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.

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.

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.

Rabbi Akabia ben Mahalel lived in the generation before the destruction of the Temple by the Romans in 70 CE. He was known for his piety and profound erudition. The Talmud reports (Mishnah Eduyot 5:6) that he disputed with the other rabbis on various issues of Jewish law.

One of the burning issues in contemporary Israeli political/religious life relates to widespread exemptions from military service granted to Hareidim (“ultra” Orthodox Jews). The Hareidi leadership insists that all men who study Torah in their yeshivot are thereby serving the nation, and must not be asked to do anything more. While other young Israeli men and women are required to serve in the military or national social services, Hareidi young men and women have generally been allowed to be exempted by dint of their religious commitments.