This week’s Torah portion, the first in the Book of Exodus, includes one of the best-known moments in the entire Bible.
וַיֵּרָא מַלְאַךְ יְהֹוָה אֵלָיו בְּלַבַּת־אֵשׁ מִתּוֹךְ הַסְּנֶה וַיַּרְא וְהִנֵּה הַסְּנֶה בֹּעֵר בָּאֵשׁ וְהַסְּנֶה אֵינֶנּוּ אֻכָּל׃
A messenger of God appeared to him [Moses] in a blazing fire out of a bush. He gazed, and there was a bush all aflame, yet the bush was not consumed. (Exodus 3:2)
Much has been written about the miracle of the burning bush. My teacher and friend, Rabbi Robert Davis, once shared with me a different insight. The real miracle, he taught me, is not that the bush burned without being consumed. The miracle is that Moses noticed.
How long would you have to pay attention to realize that a bush wasn’t being consumed? A minute or two at least—which, if you think about it, is quite a long time to pause and notice something seemingly mundane in a desert environment where brush fires would not be uncommon. Moses notices. He pauses—long enough to slow down, to look again, to resist the natural tendency to move on with the flock.
This theme of noticing runs throughout the opening chapters of Exodus. God notices the cries of the Israelites and hears their suffering. Pharaoh’s daughter notices a lone infant among the reeds and chooses compassion over indifference. Again and again, redemption begins not with power, but with attention—with the willingness to see what others ignore.
And then God notices Moses noticing!
וַיַּרְא יְהֹוָה כִּי סָר לִרְאוֹת וַיִּקְרָא אֵלָיו אֱלֹהִים מִתּוֹךְ הַסְּנֶה וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה מֹשֶׁה וַיֹּאמֶר הִנֵּנִי׃
When God saw that he had turned aside to look, God called to him out of the bush: “Moses! Moses!” He answered, “Here I am.” (Exodus 3:4)
God doesn’t speak—revelation doesn’t happen—until Moses turns aside, shifts his focus, and makes room to listen. The fire is already there, but revelation waits for attention. As the philosopher Simone Weil (1909-1943) taught, “Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity.” To notice is already to care.
What a meaningful way to begin 2026: with a reminder to practice the gifts of attention, patience, and generosity in the year ahead. What might we notice if we linger just a little longer? What moments of holiness might reveal themselves if we turn aside? How might we be more generous with our attention toward those we love, toward colleagues, and even toward strangers—especially the most vulnerable?
May this Shabbat help us slow down, pay attention, and be open to what is waiting to be seen, what is waiting to be discovered, what is waiting to be explored.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Yoshi