The Torah begins not with a commandment or a law, but with a story—a story of chaos transformed into order, of darkness pierced by light. "וְהָאָרֶץ הָיְתָה תֹהוּ וָבֹהוּ וְחֹשֶׁךְ עַל־פְּנֵי תְהוֹם— …the earth being unformed and void (tohu va'vohu), with darkness over the surface of the deep..." (Genesis 1:2) And into that void, God speaks: "יְהִי אוֹר— Let there be light."
This primal act of creation is not only about the formation of the universe—it is about the divine capacity to bring meaning out of nothingness, hope out of despair. Every year when we read B'reishit, we relive that sacred possibility: that even after the greatest destruction, renewal is possible.
This year, the words of B'reishit resonate with heartbreaking and miraculous immediacy. On this very week—the two-year mark on the Hebrew calendar since the horrific Hamas attack of October 7th, 2023 (22 Tishrei 5784) —the People of Israel once again witness the movement from darkness into light, as hostages are returned home.
When we imagine tohu va'vohu, we often think of physical chaos: swirling waters, a formless void. But tohu va'vohu can also be emotional and spiritual—the confusion, fear, and despair that seize us when darkness shatters our sense of order. The fear and sadness of that Simchat Torah morning two years ago was our collective tohu va'vohu. The world itself seemed to dissolve into darkness: families torn apart, communities in mourning, hostages dragged into tunnels, and a worldwide Jewish community struggling to make sense of the unimaginable.
And yet—God's first act in the Torah is not to erase the darkness, but to speak light into it. The divine act of creation begins with words: "Let there be light." In the same way, our people—Am Yisrael—responded to the chaos not with silence, but with unity, resilience, and faith. Jews around the world prayed, advocated, marched, and hoped. Each act of solidarity was a spark of light spoken into a world of darkness.
In B'reishit, humanity is created b'tzelem Elohim—in the image of God. To believe that each person carries the divine image means that every life has infinite worth, and that captivity and dehumanization are affronts to creation itself.
When hostages come home, we are not only witnessing a political or military event—we are witnessing a reassertion of tzelem Elohim. Each returned captive is a divine image restored to their family, to their people, and to the world. It is as if the world is once again illumined by creative light.
The rabbis teach that pikuach nefesh, saving a single life, is like saving an entire world. In this week of B'reishit, we are reminded that creation never ends—it continues whenever we redeem, rescue, rebuild, or bring someone back from despair.
God's creation is not a one-time miracle—it is an ongoing partnership. After forming the world, God entrusts humanity to care for it, to guard it, to perpetuate its goodness. Likewise, we are partners in the ongoing creation of moral order and justice. The return of the hostages reminds us of the sacred duty not to rest until every life is accounted for, every life and family redeemed, every darkness illuminated.
We know that peace is not yet assured. We know the work is unfinished. Perhaps our rest this Shabbat of B'reishit—our pause—is not yet full celebration, but rather sacred gratitude. Gratitude for life, for return, for hope reborn.
As we begin the Torah anew, we are reminded that B'reishit means "in the beginning," not "in the end." Creation is always beginning again.
So may we, this Shabbat, recommit to the sacred work of creation: bringing light into darkness, restoring the image of God in every human being, and believing that even in the face of chaos, God's words—and our actions—can make the world new again.