Category: Vayikra

Who decides the correct and fitting manner to worship God? Just because others worship in a certain way, which may be seemingly worthwhile, if that approach was not commanded by God, it is out of bounds. Comparing the biblical narrative of the binding of Isaac to the story of the deaths of Aaron’s sons clearly teaches that God’s will and His will alone determines what is appropriate and beloved by God and what is not. The severity and swiftness of the punishment in the case of Nadav and Avihu powerfully demonstrates that even religious acts conducted with apparently worthy intentions can be unacceptable manifestations of fulfilling God’s will if they fall outside of mandated religious practice.

“And the Lord spoke unto Moses, after the death of the two sons of Aaron, when they drew near before the Lord, and died” (Leviticus 16:1).

I love to traverse my year through the prism of the biblical characters, but I find myself a little harder pressed to do so in the book of Leviticus. The middle book  of the Torah contains primarily technical material relating to sacrifices and other priestly activities; this is not the wonderfully rich narratives in Genesis where I am spoiled for choice.

Yet priests are people too. And some of them we have been following for a while now… well, primarily Aaron the High Priest. Precisely how long depends on whether we choose to begin his story from his implied presence as a small child in the narrative around Moses’ birth (he’s not explicitly mentioned there – but where else would a 3-year-old be?), or alternatively from when he is named and becomes his illustrious brother’s right hand man, 80 years later.

Aaron is a somewhat enigmatic figure. Hailing from the most important Jewish family who ever lived (sorry Rothschilds), caught between his two spiritually colossal siblings, prophets and leaders Miriam and Moses, yet also destined for greatness himself, Aaron somehow manages, despite the major role he plays, to remain partially in the shadows.

Read the full article on the Times of Israel

Most years, when Shemot (Exodus) gives way to the book of Vayikra (Leviticus), we suffer from a collective sense of discomfort. Detailed rituals take the place of gripping narrative, and we are left without an anchor. Sacrifices, purity and impurity, concerns with holiness and the like find little traction in our world.  The imaginative leap necessary to bridge between 21st century life and the intricate world of Vayikra seems far too ambitious.

Not this year. We have never been more receptive to Vayikra, never more familiar with the deeply embedded structures in Vayikra, never more in need of its wisdom. Vayikra presents rules for all aspects of life, from the most intimate chambers of our homes to the holy of holies. Efforts to safegaurd the sacred center of the Israelite camp — the mishkan or tabernacle — radiates into all mundane aspects of life. The private and the public are governed by the same principles, the same concerns.

Read the full article on The Times of Israel

For his military service, a man served on a submarine that regularly used Morse code. He became a respected expert able to quickly send and decipher messages.

Sadly, after completing his navy service, away from strict military protocols, he fared less well. He was let go from a good job in civilian life because of a gross misunderstanding.

Not sure what to do next, he saw the army was looking for a Morse code specialist, and he decided to apply. He was told to come anytime between 10:00 a.m. and 12 noon and he arrived at 11:50 a.m.

At the office, he saw a waiting room full of applicants and a secretary at a desk in front of an inner room that was empty except for an interviewer quietly reading to herself. The man sat down and listened to the music playing in the background for a few minutes. Then he got up and approached the inner office door. The secretary stopped him, “Sir, there are many people waiting in line ahead of you,” he said. “Wait your turn.” The man hesitated, remembering how he had just lost a job through a misunderstanding, but then he continued onward into the inner room.

The interviewer in that room immediately got up, went out to the waiting room and told everyone, “Thank you all for coming. You can go home, we have chosen someone.” Those in the waiting room called out in unison, “It isn’t fair. This man came in last. Why did you interview him before us?” The interviewer replied, “Did you not pay attention to the music? It was in Morse code, and it was saying: “if you’ve come for the interview, just walk through the door and come in. Even if the secretary tells you to wait, just go straight to the inner room.” [1]

Read the full article on The Times of Israel

Faking it. A “vague sense of dislocation,” a “recognition of a split” between our “true selves” and the roles we play. You know what I’m talking about.

Faking it[1]. It’s a human inclination, for better or for worse, and when it comes to the commandment of being happy on festivals (“You shall rejoice in your festival…you shall be that happy,”[2]…וְשָׂמַחְתָּ בְּחַגֶּךָ וְהָיִיתָ אַךְ שָׂמֵחַ), the injunction can smart. I mean, really, do you enjoy faking it?

For those who adhere to authenticity and the very same joy that external and internal synchrony can bring to integrity of being, Pesach — or even the canter from Purim to Pesach — is an interesting time.

Pesach invites us to bring our inside to the fore. Where Purim allowed us to conceive of the masks we wear or want to wear or want to shed, Pesach permits us — facilitates us — in giving birth to our inside experience, creating ourselves anew. Pesach takes “faking it” to a whole new generative level.

This Shabbat, experiencing Parshat Metzora, combined with Shabbat HaGadol, the shabbat before Pesach, offers us a perspective on this inside/outside interplay and readies us to delve into this form of recreation.

Read the full article on The Times of Israel

Leviticus (Vayikra) is a God-infused book. The kohanim (priests) direct the cultic service of God, who resides at the center of the camp. The divine sanctuary is the focal point of the Israelite society, whose sacred status must be safeguarded from regular human contact with life and death.  And yet, God is largely absent — in an immediate sense — from the book. God is impersonal and removed, in whose presence the only proper response is silence. No one, not even Moses, speaks to God in Leviticus, although God speaks to humans. The high priest, who gains access to the holiest depths of the sanctuary on the holiest day of the year, does not even confront God directly. In Leviticus, the average person achieves forgiveness just by performing the required ritual acts. Atonement does not depend on the will of God.

Contrast this divine detachment with the intimate portrait of God which emerges in the Midrash on Leviticus, chapter 12, Parshat Tazria. In response to the opening verse, “When a woman conceives and bears a male child,” Vayikra Rabbah highlights the missing character in that verse: God. Throughout the Bible, God is explicitly present and involved in human beings’ birth. How many stories in Genesis alone revolve around God’s hand in bringing children into the world? In its plain sense, God does not belong in Tazria, for the verse introduces purity legislation for a postpartum woman — the sole subject of the verse! And yet, the rabbis of Vayikra Rabbah respond to God’s absence in Leviticus 12:1 by rewriting the verse, in a manner of speaking, and bringing God into a front and center position.

Read the full article on The Times of Israel