that life is simple.

Kayin’s answer after killing Hevel exposes a further refusal: “הֲשֹׁמֵר אָחִי אָנֹכִי,” am I my brother’s keeper (Bereishit 4:9)? Beyond its terrible immediate context, the question warns against declaring another person’s welfare outside our concern. In communal life that temptation often appears as the assumption that somebody else will notice. A respectful offer of help interrupts it. We need not take over another person’s choices to ask whether a ride, a visit, or a listening ear would be welcome.

Those who have made Aliyah can express this care through honest companionship for people considering their future. We can describe the blessings of life here while taking concerns about livelihood, children, Hebrew, and family seriously. A thoughtful conversation begins by listening. Trust grows when encouragement makes room for the actual circumstances of the person before us.

Bereishit also leaves room for hope. Before Kayin’s crime, Hashem warns him of the danger and tells him that he can rule over it (Bereishit 4:7). Rashi explains that overcoming the inclination remains possible if he chooses. [9] The next destructive response is not inevitable. For us, too, a familiar pattern can be interrupted: a sharp remark left unsaid, a neglected call finally made, or a concern heard with greater patience.

The coming week gives us a manageable place to begin. We can choose something to cultivate, something to guard, and someone whose welfare to notice. A modest commitment, fulfilled consistently, can carry the inspiration of the Chagim into ordinary days. As we open the Torah again in Jerusalem, may our gratitude for being here deepen our willingness to care for the lives entrusted to us.