Parshas Va’eira: After It’s Begun
I haven’t baked sourdough in a few weeks. Not because I didn’t want to— I did.
You see, the thing is, last night our family welcomed a new baby boy.
And when you’re that close to a birth, you don’t always know when you’ll need to drop everything and head out.
You see, the thing is, last night our family welcomed a new baby boy.
And when you’re that close to a birth, you don’t always know when you’ll need to drop everything and head out.
I noticed I needed to stay available, ready to respond, ready to disappear from whatever I was in the middle of.
Sourdough doesn’t really work that way.
Once you start, it asks you to stay. Sure, there are small and large breaks along the way, but overall it needs routine and consistency. And you can’t be stressed or rushing it. The dough feels that and won’t come out the same.
So for now, I haven’t begun.
The starter was pre-fed and set to hibernate for a while.
The tools are where they should be.
The oven is ready.
But the dough remains unmixed.
Instead, we’ve been pulling loaves out of the freezer.
It’s a particular kind of pause.
Not hesitation. Not avoidance.
Just choosing not to begin something I can’t stay with.
Parshas Vaeira lives in that same space.
Moshe has already spoken to Pharaoh.
The people are still in slavery.
Nothing looks better yet, and by the end of last week’s parsha, things had actually gotten worse.
And yet, this is the parsha where G-d slows the moment down and tells His story—who He is, what He promised, and where this is all headed—even while nothing on the ground has changed yet.
The parsha itself doesn’t finish the story.
It doesn’t even finish the ten plagues.
It ends mid-process.
Vaeira isn’t a week of redemption.
It’s a week of learning how to live honestly inside a reality that hasn’t shifted yet.
Not a demand for the people to move or evacuate the premises.
Not a guarantee that everything resolves immediately.
Just the discipline of not forcing what isn’t ready, and staying engaged with the life, responsibility, and reality that are already here while the story continues.
Sometimes that’s the avodah:
To bless what’s on its way, while still fully standing inside the moment we’re in,
eating bread from another day.
And if this Shabbos feels like a beginning for you, know that it may not come with quiet just yet.
Sometimes a beginning just changes what or who you’re responsible for,
and the work is staying present without rushing the settling.
Good Shabbos,
Sourdough doesn’t really work that way.
Once you start, it asks you to stay. Sure, there are small and large breaks along the way, but overall it needs routine and consistency. And you can’t be stressed or rushing it. The dough feels that and won’t come out the same.
So for now, I haven’t begun.
The starter was pre-fed and set to hibernate for a while.
The tools are where they should be.
The oven is ready.
But the dough remains unmixed.
Instead, we’ve been pulling loaves out of the freezer.
It’s a particular kind of pause.
Not hesitation. Not avoidance.
Just choosing not to begin something I can’t stay with.
Parshas Vaeira lives in that same space.
It’s a moment after things have already begun, but before anything has actually changed.
Moshe has already spoken to Pharaoh.
The people are still in slavery.
Nothing looks better yet, and by the end of last week’s parsha, things had actually gotten worse.
And yet, this is the parsha where G-d slows the moment down and tells His story—who He is, what He promised, and where this is all headed—even while nothing on the ground has changed yet.
The parsha itself doesn’t finish the story.
It doesn’t even finish the ten plagues.
It ends mid-process.
Vaeira isn’t a week of redemption.
It’s a week of learning how to live honestly inside a reality that hasn’t shifted yet.
Not a demand for the people to move or evacuate the premises.
Not a guarantee that everything resolves immediately.
Just the discipline of not forcing what isn’t ready, and staying engaged with the life, responsibility, and reality that are already here while the story continues.
The calendar hasn’t turned yet.
That’s also what this Shabbos—Shabbos Mevarchim—feels like to me.
We acknowledge what’s coming and even bless the new month, without pretending we’re already there. Things aren’t quiet yet. Life hasn’t settled. The dough is still unstarted.
But we’re not disconnected.
That’s also what this Shabbos—Shabbos Mevarchim—feels like to me.
We acknowledge what’s coming and even bless the new month, without pretending we’re already there. Things aren’t quiet yet. Life hasn’t settled. The dough is still unstarted.
But we’re not disconnected.
We’re oriented for the future. We’re growing.
Sometimes that’s the avodah:
To bless what’s on its way, while still fully standing inside the moment we’re in,
eating bread from another day.
And if this Shabbos feels like a beginning for you, know that it may not come with quiet just yet.
Sometimes a beginning just changes what or who you’re responsible for,
and the work is staying present without rushing the settling.
Good Shabbos,
Berke