This week’s Torah portion, Parashat Matot-Masei, introduces the concept of arei miklat — cities of refuge — sacred spaces where individuals who had unintentionally caused harm could flee for safety, protection, and a fair trial. On the surface, these cities were a practical solution to prevent cycles of vengeance that perpetuated violence. But on a deeper level, the Torah is teaching us something essential: that every person needs a place of refuge — a miklat — in moments of fear, guilt, grief, or uncertainty.
The word miklat is not just ancient or abstract. It’s heartbreakingly current. In Israel today, the word miklat is used for the bomb shelters where civilians flee when sirens sound — when rockets are fired by Hamas from Gaza, or when missiles are launched by Iran or its proxies in the North. In these shelters, there is fear, yes — but also a fierce kind of hope. They are spaces of life, of protection, of waiting for danger to pass. They are sanctuaries — where time slows down, breath becomes precious, and community becomes essential.
That’s what a miklat is meant to be — not a place to hide forever, but a space that holds us until we’re ready to return to the world.
It’s a powerful image: when the world outside is scary or overwhelming, we all need a place to go. A place to breathe. A place to feel human again. Life is stressful. We carry so much — pressure, anxiety, grief, and responsibility. The Torah reminds us that it’s not only okay to step away sometimes — it’s necessary.
In our daily lives here in Illinois, we may not need a physical shelter from war, but we still carry burdens — stress, pressure, exhaustion, uncertainty. And so, we too need miklat, places of refuge for the soul. For some of us, summer offers that: camp can be a refuge for campers and staff, a space to grow, connect, and be themselves. Vacations give adults and families a break from daily routine. These times apart are not meant to be indulgent — they’re restorative. They make space for us to heal, reflect, and return to life more whole.
And our tradition gives us one of the greatest gifts of all: Shabbat, our weekly miklat in time, as Rabbi Abraham Joshuah Heschel called it; “a palace in time.” Just as the cities of refuge had well-marked paths leading toward them, so too is Shabbat designed to be easy to access — not distant or rare, but consistent and inviting. Every seven days, we are given a chance to exhale, to put the urgency of the world on pause and reconnect with what matters: rest, loved ones, spirit, self.
The lesson of the arei miklat is that refuge is holy. It is not a weakness to step away — it is strength to know when we need protection, when we need stillness, when we need to catch our breath.
So, this week, I encourage each of you to take the time to ask yourself:
- What is my personal miklat — the places or moments that give us a break from the noise?
- Can I create a Shabbat experience that serves as a personal refuge — a weekly sanctuary that holds us and rejuvenates us?
- How can I honor the spiritual and emotional need for refuge in my own life — and stand in solidarity with those, near and far, who are in need of protection and safety?
May we each find our makom miklat — our place of safety — whether it’s a cabin in the woods, a corner of the couch, a quiet walk, or a Shabbat table filled with light and song.
Shabbat Shalom.