Korach incites a mutiny challenging Moshe’s leadership and the granting of the priesthood to Aaron. He is accompanied by Datan and Aviram. Joining them are 250 distinguished members of the community, who offer the sacrosanct incense to prove their worthiness for the priesthood. The earth opens up and swallows the mutineers, and a fire consumes the ketoret-offerers.

A subsequent plague is stopped by Aaron’s offering of ketoret. Aaron’s staff miraculously blossoms and brings forth almonds, to prove that his designation as high priest is divinely ordained.

G‑d commands that a portion from each crop of grain, wine and oil, as well as all firstborn sheep and cattle, and other specified gifts, be given to the kohanim.

The sixth of Tammuz is the day when the Entebbe hostages held in Uganda were rescued by Istaek Commando in 1976. This is a day of miracles. This incident shows us that it was not only centuries ago in which the Jewish people were victorious. Hashem is always on our side, in modern times as well as ancient and He ensures our constant safety.

The Torah is very careful with the names of the Parsha. Why then does it name this week’s section after a man who rebelled and was subsequently punished? Why didn’t Hashem choose a name like Moshe or Kohen, why Korach?

The answer is that Korach actually teaches a valuable lesson. While Korach expressed it in the wrong manner, what he truly wanted was growth. He taught us to never be satisfied with where we stand and to always aim for higher.

Hashem promised Avraham, Yitzchak and Yakov that He would give them the land of Eretz Yisrael. Since this was not fulfilled in their lifetimes, the Gemara cites this as proof for Techiyat Hameitim, the revival of the dead when Moshiach comes. Our forefathers will rise again and receive the land that Hashem promised to them.

The process of finding your Jewish soul, regardless of the age at which you begin (and I am 67), not only turns you away from whatever other life you have been living, it abruptly sets you on a path cleared of confusion and fear, and offers a way with more light and transparency.

Each new Jewish experience makes this clearer to me. Suddenly, G‑d has become an integral partner in my life. I can feel His guiding presence and approval as I study Hebrew—the language of my people—or participate in High Holy Day services or sit quietly and read and absorb the beauty of the Psalmists’ voices.

When I asked Rabbi Yosef Goldwasser, the Chabad-Lubavitch emissary in Mobile, Ala., to place a mezuzah on the doorframe of my bedroom, he did so with a short blessing. In that moment, I felt a sense of calm and Divine protection. I do have a mezuzah at my front door already, but somehow the certainty of G‑d’s presence and protection for myself and my husband in the hours we sleep is powerful and comforting. During the rabbi’s coming visits, I plan to add a mezuzah to each appropriate doorway of my home.

My beloved grandfather, Velvel Sterling, passed away on the eve of Rosh Hashanah in 1986. Truly, it was one of the saddest days of my entire life. This year, on his yahrzeit, as part of my Jewish growth, I procured a yahrzeit candle to burn in his memory. I expected that experience to bring a measure of sadness. I was wrong. Praying thankfully for his long presence in my life—for the wisdom he brought, for his endless good humor and generosity—brought a quiet joy.

In the light of that small shining candle, I saw his smile, which came easily, and often, and lit up the lives of those around him. And in lighting that candle, I received yet again the gift of connection to my heritage and people.

As I begin to lean more and more into my “Jewishness” and what that means, I can clearly see that I have new responsibilities. Now I am not just responsible for myself: I am linked by my faith and thousands of years of tradition to every other Jew in the world. My actions—the words from my mouth or the thoughts in my head—have consequences that reach far beyond my own little insular world and can help bring Moshiach sooner. They are part and parcel of G‑d’s relationship and connection to all of his chosen people and therein lies my responsibility to that connection.

It’s not that I won’t make mistakes. It’s that I now know that I can reroute and keep trying, and that G‑d will be there to forgive and to set me back on my chosen journey to be a better Jew with a collective consciousness.

As I grow into my Jewish self, I feel like the proverbial caterpillar. Having been cocooned for such a long time, I am suddenly a blue-and-white butterfly, and my view of the world—as I look upon it from a higher place—is more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. I can see the threads of my connection to the Jewish world spreading far and wide, and I can see my place in it, and what I need to do to continue to help create the tapestry of that connection.

Rachel Leah Fry