When I was growing up, my mother, of blessed memory, and I would often settle in with a big bowl of popcorn and watch old movies. She loved the classics and, in turn, instilled in me a love for those black and white films of the Golden Age of Hollywood. My mother couldn’t resist a good love story – Casablanca, all the Hepburn and Tracy Films. And we all have one, don’t we—a favorite love story?
For me, in addition to the love stories like Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I like stories that aren’t necessarily about romantic love, but about friendship and family relationships.
Now, I want to write about the greatest love story every told. No, it’s not Romeo and Juliet, but it IS a classic – Leviticus / Vayikra.
Maybe you’re skeptical—I understand. When we think of Leviticus, which we begin to read this week, it doesn’t exactly conjure up warm, fuzzy feelings. In fact, to our modern sensibilities, it can be pretty off-putting—Oddly dressed men performing strange rituals, animal sacrifice, and blood everywhere. Well, it sounds more like a horror film than a love story.
The first word in Leviticus, and the one for which our Parsha this week is named, is Vayikra. “One called.” Our commentators go a little wild about this word because it’s different than the one we are used to seeing, which is Va-daber--
וַיְדַבֵּ֥ר יְהֹוָ֖ה אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֥ה לֵּאמֹֽר׃
God spoke to Moses, saying
That’s what we’re used to hearing, but in our Parsha, it’s all wrong… or, maybe it’s all right. We get:
וַיִּקְרָ֖א אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֑ה …
One called to Moses …
Notably, the first word of our sentence and parsha, Vayikra, doesn’t have a proper noun attached to it. It’s confusing. Vayikra – One called. Who called?
We infer from context that it’s God. But to truly understand what’s going on here, we need to turn back to Exodus. There were some key moments in recent parshiot – Revelation at Sinai and then, shortly thereafter, that whole business with the Golden Calf. God gets angry, kills a lot of people, and then withdraws. So there’s been betrayal and conflict between God and the Children of Israel. Those moments inform our parsha this week.
In the final verses of the Book of Exodus, Moses finishes setting up the Mishkan, also called the Tent of Meeting. He sets up the ark, lights the lamps, and makes a sacrifice and then, God’s presence fills the Tent of Meeting and Moses is not able to enter.
Some of you may have heard of the concept of Tzimtzum. Rabbi Isaac Luria, a 16th century Kabbalist who lived in Tzfat, developed the idea of Tzimtzum. He taught that in the beginning, when God made Creation, God’s presence filled everything that was and God contracted Godself in order to make room for Creation.
In our Parsha, when God calls out to Moses – Vayikra – God is inviting Moses in. We can infer from this that God has made space for Moses to enter. I have a friend who is planning to move in with her partner, but she’s waiting until he gets rid of some of his stuff. That’s a physical act that symbolizes the emotional need, and one that is necessary in order for relationships to be successful, whether they are with a romantic partner, a friend, a family member, or in community. And what are we really saying when we make room for someone? We’re communicating that the other person’s needs and desires are important. We’re saying I can be flexible. I can compromise. Those are fundamental elements of a strong relationship and that’s what God is doing here with Moses, and later in the parsha, God makes room for others through the sacrificial offerings.
In chapter 4, our parsha discusses sacrifices to expiate sins. The sacrifices in this section refer to people who sinned unwittingly. The structure of this chapter works like this:
A person, let’s call him Jacob, who is a priest, elder, or community member, inadvertently committed a sin. Later Jacob realizes his wrongdoing and needs a way to expiate his sin. Jacob brings a specified offering. The priest takes the offering and follows the protocol for sacrifice and then the Torah says:
וְכִפֶּ֨ר עָלָ֧יו הַכֹּהֵ֛ן מֵחַטָּאת֖וֹ וְנִסְלַ֥ח לֽוֹ׃
And the priest shall atone for him and he shall be forgiven.
The parsha gives different examples and at the end of each example, we read these words and he shall be forgiven.
I’d like to broaden the discussion for a moment. Judaism, historically, has been criticized for being a religion of law and punishment, and those who hold by this often point to Leviticus as proof. But I think there is a different framing. Instead of thinking about Leviticus as law and punishment. What if instead it’s about setting boundaries and teaching forgiveness? All healthy relationships require boundaries. Without them, our relationships our mere reflections of our unresolved baggage and, to truly love another person, we must give them space to fully be themselves, and that requires healthy boundaries.
We’ve all been in situations where we’ve unintentionally hurt someone whom we care about. When that happens, we want a way to make things better. In this parsha, God outlines a path to forgiveness and reconciliation. To forgive someone who has hurt you—well, that is one of the most difficult acts of love.
Now there are two types of people in the world—those who like sweets and those who like salt. My wife has a sweet tooth. If you were to put a bag of chips in front of me (and please don’t), they would be gone in a minute. Not to say that savoriness is next to Godliness, but our parsha does say:
Lev 2:13
וְכׇל־קׇרְבַּ֣ן מִנְחָתְךָ֮ בַּמֶּ֣לַח תִּמְלָח֒ וְלֹ֣א תַשְׁבִּ֗ית מֶ֚לַח בְּרִ֣ית אֱלֹהֶ֔יךָ מֵעַ֖ל מִנְחָתֶ֑ךָ עַ֥ל כׇּל־קׇרְבָּנְךָ֖ תַּקְרִ֥יב מֶֽלַח׃ {ס}
You shall season your every offering of meal with salt; you shall not omit from your meal offering the salt of your covenant with God; with all your offerings you must offer salt.
We’re instructed that all the sacrifices must be salted. On the most basic level, salt brings out the flavor of food. Now, I’m not suggesting God is eating the sacrifices. Rather, I understand salt as a metaphor that teaches us just as salt makes our food more flavorful, and increases the quality of our dining experience, we, too, should bring our best selves to our relationships, whether they are romantic, friendships, relationships to the Divine, or the ways in which we build community.
I mentioned earlier that our Parsha Vayikra begins after God and the Children of Israel have had a falling out—kind of a big one actually. Through the sacrifices, God slowly invites back the whole of B’nai Israel – first Moses, then Aaron and the priests, then the elders and leaders, then the community. But how do we know?
The word for sacrifice is Korban.
The Hebrew root of Korban, offering or sacrifice, is קרב –and it means to draw near. Embedded in this word that many of us today think of as representing something barbaric, animal sacrifice, there is an invitation and a desire for intimacy. While we receive exacting details of how to prepare the animals and grain for sacrifice, it is almost as if that’s not the point. Rather, this cathartic act of sacrifice, one that in the Temple could be described as high art, with singing and specific ritual movements, is meant to illicit vulnerability in us, a vulnerability that allows us to show ourselves and to be closer to the Divine.
We all long for closeness, not just with God, but with one another. That’s what it is to be human, isn’t it? This parsha gives us some pretty good instruction on how to do that—make space for one another, have good boundaries, forgive, be willing to be vulnerable, and show up as our full selves.
So once we strip away the gorey details, it’s easy to see this parsha’s true genre—Leviticus—The Greatest Love Story Every Told.
But building strong relationships, of any kind, are not easy. They take work. They take patience. They take courage.
May we all be blessed with the courage to show up, to be vulnerable, to forgive, and most of all to love and let ourselves be loved.
Shabbat Shalom.
For me, in addition to the love stories like Breakfast at Tiffany’s, I like stories that aren’t necessarily about romantic love, but about friendship and family relationships.
Now, I want to write about the greatest love story every told. No, it’s not Romeo and Juliet, but it IS a classic – Leviticus / Vayikra.
Maybe you’re skeptical—I understand. When we think of Leviticus, which we begin to read this week, it doesn’t exactly conjure up warm, fuzzy feelings. In fact, to our modern sensibilities, it can be pretty off-putting—Oddly dressed men performing strange rituals, animal sacrifice, and blood everywhere. Well, it sounds more like a horror film than a love story.
The first word in Leviticus, and the one for which our Parsha this week is named, is Vayikra. “One called.” Our commentators go a little wild about this word because it’s different than the one we are used to seeing, which is Va-daber--
וַיְדַבֵּ֥ר יְהֹוָ֖ה אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֥ה לֵּאמֹֽר׃
God spoke to Moses, saying
That’s what we’re used to hearing, but in our Parsha, it’s all wrong… or, maybe it’s all right. We get:
וַיִּקְרָ֖א אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֑ה …
One called to Moses …
Notably, the first word of our sentence and parsha, Vayikra, doesn’t have a proper noun attached to it. It’s confusing. Vayikra – One called. Who called?
We infer from context that it’s God. But to truly understand what’s going on here, we need to turn back to Exodus. There were some key moments in recent parshiot – Revelation at Sinai and then, shortly thereafter, that whole business with the Golden Calf. God gets angry, kills a lot of people, and then withdraws. So there’s been betrayal and conflict between God and the Children of Israel. Those moments inform our parsha this week.
In the final verses of the Book of Exodus, Moses finishes setting up the Mishkan, also called the Tent of Meeting. He sets up the ark, lights the lamps, and makes a sacrifice and then, God’s presence fills the Tent of Meeting and Moses is not able to enter.
Some of you may have heard of the concept of Tzimtzum. Rabbi Isaac Luria, a 16th century Kabbalist who lived in Tzfat, developed the idea of Tzimtzum. He taught that in the beginning, when God made Creation, God’s presence filled everything that was and God contracted Godself in order to make room for Creation.
In our Parsha, when God calls out to Moses – Vayikra – God is inviting Moses in. We can infer from this that God has made space for Moses to enter. I have a friend who is planning to move in with her partner, but she’s waiting until he gets rid of some of his stuff. That’s a physical act that symbolizes the emotional need, and one that is necessary in order for relationships to be successful, whether they are with a romantic partner, a friend, a family member, or in community. And what are we really saying when we make room for someone? We’re communicating that the other person’s needs and desires are important. We’re saying I can be flexible. I can compromise. Those are fundamental elements of a strong relationship and that’s what God is doing here with Moses, and later in the parsha, God makes room for others through the sacrificial offerings.
In chapter 4, our parsha discusses sacrifices to expiate sins. The sacrifices in this section refer to people who sinned unwittingly. The structure of this chapter works like this:
A person, let’s call him Jacob, who is a priest, elder, or community member, inadvertently committed a sin. Later Jacob realizes his wrongdoing and needs a way to expiate his sin. Jacob brings a specified offering. The priest takes the offering and follows the protocol for sacrifice and then the Torah says:
וְכִפֶּ֨ר עָלָ֧יו הַכֹּהֵ֛ן מֵחַטָּאת֖וֹ וְנִסְלַ֥ח לֽוֹ׃
And the priest shall atone for him and he shall be forgiven.
The parsha gives different examples and at the end of each example, we read these words and he shall be forgiven.
I’d like to broaden the discussion for a moment. Judaism, historically, has been criticized for being a religion of law and punishment, and those who hold by this often point to Leviticus as proof. But I think there is a different framing. Instead of thinking about Leviticus as law and punishment. What if instead it’s about setting boundaries and teaching forgiveness? All healthy relationships require boundaries. Without them, our relationships our mere reflections of our unresolved baggage and, to truly love another person, we must give them space to fully be themselves, and that requires healthy boundaries.
We’ve all been in situations where we’ve unintentionally hurt someone whom we care about. When that happens, we want a way to make things better. In this parsha, God outlines a path to forgiveness and reconciliation. To forgive someone who has hurt you—well, that is one of the most difficult acts of love.
Now there are two types of people in the world—those who like sweets and those who like salt. My wife has a sweet tooth. If you were to put a bag of chips in front of me (and please don’t), they would be gone in a minute. Not to say that savoriness is next to Godliness, but our parsha does say:
Lev 2:13
וְכׇל־קׇרְבַּ֣ן מִנְחָתְךָ֮ בַּמֶּ֣לַח תִּמְלָח֒ וְלֹ֣א תַשְׁבִּ֗ית מֶ֚לַח בְּרִ֣ית אֱלֹהֶ֔יךָ מֵעַ֖ל מִנְחָתֶ֑ךָ עַ֥ל כׇּל־קׇרְבָּנְךָ֖ תַּקְרִ֥יב מֶֽלַח׃ {ס}
You shall season your every offering of meal with salt; you shall not omit from your meal offering the salt of your covenant with God; with all your offerings you must offer salt.
We’re instructed that all the sacrifices must be salted. On the most basic level, salt brings out the flavor of food. Now, I’m not suggesting God is eating the sacrifices. Rather, I understand salt as a metaphor that teaches us just as salt makes our food more flavorful, and increases the quality of our dining experience, we, too, should bring our best selves to our relationships, whether they are romantic, friendships, relationships to the Divine, or the ways in which we build community.
I mentioned earlier that our Parsha Vayikra begins after God and the Children of Israel have had a falling out—kind of a big one actually. Through the sacrifices, God slowly invites back the whole of B’nai Israel – first Moses, then Aaron and the priests, then the elders and leaders, then the community. But how do we know?
The word for sacrifice is Korban.
The Hebrew root of Korban, offering or sacrifice, is קרב –and it means to draw near. Embedded in this word that many of us today think of as representing something barbaric, animal sacrifice, there is an invitation and a desire for intimacy. While we receive exacting details of how to prepare the animals and grain for sacrifice, it is almost as if that’s not the point. Rather, this cathartic act of sacrifice, one that in the Temple could be described as high art, with singing and specific ritual movements, is meant to illicit vulnerability in us, a vulnerability that allows us to show ourselves and to be closer to the Divine.
We all long for closeness, not just with God, but with one another. That’s what it is to be human, isn’t it? This parsha gives us some pretty good instruction on how to do that—make space for one another, have good boundaries, forgive, be willing to be vulnerable, and show up as our full selves.
So once we strip away the gorey details, it’s easy to see this parsha’s true genre—Leviticus—The Greatest Love Story Every Told.
But building strong relationships, of any kind, are not easy. They take work. They take patience. They take courage.
May we all be blessed with the courage to show up, to be vulnerable, to forgive, and most of all to love and let ourselves be loved.
Shabbat Shalom.
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