The 17th century English poet, Richard Lovelace, wrote these famous lines in his poem To Althea:

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

As long as a person has inner freedom—to think, to love, to aspire—then the person does not feel limited by physical constraints.

Dr. Zvi Zohar of Bar Ilan University and the Shalom Hartman Center has come out with an excellent new book (in Hebrew): “Conversion in Our Times: A Study in the Halakhic Responsa of Rabbi Benzion Uziel.” The book was published by the Committee for the Publication of the Writings of Rabbi Uziel, and is available by contacting [email protected]

Jacob had worked a lifetime to raise a family and now was at the point of his impending death. He gathered his family around him to offer his final words. He looked back at successes and failures, at good times and bad, at spiritual achievements and moral deficiencies.

In the midst of imparting his final speech, he paused and poignantly called out: “I wait for Your salvation O Lord” (Bereishith 49:18).

As he reviewed his life and his family, Jacob wondered whether he had ultimately been a success or a failure. Did he accomplish his life’s goals? Would his children and grandchildren live according to his ideals? Did he do enough? Could he have done better? “I wait for Your salvation O Lord.” The Almighty alone knows.

In this week’s Torah portion, we learn that Jacob was afraid when he learned that Esau was coming toward him with a force of 400 men. Jacob prayed to God and reminded Him of His promise: “I will surely do good for you and make your descendants as the sand of the sea which cannot be numbered for multitude” (Bereishith 32:13). Jacob’s fear of Esau was counterbalanced by God’s promise to look after Jacob.

Many years ago, when I was a new young rabbi, an unkempt hippie walked into our synagogue on a Shabbat morning. He was wearing dirty jeans, a gaudy plaid shirt, and long hair with a pony tail. He wasn’t wearing a jacket and tie as is the proper male attire for our synagogue.

This hippie was quickly ushered out of the synagogue, to the relief of a number of veteran congregants. After all, who would want such a disrespectful person to be at our prayer services?

In his classic work, “The Lonely Man of Faith,” Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik writes of two aspirations of human beings: dignity and redemption.

Dignity results whenever we triumph over nature, e.g., when we make scientific and technological advances, when we control our environment, when we achieve social or economic success. In these instances, we see ourselves as masters, not as victims. This is dignity.

Redemption, though, is something quite different. It stems not from our feeling of being in control but from our feeling of being entirely dependent upon God. We are vulnerable. We are afraid. We recognize deeply and without reservation that our lives are in God’s hands, not our own. No matter how successful we may appear to be, only God has full control.

In this week’s parasha, the Torah describes the rainbow as a sign of God’s covenant with His earthly creations. It is a testimony that He will never again cause a flood to destroy humanity. It is significant that God chose the rainbow as a sign of His permanent covenant with humans.

A rainbow, after all, is intangible, unreachable and ephemeral. God rested His covenant not in something solid and unshakable, but in a bodiless, colorful bow of vapor refracted in the sunlight. By choosing the rainbow, God conveyed to humanity that His power can be seen not only in great mountains and mighty oceans—but also in something as insubstantial and transient as a rainbow.