How to Love Your Neighbor
Plus: our annual Torah study, and a new Jewish book
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April 24, 2026 // 7 Iyar, 5786
Kindness is not infinite. It’s a muscle you can build, and our job as humans is to continue building and building, but for almost all of us it’s just not infinite. Or maybe it’s better to say that kindness is infinite, but time is finite, and there’s only so much kindness we can work into our time on earth.
On my block I know that there are some lonely people. I see them, I see their yearning for conversation, I know that the kind thing would be to invite them over. But doing that would mean that I wouldn’t have time for my husband or kids, or for myself, or for you. Or maybe it’s better to say that kindness can’t be our only posture. We also need boundaries, self-protection, even aggression sometimes. You’d never get on the highway with a little aggression on the on-ramp.
This week’s portion has one of the most famous lines in Torah, and not just among the Jews.
V’ahavta l’reyacha kamocha, “Love your neighbor as yourself.”
Honestly, it’s not one of my favorites. What does it even mean?
First of all, what is “love” and how can we be commanded to love someone? Maybe a feeling but let’s look at verses before:
You shall not defraud your neighbor; you shall not steal; and you shall not keep for yourself the wages of a laborer until morning….You shall not render an unjust judgment...You shall not go around as a slanderer among your people.
Love is an action word in the Jewish tradition. You might also say that the Love Language of the Jewish people is acts of service.
What is reyecha? It’s translated as “neighbor,” but it doesn’t mean “neighbor” in the way we understand it today, as someone who lives in proximity but you probably have never met. Instead, it can be understood as רֵעַ rêaʻ, ray’-ah; or רֵיעַ rêyaʻ—sibling, companion, fellow, friend, life-partner, lover, neighbour. So already the circle of people we have to love like ourselves is much smaller than originally indicated. But the Torah goes out of its way to remind us that that circle distinctly includes the most vulnerable amongst us, be they those close to us or not. We are told time and time again not to shut out others, and never to look past someone in need.
So, how do we love our neighbor, truly? The word “love” is an action verb that begins with yourself, but absolutely can’t end there. And the truth is, you actually can’t love everyone. It’s impossible. We don’t have to love everyone, but we do have to look after them. We have responsibility to one another, to our fellow humans, to our neighbors, friends, and beloveds. The task is large but manageable.
Listen
In our Season 7 finale, Hanna again poses as a yeshiva bocher. Shira takes her through a very special double Torah portion: Achrei Mot-Kedoshim Leviticus 16:1–20:27. She talks about why Leviticus is such a grab bag of rules and laws with seemingly no real narrative order, some of the more controversial laws on sex, homosexuality and female impurity and how to view this part of the Torah as a guide to holiness in daily life, especially in a contemporary world that is often too cruel.
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Before we go
It’s 1905, the shtetl in Odessa, the Russian Empire. Between Frieda’s worrying, her husband Mordechai’s strictness and mysterious meetings with the Rabbi to practice Kabbalah, and the fact that Jews are disappearing, it’s clear something very, very bad is about to happen. Hey Alma shared an excerpt of the upcoming novel ‘Odessa’ and we can’t wait to read more.
Don’t forget to share your thoughts in the comments, listen, send us your questions, and donate.
Shabbat Shalom Chutzsquad!
I listen to Chutzpod on a bit of a time delay, and just this morning reached the final episode of Season 7 as I was baking my Shabbat muffins. At one point Rabbi Shira says in kind of a throwaway line that she has never studied the Code of Hammurabi, but I found out a couple of years ago that it can be quick work if you have a specific intention. Here’s a post about “the Hammurabi Codex,” as it’s called by scholars, and its usefulness to me as a historical novelist retelling the Exodus. I try to give a flavor of the language, which sounds like it could have been lifted straight out of Leviticus (although the opposite is probably true), and include a link to a fascinating translation and explication of the text - which is a lot shorter than one might think. The post, which is from several months BT2E (Before the Second Trump Era), is called “The Codex” and it’s on my Substack “The Science of Exodus.” It’s less than a 5-minute read. I wanted to attach it to this comment, but that’s not allowed so anyone who is interested will have to do a search.